#but in this 'verse the other shoe dropped

[spielzeugkaiser]

Lovechild AU idea: I would like to suggest adding Vespula and Radovid into the found family mix! Vespula has the aunt vibe of "I could never be mad at you sweetie, have a cookie, anyway, whAT THE FUCK JASKIER." (I know Yen probably has that role but the kid is allowed to have cool aunts) and Radovid probably bonded with him while he and Jaskier were dating, like out of all the people his dad dated, he's the stepparent he liked the most. Anyway, I'm just hashing out ideas bc I love those two and want to see our sweet baby boy interact with them!

[MASTERPOST] Oh gosh...

The thing is, I DON'T TRUST RADOVID AT ALL. not yet at least. So if he exists in this AU... they're not having a good time.

[pensivespacepirate]

AM I IN FUCKING ESKEW AGAIN

[robogart]

Can I graduate?

---

Very experimental piece playing around with brushes back from March! Was listening to Graduate by Third Eye Blind on repeat while working on this piece throughout the month! Some more thoughts/story under the cut 💖

So a lot of the Text Me When You Get Home. story-verse (set post-canon with the main cast in their mid-twenties) for Yugi is just letting him be angsty and tired, which he deserves!! I have so many feelings about characters who are the sort of "epitome of good" that get to JUST BE TIRED!! Give them a break! Let them be mad/sad!! It's good shit!!

In the Text Me When You Get Home. story, Yugi works as a freelancer with Kaiba Corp, but also still maintains his part-time job at the mall at a Hot Topic store, since it's the most "normal" he ever feels. He's still struggling returning to a regular life after saving the world and losing Atem, and he's sort of always waiting for other shoe to drop. He wants a normal life SO badly, but how do you go back to normal after everything he's gone through? He's learning, slowly. And I feel like it'd be a great way for Seto to step up and step in for Yugi to lean on him a little (in his own Seto way), with a lot of unspoken support - buying him lunch, cancelling meetings when he's stressed, sitting in silence and listening to music when the sun is setting. Stuff like that. I think it would be a nice break for Yugi in a lot of ways since all of his other friends are SO vocal (and sweet! but so vocal), so it's nice having a space where things can just be quiet too.

Anyways! Brain worms let's GO! 😳👏✨

[moineauz]

may i request a ticket for mosaic the memento with boothill?

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ THE HOUSE OF MUSICA PRESENTS... 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐓 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆ノ𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐂 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎 — boothill !

synopsis: lovers that collect each other, piece by piece and display it in peculiar ways.

side comments: tysm for requesting!! I definitely had fun with this and boothill in general. I took the concept quite literally hehe.

extra: gn reader, angst & fluff, mentions of marriage, established relationship word count: 1, 184

When eyesight failed, you turned to the wind's caress, the hum of incessant chatter, and the mechanical click of Boothill's shoes like a heartbeat made of flesh and bone.

Penacony thrived and bounced with promise and prose that night, as it has every night; brimming with the convivial spirit of a cocktail. While morphing desire into the tangible.

Nevertheless, Penacony is a pest: a jewel sowing songs of seduction, Time spent in Penacony rots the living flesh.

"You're thinkin' too much again."

Languidly, you turn your head towards the man leaning against the door frame. His limbs slacken as a tender grin pressed onto his face. It was as beckoning as a blast of dust and powder. A soothing grace found in jagged cliffs.

"It's Penacony," you begin scrupulously, "It's difficult not to think of-"

A small nail bolt hits the ground, a ring reverberating throughout your hotel room: a sour psalm. Your eyes observe the nail as it spins toward the tip of your boot; halting it in its path.

Boothill scrutinizes your eyebrows and how they crease, your placid countenance replaced by blunt displeasure. You cast a faint sigh, rolling your wrists until you discerned a click. A practice Boothill has inscribed into your skin it seemed. To Boothill, your faint, pervasive sighs are like wisps of smoke billowing in feeble puffs. It is the kind that Boothill could keep within the biting palms of his hands like a cloud of mist rolling over a slumbering horizon.

"Boothill," you chide askance, the nail now tightly wrapped under the guileful length of your fingers, "You're falling apart, again."

Boothill emits a delicate laugh; carrying through the thick atmosphere of your hotel room like fog being pushed to the side. "Oh? It's Nothin' to worry bout'," he exclaims, his grin acute and unrelenting like a child.

You scoff, your face solemn. "You're a fool then."

Boohill raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms. "A fool?" he begins with a tone of toying inquisition, "And what kind of fool would I be then?"

"The kind that never listens," you seethed as you turned your back and rummaged through your satchel. The click and ring of colliding components rebound from the disquieting walls. "Tell me, is it that difficult to keep your gun down?"

Instead, Boothill's legs carry him to the side of your bed; hoisting himself up before lying down on his back, his right hand gingerly tapping against the plating of his chest. One beat after another, one rise of your chest like sundown, one click before the drop.

The room grows reticent as does Boothill's incessant chatter. You considered him like a fly; one swat never ceased his lingering. His buzz and wagers compelled you to an ineffable cusp of undoing. He tugged at your hair, sauntered over your plans and tenderly pressed his treasured gun against your skull like a prayer of undying fidelity: the kind that reaches from the mounds of soil, dust and dirt. A skeleton crawling on the face of the Earth.

However, you kept the bones of that same serrated skeleton in your coat pockets. When the night yielded its youth, you traced your glided hands over its ridges like one recites verses in a destitute, ceaseless pursuit for solace. You hauled the bones of your dead on your back, straggling through sand dunes and sun. Thus, you ensured the bones would never corrode or break. For safekeeping, you thought.

"It always surprises me," professed Boothill, his body still limp on your bed, "That you carry every part of me in that damn satchel of yours."

He then scoffs, amused, "It's ridiculous."

A subtle, witty smile unwinds on your lips before you exasperate, "Well, I find it more ridiculous that a full-grown man needs his spouse to cover his boo-boos."

"Ha!" exclaims Boothill, a smirk unveiling itself, "And what's so wrong bout' that?"

You simply hum at this question, still absorbed by the sensations of various metal pieces grazing against your skin. "Boothill," you betokened "Which wire is thinner? The one on the right or the one on the left?"

Boothill promptly glances at the side table, "The one on the right."

You reach for the wire on the right, no inkling of doubt smearing the page of your chest.

Boothill never pressed his knee down or slipped a circular piece of metal on your finger.

On the contrary, you professed your devotion while uncoiling the vast forests of his wires found in his spinal cord and replacing the plating of his shins. Like a doll being unwinded: its button eyes stitched concurrently to become whole.

Boothill pondered the concept of marriage and discerned it to be ludicrous. However, there was a peculiar charm found in the title "My spouse" like windchimes that crash and sway, casting their dreams into an afternoon breeze.

He reminisced how you ripped his chest open and raised his metal heart in the plane of your hands like an offering. He entrusted you.

You dismantled him with each screw and wire; rerouting and disconnecting nerve after nerve, daring not to draw a breath in fear of failure. His entire being rested upon the pull and press of your fingers and the thrust of your arms. Boothill observed beads of sweat trickling down your forehead and the tentative purses of your lips. He could recount the strands of hair that brushed against your cheek and the bitter pit of envy and spite that grew in him like a weed. The wind could stroke your cheek and the Earth could wrap you fold upon fold until you became the foundations of life itself. Nevertheless, Boothill comprehended how insatiable he was. He envied how the folds of death seemed to embrace you closer than he could ever offer you.

The vibrations of your proposal still ring in his head and run up his spine with the zeal of electricity and the parting words of tenderness. Thus, how could he ever say no?

"I'm almost done with your leg," you muse, your eyes bouncing from Boothill's reposed face and the length of his leg.

"Why'd you ask to become my spouse, ( Name )?"

You blink, the movements of your hands paused while the clock continues to cast its familiar tick-tok. "Don't call me that," you remarked indifferently, your hands promptly resuming their work.

"Then what do I call you?" drawls Boothill, his eyes fixated on the tenacious shifts of your expression.

You emit a half-amused scoff before avowing, "Don't ask questions you already know the answer to."

"Alright then," teases Boothill, "We can play it that way." He pauses, then prompts, "Why'd you ask to become my spouse, doll?"

With that simple phrase, you gingerly place your tools down and lean forward. The poignant warmth of your breath skimming over Boothill's smooth cheek. A blinding smile tugs at the corners of your lips and the placid facade carved in your face broke with brilliance like the yolk of an egg. The corners of Boothill's eyes pooled with awe.

"Because I was tired of carrying pieces of you in my pockets."

general masterlist. request page for event.

[themotherofhorses]

pairing: aemond targaryen x handmaid!reader

summary: ...aemond realizes he’s fallen in love with his handmaid five months later as he stands outside his bedchamber.

warnings: explicit language. aemond's kinda horny but mainly a lovesick dude. steamy makeout session towards the end??

notes: welcome back to another short episode of "aemond targaryen being a total fucking simp for his handmaid bc vic is too damn obsessed with this pairing."

his handmaid's tales | main masterlist

Aemond realizes he’s fallen in love with his handmaid five months later as he stands outside his bedchamber.

Through the doors comes your soft voice from the inside, feminine and melodious, absolutely beautiful to him. It’s muffled by the thick walls, but he can hear the verse you sing to yourself. I loved a maid as fair as summer, he chants along in his head, with sunlight in her hair...

He sneaks a peek inside the room. You sit on the settee, crossed at the knee like a highborn lady, with an eyepatch in one hand and a thread and needle in the other. Aemond recognizes that one eyepatch at first glance. The sight tugs at his heartstrings. It was a favorite of his, a rare gift from his father on his thirteenth nameday. Viserys had his name embroidered along the inside in pretty cursive.

Aemond One-Eye.

Viserys’s smile was as brilliant and big as the blue summer sea. My boy…three-and-ten. How you’ve grown so fast before my very eyes.  

But the eyepatch grew too small for him as the years passed, and he hid it away, never wishing to see it again. His father now was nothing more than a half-decaying corpse still sitting the throne in pure mulishness, who hadn’t muttered his second son’s name in two long years. He doesn’t know how you found it, nor does he feel any slight bit of bother.

“I loved a maid as red as autumn, with sunset in her hair,” you hum next, turning the eyepatch around to thread the loop. Your feet are bare, pretty hair tousled, and the servant’s robe does little to veil your blinding beauty. His gaze focuses on your face. Your lips look pink and plump- ripe for him to kiss and bite and swallow in all the endless kisses he yearns to give you, and your eyes twinkle as bright as the midday sunlight.

I love a maiden as beautiful as all the seasons.

“I love a maiden as white as winter, with moonglow in her hair-”

He strolls into his bedchamber, striking you off guard, your singing breaking off abruptly. “My prince!” you exclaim, bolting up to slip your feet back into your shoes. “Oh, my sincerest apologies, my prince. I was told you would be gone for the better part of the day.” Amid your babbling, you drop the needle and thread onto the floor, “is there anything you need from me?”

He wanted to laugh.

“I had no notion that you had such a…lovely voice,” Aemond instead tells you, lacing his hands together behind his back. The compliment widens your eyes, and he hears how your breath hitches in your throat. You resemble a fairytale maiden, doe-eyed and flustered at the sight of her wooer. “I’m very sorry, my prince….”

“Do you sing a lot?”

You bite your lip, and it causes his cock to stir within his pants. No, no, stop that at once, he wishes to say aloud. Only I should be allowed to bite your luscious lips like that. All mine. “My mother sang to me as a little girl,” you admit, braving a faint smile up at him. “Sometimes, when I’m missing her, I sing. Perhaps it sounds a bit silly…but it makes me feel as if she is in the room with me.”

