#frantic the awesomes

[quirk-nova]

Frantic

Frantic (The Awesomes) aesthetic board for @samuelyaboyy

[popculturerobots]

I...Have Failed

Pokémon the Movie 2000: The Power of One

[hyaesia]

i keep getting sad about 8tracks being gone and there being no real replacement for a community-made content music sharing platform to replace it but like. i have free will and an extended period of time off rn.... looks down at my hands

[castles-in-the-eyre]

people who regularly send audio messages instead of texts are a little bit evil at heart i think

[butmakeitgayblog]

Oohh, I can help with the Alias mix up:

Alias was the one with Jennifer Garner, about spies and had 5 seasons between 2001/2006. It was created by JJ Abrahams.

Dark Angel, by James Cameron, ran for two sesons in 2001/2002 and starred Jessica Alba. It was about a teenage kid genetically engineered to be a soldier.

Finally, the Whedon one is Dollhouse, also two seasons in 2009/2010, with Elisa Dushku, about people who got “blanked” and used as contracted performers of different tasks.

They all involve some sort of conspirancy and some evil organization.

Of course you would be confused if they all looked the same lol:

Finally, you know who else was in Dollhouse? this baby 👇🏻

To further your enjoyment about me reading your fics? I’m also a lawyer 😬

DOLLHOUSE THAT'S WHAT I WAS THINKING OF

Ok between you and several other people who has clued me in I realized 1. I had that all fucked up 🥴 and 2. I will gove Alias a try if I can find it anywhere cuz y'all seem hyped

[listedbuilding]

well at the end of the day although this has been causing me a good bit of worry i think it's just bothering me more now because i'm tired and cold. i need to just relax and leave these thoughts to daytime well rested lucy, who is straight up so chill.

[apocalyp-tech-a]

Season 3 does not exist. Somehow Tech returned. Tech frantically explains how he did so. The end.

*Me desperately pulling at straws trying to see how tech is still alive and how we can still win* I’m SO normal about this show (no, I’m not)

[jebunkle]

is this the real life?...

806 wc, gn!reader, all of them are having a mental breakdown

i saw some awesome sahsrau (self-aware hsr au) from @aventurineswife and they seemed a bit tired of making it...so i thought i'd give it a shot :p maybe ooc on some parts, sorry

the astral express who, while visiting a planet, begin to sense something amiss. it feels as if something, someone, has eyes on them occasionally.

while you're just logging in to play the game and pulling for new characters, everyone starts to freak out. what is watching over them? it can't be the aeons, something much more divine. hell, maybe even the aeons sense something is different.

himeko brews coffee while chatting quietly with welt, "you've felt it too, yes?" she asked him nervously, as if someone would hear if they were too loud. she sips her drink while glancing around every moment or so, displaying her franticness.

the express notices her off putting attitude, but before they can dwell on it, they begin to feel the same as her. it's almost like an illness, if this plague's symptoms were paranoia and impending doom.

the stellaron hunters are hardly different. kafka's smooth demeanor falters as she gazes off into the deep null of space. "who are you, divine being?" she asks into the nothingness, her sultry voice filling the otherwise empty air. as blade is sat on a couch, arms crossed over his chest, his posture seemed to be more tense than usual. of course, he was always uptight, but his behavior was extra rigid as of lately. silver wolf on the other hand, can't help but chuckle at kafka's philosophical rants and blade's silent pondering. she can tell that they're all puppets on a larger stage, meaning close to nothing in the vast universe — both her universe and yours.

aventurine, ever relaxed, has been carrying himself with a bit more of a troubled expression. his typical flamboyance has faltered and few around him have noticed. as aventurine sits on a red leather chair in an empty casino, he does not feel alone; tossing a golden coin between his fingers, aventurine begins thinking aloud. "i see you've chosen to reveal yourself, huh?" the blonde's voice is low and almost soft, as if he's trying not to offend whoever he may be speaking to.

dr. ratio's hair is a slightly unkempt, his eyebrows are pinched together much more frequently, and his papers and studies are left askew on his desk. a few members of the intellegentsia guild slowly catch onto how he's acting, and it's truly unbecoming of the infamous strict professor. his employees can be seen wearing a concerned expression when glancing over at him, yet are too afraid to inquire on his troubled state. "i will uncover whoever is ensuing this chaos amongst us all." ratio promises himself.

