#it wouldn't have left a mark otherwise

[inksandpensblog]

#you guys are#missing the best part#just have your pyromancer whumper grab their hands#permanent hand marks in a VERY visible and uncomfortable place#and then there's no way to lie about it cuz like#that there is obviously a SHAPE and there is NO hiding that

Some things about branding

Branding has always been one of my favourite tropes so here's a few points on it :)

Whumpees will often feel faint and have difficulty breathing during the process (i mean, kind of a given but still) and they might pass out

if the brand mark isn't treated properly after, it could lead to infection - making it more irritated and painful

burns can take around 3 weeks to heal (give ot take) so that's very uncomfortable for whumpee - especially if the brand is in an awkward place

branding whumpee on the back/front etc will make it difficult to sleep :(

neck branding >>>>

the most sensitive areas to pain on the body are the fingertips, shins, front and back of knees, bottom of feet, and if you're feeling extra mean, the forehead

whumper branding whumpee in a very visible place so even after they are free it's a constant reminder

finally, the aesthetic of whumpee being restrained (maybe by other whumpers 👀 ) while the hot iron is slowly getting closer, the fear in whumpee's eyes, and the attempted struggle before it sears into their skin - just gold

Feel free to add to this list!

[talentforlying]

constantine: turned out pearly gray was sorta grateful about that one, actually. stepped in to fill the power vacuum after the coopers went to their just reward. chas: yeah, i heard you an' pearly was tight again . . . but that's not why you helped me out, was it? constantine: no, it wasn't. chas: so. i know we said were quits. but y'know, all bollocks aside. i s'pose what i'm sayin' is, y'know, if you ever need someone to do you a favor . . . constantine: you are doing, mate. you are.

there is no one in the WORLD that john constantine loves more than chas chandler, in any sense of the word, and that is a FACT!! chas is the one who stays!! chas is someone who could be his anchor!! chas is the family he chose and chas is the person he would end the world for!! chas motherfucking chandler is just a guy, just a taxi driver, just a family man doing his best, but he is also the trigger on an occult weapon, because anyone who touches a hair on his head is going down in flames, damn connections and consequences and maybe even the fate of the world: john constantine is lighting cigarettes off them as he watches them burn.

[crookedteethed]

18+ Domestic violence, toxic!Rafe, slight smut (not cute), manipulation

⋆ ★The first time Toxic!Rafe put his hands on you.

"Baby--" Rafe hands had tried to graze your tear-soaked face, but your body had flinched away from it, causing your boyfriend to grit his teeth in saturated anger. 

"Baby, look, I made a mistake--I was angry--" 

"And that makes it okay?" you sniffed, cradled in a ball in the same spot where, not too long ago, your boyfriend's ring-clad hand met the skin of your plush cheek. 

Though moments had passed, you'd still felt the sting from when the metallic of his Signet Ring pierced your skin, and if you weren't so ashamed to look yourself in the mirror right now, you could tell if the thick metal had left a mark. 

But it's not like you needed a mirror to see if Rafe had left a mark; you felt it when you brought your shaky fingers to your cheek and felt a crescent-like shape indented into your skin. 

"Baby, please look at me." Rafe cooed, his fingers forcefully cradling your jaw to look at him, and because you were scared he might hurt you again, you let him. 

But you didn't give him all the satisfaction, as you didn't make eye contact with him--as you were scared you would start to see him differently. 

"Baby, you have to realize that you have as much part in this as I do." He said, causing you to look him in the eyes finally. 

You'd realized that Rafe had been teary-eyed as well--his cerulean eyes glossy like a baby kitten--as if it were he who'd been slapped and not you. 

"W-what?" you croaked. 

"I mean, you, you were the one that kept calling me crazy." He said, picking up your limp body in bridal style and placing you on his lap on the edge of his bed. 

And in the moment, it only felt right for you to wrap your arm behind his shoulder--for support--while he held onto your waist. 

"You--you kept saying that it was something wrong with me and that--that it was 'no since in arguing with a crazy person.' That's what you said." 

Rafe repeated your words from earlier, his pointer finger digging into your chest. 

Well, you thought. 

You did tell Rafe that he was crazy, intentionally knowing that he suspected something may have been wrong with him in the past. 

"Do you remember what else you said to me?" Rafe asked you, adjusting your body to where you were closer to his face. 

You nodded your head--ashamed--just as Rafe went to repeat your words. 

"You also said that--that I was fucked in the head, and that's the reason why Ward wants nothing to do with me. Do you remember when you said that, Y/N?"

You nodded again, covering your teary eyes with your hands, but Rafe pried your hands away--it's almost like he found joy in humiliating you. 

But you hit me, said the small voice in your head. 

No matter what you had said to Rafe, it was never worth putting his hands on you. Ever.

In the heat of the moment, you and Rafe had both sought to hurt one another, but the difference was that Rafe had intentionally sought to make you hurt physically. 

"You know shit like that always get me worked up--it's like my biggest--whats that word?" He thinks. 

"Insecurity?" You asked. 

Rafe snaps. "Yeah, that! It's my biggest insecurity." 

But on the other hand, you did know at the moment that mentioning Ward's name would piss off Rafe. Otherwise, you wouldn't have said anything. 

You brought your head to Rafe's shoulder, letting his muscular body engulf your shape. 

"Lemme see your cheek." 

Rafe brought the palm of his hand to your cheek once more to examine your slightly bruised skin, this time handling you with much more care than before. 

"Does it hurt, baby?" He asked, eyeing the skin. 

"t'stings" you groaned, and Rafe brought his plush lips to the area where your cheek had been indented and pecked it. 

"We'll get you some Naproxen--make the pain and swelling go away." He said all the while his hand was swiping the meat of your thigh. 

He kisses your cheek again. "I know one thing though, my girl's a champ for taking a hit like that, I don't think I would've been able to take a hit like that on my first time--even now--and I've taken a shit ton of hits." 

Another thing to add is that you knew that Rafe was no stranger to getting hit as punishment- his father was the one to introduce him to this system. Could you really blame Rafe for reacting in a way that was all he had known? 

At this point, Rafe's hand had been snaking its way underneath your skirt, his fingers tempting the hem of your panties. 

"My girl so tough." Rafe praised.

The context had been fucked up, but his overall wording and his tone had undeniably made your clit twitch--that, and his fingers peeling into your underwear and his palm cupping your cunt. 

"My girl forgives me, right?" Rafe asked you, looking at you with those love-sick puppy dog eyes as he slipped one of his digits into your tight hole.

And just as he added a second finger inside of you and started slowly pumping in and out of you--your forgiveness for Rafe had been caught in a moan. 

But Rafe already knew you had forgiven him, his proof being your sweet releases that coated his fingers and lap. 

[leilawanderingaround]

Loving Kevin Kaslana and then finding my beloved again in Hsr, just as beautiful as the day I lost him was such an experience... It's insane

"Never thought the deliverance would be interested in older women? Did you hang out with Aglaea too much lately?" Mydei has to physically grab Phainon's face to drag his gaze off of you before they get found out by your group.

"That's not it... It's just that she..." Being a Chrysos Heir and being good looking as he is, Phainon certainly doesn't lack suitors. There are many who would offer themselves to him on a silver platter. And yet, despite the adoration, the admiration they held for him, Phainon's feelings didn't reciprocate.

Because of that, he has been alone for a long time now. Choosing to put the well being of Amphoreus above his own needs and feelings. It was like that until he met you. You arrived on this doomed planet alongside your companions, shining down like a ray of hope sent by the gods.

Unlike them, you look older. You dressed like a person in their late 40th, choosing practically and comfort over style, and barely show any skin. The mark of time have left its mark on you in the form of the wrinkles at the corner of your eyes, and the callousness on your hands. Your eyes soft yet unyielding, signs that you have been through your own fair share of troubles. You look, no, are too old for him.

And yet, his heartbeat only gets faster as he sees you, heat rushing down his cheeks.

"I might need your help for this" he was really shameful, that the Chrysos Heir admitted. But he can't let go of his curiosity.

Every time he tries to talk to you, your first move was to distant yourself from him. If you two are even in a conversation, you always refuse to share any information about yourself. You are willing to share bits here and there about our companions and the world above the sky but never about yourself.

And your eyes, he knows that there is love beneath it. But it was not directed at him. It is as if you are looking at someone else. Someone that is him but at the same time isn't.

After that look, he decided to be selfish. He yearn to know about you, about who you are, what your liking, what power you possessed and who is your love.

Tribbie was very against it at first but after much begging, finally caved in and agreed to steal your phone for him. He know he needed to be fast, otherwise your group would get suspicious. After all, outside of your weapon and money, it was the only possession that you brought along.

But even Titans weren't enough to prepare him about what he supposed to find inside that little device. Pictures, letters, conversations between you and... Kevin Kaslana. There is no denying the love you two have for one another. Sweeten words, soft gestures and sacred moments shared between lovers. Between you and a man who shared his face. Precious memories sealed inside this little thing.