Aemond hums, nodding his head. He then looks down at the eyepatch within your hands, raising an eyebrow. “Pray tell where you found my old eyepatch. I swore I hid it well all those years ago…” and he hopes you catch the thin amusement in his tone.

“Oh…” you fall silent, unsure what to say next. “I was tidying up your desk and bookcase, my prince…I opened a drawer, I believe it was the second to last one to the left of the desk, and I found it there….” you glance at the eyepatch, running a finger over the black cloth patch, “-I thought, perhaps, it would be a nice surprise if I extended the straps so that you could wear it once again. It is very pretty!”

You hold it out for him to take. “Would you like to try it on? Just for me to check if I need to loosen it up some more.”

Aemond stiffens. “Perhaps later,” he says, a bit sullenly. “I do not like to take off my patch when others are still around. I’ve found that my missing eye is quite the…dreadful sight to many.” He clenches his jaw so tight he wonders if his teeth might shatter. But you just shake your head.

“My prince, believe me when I say that no such thing would ever terrify me.” Aemond could hear his brother snigger in the back of his mind, and he shifted uneasily. “I’m your handmaid. Please trust every word I tell you.” He remembers the cool night under the stars when he claimed Vhagar for himself, gazing out into the darkened sand dunes where she slept. Your smile is the warmth he needed.

He tilts his head, searching for any sign of deceit amongst your features. Gods, but you’re too damn beautiful for your own good, he thinks as he sighs and slides the patch from off his face.

Do not dare mock me…flinch…or run away…

But you just stare up at him, studying the dark sapphire he’s stuffed inside his missing socket. The skin stretched around it is rather uneven and tender and pinkish, and his healed scar cuts through his eyebrow. “May I, my prince?” you ask. He nods, and you gently trace the scar with your fingertip, up and down. Your touch is soft, and delicate, sending a shiver up his spine.

“You did not deserve this, believe me when I say that,” you whisper, and he feels your hot breath, “—you were just a boy….”

Gods be good, no one has ever told Aemond those words before. He does not know what to say, remaining silent and still.

Then, without warning, you stand on your tippy toes to kiss his cheek, your eyes shutting as your soft lips press against his skin.  

I love a maiden as beautiful as all the seasons.

“You are still handsome and strong and worthy, my prince,” you mumble, stroking his cheek, a smile flickering across your pink…plump…luscious lips and Aemond…

…Aemond pulls you flush against his chest, swathing an arm tight around your waist as the other tangles his fingers through your hair, his mouth slamming down on yours in a heavy and wet kiss that leaves your knees buckling beneath you. Kiss her. Take her. Make her yours. Your arms fly up to his neck as you sink into his grasp.

“She is yours. Your handmaid. Everything she does next is at your own will and mercy…but do treat her well, Aemond…it is through kindheartedness that you receive devotion.”

And he lays a kiss on your lips, and another, and another…and with them all, Aemond swears himself a man obsessed and blinded by love. He knows he will not survive this miserable, torturous life without you by his side. You, his precious handmaid- his maiden as beautiful as all the seasons.

By the time he lets you go, you’re breathless and dizzy and as giddy as a young girl. He gives you only a few more seconds before he kisses you again, flinging you onto his bed. “My prince…!” you cry out, bouncing as he begins to chuckle, swallowing the rest of your words in his mouth. “Oh, this is improper,” you gasp, toes curling as he pulls at your bottom lip, “it’s so….gods, it’s so wrong…I need to…I need…”

“Shhh,” he answers, kissing your nose and chin, and temple before your lips again. “You don’t leave this room unless I dismiss you, remember?”

tag list: @aemondsblog @dc-marvel-girl96 @neobanguniverse @missalycat21 @enchantingcupcakecollectionfan @padfooteyes @alexizodd @kravitzwhore

[wizzdot]

The Patron Saint of One Way Trips

ch1

Description: this is my first fic. Please be nice. It’s an A/B/O verse fic, not sure how it’ll end yet but it’s probs gonna be poly!141 in a pack situation. It’s a reader insert. Y/n will be used. It is going to be multi chapter so please follow / notify yourselves for updates. Happy reading. It’s going to be pretty traumatic. Mdni - there will be everything in this fic. Reader is she/her and omega. Taskforce 141 are all alpha. Alejandro is alpha, Rudy is omega. Others will be mentioned as and when they appear in the fic. Hugs and kisses, Wizz! Xx

"Bring Laika to me" Dr Dimitrov demands.

*Y/N's POV*

It is the middle of a harsh Russian winter. It is now approaching the 6th year, I think, of being held in this facility under the control of the ultranationalist terrorist group led by an Alpha, Vladamir Makarov. I have never actually met Makarov, but have heard stories and segments of information that I could pick up thanks to my very broken knowledge of the Russian intellect.

My room, or cell, to be more precise, is damp and dark.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The sound of water falling from the ceiling sounds like the ticking of a, slightly out of time, clock. I close my eyes and count the ticks inside my own head, as far as I can go, before losing my place in the thousands and starting at one again. A sad metaphor for my life, really. After a few hours, the drips fade into heavy footsteps. I sit up and brace for whatever was about to happen. Like an obedient, albeit unstable, mutt. Hackles raised, but too scared to actually bite.

The door of my cell smashes open, jarring me from my self prescribed detachment from reality. I blink away the sound of dripping and concentrate on the two guards standing in front of me. I bow my head and submit. The guards stand proudly and sneer at my submissive nature.

"Pfft How is she the last one standing Sergei? I had my money on the ex-military Alpha. Not this little mutt... what even is she anyway? I can't scent her.." The guard jeers.

The other, less chatty, guard scents the air and seems to agree, all the while, I stand, offering my wrists for them to cuff in order to move me to wherever it was they were sending me this time.

"Such a good little bitch you are, Laika" the first guard sneers at me. I stay still, staring at my dirty, cracked shoes.

I am escorted by both guards toward a larger room. I have been here many times. It wasn't a nice room.

"Dr Dimitrov.." the guard announces "Laika - as requested" before they both turn and leave me to face the Doctor and his two assistants. The door closes and I am maneuvered to sit on a hard chair with restraints on the legs and arm rests. The assistants glance at the restraints and then to Dr Dimitrov, who is shaking his head. "No, she won't need those. Laika here, is an obedient little mutt. Isn't that right, Laika?" he mocks. I do not respond, continuing to look down, submissively.

"We have a new task for you Laika. Requested by Makarov himself. Now, personally I think its above your skill set, what with you being the weakest of our three original assets, but sadly we have no other choice now the other two are... expired" I glance up at him and scan the creepy, slimy smile on his face, and immediately drop my gaze back to the ground.

Should I be thankful to be the surviving one? I don't feel very thankful. I feel hopeless. I never had much hope, but to now feel completely and utterly devoid of it is really rather terrifying. I can feel heavy globs of tears well up in my lash line, but I refuse to let them fall. I can only pray or..hope.. that I - what was the word..? 'Expire' during this task too.

I snap out of my own thoughts and realise that the Doctor and his assistants had been discussing my mission and I had not been tuned in. I try to follow but they are talking in Russian so I only pick up segments. Something about a task force, 5 - or was it 4 - men. I am roughly uncuffed and I feel a hard hand grip my chin, wrenching my gaze upwards to meet Dr Dimitrov's. "You WILL comply, Laika. You remember what happened last time you acted up? And the time before that?" I weakly nod my head with wide eyes, terrified of the consequences. I didn't think I 'acted up' but when your controllers are as evil as this, any small fault is picked apart.

*3 years earlier*

I had been dropped discreetly, by Dimitrov, on the verge of a small Spanish village where a supposed cartel gang were holed up. My task was to, simply, eliminate the leader and one other assistant. I tailed the group for days and took stock of what they did every day and how they interacted. I'd been told that these men were responsible for bombing an airport and killing innocent civilians and children. The facility had been testing drugs on me for the past 18 months and they'd finally settled on the cocktail that suppressed my designation and kept me fully under their control. I was just a puppet on a string, but I was always reassured that I was on the 'good side' of history.

I had been away from the facility for a few days now, loaded with my weapons, maps and drugs, that I obediently took, three times a day as scheduled. During a scuffle with a small sub-group of the cartel, my bag was damaged and burnt during my escape. I dont realise what that actually meant until the following morning, when my head felt a bit clearer and my senses less foggy. I continue to go through the motions of tailing the man and his second in command. I had learnt that the leader of the Cartel was called Vargas and the other, Perez, or Parras, or something along those lines. The second day without my drugs, I realised that they were a bonded pair, and they actually were kind to those they met. My brain was telling me to follow orders and get back to the facility sharpish, but my heart wanted to observe the pair. It all blew up when another group rolled into the village and I was caught in the middle of a huge battle. I needed to complete my mission. I sneak round a building that I know Vargas is holed up in. I had seen the other man surrounded by armed men so assumed he had been taken care of already. I get to a rooftop and set my sniper rifle up and as I am about to take a shot I feel a sharp tug on my leg. I immediately roll and hold a knife to the neck of whoever had touched me.

I drop the knife, allowing it to clatter to the floor. The tap on my leg was a boy -maybe 4 years old, covered in blood and looked like he had been charred slightly in a fire. I feel some sort of instinct to protect him so I tuck him under my arm, tell him to be quiet and set back up at my rifle, readjusting the sight. I see Vargas through the cross hairs, and then behind him, I see one of the guards who work at the facility. This guard in particular is a brute of a man, always touching and groping me. Something comes over me then and I line up my sights and shoot him down. Vargas glances in the direction of the sniper and I can't be certain if he catches my eye or not, but I run, with the small boy under my arm.

I call in to be collected after the mission had failed. I had done as briefed and walked clear of the village. Three black trucks pull up and heavily armed guards step out alongside Dr Dimitrov. The child is pulled from my grasp and shot between the eyes. "You will learn to obey, Laika" he bellows down at me. I must have collapsed in shock when I saw the boy shot. "LOOK AT ME YOU USELESS MUTT" I hear but cannot collect myself to understand what is happening. I am ripped from the ground, jabbed with a needle, and thrown into a cage in the back of one of the cars. I wake up numb and strapped to the chair in the dreaded room I had come to hate so much but now I couldn't remember why I hated it.

"Dr Dimitrov, you'll be pleased to hear that the asset has been topped up with suppressants. This won't happen again. We are working on a long lasting injection which will enter her blood stream and alter her DNA for up to 8 weeks. This will remove any risk of this happening again. We apologise for any responsibility we may have in the failure of this objective" I hear from behind my chair. My brain is fuzzy, I feel like a spectator trapped in my own body.

"Good, Whatever the timescale on this injection is... Half it" Dr Dimitrov orders.

"Yes Sir" I hear from behind me, before hurried footsteps rush from the room, followed by the sharp slam of the door.

*Present Day*

I am returned to my cell with the instruction that I am to be collected at midnight for drop off at an undisclosed location. For the past 3 years, the facility had been successfully using the injectable suppressor drug, which kept me obedient and free of any symptoms of my designation, whatever it may be. They knew I wasn't an alpha due to my anatomy which left two options - Beta or Omega. They don't want to test as they know I am undesignated and had never experienced a heat when I was captured and still hadn't, possibly thanks to the suppressants but most likely due to the fact I am a Beta like my late mother and father, and two siblings. I try to sleep but thoughts plague my mind which is unusual in itself as my brain is usually in a constant haze due to the chemical alteration it has suffered for the past however many years.