the xianzhou luofu is eerily quiet. the arbiter general himself has gone silent as well, as if the ship has been submerged into an ocean of solitude. jing yuan sits in his chair with his fingers intertwined atop his lap. internally, he wonders about this rumored 'creator'; are they real? is it an aeon? what does this mean for him? his companions? is something terrible on the horizon? his endless inquiries are certainly unlike him, causing the master diviner fu xuan to worry about him.

she feels that the world has been tilted also, however she's more concerned about jing yuan's scrambled state. "please, go home and rest, general." she pleads annoyedly, "mm. give me a moment, diviner fu." jing yuan replies quietly, his words melancholic. "you know as much as i do that something has changed." he states to the shorter woman.

boothill's shoes tap eagerly against the pavement that lined the roof of the building, echoing an ambience of anticipation. "what in the world are you?" the man questions the air rhetorically. he cannot, for the life of him, figure out what's causing such a stir in the mood of everyone, himself included. the silver cowboy's hand is rested on his hip, the other lifted to his neck with a finger pressed to his chin. "i dunno, but yer rackin' all our brains here.." boothill remarks, hoping that whoever is watching over him will hear it.

the enigmatic memokeeper is seen with a more defined smirk recently. black swan has taken interest is this unknown deity that has spiked fear and franticness all over the universe. she rests her palm against her chin, staring up into the stars that decorate the black outside of the express's windows. "i hope you'd be willing to speak with me, demiurge." she exclaims in a calm yet excited tone.

the head of the oak family stands in his obnoxiously large office, hands pressed against the polished table as he stares down at it. there's a few scattered documents thrown astray, but they're not important right now. all sunday can think of is you. he knows you exist, he's sure of it, and he won't rest until the day comes that you visit him and grace the world with your presence.

im so happy the eagles won the super bowl and kendricks performance was goated

dividers by @/hyuneskkami

[kingkaisen]

Gojo and reader's first fight?

Where they are ignoring each other or something and they don't really talk to each other

and megumi and yuji try not to make it obvious something is wrong in front of their sister so they don't worry her

In the end they make up

FIRST FIGHT

♡ — This fic is part of my dad!gojo series, but it can be read independently. All you need to know is that Satoru and the reader are a married couple with a young biological daughter, and they recently adopted Megumi and Yuji.

♡ — 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓: angst, fluff, brief mention of Christmas (Santa, more specifically.)

♡ — 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: I love this idea, anon! Thank you for contributing to the dad! gojo series!

During a peculiar, lazy weekend, the sky cloudy and the world moving at a slow pace, Megumi and Yuji were sitting on the couch in the living room playing video games together.

“Megumi!” Yuji frantically smashed a button on his controller with his thumb. “You’re telling me you exercise curses, but aiming in video games is your weakness?”

“Shut up. I was aiming perfectly.”

Suddenly, they heard faint shouting coming from upstairs, and after giving each other a puzzled look and pausing the game, they decided to sneakily investigate.

They creeped down the hallway quietly.

Satoru knew that the two boys were right outside of your bedroom door, listening. He was Satoru Gojo, after all.

But it truly didn't matter if they decided to eavesdrop or not, because either way, they knew that you were both fighting about something.

In fact, it probably would have been better for them to listen in, so they would know exactly what the argument was about instead of making assumptions, because as adopted children, they were more than likely going to assume that the argument was about them.

Especially Megumi.

He didn't like the idea of eavesdropping, but as he heard you fussing, his heart started to pound dreadfully within his chest.

Naturally, he assumed that he had done something wrong, and that tomorrow, he would be stuck sleeping on campus and once again without a proper family. So he needed to listen. Satoru knew that.

Yuji pressed his ear against your shut bedroom door and listened as best as he could.

Apparently, you were upset about Satoru's latest mission, which he had just returned home from and much later than you had expected. He didn't call until after he completed the job to let you know that he was finally on the way home.

That little incident also brought up a similar topic, which was that his work trips were happening more often and lasting for a longer amount of time.

Like a domino effect, one thing led to another. Soon enough, you were pointing out all of Satoru’s flaws and the potential impact it could have on you and the rest of the family.

And Satoru didn’t say a word, as he was in tears. He was hurt.

As Yuji listened through the door, Megumi suddenly tapped his shoulder. Yuji turned around and his brother pointed to the little girl making her way down the hallway, frowning sadly.

"Is mommy okay?" She darted her eyes between Megumi and Yuji, incredibly worried that something was wrong.