Time clearly passed since the two of you since you were clearly older than the pictures in your phone. And it proved that this Kevin- your beloved is no longer by your side.

And oddly enough, he feels both sad and satisfied at the same time. Kevin Kaslana isn't there anymore but Phainon is still here. Surely you wouldn't deny yourself a piece of your dearly departed.

After this he planned, he would save this world alongside your side and then convince you to remain by his side on Amphoreus. He is sure that he can love you the same way Kevin have loved you if not better.

But then Aglaea have to come and threatened the life that is yours and your companions. And Phainon have to forced himself to think whether or not it was worth it to save the place he used to call home. Now that he thinks about it, the so called Astral Express would surely welcome another member, right?

[mrsparrasblog]

POLY 141 x pregnant Reader

reaction if they are the biological father. if they are not the Dad

Postpartum Depression

Ever thought about what it would be like to be pregnant with this gigantic pile of handsome men? Because I've thought about it, and I can go into heavy detail—I will go into heavy detail!

Price: This man has a heavy breeding kink, and no one can convince me otherwise. He was so happy when he found out you were pregnant that he immediately got into heavy Dad mode. "What do you mean?" he asked after you told him he doesn't need to baby-proof the house when you're only in the second month. He attends baby preparation courses with you and overall turns into a super daddy.

Johnny: The second one with a heavy breeding kink is 100% sure he is the father. "It's the MacTavish genes," he says confidently. "We're going to have at least three bairns by the end of the five-year mark." He wouldn't admit it, but he called his mother crying while he told her the news. The MacTavish Family was special, so they all came with big stroller gifts and the urge to overwhelm you with their love. They don't care who the baby's biological father is; in their hearts, you're a MacTavish, exactly like your sweet little bairn.

Kyle: He is really excited. He already loves the baby and is also 100% sure it's his because you two have the most sex out of all of them. He always fights with Johnny about who the father probably is. Kyle is the one who thinks the most about you. He knows how you struggle with the pregnancy and how it isn't easy for you with all the overwhelming baby daddies around you, so he takes his time to care about you. He compliments you more than ever, and if you have a weird craving, he's already ordered it before you even said a word. He is constantly trying to find a baby-safe option of your favorite food. He doesn't drink coffee anymore so you don't mourn alone. Check-up? He is the first to be there, and when the baby was born and everyone looked at it, he went to you. Not because he loves the baby less—it's his world—but because he was so afraid the whole pregnancy of losing his soulmate, the only thing worth fighting for, the only thing that kept him alive.

Ghost: He never wanted kids—at least he thought he didn't—but it made sense with you. He knew you would be the best mother in the world. So why was he so afraid? He thought about how he could hurt the baby all the time with his pure strength or how he would scare the baby or hurt you. For a blissful second, he thought maybe it would be better if he left so you'd be safe from all the shadows of his past. But he was better than his family. He bought lots of parenting books, went to his psychologist regularly, and attended dad meetings, not daddy meetings—a terrible mistake he made. He even bought you a guard dog for the possibility that you and the baby are alone. To his surprise, but not to yours, he was the most gentle and understanding dad there ever was.

Dont ask me why my brain came up with this weird stuff again but Im already thinking about how they react when they found out who the biological father is lol

[loserlvrss]

｡ ｡ 𝐅𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓! ( 김.𝐃𝐇 )─────보이넥스트도어

( 四月 ). ──you’ve been bored of leehan’s calm demeanor, so you decided to prank him just to see if he’d start a fight 김동현 &fem!rea. ⟡ one shot, suggestive warn. language, toxic dynamic wc : 1406THOU ++( 𝑒𝓈𝓉. 𝓇𝑒𝓁𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓅 )

노트 one of my best works

You don’t know why you were doing this. Even as you applied the black, green and blue makeup, you couldn’t think of a valid reason. Yet, here you were, sat on your couch scrolling through your phone, just awaiting the opportunity to prank your sweet, unsuspecting boyfriend.

Maybe he’d gotten too comfortable in your relationship. Hell, you used whatever excuse to try and justify it. But, the truth is, you wanted to see if he had it in him to get mad at you. He was so damn peaceful all the time—you loved that about him, really—nonetheless, deep down, your heart raced with the thought; the anticipation when he’d finally catch a glimpse of your artwork that he’d deem someone else’s.

This was fun.

You knew it’d work. You’ve never let Donghyun purposefully leave marks on your skin, not because it didn’t feel good to have him kiss you but, simply because you’ve always found them tacky and a hassle to cover up. You’d wasted so much makeup in the past trying to do so, so whenever he’d come close to leaving purple patches, you’d tell him to stop. He’d even tried to bargain by saying he'd just leave them in places only he could see but, you still refused.

Especially if you couldn’t return the favor.

You knew this was an evil way to push his buttons, that you oh-so-desperately wanted to see pushed. It was selfish, really, however at this moment in time the plan was already set into action. You wanted to start a fight, just to see if he could.

He’s never gotten mad at you. He’s never yelled at you. He’s never dared put a hand on you. And, that was a dream but, somewhere deep down, you knew it was also just as boring as it was desirable. You wanted him to yell at you, tell you what to do—at least once—manhandle you, throw you around a bit, pull your hair, grip your skin...anything.

You wanted so much, and maybe this wasn’t the right way to propose it but, it didn’t matter anymore as his voice broke through the silenced air.

“What’s that?”

“What’s what?” You asked, acting oblivious as you scrolled through Twitter and Instagram in turn.

He shrugged, and you don’t know if it was the fact that he seemingly didn’t care, or if it was that maybe he just brushed it under the rug as anything else, that began to piss you off.

Nonetheless, you decided you were in it for the long run. After all, you wanted to see if he’d start the fight. It was game you wouldn't lose.

And, throughout the rest of the afternoon you’d catch Donghyun staring in your direction, shifting his gaze when you’d make eye-contact. He kept a calm demeanor, never asking again what the purple marks on your neck were. He’d even hugged you before he left for practice, getting all up close and personal with the artwork.

You were finding it hard to believe he hadn’t actually noticed.

Maybe he was gathering his thoughts. Maybe he was trying to decided why you didn’t smell like another man—why he knew you wouldn’t do that to him. Maybe as much as his buttons were pushed, this was it for his stemmed anger. Maybe dance practice was his way to relieve the stress you caused from time-to-time. Maybe the cool, calm and collected Donghyun was the only version of your otherwise, smiley, boyfriend.

Maybe you were beginning to feel bad because you had no idea the feelings he had towards this prank. Did it upset him? You wouldn’t be none-the-wiser to it if it had. He was good at shielding emotions, and maybe that’s where you needed to draw the line. Maybe that’s where your conversation should’ve began, instead of whatever the Hell TikTok had inspired you to do.

You kept looking at the clock on your home screen, counting down the minutes until he’d come back to you. And, just as you had decided to end the prank, opting for a civil—adult-ish—confession of wrong-doings, a text illuminated your dark screen.

It read: We need to talk.

Yet, you couldn’t decipher the hidden meaning. Of course, you knew what it was about, that’s the only thing that’s been wrong throughout the last few months between you two. What else could it be? And why, now that you were finally getting what you wanted, didn’t it feel good?

You didn’t answer him, partially because you didn’t know what to say; it was a prank. I just wanted to see if you’d get mad at me. I’m so bored of this. Nothing seemed correct, or frankly, truthful.

You also knew that he wasn’t far. He wouldn’t have texted you otherwise, just to torture you—though it would’ve been deserved. So, you waited by the door for your boyfriend to get back, the thought of washing away the eyeshadow long gone.

Then, it finally opened with the pattern of your key code. The air became thick and you found it hard to swallow with a lump in your throat. Were you sorry? yes. Did you feel bad for being immature? yes. Was a tiny part of you still curious to see how this would play out?

yes.

"Y/n," Was the first, and only thing he muttered for a couple of excruciatingly long minutes. You watched anxiously as he put his bag down, eyed him as he took his shoes off, and almost burst when he ran a hand through his hair. Maybe Donghyun was able to torture you, even if unintended.

His eyes finally met yours but then they drifted to your neck, and further to your collarbone. He knew. He's known since the first question left his lips hours and hours ago.

"What's that?" His arms snaked between each other, and you found it wrong to think it was hot but, you very much did.

Almost like deja vu, the same feeling crept up from down within you. "What's what?" You reenacted.

Although, this time, he didn't let it go.

Donghyun approached you quickly, too fast to get away before you were sandwiched between the plaster and his body.

His hands were slow with movements. Those oh-so-stupid-fucking-hands that had you, literally, at his fingertips. One forcing your head by your jaw to expose your neck, while the other brushed away the hair that disguised the marks from his view.