I am tucked up the corner of my cell listening to the ticking of my imaginary clock.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

I smell them before I hear them. And then I hear them before I see them. Or I hear the facility's alarm blaring, anyway. I try to hide in my cell but there is nowhere to go. They always remove my weapons before putting me away. I hear heavy, but fast footsteps splash down the hallway outside my room. I tuck myself immediately next to the door so anyone looking in through the small window wouldn't be able to see round the angle of my hiding spot. I hear the footsteps stop.

"Looks clear in my hallway, over" a strange accented voice speaks roughly, attempting to be quiet. His position from directly outside my door gives him away though but if he doesn't think I am here, then I will stay as quiet as a mouse until he leaves. I hear a radio muffle to life on his shoulder "Clear here too, over" a smooth, recognisably English voice radios back.

I feel my eyebrows furrow as a trace of a scent starts wafting through my door. It smells like rain and grass and...gunpowder. There are other scents too that I cannot place. Scents I haven't smelt before, or, it had been so long since I had, that I no longer knew its name. But I knew rain, grass and gunpowder. I try to chase the scent slightly, seeming to be distracted for a split second. I am broken from my thoughts when the crackly radio crashes to life again.

"Soap! Hostiles coming your way. They are wanting something - fuckin loads of them.. stay sharp" I try to muffle the gasp at the voice. He sounds like he could take on a bear in a fight, and win, just by shouting at it to piss off. I had never heard such a rough, strong voice. That was the voice of their leader. I just knew it.

The man with the strange accent starts buzzing about in the hallway, trying to find somewhere to fight from. He starts whispering to himself. "what the fuck are they lookin' for eh? Thought I'd cleaned the place out for fucks sake. Fuck it.. in here will have to do".

The handle of my cell starts shaking roughly, the rattle gets louder and louder. I am stuck, just out of view, like a deer in the headlights of a fast moving car. I hear him attach a small blast to the door and he blows the locks out, the door swinging open. He catches it before it hits the wall, avoiding the usual crash that occurs when the door swings open like that. He gently turns and shuts the door to make it look as if nothing had moved. I stay frozen. He steps back, and as he takes his first proper glance of the room, our eyes meet.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Plzplzplz I need to see reader and bruce meet face to face in disowned verse, I want to see bruce being his emotionally constipated self and reader having none of it. Whenever you have time :)

Dick noted that, while the dogs were happy to see you- whining and making all sorts of happy dog noises, no one barked until they saw him. Making both Bruce and Jason look out the back door, though Jason softened immediately when he saw you holding Pepper and making a fuss over Boris. Lovingly scolding all three dogs for barking at all when you were right there. Bruce's frown deepened for a moment. Clearly, he hadn't expected to have to face Jaybird's other life today.

It was a little funny when you stood upright from distributing pats and snoot boops to see Bruce notice the obvious though. Like he'd forgotten the slide show they've all been shown about how it worked and why it worked and why it was important to one choose your partners responsibly and two be responsible for you health and safety and at all times... Like he ever actually did that in his 20's.

He left space for the dogs to follow you into the house. Like your own little welcome parade- and followed up the rear, shutting the back door behind him and remembering to slip off his shoes. Even if you hadn't this time, snorting a little to himself. You had bigger stuff to worry about, but he wanted to be allowed back to play fun uncle. Dick kicked his shoes out of the way and hurried to the kitchen.

Jason was kissing you hello- not even sticking his tongue down your throat- and Bruce looked uncomfortable. "I didn't know you were coming home for lunch," Jason said, "I just put dinner in the crock pot. I could have made you a sandwich or something too."

"You called me earlier I thought you were bored today, I was gonna put you to work," you pout.

"And it's a slow day at the store too," Jason sighed. Shaking his head as he rubbed your hip. "I'm sorry, Angel." He must have worked you up more than he thought. And now instead of an hour or so of getting pleasantly railed and going back to work relaxed and satisfied you walked into an emotional minefield. God he owed you. He was gonna have to make you come until it got boring.

"You're pregnant," Bruce blurted out.

"Wow, you really are the world's greatest detective," you snap. " pardon me if I don't drop everything to introduce myself to someone who's thrown our lives into an uproar on a whim. If you Sit down and shut up I'll get to you when I'm ready."

"I-" Bruce started

Jason smiled and kissed the side of your head. Not Bruce Wayne, Not the president, not GOD. In your Kitchen as in your shop, your word was LAW. The only place anyone was allowed to outrank you was in the bedroom- and that was when you let them. "I'd do as she says," Jason said, watching you pour glasses of sweet tea and put cookies you'd baked with the kids on a plate. Bruce had been equivocating. Dancing around a lot of things.

But now that you were here. Patently freezing him out. Giving him drinks and snacks because he was there and that was the kind thing to do but otherwise pretending he was a void- treatment BRUCE of all people WAS NOT accustomed to. All while letting him tell Dick about your lives; he found it didn't MATTER about an apology anymore.

Bruce was who he was. And who he was SUCKED at apologies. So what mattered, at least to Jason was if he was ready to accept the apology he got.

[0oolookitsme]

So Despicable

Type - A One-Shot (yet again!)

Verse - Singer!Harry x Ceo!Y/n

Word Count - 2.1k

Warnings - Uses of degrading slurs such as slut and whore. Do not read if that's not your cup of tea!

A/n - Legit posting this an hour late and I'm sorry! I just finished proofreading and am right away posting this. Not exactly my best, but it's good! Hoping you'll think the same hahah <3

Kinks - Sir Kink, Degradation Kink, Choking and Begging (if you squint)

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST

Please rb to share!

As she turned the lock of her house, Y/n felt like her knees would simply give out if it took one more second to get the door to open. On the final twist of the key, she pushed the door open and immediately swung her purse on top of the shoe rack.

Bending to undo her heels, she left them thrown there and walked further inside the house. She was confused when she didn't find Harry downstairs but nevertheless poured herself a glass of water.

If he weren't down here, then he must be up in their bedroom or his office. Dreadfully, she climbed up the stairs, her shoulders droopy and her back aching after the long day. "Harry?" She called out, hoping that he would hear her and come out. Alas, he didn't.

She looked around in all the rooms before going inside the bedroom, dropping her body onto the mattress right away. After lying in silence for no more than a few seconds, she got up and fished her phone out of her purse – pressing on Harry's contact before putting the phone on speaker and stripping her clothes.

"'ello?" He answered, his voice serious in a way that made her doubt if he didn't know it was her on the other end of the call.

"Where are you, H?" She questioned him right away, picking the phone back up when the only clothings on her body were her under garments. "Searched the whole house, didn't find you."

It was silent for a moment, and Y/n felt that something was off. "I'm in the gym, didn't hear you come in," he said in that same tone and it was starting to make her skin crawl.

"Oh, I didn't check the gym. When are you going to be done?" She asked, fidgeting with her fingers as her mind raced a million miles per second to come up with all the things that she could've done or said wrong.

Yet, she came up empty. Harry wasn't the one to go to gym after noon, it happened rarely – mostly if he had been out and about during the morning time. So, it was clear that he was avoiding her.

"Dunno, should be done in half an hour," he said and she could tell he was doing push ups or something else by the sound of his strained voice and heavy breathing.

"Okay, I'm going in the shower," Y/n told him before he agreed and cut the call.

Taken aback, she shut out the situation before jumping into the shower and letting the warm water wash away all the stress off her muscles. After rinsing her hair rid of the shampoo, she came out of the shower, water still dripping from the ends of her hair.

When she turned around, her hand immediately went to her chest on a sharp intake of breath. "Fucking hell, Harry," she exhaled deeply, heat creeping up the back of her neck once she realised how ridiculous it was of her to get scared by the sight of him seated on their bed.

She just hadn't expected him to be there, that's all. "I'm sure there's still water left, I didn't shower for too long," she told him while walking towards their closet.

"Drop the towel and come here," Harry said, his voice deep and low. She couldn't help but ask him to repeat himself, caught off guard. "I won't repeat again, Y/n. Drop the towel, and come here," he said again, this time weighing down on each word as he spoke.

His arms were crossed across his chest, the veins more prominent because of his recent workout session. One of his legs dangled off the bed while the other one was folded. Nothing but a white undervest covered his upper half, a short pair of shorts clinging to his thighs.

Hesitant but because of her trust in him, Y/n dropped her towel and walked to him. Uncertainty and anticipation caused her hands to start fidgeting again. Slowly but surely, she reached right where he was sitting on the bed, her hands seemingly frozen on her sides as she stood upright, unable to move any further.

"Lay across my lap," Harry said, unfolding his leg and laying it straight on the bed to make the spot comfortable for her.

Y/n did so, all of the silence and holding-back of Harry was causing her brain to spiral. But one thing she knew was that whatever was coming, it wasn't going to be very holy.

She felt Harry's cold hand grab her ass before he started massaging it. That's when she knew she had surely done something wrong, because he was punishing her.

His palm met her ass cheek with a sharp blow, causing her to jerk forward. "Count for me," he told her, kneading her other cheek before hitting it with the same blow.

"2," Y/n counted, her voice shaking with thrill.

Harry watched her bum jiggle at the impact, the skin already begining to grow red. He stopped kneading the skin by the fifth blow when he couldn't hear pain in her voice. Now, he was just spanking – one side before the other. He was going at a fast pace, his hits unrelentlessly hard as he finally began hearing despair in her voice.

He kept going, not giving the skin much time before slapping it again.

"P-please, Harry–" Y/n stuttered, stopping when he gave a especially hard hit on her ass.

"What do you say? Have you forgotten your manners?" Harry said, his voice sterner than ever and Y/n was beginning to feel like he was being unnecessarily mean to her.

"Sir – It's Sir." She blabbered, answering him as if he would give her a reward. Yet, she was met with another hard spank. "W-what-ever have I done wrong, Sir?" She asked desperately, still lost on the cause for this side of him boiling up to the surface.

"A pathetic mess already? Can see your cunt glistening," he mocked her, swiping one of his fingers through her folds. "What have you not done wrong today? Cut my calls, answered back in short answers as if I were wasting your time, didn't even tell me if you were going to be back for the night or not," he answered her, massaging her bum.

"Didn't even apologize to me," he said, his eyes fallen into angry slits as he slapped her ass harshly.

He pushed her off of his lap and watched her roll over, unable to balance herself and get up. "Can't do anything right, can you?" Harry said as he pulled her up by her shoulders and sat her on her bottom.

She moved around, her bum hurting too much for her to sit on it. "Hurts," she whimpered, the corners of her eyes moist and wet hair sticking to the skin on her back, neck and forehead.

"Of course it does. Wouldn't have done it if it pleased you."

Both of them knew it pleased her. And if they didn't, then her juicy cunt would have surely given her away. She sat on her calves in front of him, her hands in her lap as she looked anywhere but in his eyes.

"Still, you aren't apologizing." Harry pointed out, causing her to flush. But before she could say anything, Harry pushed at her chest so she would fall on her back on the soft mattress.

Her legs immediately fell open in order for her to get comfortable, and just as she took notice, Harry's hand had already met her pussy in a harsh slap.

"Instead, you're pathetically dripping out of your hole," Harry sneered, slapping her puffy pussy again. A wet noise came from the impact and when he brought his hand back up, the string of her arousal connected them.

"So despicable you are."

Y/n jerked each time Harry hit her cunt, her thighs aching to close and protect her core yet she knew better than to do that. She counted each hit and once she counted the tenth slap, Harry dragged a finger across her dripping hole and covered her clit with her own arousal.