She sniffled.

The preschooler was very sensitive, born with a big heart and on the verge of tears more often than not.

Thinking that her mom might have been upset was enough to make her start crying, and Yuji could tell from that first sniffle that the waterworks weren't that far behind.

"Come here, Maya Papaya," Yuji smiled brightly, knowing how much she loved that nickname.

The young girl instantly ran up to her crouching brother. He picked her up, rising to his feet as he carried her away from your bedroom door.

"Everything's fine, don't you worry," Yuji softly pinched her cheek, and she squealed adorably. “Don’t get too close to their door, alright? I think they’re planning your super duper awesome surprise party, and we don’t wanna listen in on that, right?”

"Nuh uh!" She shook her head. "I'm gonna be - I'm gonna be five! I hope they invite Barbie 'cause my friend said that . . . that Barbie came to her birthday party and I want Barbie to come to my birthday party."

Yuji started to walk away from your bedroom door with Maya in his arms and Megumi following closely behind.

Yuji didn't know it, but Satoru sighed in relief.

— ♡ —

A few hours had passed.

You and Satoru were doing a horrible job at pretending nothing was wrong.

Satoru looked like a kicked puppy, his blue eyes glistening with sadness even when he tried to fake a smile, and you were stress cleaning all afternoon.

The clinks and clanks of pots and pans being arranged in the kitchen made Maya start to worry once again.

You were being loud. Louder than usual.

And dad hadn't come out of the bedroom.

"Hey," Megumi called out, grabbing her attention. "You know what would be really nice? If you went upstairs and gave Satoru a big hug.”

“Who’s that, Meg-mi?” Maya tilted her head a bit, confused.

She didn’t know who Satoru was. There was only one person upstairs, and his name was dad.

“Uh . . .” Megumi looked down at the floor. He wasn’t comfortable using those affectionate, heavy titles yet — mom and dad.

Yuji noticed his brother’s darting dark eyes.

“He meant to say dad. Why don’t you go and give dad a hug?” Yuji smiled softly.

“Okay!”

The pitter-patter of their younger sister’s feet could be heard as she ran upstairs.

Satoru knew that his little girl was making her way toward his room. Even without his gifted eyes aiding him, he could hear her excited giggles from the hallway.

Wiping his tears away with the back of his hand, he sniffled a bit, and put on his biggest and brightest artificial smile as she ran into his room and shouted, “Daddy!”

“Is that my little muffin?” Satoru sat on the edge of the bed, leaning down a bit and holding his arms out for Maya to run into.

He picked her up gently and sat the girl down on his lap.

“I came to hug you,” she beamed. Just then, she noticed that her dad looked a bit different.

His blue eyes were teary, and his cheeks and nose were red.

“What’s wrong, daddy?” With a sad frown, her tiny hand reached up to pat his cheek, attempting to wipe away the glistening wetness where he had failed to dry his tears properly before her arrival.

Satoru’s didn’t answer immediately. He didn’t know what to say.

He didn’t want to worry her, but he never wanted to lie to his little girl either, except when it was related to her health and safety — and her amusement as well, as he’d go above and beyond to make sure his daughter believed in Santa Claus, including sneaking around the house wearing a fake beard and a pillow underneath his red and white costume.

“Do you remember when we had that little talk about emotions? And I explained what they were?” Satoru asked softly.

“Uh huh,” Maya nodded.

“Well, right now, I’m feeling sad, and so is mommy. But I don’t want you to worry, okay? It’s completely normal to feel sad sometimes.”

Maya blinked at him. Satoru could tell based on the slight tilt of her head that she was thinking, putting her little mind to work.

Suddenly, she reached up, wrapping her little arms around Satoru’s neck, hugging him.

“Aren’t you sweet?” Satoru said, gently rubbing her back. “Thank you for the hug, muffin.”

“We can go play so that you can feel happy!”

It was an offer Satoru couldn’t refuse. With a grin — a real, genuine one this time — Satoru got off of the bed, carrying Maya to her room where they would play with her toys together.

— ♡ —

Meanwhile, as you were aggressively scrubbing down your stove with your soapy sponge, two figures appeared in the archway of the Tuscan kitchen.

You glanced over at your two adopted sons, then back down at the stove.

“I’m ordering pizza for dinner. I don’t feel like cooking right now,” you mumbled. “Sorry.”