You fronted being indifferent but, truth be told, if he wasn't holding you up your knees would have buckled already, leaving you as a mess on the floor in front of him.

"You must think I don't know you," He voiced, holding eye-contact as he pushed his thumb between your lips, gathering just enough saliva to then press the digit to your neck and swipe. And, it smudged with enough force, despite being labeled as waterproof. "Tell me why you felt the need to paint these on. I couldn't think of one good reason all day, princess."

And, the nickname he always called you—innocently and less than—had your heart in absolute shambles; the anticipation was just as good as if he'd raised his voice, you thought.

Maybe your vanilla-scented boyfriend had finally gotten the hint that you wanted more, despite going about it in a less than thoughtful way. And, maybe you realized that you didn't hate that he was always nice, no you loved that about him but, sometimes it was okay if he wanted to be a little bit meaner with you. After all, he could always say my...anything he wanted, and that would still mean that he saw you as his forever only.

"I-I," You couldn't think straight when he attached his lips over the previously (fakely) marked spots. His breath was hot, lips gentle then firm as he sucked against the spots he knew you'd rarely let him have his way with. "I—uh, fuck. Leehan,"

His voice was low against the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine and a whimper up your throat, "If you wanted something, you could've just asked me, baby. I'd give you anything."

The eyes that you've grown comfortable with always seemed to be there despite the firm placement he had you in. You knew he loved you more than anything, so you knew his words were true. And, his demeanor broke when he kissed your lips, almost giving you whiplash.

His palms laid flat against your cheeks, thumbs rubbing sweetly, "If you wanted everyone to know that you're mine, let me do it myself."

© loserlvrss 2024 / 25. 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱.

networks : @kstrucknet

taglist : @whyilovewhales-pdf @lynnimini @gluion @greentulip @mystarsohee @seomisaho @jihyokat @atzlordz @riqomi | fill out form to be added. 

back to masterlist!

[nicksolemnlyswears]

FORGED UNDER FIRE

blurb: when brennan sorrengail died he left more than his family and a dragon behind. he left his best friend. he left his lover. he left his unborn child.

pairing: brennan sorrengail x rider! reader

word count: 1.1k

a/n: first and foremost, this is unedited. second, i've had this in my drafts since i finished reading fourth wing in september. i kinda wanted to make it a fic but lost some steam. i don't think i'll continue this but if i do it will be shorter blurbs/moments rather than the 10k monstrosities i like to write. i figured it wouldn't do anything in my drafts so here you go!

i like the idea of brennan having someone he befriends and takes under his wing while at basgiath war college. there's so much we don't know about him and this is me filling some of the gaps with the wonderful fanfiction.

i hope you enjoy! i honestly love fourth wing so damn much and i can't wait for onyx storm. i even have tickets for rebecca yarros tour in january. so yes, read, enjoy and let me know what you think!

The cold wind drifted around you, ruffling the grass and the branches of the dispersed trees. The sunrise was turning from a beautiful deep blue to a pale pink that bled into orange. The chill bites into your cheeks and nose, reddening them, but you welcomed it. It numbed the pain that continued to tear through your heart.

“You must stop thinking so much about him.” Your dragon Calliss shares through your link. She’s the angry voice in your head reminding you to move forward.

“I thought we agreed I could wallow in my misery this time of year.”

The day that marks his death came and went yet it left you with a whirlwind of emotions. You should’ve moved on long ago, the pain in your chest turned into a soft ache that you remember fondly as you rebuild your life without him. Still, it remains a deep gash that continues to bleed and keeps you up at night, unmoving.

“You have better things to do.” Calliss reminds you. Its inscription day and people from all over the continent will be arriving to drop off their children.

“Mhm. Yeah, sure.”

The red dagger tail huffs behind you. The air coming from her nostrils counteracting the cold breeze. She’s moody because you shut her out instead of letting her help.

The ground lightly shakes and the air stirs as another dragon lands near Calliss. General Sorrengail’s brown dragon, Aimsir. The older woman approaches you and sits down beside you on the damp grass. Despite her reputation she’s been kind to you, patient even. She’s kept you close, tucked under her wing just like he used to.

Your signet allowed Lilith to keep you closer than most. Otherwise, she’d have no choice but to leave you on your own to battle your emotional wounds.

It tends to weigh in your conscious that she only does it because you have the last piece of him. Had it not been the case, would she have cared as much?

At the same time, you’re eternally grateful. Had it not been for Lilith Sorrengail you would definitely be cold and dead. Despite all the bad days, there have been good ones woven in and you wouldn’t trade those for nothing in the world.

“Violet goes today,” Lilith says, looking at you sternly.

“You sure this is what you want to do?” You ask her, keeping your gaze on the mountain and the sunrise.

Lilith has discussed Violet's inscription with you time and time again. It's the one thing she continues to think about since the death of her husband, which is unusual. The woman is confident in her decisions, she's calculating and precise. A wonderful quality for a commander, but it falters when it comes to her children.

“Do you think she won’t be able to make it?”

You sigh and look down at the grass before your eyes shift up to look at her. “She’ll make it. She might've been raised by a scribe but she was also raised by you and Mira and Brennan which means Violet won't go down without a fight. She won’t go down easy. It is my belief dragons respect that.”

Saying his name is difficult. It's heavy on your tongue as you enunciate the syllables. So familiar yet strange at the same time.

Lilith hums in agreement, leaving a period of silence to hang in the air. She’s giving you time to talk, to bring him up. When you don’t she takes matters into her own hands.

“I can’t believe it’s been five years.”

“Only five and it feels like a century,” you scoff, pulling at the grass blades near your crossed feet. Calliss and Aimsir shuffle behind you two, making the ground tremble. It used to scare you as a cadet.

“You should get out there again, try and find something that at least resembles what you had with Brennan,” Lilith dares say.

You gasp in a sharp intake of air at the mention of his name. It’s not a surprise for Lilith to suggest such a thing. After all, it’s been five long years since Brennan left, died. But, does she not feel like she’s betraying her own son by suggesting this?

“She’s right,” Calliss voice purrs in your ear. She’s suggested it more than once, begging you to ‘release the tension you have inside.’ You've tried but the sense of betrayal that follows reopens old wounds.

“Hush, Calliss.”

Calliss growls from behind you, voicing her displeasure at you telling her to quiet. Humans do not tell dragons what to do.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able replicate what I had with Bren. It was forged at Basgiath under the threat of imminent death. I was another person there who needed help desperately and Bren was the perfect person to guide me. He was one of a kind, our circumstances were one of a kind. It might’ve been short lived but it held so much value.” You give Lilith a smile and shake your head, “I have everything I need. I’m making a name for myself, which was what I always wanted. I was married, and I have a child who I love to death.”

Lilith nods offering you one of her rare smiles. She stands, dusting off her clothes from any sticking grass. “Speaking of, we have to make our way back before he wakes and brings the house down.”

You nod and laugh, “Oh, he’s going to throw a fit when Violet goes.”

Your son and Violet are as thick as thieves. They get along well and Violet loves to spoil him. She’s never one to turn down babysitting or entertain him when you need a break. After all, he's what she has left of her brother.

“Maybe Mira will get him to calm down,” Lilith hopes, climbing up Aimsirs leg.

You have one question for Lilith. From the ground, glancing up at her you ask. “How do you do it? It’s been five years and I feel just as heart broken as I did that day.”

Brennan’s father passed away about a year ago. His heart giving out on him. All because of Brennan’s death. You mourned him too, he had always been kind to you and he loved his grandchild. It might’ve been the only reason he held on for so long.

Lilith sighs and takes a moment to form her words. “Your relationship was young and somewhat new, barely 4 years. He was the first person you trusted. You had your whole life ahead of you. My husband and I were together for nearly 30 years. We travelled all around Navarre, had three amazing children, and we watched them grow up. I wish he was here to see what will become of Violet but,” she pauses without finishing her sentence. “My point is you were full of what ifs and places to go. It’s hard to move on from that when you keep trying to make sense of it.”

“I wish I knew I was pregnant before he died so I could’ve told him. Maybe things would’ve been different,” you confess.

“Possibly. I know Brennan would’ve loved him.” With those last words General Sorrengail flies off, leaving you and Calliss alone once more.

“No more moping. We have a job to do,” she says, urging you to get on her back.

“Thank you for being patient with me,” you tell her honestly.

Calliss is opinionated but she wants what’s best for you. She continues to feel all the pain Brennan’s death caused you. All her snide remarks are only meant to encourage you to manage your pain and move forward.

“Beware. It’s running thin today.”

thoughts?

[blackbirdsblackberries]

I Hate The New Hero!

Pt 6: Wet Cat

Pt 1 - Pt 2 - Pt 3 - Pt 4 - Pt 5 - Pt 6 (You're here) - Pt 7 - Pt 8 - Pt 9 - Pt 10

Hey guys! So there may be some confronting scenes from this chapter onwards! (suicide mentions, panic attacks, abusive actions, etc) I will notify you at the start of the chapters if there is any from here on!