"I've been punishing you over here, and you've done nothing but drip out of that needy hole and blabber out the shit I've asked you to." Harry said as if he were disgusted. "Can't think of anything else with that dumb little brain of yours, can you?" He tsk'd at her, shaking his head.

He pinched her clit, laughing hoarsely when she instinctively closed her thighs shut. "Hook your hands under your knees," Harry instructed her and once she had done that, he was glad to have full access to her pussy.

He pinched her clit again, this time not releasing the hissing hold. With his other hand, he filled her hole with two of his fingers right away – sliding them in and out with great ease due to her wetness.

"Such a poor little thing you are, getting off on being a pretty whore – on me being mean to you," Harry crooned.

When she started to moan, he took her panties that she had taken off of herself before going into the shower, and stuffed them into her mouth. Pathetically enough, she hadn't stopped moaning even with the cloth in her mouth. The noise came out muffled, which Harry seemed to enjoy.

He then created an unrelenting pace, his back crouching in order to give all his strength in fucking her. He was still pinching her swollen clit, a grin plastered on his mouth as he heard the wet noises her pussy was making.

Her clit had grown red in colour due to his harsh pinch that didn't seem to know how to release its hold. "Fuck – fuck , sir. Sir I'm coming, I'm coming I'm so close –" Y/n stuttered as her body shook violently, her face scrunched up in pain and pure ecstasy.

Her body burned and her pussy pulsed as Harry continued fucking her with his fingers mercilessly. "What do you say?" Harry cooed at her, impossibly increasing his pace. "What do you say, my darling slut?"

Her eyes glazed over at the slur, tears springing in her eyes as she felt the knot begin to lower in her tummy.

"Can I please– please cum, Sir?" She said with great strain in a voice, like she was holding back.

"Why are you holding back? Not going to comply with your sir, hm?" Harry asked her his voice shaking due to his violent movement. "Guess I'll just deny you the permission, then."

Harry got off on dominating her. After all, she dominated all of the people around her, especially the ones in her office. She always had a hunger to control people, so the fact that he got to control what she would do or not do, dominate and manhandle her, and be mean to her like she was to most of her employees who deserved to be fired, he felt absolutely euphoric.

"Can I please cum," she cried out, her body shaking vigorously. "May I – may I please cum, Sir?" She cried again, repeating her request until it turned into beg for him to let her cum.

"Please, Sir!" She yelled, knowing that she wouldn't be able to hold back. "Please – please, let me come Sir," she kept on begging.

"Ah okay okay, don't need to be so annoying about it," Harry rolled his eyes, watching in amazement as she became a shouting mess.

He felt as her walls clenched around his fingers, and pinched her clit a bit harder. He heard her let out a final cry before she finally gushed all over his hand.

He maintained his pace as her cum spurted around due to his force. She arched off of the bed and pushed into his hand while heaving gibberish. "Fuck – fuck," she stammered, when he stopped and put his mouth on her – lapping at her as if he hadn't quenched his thirst all day.

"P-please, sir – sensitive," she whimpered, now trying to pull away from his mouth but unable to do so because of the position he had put her in. Her legs ached, but his palms laid flat on the back of her thighs as he sucked at her clit.

Harry finally detached his mouth from her and rose up, wiping his mouth with the back of his clean hand. He put the hand that was covered in her juices in front of her mouth, and ordered her to suck.

When she licked his hand clean, he wrapped it around her neck in a choking manner and weighed on it when he leaned down to get closer to her.

"See? You can be good, too." He grinned, pecking her cheek as she turned her face away from him to hide her rosy cheeks.

"God, I love you no matter what you be – my pathetic slut or my pleasing little darling," he chuckled, nipping at her jaw.

[heavilycaffeinatedsblog]

Ten followers left until I post the extra scenes from the Dear Reader-verse in celebration of 500 followers!

You guys voted and wanted to see more of Lance and Keith in their time after Keith graduates. There was a lot of interest in what Lance is like as a teacher… here’s a lil sneak peek :)

“They’re onto me!” Lance announced loudly the moment he opened the door.

Keith barely spared a glance from his massive textbook, humming in acknowledgement around the pen in his mouth.

“Keith, Keithy, Keithykins, did you hear me?” Lance dropped his bag with a huff, kicking off his shoes and shoving them with the other pairs near the door. “Code Red, I repeat, Code Red.”

Keith gave a slow blink, registering and looking up to see that his boyfriend was finally home from a long, arduous day of teaching the youth. “What?”

“The kids are figuring it out,” Lance moaned, dropping into the chair next to Keith.

“Figuring out what?”

Lance dropped his head onto the table. “That I’m a boy kisser.”

Im so excited for you guys to read it!!!

<3 caf

[lilacevans]

meet some of the pete's place regulars!

˚ ♡ ✧.* : ̗̀➛ requests by: two anons, @welight-theway, @crokitheloki, @hansensgirl, @buggy14, @leaderofthebadbitchbrigade.

✧.*ೃ⁀➷ pete's place | the intro | opening night | the playlist ༊*·˚

this is a dark au/verse. minors need not interact. happy endings don't happen here.

𝐀𝐧𝐝𝐲 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐞𝐫 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐋𝐚𝐰𝐲𝐞𝐫

41 years old.

6’2���’.

Suburban dad with a dark side. 

Likes flashing the cash for a look as he doesn’t get much attention back home.

Never misses stopping by when he’s in town.

Has a type and it just so happens to be you.

Brings you gifts; new outfits, new shoes, gold chains, etc, every single time he visits the club.

Will spend the whole night promising you the world– and his wallet, if you just go home with him.

Top Three: Daddy Kink, Overstimulation, Praise Kink. 

𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐫 𝐕𝐞𝐭

45 years old.

6’4’’.

Oh, what a nice man–

Warning sirens sound in the distance.

Danger! Danger! 

The man will make you beg, make you cry, rearrange your insides, make you fall in love and break you down all within a night.

The man is all kinds of fucked up. But knows how to hide it well.

Under Lloyds employement so like, you can guess the kinds of fucked up. 

Did awful things while serving in the army, brought some of that back home with him.

Protect you? More like slaughter anyone who gives you a momentary glance. 

Top Three: Rough (Violent) Sex, Service Kink, Corruption Kink.

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐛𝐨𝐲

28 years old.

6’1’’.

Cocky motherfucker, hot and he knows it.

The embodiment of a hyper puppy. 

Acts like he’s always got the zoomies whenever he’s in the club.

Annoys the absolute shit out of all the girls but he’s hot, so they deal with it.

Secretly a sweetheart but never shuts his mouth.

Gets a little too handsy when he’s had a drink– or five. 

Always asking Pete to loan him one of his girls for the night.

Don’t get him twisted, the guy FUCKS. and he's NASTY about it

Top Three: Dirty Talk, Deepthroating, Body Worship (receiving). 

𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐟

43 years old.

6’0’’.

Corrupt little wank, like’s to make Pete nervous when he comes around, but he’d never spill on the shady things as he likes the club’s views. 

Talks big shit but you’ll find him in the VIP rooms on a Saturday night. 

A little wrong in the head, but treat him right and he’ll make you scream. 

Can get a little rough with the girls when he's had a few.

Tight with money so always tries it on for a discount for not opening his mouth.

Has a big cock and is smug about it.

Likes 'em on their knees with an wide open mouth.

Top Three: Daddy Kink, Corruption Kink, Choking. 

𝐌𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐖𝐞𝐢𝐬𝐬 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐲𝐬𝐟𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐋𝐚𝐰𝐲𝐞𝐫

32 years old

6’0’’.

Troubled addict that’s in the club; Every. Single. Night.

Likes just to watch, girls kinda hate him in the club because he won’t even throw a dollar bill but will spend a paycheck on drinks and other things.

Spends money he doesn’t have, does the odd job for Pete when he’s in a little legal trouble which gets him the odd night in the VIP rooms.

Don’t underestimate him though.

Will have you crawling back for seconds.

While not the roughest by any means, get him high enough and annoyed enough, he’ll make sure you’re not walking for the next two weeks.

Top Three: High Sex, Overstimulation, Throat-Fucking. 

𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐊𝐞𝐦𝐩 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 ��𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐎𝐧𝐞

35 years old

6’1’’.

Idk, fam, somethings off about this one but we're gonna ignore it, okay?

Stares a little too long, kinda like he’s hunting.

Makes your heart race a little being around him– fuck or fight i guess. I know which I’m doing. 

Tips nicely but never wants a private dance, likes to watch and drop cash at your feet after.

Weirdo tbh. It’s not like he ain’t got the money. 

Sucks to be you if you decide to go home with him.

You ain't coming back, honey.

Top Three: Blood Play, Knife Play, Bondage/Rope.

*** if by chance, i have missed your req and you know you sent it before reqs were closed, please let me know asap so i can add it to this list!! thank u all sm for u patience. i love u all<33

[vase-of-lilies]

Sunday, Funday

❀ Mommies!WandaNat x Little!reader (f)

❀ MD/LG dynamics, fluff, forehead kisses🥺, featuring Pietro! 

❀ Request: mommies!wandanat having a fun day with little!r

❀ A/N: Thank you for the request, @fragilepuppi! I have adored and absolutely loved all of your requests so far. So thank you so so much! Sorry it took so long to post, I had written it but just hadn't posted it yet! But I hope you like it! This is a part of the Into the Tiny Verse series:)

“Mommy!!!! Mama!!!!!! Its Sunday!!!!!!!” You happily whisper-shout as you jump onto Wandas and Natashas shared bed. 

Unbeknownst to you, they were already awake, smiling to each other as they hear your pitiful attempt to be quiet in their room as you try to sneak up on them. Natasha is a spy, if she can hear a pin drop in a room full of talking and dancing people, then she can hear your soft pattering feet against her carpet. 

Wanda on the other hand, she knew you were coming in for the soul fact that she is emotionally connected to you. Her telekinetic abilities sensed that you were awake, and in need of something but felt your presence come closer to her. She knew you were on your way. 

Once you climbed onto your mommies bed, they pretended they were asleep so you could have the pride of giving them the element of surprise. Natasha smiled and kissed your forehead as you smushed your way in between her and Wanda, and you smiled up at her. 

“S’sunday mama! We gotta go have fun!” What you meant by that was a tradition that Wanda and Nat started with you where every Sunday the three of you would go out to get ice cream and go to the secluded park that stark built just for you and Peter. Your favorite part of the park was the tire swing that was connected to the large weeping willow surrounding the park. You could swing on it all day if you had the chance!

Your mommies helped you get ready for the day, helping you into your favorite pink, ruffly dress, the one with the bunny eating a carrot on the front, sat your wiggly body down on the couch to help you get your shoes on, and finally your jacket that you were stubborn about putting on. “But m’gonna get hot, mommy!” You whined as Wanda gently pulled your arms through the holes of your jacket. 

“Sweetheart, its raining outside and its only 60 degrees. You are wearing your coat or we will have to have a fun day at home.” Wanda said in a stern but gentle voice. You sighed and nodded in understanding as she zipped your jacket up to the top. The two women smiled at your appearance and took a sweet little picture of you, grumpy face and all. 

“Alright, do you want Peter to come with us?” Natasha asked, and you immediately shook your head. 

“No! Only wan mama and mommy,” you looked up at them and they looked like they were waiting for something else. “Please?” You finished, remembering to use your manners. Wanda smiled and held out her hand. 

“Alright, just us three! Lets go get your ice cream, and then we can go to the park. Sound good my little one?” She says and eagerly take her hand, pulling her to the door. Natasha shakes her head with a chuckle and follows along, getting her wallet ready for all the sprinkles you want on your [your favorite ice cream flavor] cone you get. As you skip along the hallway, they look at you in adoration, taking each others hands as they walk behind you. 