“We didn’t come in here to ask you about dinner,” Megumi replied.

“We wanted to know if you were okay,” Yuji frowned worriedly.

“I’m alright.” Your sponge started to bend and tear as you scrubbed the spotless stove. Your reddened waterline was brimming with hot tears.

“You should stop cleaning,” Yuji took a step forward. Cautiously, he grabbed your wrist, preventing you from scrubbing. “Get some rest, mom.”

Sadly, you laughed. Though it was more of a small broken cry. Shaking your head, you said, “I can’t.”

“Why not?” Yuji asked, his sad eyes staring into yours.

“It’s not really something I should discuss with my two teenage boys, okay?”

“Let me guess,” Megumi paused. “Resting would mean going upstairs, and that’s where Satoru is, and you’re trying to avoid him because you’re still mad at him, right?”

“Wrong,” you frowned at Megumi, and Yuji released your wrist, but he also took the sponge out of your grasp. “I’m avoiding him because I know I made him cry, and I can’t believe . . . I was cruel enough to do something like that. But like I said, it’s not something for the two of you to worry about.”

Your words simply went through one ear and out the other, because suddenly, Yuji was once again grabbing your wrist.

Ignoring your protests, he practically dragged you upstairs.

Locating Satoru was rather easy thanks to the sound of childlike laughter coming from Maya and muffled cartoony noises coming from Satoru, which could be heard from the hallway.

Stepping into Maya’s room where she and Satoru were sitting on the floor, playing with her toys, Yuji said, “Sorry to interrupt.”

Satoru’s eyes darted between you, Yuji, and Yuji’s loose grip on your wrist.

“What’s going on?” He asked.

“You two need to talk,” Yuji looked back at you, and then glanced at Satoru. “Please talk. I know I don’t understand what marriage is like, and maybe I should just mind my own business, I don’t know, but . . . you’re both hurting each other right now and I think you should work it out.”

Yuji let go of your wrist. He walked toward his sister, leaned down, picked her up, and carried her out of her bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

“Don’t come out until you’ve both made up!” Yuji shouted.

Footsteps echoed through the home as he made his way downstairs with Maya.

Satoru rose to his feet, picking up Maya’s toys and carrying them to her purple toy bin and putting them away silently.

What an awkward silence it was — the two of you, standing in the middle of your daughter’s room, unsure of what to say to one another.

After all, arguments were incredibly rare. And this was the first time it had ever occurred with your children around.

“If you aren’t ready to talk yet, that’s fine.” Satoru broke the silence with his soft spoken words, unable to look into your eyes. “We can put on a good face in front of the kids and tonight . . . I can sleep downstairs in the guest room-”

“No, absolutely not,” you interrupted with a frown.“I’d never kick you out of our bed, Satoru.”

Satoru sighed.

“I’m sorry,” you paused hesitantly. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way that I did. I was just worried when you didn’t come home on time. It’s a dangerous world and you’re always right in the center of it, fighting. The thought of something bad happening to you kills me because I love you and I need you. But that isn’t an excuse to make you feel like you’re a bad husband and a bad father because that isn’t true at all. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.” You tried to look into his eyes, but he still wouldn’t meet your gaze. “Please look at me.”

It took a moment, but eventually, Satoru’s glassy eyes stared into yours. The overwhelming sadness that was visible within them broke your heart.

“I’m sorry, Satoru,” you said once again, and as sincerely as you could.

Satoru was silent. Much like Maya did to him earlier, he tilted his head slightly, thinking.

“I forgive you.” He stepped forward, and gently, he hugged you. “And I’m sorry I worried you. I know you have a lot on your shoulders. I’ll be more careful, I promise.”

A small sigh of relief fell from between your lips when you felt your husband’s arms around your body.

“Hey,” pulling away from the hug, Satoru smiled down at you. “Let’s go out for dinner, just you and me. We can go to that restaurant you like.”

“What about the kids?”

“They’ll be fine, baby. Pizza’s being delivered here and they know how to take care of Maya and themselves. They’ll be fine if we’re gone for a couple of hours.” Satoru grabbed your hand. “Do you wanna go?”

Happily, you nodded, and the smile that graced Satoru’s face was absolutely beautiful.

And, when you both shared with your children that you were going out for dinner together, their own victorious smiles were just as sweet.

— Next Part.