You feel sick.

Extremely sick.

The day you decided to have off left you thinking things over. Your mother basically lost her job, your father had shown aggressive behaviours in front of the two Waynes – not that they would care much but it was humiliating to think about – and on top of that the Waynes have proven that they will stoop so low!

All because you tried to keep your civilian identity a secret.

Telling your mother went as good as could be expected. She yelled, she walked around frantically, she smashed a plate and then she left.

Knowing her it would be your job to find a new job she can have. So, you open your laptop and start browsing. The laptop is old and barely works but it makes do. You scroll through the many websites for job searching.

You send the possible jobs to your mother before deciding that that was enough and closing your laptop. You open up your phone and browse through Instagram. As your scrolling a message notification pops up from an unknown number and you feel your head hurt – You’re sure this will be something stupid that will get you into trouble.

Pressing on the notification you read through the message.

"Hello,

I am Richard “Dick” Grayson. I am messaging you on behalf of Bruce Wayne as he doesn't want you contact taking up space."

You quirk a brow. You aren't an idiot, there's no links or anything pertaining to scam material and judging by how the message is written you doubt it's a prank.

You respond. It's the polite thing to do and you need some good karma.

"Hi! Is there something he needed?"

You cringe slightly at the exclamation mark, you only included it so he wouldn't think too poorly of you - though looking back on it you doubt it'll change much. He doesn't respond, surprise surprise, you sigh in frustration and turn off your phone.

Looking at the clock on the wall you see it's only ten in the morning. You couldn't be bothered to wait until night to rest so you make your way to your bed and fall into a nice sleep.

Meanwhile Dick was weirded out and confused, why did you seem so happy and excited in the message? Sure it wasn't much but punctuation changes everything!

He had only messaged because he wanted to harass you into blocking him so that you could get into trouble for not knowing what was going on - with the only way of knowing being through him.

But now, now he feels... Off. It's not like he feels bad but he doesn't feel right either.

He scoffs and turns off the phone, honestly he doesn't know how to respond to begin with. He leaves his room at the manor and walks down to the kitchen and passed Damian who was entertaining himself with Titus.

Dick grabs some water and leans against the counter in thought. If he was going to harass you he needed to be witty with it to the point of insanity otherwise you wouldn't get annoyed enough.

Opening up his phone once more he drafts up another message.

"He wants you to head down to the cafe in downtown Gotham."

He pauses, there's a couple cafes he's visited with his girlfriends before, despite the fact it was in a shady area.

"He said to go to The Wayne Memorial Cafe"

Dick waits for a response or even for the read sign to pop up but nothing happens. He furrows his brows, it's ten in the morning, what could you be doing that is more important than speaking to one of the members of the most influential family in Gotham? No, America!

Sleeping. That was what you were doing. You were enjoying it too.

That was of course until you were rudely awoken by your phone ringing with an unknown contact. You drowsily glance at it and answer the phone.

"Hello...?"

God. Your voice sounded like shit. You bitterly scowl at your voice.

"Finally. It's rude to ignore people's messages!" Dick chastises. You scrunch your nose in disgust and hang up immediately. You know you said you would try and be in his good graces but frankly you don't have the will power right now.

You quickly add his contact so you'd be less surprised and you turned off your notifications. You glance at his messages and raise a brow, why would Bruce want to meet up with you?

You sigh before sitting up and stretching slightly. You doubt Bruce would accept you not going.

You dress in something comfortable before grabbing your keys and your phone. You would bring your earbuds but you needed to stay vigilante if you were heading downtown.

The bus ride to the train station was crowded and the train was worse. This better be worth it.

You walk down to the cafe. The Wayne Memorial Cafe was made for Martha and Thomas Wayne, obviously, and is one of the nicest places in Gotham. Bruce funds it so it can stay open, clean and cozy.

You personally don't mind it, it's a nice small part of Gotham that seems untouched, out of place in downtown.

Approaching the cafe you notice some things off. There was no one around or inside the cafe and the lights were off. You couldn't see any movement so there couldn't be anyone inside either... The door was cracked open slightly letting out the air conditioning.

Opening the door to the cafe you were greeted with a bucket of ice cold water dumped on your head, the, luckily plastic and not metal, bucket hitting your head on the way down.

It feels like stones just fell in your stomach as the cold water drenches everything. Your clothes, your hair, your socks, your phone.

You look down, sensing someone nearby. You hear snickering and feel even sicker.

Of course it was a joke, Dick had thought it would be funny to do this.

You feel frustrated. You want to scream, punch, anything. But, instead, you feel tears flooding your eyes and the warm water contrasting with the cold water falling down your cheeks.

There's a lump in your throat and suddenly you're back in elementary school, kids surrounding you as your pinned to your locker and your water bottle is dumped on you. You had provided wrong answers to those kids on purpose and now you were paying the price.

They laughed, pointed fingers then left you damp and humiliated in a crowded hallway. You couldn't even be spared the jokes made afterwards because everyone saw. Everyone knew.

The jokes weren't horrible, just cruel.

You sniffle, you choke back a sob as you're brought back to the present. You furrow your brows angrily and you're sure your face looks ugly as you lift your head to glare at Dick Grayson who had stopped laughing and was now surprised.

You scoff, no words would come out. You're not sure you even wanted to speak to begin with. What would have even said to someone so influential? Nothing that wouldn't of gotten you in deeper shit.

To your amazing luck a clap of thunder rings through the tense, choking air and rain starts to pour down.

The sky was fine before, why now did it decide to rain? Why did life constantly fuck you over? You were so done!

You turn and walk off. Looking up at the crying clouds your scowl lifts slightly, at least now you aren't the only person who will be drenched and you can brush it off easily.

Dick was confused. It was funny at first. You looked like a wet cat, you looked stupid - it matched your opinions on Aranea.

But, then you were silent. That threw him off. Silence isn't something he particularly likes when he does something like that.

He saw the tears rolling down your cheeks, it was almost impossible to see though due to how soaked you were. He notices how the tears drop onto your now ruined phone - one that he doubts you can replace due to your financial status.

Still, you're just standing there, silent. It was unnerving. He couldn't see your eyes but he could tell that you were probably in your own head - memories maybe? Either way the silence was making him feel bad.

He expected yelling, screaming, punching or something! Something that could get you into more trouble. But this. This was just painful to watch. Guilt is the first word that comes to mind. He feels guilty.

He watches you lift your head, he's prepared for you to yell. You don't. You... Glare? That's not fair. Now he feels like a bad guy. He feels like the rich douche bullying the broke weakling.

He watches as you flinch slightly at the rain starting. You don't seem to notice your own actions. He grimaces as he watches you leave, he was supposed to be the hero in this scenario but looking back he doesn't even know how he could have been seen as a hero at all.

You are just a civilian, you just have opinions that differ. He knows more than anyone that people don't have to love what everyone else loves. He also knows that you took your hatred to a maximum - but never targeted Aranea directly.

He glances at his phone, he filmed the whole thing and had planned to send it to the group chat but now it just feels wrong to do.

The others know of his plan though and are awaiting the video. Surely, they'll also realize how south this all went and back off from (Reader)... Right?

Right.

So, with that thought in mind he sends the video to the lively GC and shuts off his phone. He has to make it up to you, otherwise his guilty conscience won't settle and calm down.

[itsfairly]

if no one is going to talk about nanami's suspenders, i will.

nanami dresses really professionally, who else is going to wear a suit when going to fight curses? but it's the way he dresses professionally that it's interesting. sure, the colors on his suit aren't the most common combination to see in an office job, but when you focus on the pieces, you can tell he puts an effort into looking that way. slacks ironed right in the middle to get that prominent line, how he always makes sure to shine his shoes before they become too dull, and then his suspenders...god, you still remember the first he took them off in front of you.

you see, his suit can be pretty deceiving, hiding all his body underneath it. not just skin, but also build. so its no surprise if some things get tight around his body. Some things being said suspenders.

once the blazer was off and nanami placed his cleaver away, he sat on the bed with his back facing you as he unclasped the clips of his suspenders, the small click-click getting your attention from your phone as you stole a quick glance at him. you didn't thought much of it at first until you hear a quiet, but very noticeable in the silent room, groan as he slipped the garment off, making your heart skip a beat.

from there on, you continued to enjoy the view in silence, mentally thanking that his back was facing you and he wouldn't notice you staring. his shirt was the next to go, agonizingly slow as he worked through the buttons with the little energy he had from his mission today. but once unbuttoned, nanami took the shirt off and you felt your heart make its presence to you once more as it beat faster and faster. not because more skin was exposed to you, but because you understood why it was his suspenders that made him groan.

they were tight around his body, and after a day's work, they had left marks behind.

you dont know why the sight captivated you so badly. i mean, he wore something so elegant to work, something other people wouldn't wear given his line of work, something that probably left his skin sore. but god, you would be lying his seeing those marks didn't spark something in you.

but now, the backseat to this sight didn't satisfy you enough, so you stood up, walking to the other side of the room to steal a glance or two under the pretense of getting a sweater. if his back was a sight, the front was just as much. the x shape on his back extended over to his shoulder, draping the marks down his chest in two lines until they ended on both his sides. it was hard to play off the glances, having to remind yourself that you shouldn't be too obvious as you turned to your closet and search for your excuse (a sweater).

in a weird way, those marks were almost erotic, reminding you that nanami is much more muscular than his clothes make him seen. after all, just how tight (and how long) those suspenders could be if they left such marks? you just wanted to trace them with your fingers, letting the marks dictate where you would caress, feeling the slight dents in his skin as you soothed them over with your lips as you kissed over them, hearing him sigh and groan the more you went south until you...