Leaving the compound was easy as everyone knew about yours and Peters ‘situations’. And with how powerful the avengers were, no one questioned what was going on. Sure some people gave judgmental looks, but they didn’t care. All it took to get someone running away was a glare from Nat and a glow-of-the eyes from Wanda. They took care of you and protected you with everything they had. 

As you got to your favorite Ice Cream parlor, you smiled up at the ice cream man. He was your favorite person to see other than your mommy and mama, of course! His name you didn’t know, but all you knew was he gave you extra ice cream scoops when your mommies were not looking. Wanda knew him personally and gave him a hug every time she saw him. They kind of look alike… you thought to yourself. But you shook off the thought and continued to watch as he poured extra sprinkles onto your cone. 

By the time you had gotten to the park, your face was covered in icy goodness and your hands were a sticky mess. Luckily Wanda was prepared and brought some water and soap, quickly cleaning you up before you went to play. Immediately when you were let go, you ran straight to the tire swing. It was like the playground didn’t even exist! Wanda and Nat followed you, knowing exactly what you were going to ask for next. 

As if on cue, you ask “Mommy? Mama? Can you p’ease push me? Wanna go sup’ high!”

With a big smile, Nat takes the first push, Wanda sitting down on the swing first and you happily climbing onto her lap. She wraps her arms around your waist and holds you against her tightly, not wanting you to fall off. Natasha pushes you both, the swing starting to move front and backwards. Your belly filled with butterflies as you soared through the air on the swing, your smile never falling! Your mommies loved it when you smiled like this, not a care in the world. Nothing could stop you form being this happy in this moment. Except one thing…

“Ok little one, its time to go home,” Natasha said, an hour later as you were now swinging alone while Wanda sat down on the bench. Your brows furrowed and you shook your head, holding onto the ropes of the swing with an iron grip. Natasha sighed and slowed the swing down, thinking to herself how cute you are, yet how stubborn and unwilling to leave something you loved behind for a couple days. 

“Noooooo, wan’ stay here forever…” you say weakly, getting sleepy from playing so long. Your mommies knew that it was time for your nap, and you knew it too but was having too much fun. Wanda gathered your things, and stood up. Walking over to the swing she knelt down. 

“Come on baby, we gotta get you down for your nap. Look how sleepy she is, Nat I don’t think that Bubbles would be too happy napping alone at home.” She brought your stuffy into this and your eyes watered. 

“Don wan bubbles to be alone!” You said, jumping off the swing and into Wandas arms. She smiled and gently kissed your head, letting you fall asleep in her arms as she carried you back to the compound. As your head laid on Wandas shoulder, Natasha watched over you two from behind you, watching you like a hawk. Your hand hung against Wandas back and Nat took that opportunity to clasp a charm bracelet around your wrist, a small token of their love to you, and a little surprise for when you woke up. 

Opening your nursery door, you felt Wanda lay you down in your bed, and you whined. You wanted to stay with your mommies, and nap with them. “M-mommy mama….” They knew you were too little to form any sentences now, so they obliged to your silent command and took you to their bed instead, Bubbles’s fluffy paw clenched in your fist. As they laid down with you, Wanda smiled at your sleeping form, sighing as you finally hit your dreaming state. 

“We need a better way to have her listen when its time to go…” Wanda said to Nat, who fully agreed with her.

“Until then, lets just stick with bubbles being lonely without her. She has the biggest heart and would hate to keep him waiting. I bet she will wake up and want Bubbles to have a bottle too.” Natasha chuckles and wraps her arms around you and Wanda, relaxing into the bed with you and her wife in her arms. All safe and sound. 

[thorin-is-a-cuddler]

Dark words and warm hugs

A/N: Benedict steals a poem from underneath your nose to get on your nerves, willing to read it out to the entire family. But he does not expect the poem to be as sad as it turns out to be. Hurt/Comfort fanfic with mostly Benedict and (Y/N), but Colin, Eloise, Hyacinth and Gregory also play a role in it. (I have left open what exactly the poem is about so that everyone can put a spark of themselves into this! I hug you all!)

“Benedict! Give. It. BACK!”

Decisively you stomped after your brother who was scurrying into the living-room like a giddy cookie thief, holding a folded sheet of paper in his hand. Hyacinth looked up in wonder from the pianoforte, while Gregory and Colin stopped swinging wooden swords at each other. Eloise didn’t even bother raising her eyes from her book, quite contrary to your mother who dropped the newspaper onto the table before her so suddenly that the paper got wrinkled. Sighing loudly, she followed her second youngest daughter and her second eldest son with attentive eyes to make sense of the sudden commotion.

Benedict quickly took shelter behind one of the sofas and teasingly waved the paper in his hand, when you came to a halt on the other side of the piece of furniture.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he taunted, the smugness making his smirk seem almost devilish, “now be a good sister and stay right where you are! We are civilized people after all!”

“So civilized,” you fired back at him with a force that made your mother flinch and Colin blink, “that you come into my room and steal poems from under my nose! It is not ready, give it back to me!”

“Now, now, that is a very serious accusation, dearest sister! I did not steal a single thing, I simply picked it up to- HGH!” The unexpected manoeuvre to jump on the sofa and attempt to grab your brother behind it failed, when Benedict circled it fast enough to end up behind the backrest of the one standing on the other side of the room. Next to it, your mother was sitting at a small table, watching you both with growing surprise.

“(Y/N), would you please refrain from climbing on the furniture with your shoes on!” She chastised half-heartedly, too enraptured in the quick changing of positions you and your brother were engaged in at the very moment to think of ending it all with one simple order.

Your shoulders slumped down and your voice was tinted by utter disappointment when you directed your complaint at your mother. “Mamma, how can you tell me off when my so called brother is the one who is acting like a complete child-“

“Oh, scarry moon, oh splendid field-“

“NOO!!” You screamed so loud that Gregory actually yelped in pain and proceeded to cover his ears. Benedict giggled like a three year old as he interrupted his aloud reading of your verses to escape yet another one of your attempts to get your hands on him. You ended up on opposite sides of the sofa, Eloise was reading on, and she did not seem happy about the disruption.

“Can’t you take your shenanigans outside?” She groaned, when you had circled her sofa twice, Benedict still giggling and you still huffing in frustration.

“Why is not one of my beloved siblings considering to help me??” You called out in frustration, glaring daggers at your smirking brother who thought himself invincible in that very moment.

“Perhaps they are all as excited as I am to hear what our dear sister puts onto paper on this lovely, lovely morning!” Benedict declared, as he tried to peek another glance at the dark lines covering the page.

“Well, perhaps it is not meant for either of your eyes to see nor ears to hear!!” You extended your hand meaningfully to demand your poem back from your brother, but he merely made a pitiful grimace and sucked in the air through his teeth apologetically.

“Ah, see, (Y/N), the problem is that that only intrigues me even more.”

And with that he resumed his reading – silently at the very least – as he continued to stumble away from your attempts to get him to stop. Until he did actually stop. His expression changed entirely, from humorous to serious, and he looked up from the paper with blue eyes full of remorse. That only made it worse for you.

“(Y/N), I…”

“Are you happy now??” You shouted, feeling anger put its feeble hands around your throat and suffocate your voice with tears and shame. “You think everything is so funny! Well, sometimes it’s not!” Deeply hurt, you ripped the paper out of his hands and threw your fists against his chest once with force. He barely moved from the impact, but shrunk in on himself nevertheless, his eyes dripping with regret and his lips growing hard.

You didn’t wait for another word from anyone of your shocked family, turned on your heels and hurried out of the grand room to find solace and shelter in your own space. You heard Benedict shout your name again, but did not look back. With the back of your hand you brushed away the tears that threatened to fall, as you ran up the stairs, far away from the shame that was left in the room with everyone else. You shut the door behind you, turned the key in the lock and hid yourself in your bed to cry and to forget about it all – the shame, Benedict’s look of horror when he realized what you had written, but mostly the thing itself. You promised yourself never to write about such matters again, if the only outcome was the incomprehension of everyone you cared about.  

It hurt you especially that it had been Benedict who had reacted that way. Anthony, alright, Daphne, sure. But Benedict? You’d always considered him to be the most empathetic Bridgerton, the softest and sweetest. But apparently his understanding knew its limits as well. You wanted him to come to your room and make it all better again, but at the same time you didn’t want him anywhere near you in that moment. You were not sure, you’d be able to take it if you brother were to treat this matter as if it disgusted him, as if you disgusted him.

No, for now, all that was left for you was your pillow and the safe warmth of your blanket.

It did not take long for Benedict to come to your door and knock as carefully as if he was knocking on a wound he did not mean to worsen any further.

“(Y/N)?”

You put a pillow over your head and tried to sink deeper into your sheets to disappear from the face of the earth forever.

“(Y/N), can I please talk to you? Please?”

As always, your brother’s gentle voice made you feel weak and defenceless and stirred the need to be held and cradled by him for many hours until nothing hurt anymore. But this time, his voice also carried a needle with it that stung you in the lungs and made it harder to breathe.

“Go away,” you called weakly, your own words making you sad enough to bring tears to your eyes. You did not actually want him to go, but you were also scared to face his judgement on your words.

You could hear your brother let out a shuddered breath before your door – he was not used to you telling him to ‘go away’ in a serious manner and it hurt him like an actual weapon. His pain only worsened your own, since it all seemed to come from you; you were the source of all the pain that circulated in the Bridgerton mansion that very day and you did not know how to make it stop.

“(Y/N), please,” Benedict asked again, his voice shaking ever so slightly. “Can I please be there for you right now? Please. Please.”

The pauses between his words made your tears roll down your cheeks big and hot and painful. Why did your brother have to use lines that made your insides feel weaker than pie filling? Of course, you wanted him to be there for you. You did not want him to think less of you. You did not want to see an ounce of wariness in his eyes. All you wanted was for him to forget you’d ever written the lines of that day. Perhaps, he would grant you that wish…

“Wait,” you sniffed out shakily and got up from your bed. With a thumping heart in your chest, you walked to the door and unlocked it, only to then make a run for your bed again in order to hide your tear stained face from Benedict’s curious eyes.

You heard the door creak as it opened and the gentle click when it closed again. Footsteps approached the bed carefully and came to a halt right next to you.

You squeezed your eyes shut, when you felt the mattress move beneath his weight and turned you face away, when your brother lifted the light blanket you were hiding beneath to slip underneath it as well. He let it fall around the two of you, the light of the day bright enough to make everything perfectly visible under the textile’s protection.

“Hey,” he breathed out in a consoling tone, his hand gently curling around your shoulder. Your lips turned into a thin line to keep quiet, but a sob shook your body so violently that nothing could have contained or concealed it. “Oh, (Y/N), it’s alright. It’s going to be alright. I am here!” You wanted to stay turned away from your brother, but he repeated such nice calming words while rubbing over your back that you would have needed a heart of stone to remain indifferent. Violently, you turned around and threw your arms around him, your following sobs muffled by his white shirt. He wrapped his arms around you as tightly as possible and carded his fingers through your hair, repeating a calming noise until your sobs turned from earthquakes into human noises again that allowed you to speak.

“I am sorry I hit you!” You stuttered into your brother’s arm, holding on to his shoulders for dear life to un-hug the way you’d pushed him earlier. Benedict made a disregarding noise and rubbed your back a few times to convince you of how little it meant to him.