[scriptseekstories]

Queen Bee’s Hive

Chapter 10- Static Amongst Memories

A/N: Guess who’s back after not existing for almost two weeks 🧍🏽 not my fault (totally my fault I forgot about I had to write instead of daydreaming)

Dick held the mantel of being the big brother they can rely on. He couldn’t say no to his baby brothers and sisters, especially when they feel low. He loves his family, seeing it expand over the years he knew them like the back of his hand.

Yet ever since a week ago he felt like shredding that mantel to pieces. He couldn’t even imagine being the best brother after failing you, losing you, seeing you in that grave made him fall into disparity.

“I-Is it done? Did you finally get to my baby bird? Are we going to see them one last time?” He asked in a frantic manner, gripping the back of Barbara’s chair, causing her to scowl at him and swatted his hand away.

“Back off birdbrain, we’re all wanting to see them,” She hissed at him, her calm demeanor didn’t hide her shaking hands that were filled with excitement and dread. The Bat Cave was filled with the entire family, all waiting around as the process of infiltrating your phone was almost complete.

She wanted to see how truly a genius you were, but it made the fact she didn’t see you as you, and that made her feel horrible because she saw you the same way people saw her when she was first bound it her wheelchair. She swore to never make others feel weak for who they are.

God, this whole family is full of hypocrites.

“Dick done with his aneurysm?” Jason asked while limping back to the Bat computer. It was a mere few moments after his attempted murder on the bee beast, being scolded heavily by Bruce and Alfred before his broke wrist was tended to.

"Look," Damien spoke up, "Whatever we will see, it'll be out of respect and closure... even if we don't deserve it," Ever since your death, Damien has gone through a roller coaster of emotions, your room, photos, now these videos he inspected very single thing just to understand what he failed to see all thise time.

“So you have managed to break through the H.I.V.E defense, congratulations! ~🐝”

A cheery robotic voice popped that caused everyone to scramble and stand right in front of the computer. Barbara grinned widely in triumphant pride before clicking on the keyboard.

“The few reasons to do so is that if my creator has had their device stolen, a simple hacker attempting to get a hard-on for getting through strong encryption, or that my creator has sadly passed, ~🐝”

Duke and Alfred looked at each other, hugging out breathless laughs. That was created by you alright, even if one of them knew you for hours, it was definitely your humor.

“I must advise you to handle with my creator’s mind with care, they were a very gentle soul, ~🐝”

With a glitch and a static, the voice went silent before beginning to upload files of videos into the Bat Computer. Barbara swallowed hard, before pressing play to the first video ever recorded.

The family went silent when the video showed the camera behind shaken around, being set up before staying still, showing off the empty warehouse. Nobody appeared on screen for a moment before a child like voice began to make “duuuun, dun dundun” sounds and a cardboard with scribbles that appeared to be earth came on screen.

“Earth!!” A very young voice that belonged to you years ago spoke “What is it? A floating rock drifting in space? A massive planet filled with awesome life and color? And why is it considered to be the greatest?” You dramatically asked.

The cardboard was thrown to the side, and there you were. You were only 10 years old, yet your smile never changed in Alfred’s eyes. His gloved hands tighten around the chair, tears welling up as you giggled on screen.

“Simple. Plants and animals! They were first roaming the earth way before the mere concept of humans! And plants are like the superheroes to them! They feed us, give us protection, and provided materials to make our world today!” You waved your arms up in the air, giggling while you yelped when the camera unfocused on you, frantically fixing it.

“But that’s the problem. Humans are getting greedy and hurting this planet, causing the bee population to go out rapidly! Which is where we come in!” You stepped out of view, before pulling a cart with flourishing plants on top, cloth covering a large object underneath.

“(M/N) Raine, a wonderful and beautiful woman who spent her life on saving those bees. She had a whole group to help her, even got funded by The Bruce Wayne!” Another scramble and you held up a different cardboard that had a photo taped to it of your mother, your finger pressing on a crude drawing of the Wayne Enterprise logo.

“Right before he ghosted her and got her pregnant like the slut he was,” You then bluntly stated, “But that doesn’t matter! Because despite her no longer being here… I-I made it my goal to keep her legacy alive,” You trailed off, eyes drifting away before clearing your throat.

Meanwhile, Bruce watched with his heart aching at the fact you saw so lowly of him. Though he cannot blame you, what you said was true, and he regrets it every single day until he dies.