"something wrong?" nanami asked, snapping you out of your thoughts as you turned your head to look at him.

"just choosing a sweater. i got chilly," you smiled at him, taking whatever sweater as quickly slipping it on.

nanami, to your dismay, had already changed out of his clothes and into his sweatpants, hiding away those marks that had caught your attention so quickly. he stood up from the bed, coming behind you and wrapping his arms around you with a chuckle.

"my darling is cold? i can't have that, you know?" he said, rubbing your sides affectionately to warm you up, not that he needed to when you were already quite hot and bothered now. "i can make you some tea if you want."

you chuckled, ignoring his hands on you (otherwise you would push him onto the bed when his body was probably too sore for that). turning around to face him, you place your hands on his shoulders to try and sneak a touch over where his suspenders would be, making you feel that anticipation was your hands roam down to rest on his chest as if you were already following along his marks.

"sounds nice, love," you nod, letting him taking your hand and guiding you to the kitchen.

maybe next time you would get a chance to feel those marks. this time, skin to skin. even better, take off those suspenders yourself.

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Our Safe Haven

Wanda x little!fem!reader

Word count: 1.1K

Warnings: None this is very fluffy

Authors notes: I had a thought while rewatching DSMOM yesterday. What if...Wanda hadn't been consumed by the darkhold?

Also, to all the littles, seeing this, please tred lightly on this blog! This is my big 18+ blog, but I do have some little!reader fics. Everything is marked accordingly!

“Baaaaaa Baaaaaaa.” 

You woke up to the sound of sheep with a smile on your face. Jumping out of bed and changing into your shortalls and pulling on your perfectly white mid-crew socks. Your tongue sticking out a bit as you pull on your cowgirl boots. You were ready to bolt out the front door when Wanda caught you, we'll her magic did, making you giggle.

“Mama! Mama!” you cried out with a giggle as she carefully placed you down at the kitchen table. She turned around with your breakfast of eggs, bacon, and toast. You wiggled in your seat as she set the plate down, leaning over to kiss the top of your head. 

“Good morning detka. Feeling small this morning?” She asked sweetly with a smile as you put some eggs on your fork and you nodded, shoving the food into your mouth, a little ‘mhmm' coming from you. Wanda simply smiled at you, the little light of her life that she found after The Westview Incident.

The moment you were done you bolted out of the house. Your great Pyrenees, Lola, getting up from her spot to follow behind you as you run to the sheep, letting them out to roam and running around with them.

.°⋆.°⋆𐚁

“Apples, right?” Strange asked, making Wanda look up. She was pruning one of the many apple trees that were on the property the two of you had purchased with the money Tony had left everyone.

“Eventually.” She handed him the small branch that was blossoming. 

“Smells…”

“Sweet?”

“I was gonna say real.” Strange said in an accusatory tone making Wanda's face fall.

“It's all very real. Thanks. I put the magic behind me.” Wanda looked over at you, watching as you herded the sheep with Lola laying nearby, watching. 

Strange followed her eyesight. Watching carefully. “Who's the girl?”

“Y/N. I met her after I left Westview. I was looking for a remote place to settle down and she worked at the general store in the secluded town. Eventually I found myself falling in love again.” Wanda smiled, a genuine smile before turning back to Strange. “Well, I knew sooner or later you'd... show up, wanting to discuss what happened at WestView. I made mistakes, and people were hurt.”

“But you put things right in the end and that was never in doubt. I'm not here to talk about WestView.” 

Before Wanda could ask why he was here you came running up, “Mama! Mama!” You hadn't noticed the man at first otherwise you wouldn't have called her Mama, you knew better as you shied away, pressing your face into her. 

Strange was befuddled by the exchange happening in front of him, but watched Wanda soothe you back down, “It's okay little one. He's a friend. He helped me save the world. Your favorite story to hear.” She spoke softly, kissing the top of your head. Wanda looked back at Strange, “So if Not Westview then what are you here for?” Wanda questioned as you looked up at her. 

It was rare that she talked about Westview. When you first met she had mentioned coming from there and that things didn't go as planned. She needed a fresh start. 

“What do you know of the multiverse?” The man asked as you turned slightly to look between them.

“The multiverse. Vis had his theories. He believed it was real. And dangerous.” Wanda's voice shifted slightly, her grip on you tightening ever so slightly. 

Vis…a name you'd heard twice. She always left him out of the stories she told. She tried once, but started to cry. The second was in passing, you heard her ask herself, “Would you have liked this Vis?” You pretended not to hear her. Deciding it was best not to acknowledge it.

“Well, he was right about both. We found a girl who can somehow travel across it but she's being pursued.” Strange informed the two of you and you looked up at Wanda happily about possibly a new friend, but Wanda looked worried. Her grip tightens further on you. A small squeak coming out of you. 

“Mama…” You spoke softly, tugging on her shirt. She looked down at you trying to hide the swirling emotions in her eyes. You saw it though and you didn't mean to, but it brought you right back to a big headspace. “Love what's wrong? What is it?” Your hands cup her cheeks and she practically melts at your touch. It grounds her back down. 

“I'm fine.” Her voice betrays her with a slight crack as she looks back at Strange. 

“You can bring her here. She'll be safe and Y/N can keep her company.” 

“Are you sure Wanda? It won't be too much trouble?” He asks as she shakes her head in response. 

“No trouble at all Stephen.” She plasters a smile on her face as Strange portals back to the temple. 

“What's wrong?” You ask sternly. “He's not here, it's just us Wanda. I know something isn't right.” She tries to pull away, but you hold her there.

“When we met I was in possession of something called the darkhold. It gave me a lot of resources, but it all came at a price. I found the price was too high once I got to know you. I knew I couldn't have both so,” her hands find yours on her face, “I gave it up so we could live our life. So I could leave my past where it belongs. But now with this I can feel that itch. The want—no the need for it again.” 

A pained expression covered your features. You could tell she was struggling and so you did the only thing you knew how to do when she got like this, her thoughts swirling and drowning her in her past mistakes, you kissed her. It was soft and she barely pressed back, but you felt it. 

“We'll get through this. I'm here for you Wands. Didn't I already tell you when you told me who you were?” Wanda looked down at you, waiting for the reminder, needing it right now. “You aren't a monster. What you did is in the past. We can't change that. We can only be better in the future.” 

She leaned her forehead against yours, a smile slowly spreading on her face. “Thank you for the reminder my little love.” She spoke in a whisper as you reached a hand to tangle in her hair, scratching gently as she closed her eyes. 

“We're gonna make it through this. Do what we have to and keep moving forward.” You tell her as she nods against you. 

“How'd I get so lucky?” she whispers.

“I ask myself that question every time I look at you.” you whisper back as you hear a portal opening behind you. Getting ready to face the next chapter of your life together.

[emmyrosee]

Atsumu is one of the ugliest souls you’ve ever known.

From his shiny blonde hair to the small dimple on his left cheek when he smiles, he’s an absolute ogre as he moves through his day. There's a disgusting perfection that engulfs your man, and he has no right looking that good when in your presence.

He's quick to assure you that you're the eye candy, he's gotta fight people off with sticks to keep them away from you, and while you don't deny him or try to deter him from saying these things, he merely grins as you tell him he's ugly with a kiss to the tip of his nose.

It's a dynamic most people wouldn't understand. but that's fine with you both, it's yours to understand and no one else's.

A little loving bullying never hurt your man. And he's a liar if he ever said otherwise.

You pick on him most in the mornings, however, when he rolls out of bed and begins his stretches, kissing the corner of your eye before heading to the kitchen for breakfast.

You huff and sit up, stretching yourself before making your way out of the warm bed, grabbing a pair of his sleep shorts and following him out.

Standing in the doorframe of the kitchen, you click your tongue at him, which gets his attention.

Sweatpants low on his hips and showing a sliver of his boxers, the tank top mapping his muscular torso for your imagination to fill out, and your eyes wander to the dark, purpling mark you'd left on his neck last night complimenting the yellow tones of his hair that dangles just above it.