“Please, (Y/N), you had every right to be angry with me. There is nothing you need to feel sorry for. I should never have read that poem. You did not want me to do it and I did not respect that. It is I who is sorry. Truly sorry!” It was his turn to bury his face in your shoulder and hold on to your shoulders, asking for forgiveness with every fragile breath that blew against your ear. It saddened you so much that fresh tears sprang to your eyes. You copied his movement from earlier and started rubbing up and down his back to soothe him. Apparently he had been just as scared as you had been that you might treat him coldly or with little understanding. The thought seemed ridiculous to you now – as if that could ever have truly happened with you or Benedict.

“At the same time, I am glad I read it, (Y/N). I am glad I got to see the fears you are apparently dealing with all by yourself. They are very substantial and best not shouldered alone.” For the first time since he’d entered your room, you moved your face in front of his, letting him see the wreckage of your puffy eyes and witnessing the red-rimmed ones of his. You gently pushed your ever-cold fingers against his cheeks and felt your lips twitch, when his eye-lids closed in relief.

“I was scared you might think them weird. Or rather … me!” You admitted, breathing out calmly when your brother’s hands moved up to cup your face. He opened his blue eyes and looked at you fondly.

“Nothing could ever make me think you weird,” he stated with emotion in his voice. “You are my sister and I will tease you for the rest of your days, but unless you drink exotic tea from Greece, I will never ever think you weird!”

That actually made you laugh despite the tear-heavy weight on your voice. His features immediately grew lighter again and his lips curled upwards.

“And I must say,” he continued, “the dark issue aside – it was a really good poem.”

“You think so?” You asked surprised, your eyes growing wider.

He nodded meaningfully. “Yes! You have a way with words, (Y/N). It is a talent you should pursue further! Don’t be scared of the dark parts it might reveal within you. But never forget to talk to me about it…”

“In fact,” you looked him in the eyes, lifting the blanket a little with your hand to be able to look at them directly, without any fabric getting in the way, “I was going to ask you to forget you’ve ever read the one from this morning… I don’t wish to remember it myself!”

Benedict narrowed his eyes for a moment, before he made a quick gesture next to his head, accompanied by a grimace. “Done!” He exclaimed. “I have successfully forgotten everything about it.”

You were about to roll your eyes, when he gasped loudly. “In fact I seem to have forgotten everything else as well. How did I get here? Why are we under this blanket? Who are you??”

Biting your tongue usually helped, when you wanted to keep from laughing, but not when it came to Benedict. A grin worked its way on your face as you tried to grab a hold of his gesticulating hands. “Ben, stop!”

“Where am I? Who am I??” He threw the blanket off the two of you, allowing for you both to breathe fresh air again and get blinded by daylight, as you tried to get a hold on your exaggerating brother.

“Ben!!” You chuckled, fighting to keep him on the mattress as he moved into a sitting position.

“I am not even sure of what I am anymore! A cat, a man, a weasel??”

“You are so silly!” You groaned through your laughter, sitting up as well and placing your hands on his shoulders.

Benedict squinted his eyes at you insecurely and stopped his little act, a blush creeping over his cheeks. “Not too silly, I hope.”

You remembered the words you had fired at him earlier, about how everything seemed to be funny to him. Apparently you had scratched at his core with that statement. Regret came over you again and you slumped in on yourself slightly. To make up for it, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pushed your head against his, humming when you felt one of his arms warm on your own.

“No, brother, you are not too silly for me!”

He gently rubbed his hand over your arm for a while, indulging in the hug for a few moments, before he suddenly made his upper body fall back on the sheets, taking you down with him. With a quiet shriek, you fell on his chest, laughing brightly, when his hands grabbed for you and pulled you entirely on top of him. His glinting blue eyes promised schemes of mischief and fun.

“How about we make you fly again, like when you were little?”

You scoffed meaningfully and pushed yourself up slightly, you fingers digging into his collarbone making him flinch – something you noted with a little smirk. “I am way too heavy for that now, brother!”

“Says who?”

“Says I!” You squeezed his sides playfully, making him yelp and bark out a breathy laugh. You waggled your eyebrows at him.

“I think there are better ways to entertain ourselves now!”

“Don’t even think about it!” He threatened with a determined look in his eyes. But your position gave you quite the advantage, so there was little he could do, when your hands decided to find their way past his arms and into his armpits, forcing him to throw his head back with deep, hearty laughter.

“NO PLEASE!” He giggled instantly, turning his head from left to right and trying to push you off, which included getting his hands on your knees and squeezing them rapidly. That was unfortunately a counter attack that worked quite well on you and so you found yourself pinned underneath him way too quickly, doomed to suffer at the hands of the ingenious tickler your brother was, always had been and always would be.

“Oh how the turn tables,” he laughed, as his hands wandered up and down your shaking sides, reducing you to a giggling mess and leaving you no chance to wiggle out from underneath him.

You were laughing so hard, you barely heard your door opening a crack with Colin peering inside, the younger siblings and Eloise by his side. Benedict only noticed it, when Colin whispered something to Hyacinth and Gregory and they came storming in with a war cry, jumping on top of their older brother and trying to push him off of you. Benedict’s exaggerated wails of terror and your younger siblings rather quirky attempts to overpower him made your laughter only increase. Benedict felt compelled to raise his arms and shout “I am not touching her!” to prove himself innocent of your hysterics, but that only made matters easier for the legacy of siblings at your service now. Hyacinth used the opening to start tickling underneath Benedict’s arms, while Gregory pushed at your brother to make him fall over. Benedict couldn’t keep from chuckling at Hyacinth’ technique, but grabbed Gregory, your knight in shining armour to subdue him to some tickling of his own. This was when Colin emerged into the room, with Eloise following suit, both of them pointing fingers at Benedict.

“We see the advance-guard has been overpowered. But we will not be such easy targets!”

Eloise cackled smugly, when she saw Benedict’s expression turn quite horrified at the outlook of such a team fighting against him and immediately let go off the giggling Gregoy. You wrapped your arms around your youngest brother and bit your lip in anticipation of what was to come next. It moved you that the other four had come to help you. It moved you that Benedict had come up to make things alright again, but things would look even brighter, in your opinion, if your second oldest brother would have to fight off an entire Bridgerton army at your service.

Benedict seemed to reconsider his options and huffed out a scared little chuckle, raising his hands. “Now… we’re all good friends here, are we not?”

Eloise, Colin, Hyacinth and Gregory all looked at you with expectant brows and you couldn’t help but let out a laugh. “I’d say… on him!”

Benedict made a choked noise in his throat and grabbed his chest to convey the amount of betrayal he felt. “You too, Brutus?” But he winked at you and he was already laughing at his siblings’ antics before anyone of the others had come near to touching him. With a loud war cry they wrestled him onto the sheets and proceeded to tickle him wherever they could reach. Eloise was expertly subduing his knees to spidery tickles, while Hyacinth squeezed his legs and Gregory and Colin dug their hands into all the open spots on his upper body. Benedict had probably not known how hard he could laugh, but it was highly infectious and forced you all to chuckle alongside him. You put an end to their attack rather quickly and tried to wrap your arms around them all at the same time to pull them all into a big hug.

No matter what fears sometimes kept you gnawing at the end of your pencil as you wrote into your books, nothing was greater a remedy to your anxiety than the family you had. And when Benedict pulled you into his arms, still warm from laughing, you weren’t scared of a thing in the world.

[makethatelevenrings]

It’s White and Gold // D. Grayson x f!reader

Requested: yes!

Warnings: insecurity

Summary: You would be stepping out in public as Dick Grayson’s girlfriend for the very first time and you needed something formal to wear. Well, fuck.

Part of assassin!verse but can be read alone

“Well, I think the only reasonable solution here is that I go ask Ivy if she can concoct something that will keep me housebound for a week and we have to cancel the date,” you announced from the other side of the curtain. Stephanie booed as Cassandra tossed a shoe at your feet. You emerged from the thick rayon fabric and sent a half-hearted glare at the three women seated in front of you. You spun in a slow circle, your arms extended at your side to show off the dress Cass had picked out. Barbara glanced up from her phone and scrunched her nose up.

“Nah. Too much sequins. That would be so uncomfortable to eat in,” she declared. You dropped your arms to your sides and grimaced. She was right. The little plastic circles dug into your skin and it would be a bitch and a half to move around in.

“Fuck it. I’m staying home,” you declared.

“Who taught her that word?” Damian sighed as he emerged from the racks. “Right. Todd. I don’t know why I even bothered to ask. May I just say, those sequins are awful.”

“Thank you, tiny Tan France,” Stephanie said. “We get it. It’s a bad dress.”

“Sorry, Steph.” You knew she wasn’t taking the criticism to heart even if she had picked the dress. It was just the first time you would be going on a real date with Dick to some high-end Bludhaven restaurant as both a PR opportunity and as a mission. Rumor had it that a certain politician would be present with one of the largest cartel leaders and Dick needed a chance to bug their dinner and gather intel. 

Which meant that you would be stepping out in public as Dick Grayson’s girlfriend.

Dick Grayson, the son of the Prince of Gotham. The Heartthrob of Bludhaven.

The man who fell asleep into his oatmeal this morning.

“Is it too late for me to fake my death, change my name, and fall off the face of the earth?”

“Been there, done that,” Damian hummed. “Father can’t possibly do even more of that paperwork. It nearly took him out the first time.”

Cass nodded. “No, no. This could work. He ate the last oreos. Go ahead. Fake your death.”

“No one is faking anyone’s death,” Barbara cut in. “Let’s just try a different store.”

You groaned. “This is the fourth store we’ve tried and we have three hours until reservations. I might as well just go in sweats and call it a night.”

Stepping back into the dressing room, you ignored the bickering outside from your entourage and instead focused on stripping off the dress and putting it back on the hanger. It wasn’t your fault you didn’t have any formal wear. You were never assigned jobs where you needed to get dressed up. Your role was always to hide in the shadows, not to be seen. This was the exact opposite of what your training required and it was starting to grate on your nerves. How could you do this?

As if he could sense your frustration, your phone rang from the pile of your belongings tucked on the bench in the dressing room. You picked it up and glanced at the caller ID, a small smile crossing your lips as you swiped your thumb across the screen and answered.

“Hi, Buttercup,” Dick greeted. Warmth suffused through your veins at his soft greeting and you ducked your head as heat rose to your face. Fucking hell, you had at least seventeen confirmed kills under your belt and Richard Grayson made you feel like a schoolgirl with a crush.

“Hey,” you replied. “Are you cool with me wearing a bathrobe and slippers to dinner tonight?”

He laughed and you wished desperately that he was here in this tiny dressing room with you. You wanted to feel his hands enclose around your waist, stroke along your skin, and kiss your temple. You wanted to feel the safety he offered. You had four Batlings sitting on the other side of the flimsy curtain and you had years of training, but you never felt as safe as you did when Dick was near.

“Babe, you could wear one of my old shirts and those cute little shorts you wear and I wouldn’t care. I take it shopping isn’t going well?”

“I didn’t realize Damian religiously watches Queer Eye and Drag Race because you would think I’ve committed the most egregious fashion sins with the options I picked.”

He laughed again and then sighed. “I figured it wasn’t going well since you weren’t home yet. Stop stressing yourself out, baby, I can hear you thinking over the phone. Anything you wear is going to look amazing, okay? Just wear whatever makes you comfortable.”

“But the media…”

“Fuck the paparazzi. Fuck them all. Your comfort is more important than a stupid magazine cover.”