“Hello, my name is (Name) Raine Way… Raine, and this is day one of my re-research to bring Project: Honey back! For you, mama!” You swirled in your chair, giggling as you pulled the cloth off the cart, revealing the small beehive that belonged to your mother. You tended to it all this time even after a year being away.

The video ended, showing the black screen that reflected the whole Wayne Family. Some stared in awe, others letting their tears fall. You were so small, so alone in the Manor yet you still smiled as bright as the sun.

“Show us more,” Bruce managed to choke out, placing a shoulder on Barbara’s shoulder. She nodded and clicked on another.

~

“Day 15, all these papers don’t make sense!” You whined, holding up old papers, with complex math equations and blueprints of bees invoking over complicating words.

“But that’s why mama was so smart! She could understand this…” The look in your eyes the kids knew very well. Missing your parents was hard, but they had each other to comfort. But not you.

~

“Day 46, and the bees have hatched their new queen!” You beamed, “Aaand, guess what? Bruce took in another kid! His name is Jason, and he’s so nice to me! My new big brother!” You rambled on as you let a bee perched on your finger.

Dick’s heart shattered. He never was mentioned once, and Jason got the title of big brother? He… deserved it.

~

“Day 847… JayJay is…” You hiccuped, “I don’t know why… how… but he’s-,” You couldn’t finish the recording as you broke down, sobbing into your hands as you scrambled for the camera, cutting it off quickly.

Tim gripped Jason’s hand as he felt his brother shudder ragged breaths. It was a hard blow to remember that day, he was selfish to not see how it truly affected everyone.

~

“I think this is day 1034? Wow,” You breathed out, looking older, “Guess helping for the greater good takes a while, huh?” You looked tired, with a terrible black eye on your left side.

Jason remembered. The day he returned, he punched your face out of anger. But it wasn’t for you. Never towards you he would be angry.

~

“Day 2304, Just had to shake off a dog attack from… a brat,” You tried to joke, but there was bitterness in your tone, rubbing the bandaged area on your arm.

Damien winced ever so slightly and looked away. That damn scar on your forehead stayed permanently traced on your skin the moment he arrived. He made it your problem for him not understanding anything outside the League of Assassins.

~

“Day-! Um… well, it’s my 15th birthday,” You gave a little cheer, “Wanted to try and ask Cass and Steph to hang out… didn’t even acknowledge me,” You rolled your eyes, taking a deep breath before smiling again when your bees began to swarm the sweet fruits you brought them.

Steph looked down in shame, Cass clutching the photo that held you and your mother she took from the warehouse.

~

“Another kid came in today… his name was Duke,” That was all you said, tiredly looking at the camera before moving on with your bee process, as if he wasn’t worth mentioning.

It hurt Duke deeply, but he knew it wasn’t personal truly. The others swept him away before he had the chance to know you, and he shamefully admitted he never bothered to see you again since then.

~

“Day… whatever,” It was a 16 year old you. Only recorded a month ago, you still have the awkward yet bright smile. However, the smile you had was a tired one, one that looked pitiful and pathetic.

“Not really a day to log for important things. Just a way to vent I guess,” You shrugged, before slumping over the desk and rubbing your face, inhaling shakily.

“My so-called family apparently did a family portrait when I was at school… couldn’t even be bothered to interrupt them so I just snuck behind them to my room,” You snapped bitterly, fiddling with your sleeve.

“Not only that, but Damien decided to get me into trouble again… I hate that little rat,” You hissed, before your lips quivered ever so slightly.

“I’m tired…” You finally admitted, “I’ve been trying for years to get things right, but all deemed failures… no breakthroughs, no discoveries, no legacy,” You rubbed your hand across your face.

“And the worst part? I have no one to lean to…” Tilting your head up you blinked any years away. It broke their hearts seeing you cry, why now should they feel guilt for witnessing you cry?

“My family… I can’t keep living there any longer. I have a father who doesn’t even look at me, siblings who never gave me a hint of acknowledgment unless it’s only to torment me… but at least I have a father figure, a-and a mentor!” Your wavy lips turned into a small smile, trying to cheer yourself up.

“Her name is Ivy, and she’s amazing with plants! I told her all about my love for bees, plants and animals! Sure, she’s one of the most deadliest criminals in Gotham for trying to replace humans with plant mutated corpses, but so what?” You awkwardly smiled, before coughing and sucking your teeth in at what you said.