He looks etheral.

How dare he.

“What’re you lookin’ at?” He says, cheek pocketed with cereal and smirk tugging at his lips when your eyes flick to the rough outline of his muscles through his tank top.

You roll your eyes and cross your arms, “how dare you look like that in my presence?”

“Oh, sorry- did you want the shirt off?” Your cheeks turn ablaze as he tugs the fabric with two of his fingers, watching as you bite your lip- completely subconscious he’s sure, but he does enjoy the sight an unhealthy amount. “I can make that happen.”

“No thanks, I don't have any cash on me for you to strip.” Regardless, you wade your way into the kitchen to be closer to him, wrapping your arm slowly around his waist to burrow into his chest. You relish in the last remaining warmth from his sleep his skin harbors, and he chuckles.

“Since when did you ever have cash on you?"

“I don't just use your money, you know. I have my own.”

He grimaced, “don't remind me; it's a branch of chivalry I'm mad you don't accept." His comment makes you laugh, and you feel his chest rumble with his own string of laughter as he squeezes you tighter.

You beam up at him, and he leans down to nudge his nose with yours, “you think I use you for money?

He pulls a faux offended look, “are you?”

“No, but if I did, I'd probably be much nicer to you.”

Atsumu laughs and squeezes you tighter, "you are pretty mean to me."

“You’re so lucky I’m not meaner,” you assure. Your arms toss around his neck while his two hands settle on the curve of your waist, thumbs gently smoothing over the skin there. "I know you like being bullied."

“Don't expose me like this.”

“You love me.”

He snickers softly as he leans down for a kiss, letting his fingers gently slip under your shirt and caress the warm skin there, grazing over the raising goosebumps.

“I really am lucky, aint I?” He purrs.

You beam and nip at his lips playfully, ducking slightly when he moves to bite you back; he growls at the playful defiance.

“I’d say so.”

[sillysiluriforme]

That one post, about how everyone has an akuma mark- that wouldn't be the case, and if anything that makes it worse. An akuma (or two) a day for several years is 1,000 people, maybe 2,000. Paris has a population of 10 million. So not that many people. But consider the suffering. Being a non-akuma'd person knowing your life is forever changed, possibly in quarantine forever, all because a small handful of people couldn't keep calm. (we know it's not their fault, but blame must land somewhere and hawkmoth is distant and unseen...). To watch as your future, or your children's future crumbles, because no one in or out means limited opportunities. There'd be riots (and more akuma possibilities). But to be one of the targeted? To have the suspicion (because akumas do strike twice, thrice, or more...) and the blame (if you'd just stay calm, if you just said no...). To lose an entire day of your life, watching as everyone you loved looks fearfully or angrily towards you (what did you do? what did you say?), to lose your job (what if it happens again? or was it because of your job?). To watch everything get worse, because of course: Any disruption to Paris would be Catastrophic. The paris region produces a GDP of 1 TRILLION dollars. 1/3rd of France's GDP. A day's disruption could cost billions of dollars. Even if property gets repaired, time still moves forward- a day not worked is a day where things dont get done. Things like road maintenance, court dates, repairs to water pipes, electrical generation, surgeries, and so on. Critical workers would need to get a suicidal level apathy towards akumas, because if they stopped work everytime one appeared then lives would be lost to power shortages, lack of medical care, and water. All the traffic supplying goods every day- even if they don't get inspected going in or out, any changes to that would raise prices in a heartbeat. Refrigeration becomes unreliable, as powerlines could be cut whenever. Education goes rock bottom, as who can focus when something's happening every day? Desperation rises, as there's nowhere to go, goods are more expensive or unavailable, jobs are in short supply because so many places go out of business, or outright leave.

God, forget the holders, forget the akumas, forget the reality warping little-g gods, the sheer decay of Paris would be enough to make this AU nightmarish. If Paris remains under akuma quarantine for long enough, the effects would become exponential. As businesses leave, the money disappears. Goods become critical, as a city that big needs an entire nation to feed it (but without the money, who would bother selling to Paris?). Infrastructure becomes abandoned, as cost cutting and triage prioritizes only critical locations. The government moves elsewhere (how could they function otherwise?) taking jobs, money, and focus away from the city. Homelessness, joblessness, poverty become the norm, as with inconsistent power and deliveries, how can businesses operate? Hawkmoth is murdering the city of love, over his own doomed love.

Paris becomes a colossal burden on the french economy, a nightmarish battleground and a looming threat to the world. The country is left with a hellish choice: Let the city sink on it's own, or be dragged down with it?

[YOU FUCKING GET IT ANON. YOU EXACTLY GET IT.]

[tremendouscreationperson]

Part 2 of this

Next part here

Stan hadn't been able to help it. He had asked for your address to keep in touch.

He was able to now.

Able to send and receive letters. There had been a few instances when he was on the road that he dialed your number and your ma or pa answered, he had pretended to be a wrong number for them.

He was too chicken to talk to Ford why did he think he could talk to you?

But letters were different.

He could do letters.

You'd explained how you moved to California for college and loved the area so much you decided to stay. He had known you wanted to go to college but the three of you had always said you'd stay near New Jersey.

He wished so much that he kept in touch but his life was shit. He made things shit. He was shit.

His dad had been right.

He wasn't even worth turning up to a funeral for.

Stan paused mid sentence. Maybe he shouldn't be exchanging letters with you, maybe he should just stay away.

But a letter couldn't hurt.

He wouldn't have to change his voice or wear gloves or pretend he had smarts.

He could relax.

If something seemed off in the letter he could restart it.

And so the correspondence continued.

~~

It took a year and a half before you suggested coming down to see Mr Mystery himself.

Ford explained that his Uni grant had stopped so he was relying on good ol' fashioned tours of his labs to make money, only the real science didn't interest the resistance so he had to be creative.

You were sure he bored his patrons to death by explaining the rays and dials and tubing he had before coming up with the idea to sell to his clientele.

If only Stan was here. He'd be able to come up with good monsters and ghouls, just like in school.

You were able to find some sketches he gifted you (from a comic he was determined to publish) to send in your letter. Hopefully Ford could use them for ideas. It was a little bittersweet to part with them but ultimately it was for the greater good and you could always ask for them back.

So, now, here you were merely proposing a meet up but it felt... Well it felt wrong? Yeah, Ford and yourself were mates but Stanley was always the glue that kept you together.

Despite the mixed emotions you pushed on and signed your name before shoving it into an envelope and sending it off.

~~

The journey to 'Gravity Falls' - brilliant name - was not awful.

It took a solid 6 hours of driving but you knew it would be worth it. Knew it had to be done.

You would keep your friendship with Ford alive for Stan. You'd be the honorary sibling.

Once you were in Oregon you pulled up the map he had sent and followed the instructions he scratched onto it. 'Don't turn by the Horse Scarecrow go further to the Pig', 'There's a big boulder by the town sign be careful, I swear it moves', 'left by the tree that looks like Dolly'.

They were odd instructions but they were perfect. The town was definitely unique.

It was 9 when you finally made it to the 'Mystery Shack' and you had to admit it was cute. There were homemade arrows pointing in all directions and a copious amount of question marks dotted about.

The sign on the door read "closed" but you could see at the back there were lights on.

Climbing out of your car you twaddled over to the back door, rucksack slung on your shoulder, the soft sounds of a TV wafted through the door as you knocked.

The TV stopped and you could hear wood creaking as Ford approached. The door opened and revealed him wearing a suit with a large question mark tie.

He smiled down at you, gesturing for you to enter. "Hi."

"Hey." Your eyes scanned the room, mostly homemade wooden furniture with the odd trinkets or pop of colour. There were a few sciency looking gadgets but otherwise this was a humble home. "It's really cute in here."

Ford scratched the back of his neck. "Thanks."

The silence was slightly weird but you anticipated that it may be a bit weird at first. Just have to push through it.

"Have you eaten?" He asked.

"No but to be honest I'm zonked." You chuckled. "Long journey."

Ford clasped his hands. "Of course, well, you can have my room. I'll take the couch."

"Uhm, I can't kick you out of your room." You didn't realise that he would have to vacate his bed for you to visit. "I'll stay on the couch."

"You take the bed, I won't hear anything else about it." He added the last part as your mouth opened to argue.

~~

Staying with Ford was odd.

He was more casual than you remembered.

Gave fewer lectures.

But otherwise your stay was pleasant.

You helped him in the Shack; printing t-shirts, manning the register, flicking the lights on and off, making spooky noises when needed. It was fun.

You enjoyed your time here because it was silly. You were able to let loose whilst watching some suckers gape at a wax figure or a crudely put together unicorn.

After leaving it really didn't take long to decide on coming back.

Spending every other weekend up in Oregon became your routine. Yeah, the drive was shitty but it was worth it.