You gave up fighting the grin that spread across your face and shook your head. Holding the phone with one hand, you tugged your pants on with the other. “Okay. We’ll try one more store and if I can’t find anything, I’ll come home and figure it out.”

“Good. I miss you, Buttercup.”

“Miss you too, Westley.”

You hung up so you could pull your shirt over your head (it was actually Dick’s shirt that you had stolen but he wasn’t going to argue) and gathered up your wallet and keys. You emerged from the dressing room to join the others and your little gaggle of Batlings led you to another shop at the mall.

“Wait,” you called once your eyes caught on a mannequin in the window of some store. Steph nearly collided with you when you stopped in the middle of walking. The blonde examined the outfit and a crooked grin spread across her face.

“Oh, that’s perfect,” she cooed. “Let’s go try it on.”

Dick kept himself entertained as he waited for you by playing fetch with Haley. Cass and Steph had practically shoved you into the apartment with a bag clutched in your hand, waved at Dick, and disappeared as you darted towards the bedroom before he could say anything. He was glad he already changed into his tux because the clock was inching closer to your reservation time.

The bedroom door creaked with its aged hinges but it was enough to catch his attention. Dick raised his head and promptly lost all ability to breathe, think, and speak. You offered him a shy smile and ran your hands over the soft fabric that clung to your body. A thick strap rested over one shoulder, leaving your neck and arms exposed, and pulled taut across your chest. You had forgone a dress, but the jumpsuit was still formal enough for the restaurant you were attending.

And it was Nightwing blue.

“How does it look?” you asked, your voice quiet with apprehension. Dick sucked in a big gulp of air and he dropped the ball in his hand, sending Haley scrabbling across the wood in pursuit. He rose and crossed the room to stand before you. His hands rose to hover over your hips as his eyes raked over every inch of your body.

“Beautiful,” he whispered. His hands finally came down to settle on your waist and then drifted down to cup the back of your thighs, pulling you into his chest. You laughed at his desperation and eagerness.

“Is that a knife strapped to your thigh?” he murmured against your lips. You fixed the lapels of his suit and smoothed them down, a mischievous smile taking hold of your face.

“Ready to go to work, Mr. Grayson?” you teased.

“I owe Steph my life,” he groaned.

Tag List: @someoneimsure​ @perpetual-fangirl900​ @visagebrise​ @cursedandromedablack​ @alexxavicry​ @the-wayward-daughter​ @raging-trash-of-mind​ @bunny-kawa​ @khaylin27​

[wheatwhip]

My interpretations for the visuals of epic:

In "Luck Runs Out" when Odysseus and Eurylochus are speaking in private, there is a sun, visible between them in the background. This composition is repeated in both the second half of "Mutiny" and "Thunder Bringer". The sun's position in the sky progresses every scene towards a sunset until it's fully absent during the "we'll die" "i know" scene.

Every time the Cyclops is alluded to, the focus character has an eye hidden. Does not have to be Odysseus

In "The Underworld" every person not on the ship is turned away and their face can't be seen. Aswell Polities is not talking to Odysseus, but the infant.

Also in "The Underworld", the bit right before Odysseus says goodbye to his mom, he is on the edge of the ship, trying to get a glimpse of her, and the brief instrumental is Eurylochus pulling him back. The following Chorus he turns to Eurylochus and is talking to him directly and then the crew, as if seeking out comfort.

This one is the most important to me okay. In "Suffering", each line he proceeds to undress a little (taking off his shoes when he says he's too shy, and his shirt(?) when he says can't you let me stay dry) and when he asks her to come up onto the ship she takes his hand and does, successfully letting her believe he's been fooled, and when he says the final line, they're standing on the ship together and he stabs her similarily to how Circe attempted in "There Are Other Ways"

In "Suffering" and "Different Beast", the daughter is played by a real younger siren and while Odysseus sings, Siren!Penelope is looking at her and the other caught sirens. The second chorus, she breaks away from Odysseus to go to her sisters and it's holding the face of the youngest one, that she and the others swallow their pride to beg for their lives.

In "There Are Other Ways" Circe gives Odysseus a flower that is in some way in his hair. This remains until "Different Beast" where during the line where he instructs his men to cut off their tail, he rips it out.

In "Scylla" the crew's guard is mostly down after she says Hello, all of the crew is looking to Odysseus, waiting for him to speak. After he tells them to row for their lives, it takes them a second to because of the shock

At the start of "Mutiny", the remaining crew does not seem to believe Eurylochus, slowly accepting and realizing by the time he's giving examples as their gaze turns to Odysseus instead.

Every time the Cyclops is alluded to, the focus character has an eye hidden.

At the very beginning of "Thunder Bringer", during the instrumental, the shot is actually of Ithaca where Penelope removes a bracelet/necklace/ribbon and sets it down, but an Eagle comes and swipes it. We then follow the flying eagle and back to the boat. During Penelope's verse, the eagle drops the item to Odysseus. Ideally this is incorporated into his design afterwards as a symbol of devotion and possibly to then end where on their reunion he returns it.

[spookyserenades]

Trouvaille - Drabble #1

Pairing(s); BTS OT7 x Reader

Genre/Themes; Hybrid!AU, themes of the supernatural and the occult, religious themes, violence, hurt/comfort, horror, romance

Rated; 18+ for swearing, violence/gore, future sexual themes. Reader discretion is advised.

Word Count; 2.2k

Trouvaille Masterlist

Trouvaille playlist

Drabble Prompt from @oopscoop

The last of Y/N’s family were bidding their goodnights by the gate, her heady, flowery scent mingling with various other, less enticing, smells of the backyard. Though she was yards away, and the voices of her and her relatives weren’t audible apart from distinguishing who was speaking even with hybrid ears, it didn’t stop the seven hybrids waiting for her to return from trying to catch onto every word she uttered. Tension was palpable between several of them, but there was nothing to do but endure– this was how it was going to be from now on, and for most of them, they hoped it lasted. Time spent with Y/N, that is; the tension, the other hybrids… Well, it was a package deal. 

“Fucksake, Jimin,” Yoongi hissed, the tipsy coyote hybrid grasping a fistful of Yoongi’s long hair to lower himself down onto one of the picnic blankets Y/N had laid out for them. “You think you had enough whiskey? You reek.”

The fabric of the blankets were well worn, threadbare, and Y/N’s scent clung to them tantalizingly so. It was enough to drive any hybrid crazy, but Y/N could hardly know that. She had admitted to each of them that she wasn’t well versed in the behaviors of hybrids, which was proving to be a tricky sort of situation to navigate. 

Everything about their adoptions was unconventional. It was rare that a normal human would ever adopt more than two hybrids, especially of the exotic variety. Adoptions of more than two hybrids (all at once, not to mention) usually spelled trouble for the hybrid; certain death or exploitation, usually. But here they were, with a seemingly average young woman– who was either out of her head or far too much of a champion for the underdog for her own good– in a sleepy suburban town outside of Boston, with shelter, food, and care. It seemed far too good to believe, and in fact, Jeongguk, Hoseok, and Namjoon were waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

She was pleasant, though– Y/N. Hoseok admired her ability to stay upbeat no matter what sort of stumbling block the others threw her way. Seokjin appreciated the fact that she didn’t pry for information, and Yoongi had never met a human so quick to treat a hybrid like an equal, rather than a pet or a wild animal. 

None of the hybrids had ever been formally adopted before, so it was hard to know what to expect from Y/N. She was a young woman, younger than all of the hybrids she adopted, and lived in a rickety old house all by herself. Did she adopt them out of loneliness, pity, or boredom? Sure, she hadn’t done anything to warrant too much suspicion yet, but letting guards down was something Jeongguk and Namjoon were hesitant to do. 

But she was somewhat irresistible. Her scent, her smile, the sound of her voice calling their names… there was no one in the world quite like her. Perhaps it was instinct, to stake claim over their adoptive guardian, to react so viscerally to the sound of their names leaving her lips, the concentration of her scent when she was near. Maybe it was her kindness, or her acceptance; maybe they’d never know. 

“That was a blast. Y/N has some cool friends, and little Daisy was so cute…” Hoseok sighed, grinning from ear to ear as he recalled some of the interactions he had throughout the day. He had never had such an opportunity; to simply mingle and have fun, enjoy the summer afternoon, and drink and eat to his heart’s content. It had his heart soaring in his chest. 

“Yeah, you seemed in your element with what’s-her-name,” Jeongguk drawled from the other blanket, aiming his exhale of cigarette smoke towards the back of Taehyung’s head. Jeongguk didn’t trust any of the other hybrids he had been stuck with after being “adopted”, but he distrusted Taehyung the most. There was something off about him, for sure, and Jeongguk wasn’t a fan of wildcards. “Alison?”

“Alice, was her name. She was one of the twins, Y/N’s best friends,” Seokjin volunteered, trying his best to keep his voice steady in the presence of the raging bonfire. He focused by recalling facts, which he found kept him calm and collected, particularly when they involved the details of Y/N’s life. While she was still quite a mystery to him, he couldn’t help but feel drawn like a moth to a flame– everything about her seemed interesting, and he wanted to know what she liked, disliked, and how she thought. 

“Yeah, she’s cute. Hysterical, too. She was telling me about some of her adventures with Y/N in high school. They used to be pretty wild, from what she told me,” Hoseok chuckled, remembering a story Alice told him about her and Y/N’s trips to deserted MBTA tracks with smuggled Jack Daniels in plastic water bottles, a portable speaker, and pinky finger sized joints on Friday nights in high school.

“That’s what humans tend to do in high school, is it not? Rebel, be reckless?” Namjoon commented, a note of agitation and perhaps envy coloring his rich voice. 

Everything about the situation he was in rubbed Namjoon the wrong way. He never wanted to be adopted, let alone surrounded by other hybrids he’d have to share a guardian with God forbid he was put in that kind of situation. Besides, Namjoon could hardly fathom that he’d been adopted by a frivolous young girl, no matter that she was the daughter of someone he had grown to respect and admire. Humans ended up all being the same, to him. Selfish, wasteful, and foolish.

“That’s what people do, in general, at that age, Namjoon,” Jimin managed, though his speech was a bit more slurred than he would have hoped.

 Jimin felt for the hybrids around him, he truly did. They had entirely different upbringings than he, and guilt festered in his gut over that fact since he had gotten to know each of them over the past week. He wasn’t very used to being around hybrids that were so… untamed. At the ranch, the hybrids he worked with were closer to humans in behavior than anything else, perhaps because they constantly dealt with the public in the park. Really, hybrids weren’t so different from humans, and he couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that the others he lived with now didn’t seem to agree. 

Namjoon rolled his eyes, frankly tired of dealing with the rest of the hybrids that night. He’d had his fill at the cookout, where he watched them prance around and get wasted with humans, strangers. He stuck with Y/N’s mother for most of the afternoon, her presence truly the only comforting one. While she was a little strange, he found the older woman wise and quite kind, which was rare for a human. 

Taehyung was good at turning others out. He found it easy to ignore the voices around him, choosing to focus on just one, alluring voice from across the yard. The Kodiak hybrid had no intentions of befriending any of the other hybrids he’d been adopted with, but Y/N– she was a different story. Gentle, sweet, and understanding. Taehyung worried that with everything that had happened to him, everything that he had done in the past, would drive her away. And that was one of the only things that had ever, truly, scared him. 

Aware of the other two hybrids behind him keeping their distance, Taehyung shrunk to make himself smaller, picking at the silky material of his ruby button-down. Y/N thought it looked nice on him, and that it went well with his eyes; no one had gotten close enough to him to notice the color of them. Something curled in his gut, a fluttering sensation, and he desperately tried to squash the butterflies battering around in there. 