“Poison Ivy…” Bruce mumbled, eyes wide in realization. How could he have been so stupid for not figuring it out?! Where you knew about plants so much in your journals, ones where they were extinct too, either you were into books too much… or you had a little tutoring from the best of the best plant lover.

“She even asked me who my family was so she could grind them into fertilizer for my “siblings”? And take me away from Gotham… okay now that I think about what she said-,” You scratched your neck, eyes widened at how crazy you must’ve sounded, but let out another awkward laugh.

“B-but anyways, haven’t told her who my family was, because you know. Not like it matters, since once I publish my mother’s research, I’ll be out of there and living in my own home, with my friends, and Ivy, and even Alfred!” You gave the same old determined bright smile before cutting the video short.

“That plant bastard,” Tim hissed after a moment, “Of course, she must’ve had brainwashed (Name) into their death,” Maybe he wanted someone else to put the blame on, or maybe truly Ivy was manipulating you all along, but that wasn’t true. They know nothing of your trust in others, even if it might be obviously to the point of naivety.

“Do we really know master (Name) enough to claim such things?” Alfred muttered, causing Tim to stagger slightly and rubbed his arm.

The last recording you made, was dated to the night where you were taken away from them.

“I don’t want to see this moment again,” Steph muttered, attempting to move away, yet her eyes still trailed up to the screen as Barbara hesitantly clicked on the very last video you made.

The video immediately began frantic breathing, the loud sounds of rain hitting metal was heard as the camera was shakily being tossed around before half-hazardously getting set up on a stand.

"Project: Honey," You began, "An intense research study on genetically altering the DNA and structure of the honeybee. To provide better insight on saving endangered plants and to uprise the declining bee population," You swallowed hard, preventing more tears from falling.

You were pacing around the warehouse, grabbing whatever you needed going in and out of frame, mumbling like a madman. Duke watched uncomfortably seeing you act like this. It unnerved that it was the same you when you were smiling with joy hanging out with him earlier that day.

Bruce watched as his child, the one he was meant to love and protect, breaking out after he destroyed the last thing you ever cared about in the Manor. How could he screw up this badly?

"Final test, what more can you push yourself into being a part of your research than being just like a bee?" You asked yourself, holding the jar up in the light, "For you, mama," And with that, you took a small sip.

Then another, then another. Tim and Cass winced at how you became more desperate in drinking more honey, mumbling about how delicious it was, tilting it until the honey was all gone.

Then silence.

Then it all started.

The horrific, unimaginable horror recorded for them all to see. Alfred stumbled back as if he was slapped, face pale and his hands shook. Dick covered his mouth and choked. Jason felt like throwing up, along with Steph as she looked away. Cass couldn’t bear your screams and the disgusting noises of flesh tearing. Duke was mortified, bile rising in his throat before vomiting. Barbara pushed her wheelchair away and gagged as the sounds boomed across the cave.

Then… silence. Bruce managed to stay still the whole time, horrified at what he witnessed. The bee beast�� the one they saw hovering over your corpse… was you all along. The camera was then knocked over and froze mid recording when the sound of the glass roof shattered. Then silence once more.

No one dared to say a word, not a single movement as they took in what they saw, and what they realized.

“It was them…” Jason stumbled back, causing all eyes to be on him, “W-When I tried to attack it… them… It was Bumble all along… a-and I tried to kill them,” That’s when all hell broke loose.

“W-where are they now?!” “They must be all alone and scared! Of us!” “I tried to kill them…” “Oh god, are they even still alive?!” “They must be…” “Poison Ivy probably has them being tortured as we speak!” “We have to search the whole city!” We don’t even know if they’re still in Gotham as all!!” All these voices broke amongst each other, all filled with shame, fear, and rage.

Meanwhile, Bruce’s fearful eyes turned to Alfred, the one who truly knew you yet never did, the one who cared yet was never there to protect you, the one who loved you yet never was enough.

“Alfred…?” He whispered out, before flinching when a tear fell down the butler’s face, eyes shiny and hands trembling. All Alfred managed to say was weak, yet it was clear enough for all to hear.

“I need to get my baby back,”

꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁

They say there’s two reactions to danger: Fight or flight. In your bees’ case, it was freeze. Older workers protected the little ones, drones high alert, your mother’s beehive bused so loudly it shook the entire warehouse.

“My my! A party? I must say, you simply cannot call this a party without inviting entertainment!” The raspy and psychotic tone that fell into manic giggles caused the whole hive to go silent.