Ford loved it. Or well.. if he didn't he didn't say anything.

Eventually you were gifted a cot upstairs and you considered staying for longer.. perhaps even for an indefinite amount of time. It was quite conflicting wanting to stay with Ford.

You still loved Stan. You'd always love him but you saw so much of Stan in Ford it was ludicrous.

The way he'd swindle and trick, his Mr Mystery persona, and whenever a patron was a little handsy, the way he'd threaten them.

Ford never did that. He outwitted people. He was the brains.

But maybe that changed in the time you spent apart. His father had made the two of them box and from Ford's ears he'd kept up the sport.

~~

Through all your time at the shack there was only one thing that truly bothered you. It was a teeny tiny detail but it drove you insane.

Ford never removed his gloves.

He was always wearing them.

Everyday, every night, every meal, everywhere.

You'd seen his hands before.

Everyone back home had.

They were just hands!

Maybe he didn't want the town to think they were real, wanted them to think he was a fraud because being a freak was worse?

It didn't matter in the grand scheme of things but it was agitating you.

~~

"Put teeth on it." You suggest, sitting on the floor with your back leaning against the wall.

Ford made a face but nodded, prying the crows beak apart. He wandered around the shop, opening cupboards and drawers. "I'm sure I had som-"

"The blue cabinet." You pointed.

Ford opened it and voilà he produced a jar of teeth. You didn't bother to ask if they were real, either of the answers would be weird. Yes = weird. No, where did he get such realistic teeth? = Weird.

You observed Ford positioning the teeth, he waited for your approval which you gave and began gluing them.

It was late in the evening and he had promised the town and its tourists something big. So crow with teeth and a skunks tail it was.

He was precise with the glue gun but still stopped to talk with you, ever the gentleman. How had their father made them?

You hated their dad with a passion.

He was an absolute asshole.

You'd tell him that, too.

He didn't even come to the funeral. You'd assumed he had passed but Ford told you he didn't want to come. His parents were starting afresh with Shermie.

No, you wouldn't include Caryn on that. She was lovely but Filbrick...

Filbrick was something else entirely. In fact, you remember first meeting him, he glanced up at you over his newspaper before returning to the words. Stan had reassured you that that type of behaviour meant he liked you but you knew differently. You knew, even at age 10, Stan was covering for his father.

Ford hadn't experienced that. He never knew what it was to disappoint his father and you felt for Stanley. You were even present once when Ford tried to explain that Stan seemed to take short cuts and maybe that was why Filbrick was disappointed. It was later in the week when Stan confessed that he had to take short cuts, of course he did, because how else could he possibly keep up?

"Ah shit!"

Your eyes shot back to Ford who was shaking his left hand. Quickly standing to assist. "What happened?"

"Just a burn, it'll be fine." Ford brushed you off, resuming the task at hand.

You scoffed. "Ford, take the glove off, you idiot."

"It's fine." He insisted.

"You're sticking to things!"

Ford grumbled but didn't reply.

"I've seen your hands before. There's no one else around. Why are you being weird?"

"I'm not weird." He huffed turning away from you. "Don't look."

You rolled your eyes before turning away. "Fucking hell, if I didn't know any better I'd say you were Stan pretending to be Fo-"

It hit you.

All the stupid chats, all the late night beers, all the jokes, the lame costumes, the zero science talk, the scams, the lies, everything.

Your body had turned without your brain catching up and you were face to face with a Stan. Not 100% sure which one.

Stan's eyes were wide, gloved hand clutching his ungloved one. You took three steps to him, invading his personal space, to place your own hand on top of his. Slowly you tugged on it and revealed the five digits.

Wh-what did this mean?

This was Stan?

Stanley?!

Where was Ford?

Why?

Why did Stan need- what was he doi- where wa-

His palm gripped yours. "I can explain."

.

.

.

Part 3

@breadandbiscuits @aratheegreat @sp00kyfr0gs @doggosnoodles12 @50shadesofwinchesters @living-in-a-veil

[salsakiyoomi]

Hmm, how would drummer Sukuna react to finding out reader had sex with someone else?

a/n : this idea has been nagging me for a while and this is my excuse to write it now

sukuna's heart almost stops.

it almost stops as he watches you walk out one of the most famous fuckboy's dorm, in your clothes yes, but looking disheveled, with hair that's definitely been tugged on and hickeys covering your neck, and a manly cologne that was most definitely neither his or yours. 

what was the meaning of this? why did he have to be here at this exact moment to see you like that?

your eyes catch his and you're wondering whether you should talk to him or not.

probably not.

so you clear your throat and you turn the other way, as if he wasn't standing right in front of you.

he’s shocked, because how could you?

“y/n.” he calls out, his voice stern but you don't acknowledge him, he doesn't know what's up with you this time, whether you're mad at him or the other dude has gotten to you.

all he knows is that he doesn't like you ignoring him and he's not sure why.

he shouldn’t care.

sukuna trudge over to you, grabbing your arm and forcing you to look at him, “i called for you.” he tells you, a scowl on his face — why were you avoiding him like that? he hasn't fucked up that bad yet — i mean, sure, the both of you haven't been hanging out much and it was a month since you last had sex but still.

“what do you want?” you ask, you still won't meet his eyes, avoiding them like they're the plague — but most of all, you seem nonchalant, too nonchalant.

“what's the meaning of this?” he asks and he can't tear away his eyes from the hickeys adorning your neck and probably other places as well — only he can leave those marks on you, nobody else.

it doesn't sit well with him that somebody else, especially a fucking fuckboy who practically lives in the frat house, having his hands all over you in that way, his lips on yours, on your skin, his body against your and —

sukuna doesn't want to think about it.

you scoff, rolling your eyes, and you tear your arm away from his grip, crossing your arms, “the meaning of what, ryomen?”

“the meaning of this.” he almost seethes, gesturing to the marks on you, “what's this about?” 

“what, like you care?” you say, and this time, you meet his gaze, and he’s not sure if he likes the defiant look in your eyes.

does he care? of course he does. otherwise he wouldn't have been fucking you for this long.

“of course i do.” he huffs, but it comes out quiet and almost meek.

of course he cares about you — he doesn't like you sleeping around with other people, you were supposed to be his.

“well, you shouldn't,” you tell him, the frown on your face prominent, “we're not exclusive after all, are we?”

fuck. 

he knew that that would come back to bite him in the ass, and now was the time.

it's true, in the past year the two of you have been sleeping around, sukuna has made it painfully clear that this was nothing more than just sex and having fun for the sake of it — you've nagged him about it more than once, you didn't like him sleeping with other girls either but it's not like he ever stopped.

sukuna didn't do love, never has, and never will.

but now, your words really hurt him.

at his stretched silence you sigh, turning away from him, “later, ryomen.” you call out as you walk away from him.

and he's left all alone in the hallway with a heavy heart.

jealousy wasn't a thing he's ever felt before, and it didn't sit well with sukuna.

[transalphabf]

1000th Post - My Prince

Your kingdom had been at battle for ten years now, starting when you were but a child, you didn't know why or how it started, but the war with the neighbouring kingdom had been long and bloody. The enemy had cut swathes of land apart until they were finally at your door.

A general entered the throne room, where you stood as the last member of the royal family left in the kingdom. Your mother had fled to her home nation, your father cut down in battle, sisters had gone with marriages elsewhere or with your mother.

You, the crown prince, remained. You held your head high as you were surrounded by the filthy animals that had taken your land.

These wolf warriors, as they were known in their own kingdom, with their foul Lupine Lord were not justified in what they did, in battling your people over false claims.

You snarled and snapped when they came too close, but otherwise didn't move. You were their captive already, they had no right to touch you.

Then, their King entered. They all fell onto one knee as he swept into the room.

His dark eyes drank you in, and he approached you without fear, markings along his face indicative of his fur markings when he transformed. It was an unsightly thought, that a man could shift his skin into that of an animal's.

He showed no fear as he drew close to you, taking hold of your face in one of his large, calloused hands. You thrashed and tried to hit him, but he took hold of your hand when you tried to strike him.

"You will be my bride, and we will end this war now. No more blood need be shed because your people are pelt hunters." He commanded. You felt your blood drain from your face. Forced marriage? Yes, it would save your people, but you didn't want to be his bed warmer...

He growled lowly, and you felt yourself whine in response, his hand tightening around your throat.

"We will be married now, in the way of my people, meaning you'll be bound to me. We will have a public ceremony later." He instructed, and the warriors and generals around you whistled and hooted in their lewd, filthy joy as their king pushed you towards the throne, your father's throne, the throne that would have been yours.

They'd all watch as he took your virginity right there. You kicked as he tugged at your trousers, exposing your cunt to the cool air of the room.