“What’s she holding, Seokjin? Can you see from here?” Yoongi grimaced, not thrilled with his current task of holding up an intoxicated coyote hybrid on his shoulder. 

He’d do it for Y/N, though– the thought of Jimin hanging off of her in his tipsy state had a fair bit of fury coursing through his bloodstream. Counting his breaths and holding onto sanity, Yoongi tried to squint through the orange flames of the bonfire, catching the soft, wispy lavender fabric of Y/N’s dress. She was hugging her mother goodbye, which made the leopard hybrid’s heart twang painfully, but he couldn’t help but study her figure from head to toe, no matter how far away she was. 

“I can’t tell. She’s got sticks, or something,” Seokjin replied quizzically, his fiery eyes narrowing in Y/N’s direction. 

“It’s a s’mores kit, you bunch of dumbasses,” Jeongguk stubbed out his cigarette on the bottom of his shoe, tossing the butt into his empty drink cup. “Aren’t you all predators? You should be able to smell the chocolate better than I can.”

Jeongguk had gotten past Y/N’s incessant need to treat all of them to sweets and surprises. At first, it felt cheap, or perhaps forced. After his little… departure from dinner when he first arrived and he tore her head off just a tad, he realized that her intentions weren’t forced at all. That’s just the way she was, maybe too indulgent in them, and definitely a little naive. At least she was harmless, Jeongguk concluded, and he’d gotten to learn some of the practices of a witch while he lived there, however long that was. 

“God, you are such an asshole,” Yoongi griped, honestly ready to throw the elk hybrid through a window. Y/N, though, would be horrified, so he had to hold back the overwhelming urge. 

“Hey, stop swearing! She’s coming,” Jimin suddenly seemed to have a moment of sobriety, not fond of the way the other hybrids let expletives fly free around Y/N. 

All ears perked up at once, the sound of the old wooden gate latching shut and Y/N somewhat stomping over to them, though a bright smile was stretching across her pretty face as she registered all the hybrids clumped together on the blankets. She seemed to be a touch on the tipsy side still; a flush to her skin, wobble in her step, and the slight scent of booze mingling with her sweet fragrance. Humming, her eyes swept over each of them slowly, each hybrid stiffening a degree when eye contact was made, but Y/N was oblivious to that. 

“My boys, hope you had a nice day,” Y/N spoke, as if she had been saying that to them their whole lives. 

Too quietly for her to hear, Seokjin purred in surprise, heat spreading through his cheeks, while Hoseok’s russet tail from beside him began to wag a little in response to her words. Jimin found himself incredibly flustered, between seeing her in that dress again so close and the way she looked so endeared, and he was thankful Yoongi was holding him up. 

The leopard hybrid, however, felt a twinge of jealousy– it was regrettable, really, that he’d have to share her with the others. Outweighing the jealousy, though, was the pounding of his heart, having to look away from the girl bending in a crouch to pass him a lengthened stake. 

Meanwhile, Namjoon felt like someone just attempted to choke him, scandalized and taken off guard. He hadn’t even known this girl for much more than a handful of days, but he could smell genuine affection coming off of her in tangible waves. Perhaps that scent is what he was choking on. And Jeongguk, next to him, was in a similar state of disbelief– ‘my boys’? She must have drank more than he thought, or that last gin seltzer she had stolen from him tipped her right over the edge of lucidity. He took his stake stiffly, forgetting about how annoyed he was to be in this situation in the first place as he watched her tear open a pack of marshmallows with her teeth.

  “One last treat, just for us though!” Y/N sat beside Taehyung, who realized the butterflies in his stomach had turned into vicious bats, battering his insides with an emotion he’d never felt before. 

Guilt crawled up his throat, knowing that he was hiding something huge from her, potentially life-threatening, especially when she traded her stake already loaded up with marshmallows for his empty one. She was considerate, and didn’t even have to exchange words with him to make him feel at ease. Studying the side of her face, he noticed an underlying thread of anxiety buried deep under her content facade, and startlingly, it worried him almost immediately. He wondered if he should ask her what was causing her anxiety, but didn’t quite know how. 

The moon was full, and it reflected off of her face and hair and illuminated her in a way that made her appear to glow, and it was almost overwhelmingly distracting how completely her scent filled the evening air. The hybrids distracted themselves with conversations between themselves, making their desserts, and soaking in the strange comfort that they had a place to call home, at the end of the night.  

Please do not repost or translate my work. Thank you!

[sevendeadlywhispers]

7Seals

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Chapter 1

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• Previous Chapter: Prologue Next Chapter: Chapter 2

•Chapter List

•Content: Levi Ackerman x OC Fem! Canon Verse! Slow Burn!

• Word Count: 1.2k

"Now I saw when the Lamb opened one of the seals; and I heard one of the four living creatures saying with a voice like thunder, 'Come and see.' And I looked, and behold, a white horse. He who sat on it had a bow; and a crown was given to him, and he went out conquering and to conquer."

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In the regiment's relentless rhythm, my days blurred together over six unchanging years. The routine was our relentless master – wake, eat, train, meetings, eat again, and sleep. The mundane melody was occasionally disrupted by Shadis' whims, granting us a fleeting taste of the world beyond the towering Walls.

Our morning table, a sanctuary for the seasoned veterans, bore witness to comrades dropping like autumn leaves. The unspoken question lingered: when would our turn come? While many saw luck in our continued survival, I saw a darker twist. Fate, I believed, lurked patiently, biding its time until we felt secure, ready to shatter the false reality we'd constructed in this hellish existence.

Today, the cruel hand of fate played its cards, mocking our comfort.

"The boys aren't here yet?" Petra's radiant smile broke the morning's routine as she settled across from me.

"Nah," I replied, absentmindedly tearing at my morning bread. "Just Hange and I, probably still asleep."

Petra's grin widened, cheeks tinted with a hint of mischief. "Thank the Wall."

Hange, always perceptive, caught the unspoken secret in Petra's expression.

"I know that look," they squealed with infectious excitement. "Spill."

"Have you guys seen the new recruit?" Petra's playful voice danced through the room.

"Have I?!" Hange's response, a lively squeal, prompted a shared effort between Petra and me to hush them. Yet, if anything, their voice only seemed to gain volume.

"He's a menace! Have you guys seen him in action? He's truly set to revolutionize the Scouts."

One person expected to revolutionize the regiment was a wild accusation, not only wild but big shoes to fill.

"I thought all the recruits died."

"He's the sole survivor. Goes by Levi," Petra disclosed in a hushed tone leaning towards me. "Word has it his entire wing was taken out on the last expedition. Rumor even suggests he took down five titans single-handedly."

"Five?" My surprise echoed throughout the mess hall, louder than Hange had earlier.

"Who is this guy?"

A recruit taking out more than one Titan on their first journey outside the Walls was unheard of. The recruit surviving a Titan encounter was impressive enough, but taking down five was a whole other game.

Petra gestured subtly towards the corner, where Levi sat alone. "A short fella," Hange added with a playful smile.

"But undeniably handsome," Petra remarked.

My curiosity ignited and my intrusive thoughts won as I nudged Petra.

"Go talk to him."

"I'd only fool myself," she sighed. "He keeps to himself, speaks only with section leaders and the commander."

"I don't buy it," I chuckled, glancing in Levi's direction. There he was, absorbed in the morning paper, sipping tea in that peculiar way of his—hand over the rim, neglecting the perfectly good handle on the side of the cup.

"Go see for yourself," Petra challenged with a smug grin.

"I will," I declared, sticking my tongue out playfully before confidently striding towards Levi's table.

He was a recluse no doubt about it. From the moment Petra pointed him out to me, not once has he looked up from his morning paper. I know that nothing that interesting happened in these three walls to keep his attention that long.

Undeterred by Levi's icy reception, I took a seat without awaiting permission. The mess hall seemed to hold its breath, the world stopped moving around me as I gathered the courage to speak.

"What's your name?" I probed, met only with the continued rustle of his morning paper and the measured sip of his tea.

"Not a big talker, huh?" I teased, maintaining a resilient grin. "Well, I'm Iris, been with the scouts for six years now. Sorry for the tardy introduction—"

"Are you a section leader?" he interrupted.

"Oh, no, I'm just—" Again, his interruption cut me off.

"Until you become a captain or commander, don't talk to me unless ordered to," he snapped, his eyes still glued to the paper.

"Until you become captain or commander, don't tell me what to do," I retorted, my smile unwavering. "Until then, I'll talk your ear off as much as I want to."

Finally, he set aside his papers and looked up. His midwinter eyes jabbed at me as they locked onto my own.

"If you're trying to make a friend, save your breath and look elsewhere," he groaned, his gaze cold. "Tell your friends it's rude to stare."

I rose from the table, maintaining my cheerful facade. "Congrats on the five Titans. Until next time, Mr. Grumps."

"Tch," escaped Levi's lips as I walked away, his grumbling fading into the background as I navigated back to my comrades.

Miche Oluo and Alexander awaited my return at the breakfast table. All eyes were on me, especially Alexander's, his light brown gaze burning into mine. There was an unspoken tension, a silent exchange between us that spoke of disapproval and lingering questions.

As I settled beside Alexander, his disapproving gaze burned into my being. "What were you doing with that little freak?" he sneered.

"Hey, don't call him that," I retorted, nudging him playfully.

"What? Freak?" He laughed with a harsh edge. "He's just another underground sewage rat. Nothing but a freak." The disdain lingered on his tongue.

"Kid has a death wish," Miche chimed in.

"I think that kid is older than all of us," Hange interjected.

"There's no way that puny little thing is older than me," Alexander scoffed, dismissing Levi as if he were insignificant. "Just look at him. Nothing but bones under that uniform."

"Now now, Alexander," Hange teased. "I'd think you're jealous of him passing you up."

"Me jealous of that freak? Never," Alexander laughed, a defensive edge in his voice.

"Really? Because he's already at five Titans for his first expedition. I recall you earning three on our first mission," Hange pointed out with a mischievous giggle.

"Listen here, you little shit" Alexander's frustration surged, and he aimed his words at Hange. "I earned my way into the Scouts. That guy is only here to kill Erwin. He's nothing but a thug."

"Alexander, calm down," I attempted to defuse the tension, but his anger was worked up. Hange's teasing had struck a nerve, a fact known to everyone at the table.

"What?" Alexander groaned at me. "Don't tell me you have a soft spot for the freak already."

"Calm down. Hange is just teasing, and we all know it," I laughed lightly, attempting to ease the situation.

The table fell into an uneasy silence as Levi strolled by, his steel-grey eyes fixed ahead with unwavering confidence.

"Freak," Alexander muttered under his breath as Levi passed.

Alexander's sharp words lingered in the air as a bitter aftertaste, and a knot of worry tightened in my stomach. The casual disdain he threw toward Levi struck a nerve, leaving me both surprised and uneasy.

The recruit's gaze met Alexander's, offering an unfazed look. However, Levi's eyes then locked onto mine. I felt a shiver down my spine as his gaze traveled, time seemingly slowing down at that moment.

At that moment, I couldn't shake the feeling that fate itself had chuckled at us, reveling in the disruption Levi brought to our routine. The mess hall buzzed with the usual noise, but an undercurrent of change hummed beneath it all. It was as if Levi's mere presence had punctured the veil of our ordinary existence, inviting uncertainty and curiosity. It was a curiosity I wanted to explore, boundaries I wanted to see be pushed.

If only then I knew how much he would change our little world inside these three walls.

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