The watchers howled with excitement. The king grinned wolfishly, not having known you were able to bear his children. He wouldn't even need to make the effort to prep you. You thrashed in his grip as he gripped your hair and bent you over the arm of the throne, your hands gripping at the other arm to prevent your face being smashed against the wood as he began to rub at your cocklet, the sensation of pleasure making you gasp and arch up instinctively, not expecting such a feeling to be caused by someone else. It felt different to when you rubbed yourself in the darkest hours of the night.

He then brushed something large and hot against your thigh, smearing wetness against you as you began to fight again.

Then, his thick, hot cockhead pressed into your untouched cunt, sheathing every last inch into you without waiting for your body to adjust to the invasion. You cried out as the tip kissed something deep inside of you, and as the king began to move inside of you, leaning down to huff against your throat.

"You're so fucking tight, my prince. You're going to bear me a whole litter of pups, and you're going to love it. I can tell already, your cunt is so desperate that you're dripping with need already." He taunted, before humping into you roughly, the soldiers jeering, some of them rubbing their cocks as they watched you.

The sounds being forced out of your slutty body embarrassed you, because you sounded so desperate for the way the king was using you. He was pressing against everything inside of you, and your traitorous body was loving it. You could feel something building inside of you as he continued drilling you.

Something began to swell at the base of his cock when it pressed into your cunt. Your eyes went wide as you realised the rumours that their cocks were wolfish... were entirely true. And you were going to hang off of his knot like a common bitch.

You began to fight again, trying to break free, which just made him moan and growl against you, and his cock throb and feel bigger as he pounded you harder.

"That's it, fight back, makes you go so tight on my cock." He taunted, before something inside of you gave way, and your whole body tightened up as you came on his thick, invading cock, which in turn caused his knot to be pressed deep inside of you and swell up, locking his cock inside of you, the tip pressed against something deep within - your cervix - as he began to pump you full of his thick, hot cum, spurt after spurt of his potent seed ensuring that you'd bear his heirs.

The kingdom was taken.

If you enjoyed this please consider tipping on my ko f: ko-fi .com/ sigtryggr

(remove the spaces)

[thegnomelord]

Nobody can convince me otherwise that Price wouldn't cry if he was proposed to/proposing

He gives off similar vibes to my dad and he cried at his wedding cause he was so happy

Okay, 1) Ur dad sounds super sweet lol. 2) Price so would and have a surprise ficlet.

Would you?

CW: SFW, Price X GN reader fluff, proposals, crying

The thought of marriage strikes him as you two lay in bed one night. It's not a particularly special night; he's not fresh from the battlefield or hardening his heart to go back to it. It's just a regular Tuesday night — your arms around him, your legs a tangle of limbs in the sheets, your head resting over his chest so you can be lulled to sleep by the sound of his heart — when he thinks. . . Wouldn't it be nice to be buried under your name?

That maybe, just maybe, he'll have you to keep him from a pauper's grave. That your and his bones will be able to mix when time erodes flesh, wood, and earth between you two. That the only thing that will remain will be those gold rings.

He starts planning that morning, approaching the proposal like he would a suicide mission; he calculates every variable, scours his brilliantly sharp mind for every little detail he's catalogued about you, making plans upon plans for how it could go both wrong and right. Writing sessions of what he wants to say to you stretch long into sleepless nights, he cracks open that old dusty book of family recipes and scribbles little exclamation marks next to the dishes you enjoy, secretly taking your ring measurement so he can confidently go ring shopping.

His wallet is fat from his work, yet he picks up side jobs in the private security sector on his off time — He's happy to babysit overgrown brats if it means he can buy you a ring without blood money. He wants this to be something pure and free of the violence shrouding his life. He doesn't do it often, but some times he fantasizes of what will come next; he'd hate to wear a stuffy suit like he does his military blues to those posh military dinners, but for you, it wouldn't feel like a labour nor a penance. He's sure it wouldn't take much for Kate to get her officient license, and whenever he starts thinking of that Price finds himself smiling like a loon at the thought of you on your wedding day, bright eyed and with a big smile with his ring on your finger.

A simple question — what if you refuse? — always brings him back down to the ground and drags his heart to the pit of his stomach. He tries not to think about it (he thinks too much about it, the bloody fool)

He decides to propose on your anniversary.

He wakes up long before you, having barely slept a wink the night before with last minute thoughts running through his head. Breakfast is ready for you by the time you stumble out of bed, his beard scratching your chin as he gives you a goodbye kiss before you set out to work. He spends the rest of the day making sure the house is spotless, getting you flowers, picking out the nicest clothes you two have and then goes to make dinner.

And of course, the things out of his control go wrong on the one day he needs it to be perfect. He only notices the oven is busted when the roast he's making in it starts smoking enough to set off the fire alarm. He scrambles to salvage it but it's too late and he's left scurrying around the kitchen trying to figure out something else.

Price doesn't notice when you get home, the locking of the door and your tired footsteps betting lost in the sound of clattering pots and pans. He nearly tosses the pan he's holding when you sneak up and wrap your arms around him, pulling him back from the roaring fire of the stove to press your chest to his back.

You rest your head on his shoulder, lips brushing his neck. "Relax," You say, both an admonishment and a suggestion.

"Bloody git". Price grumbles to himself under his breath but relaxes into you, nuzzling his head against yours. "M' sorry love, the bloody oven broke and-" he clams up just as he's starting to explain, already rethinking the proposal as a whole because Christ, how can he be a good husband when he can't even make you dinner properly?

"Hey," You begin and kiss his temple, rubbing soothing circles into his side. "How about we dress up and I'll order take out huh?" You say, letting go of him and taking charge by calling both of your favourite takeout place before he even has a chance to refuse.

Price knows this proposal is dead in the water. He's seen far too many proposal videos on that TokTik app — the ones with extravagant locations and massive diamond rings gifted to the brides to be via doves — to know such a simple proposal would fly.

But he still goes along with your plan; At the very least he can enjoy the sight of you done up in nice clothes, in the knowledge you do it for him. And he's sure you love how he looks in his suit too, his beard can't hide how pink his cheeks get when you call him dashing or handsome as you fix his tie. He gets you back though, cupping your cheek when you're done with his tie so he can pull you in for a long and slow kiss. He wants to press further, proposal plans already at the back of his mind, but he's interrupted by the delivery guy. He's especially not pleased when you stick your tongue out at him like a child and scamper away to get your takeout.

After plating the food, you sit down to eat, and Price remembers to light the special candles he'd bought. The food is good even if it's not what he'd wanted, but it's easy to forget about this shortcoming of his when you're laughing and telling him about some thing that happened to you today. He listens intently, remembering why he loves you when you speak so passionately about your hobby.

Price decides this is it.

He had a speech prepared, written and rewritten a dozen times until it was perfect, the one he'd practiced all day until his throat was raw. But the words dissapear like a mirage in his mind, and even if he did remember them, it would feel too out of place. So he simply stands up, cutting your talk short. His back aches as he gets to one knee, hands shaking a bit and fumbling with the box before he presents the golden ring to you. "Do you. . ." He hesitates, takes a deep breath, "Do you want to spend the rest of our lives together?"

Your eyes flicker between him and the ring, staring, bewildered. The pit in his stomach grows with every passing second, only to swallow up his heart when you open your mouth and say "Are you serious?"

This is it, Price thinks, he's mistaken what you two had together for something it was not. He's already thinking of ways to backtrack, fat tears building at the corners of his eyes that he desperately tries to blink away.

He's caught unaware when you kneel down in front of him. There's a sheepish look on your face as you bring out your own little box. Inside is a simple golden ring, your and his initials carved into it.

You give him a wry little smile, "Surprise."

Price stares at the ring. A second passes. Then another. A third one is well on it's way before his mind finally realises what this is and a childish laugh bubbles from his chest. "You-" He reaches out and pulls you into a bear hug. "-bloody Muppet almost made my heart give out." He grouches but absolutely melts into your body as you return the hug. You feel his mighty shoulders shake and chest rumble as his laughter gets out of control, pulling you into laughing with him.

He buries his face into your neck, trying to say something but his hiccups turn the words into meaningless happy noise. He doesn't even notice when he starts to cry, but it's a good type of crying — the one where you just don't know how to express the light airy feeling gripping your chest. Price feels like his ribcage is stuffed with dandelion fluff, fat tears rolling down his cheeks.

"I love you." He says into your skin, low and quiet, voice still raw as he nuzzles his beard into your neck. His hands grip you tightly, afraid to let go.

"I love you too." You say, kissing him with nothing but love and care and tenderness in your actions.

Price is running high on the buzz of getting engaged when you two settle on the couch, back in comfortable pyjamas and wrapped up in blankets and each others arms, your takeout on the table as you settle to watch a movie. Your hand finds his, two golden rings clicking together beneath the sheets, and Price feels fresh tears roll down his cheeks before you kiss them away.

Being buried under your name would be nice, but living under your name is much better.