No one spoke, simply staring at the clown and his goons piling inside, guns drawn and pointing at them. The glow from the hive began to dim completely, the tense feeling filled the air.

“Now, which one of you sweet little insects is the leader?” Joker asked in a fake sweet tone, crouching down to look at the drones as if he was talking to children. And in a way, he was, the youngest drones were 12.

A 14 year old worker snarled at the sight of Joker, horrid memories of her last encounter with the clown involving her parents and Joker Gas rose her rage. An older drone sensed her fear and mixed rage, stopping the kid before anything she does anything stupid.

Then, a sudden loud thump shook the ground, all heads snapped at the dictation to the gigantic figure standing in the center of the hive. Joker clapped his hands delightfully and giggled.

“Wonderful! Say, something about you seems familiar? Have we had band practice before?” Joker pointed a finger, grin wide as ever, yet you stayed silent. He playfully placed a finger on his chin, thinking and squinting his eyes as he stared into yours.

“Yes… I recognize you! Hahahaha!!” Joker clapped again, “Those eyes are always a show for the light!” He waved his hands up, signaling his clown goons to raise their guns higher, causing your drones and workers to back away out of fear.

“You surely changed a bit, but I know your eyes anywhere!!” He grinned, “You’re that child belonging to that bee loving scientist! Lovely woman, I admit!” The drones and workers held disgusted expressions when Joker licked his lips at the thought of your mother.

Yet you stayed silent.

“A beauty in one’s eye, I admit, but still not amusing enough to spare her life however,” He clicked his tongue in feign sadness, shaking his head as if her death was a mere inconvenience. Your antennas twitch wildly, causing the others to snarl at him.

“They said it was a mugger, but oh ho ho!! I knew better!!” He cackled, “A simple accident on my end, one of my loyal minions had a bit of pent up anger, took it out on poor dear mother!” He faked a horrified gasp, pointing his gun at his head and pretended to shoot his head, grinning as he could practically hear your heart stop.

“But that’s neither here nor there, I supposed you want to know the reason I’m here! Funny story, really!” He kept on laughing. His stupid, irritating, psychotic laugh that made your anger rise more and more.

Your emotions vibrated heavily through the hive, causing your drones and worker’s antennas to twitch with rage, your mother’s beehive glowed in a searing bright light as Joker raised his gun.

“You see, Cobblepot has really irked me lately, and he totally crossed the line! Do I decide to be a little petty, and bring your head on a platter to him!” He did a shrugging motion, one hand on his hip and the other holding the wild lazily as if this was just another Tuesday.

His stupid smile still there.

“A reminder to him that I. Do not. Like to be undermined by,” He cocked his revolver, his face swirled into a serious sneer before grinning again, “You’ll understand when you’re older, kiddo! Or rather… guess maybe not!!” He lets out a cackle before snapping his fingers, and his clown goons pointed their guns at your drones and workers.

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG

The hive wasn’t filled with screams, no terror, no nothing. The Joker still had his manic grin, yet it faltered ever so slightly after the dust has finally settled. His clown goons lowered their weapons a little, searching for the bodies they assumed to take, but not a single drop of blood.

Between the clown and the drones, was a bright orange glowing wall of honey, one that you controlled with a single lift from your arms. A glint in your eyes priced Joker’s own eyes, grin getting a little wider as you swung your arms down to release the wall of honey.

With a snap of your fingers, your drones pushed the workers back and lunged at the clown goons with such speed it was merely a blink of an eye that they attacked. Joker took a stumble back, eyes darting at the sounds of the screams from his goons, the darkness only illuminating so little of silver glints from the moonlight.

The silver glints from sharp objects digging into the skin of the clown goons, cries and screams continued before Joker looked back, only to see glowing eyes in the shadows, and the looming figure of your bright body staring him down.

The Joker could only let out a hysterical giggle before taking another stumbled and tripping over a gun, falling as you sneered at him with disgust and hate.

“You dare enter my home,” One step closer to this pathetic clown.

“Terrorize my drones,” One terrified scream from one of his goon’s before muffled by honey.

“Insult my mother,” One constant cackle from Joker.

“Yet dare to expect me to laugh at my own demise?” One last step you grabbed his throat tightly, claws digging into his pale skin.

“When a wasp intrudes into a hive, the bees kills the wasp by lots of excess heat produced from intense rubbing of their bodies,” Your eyes glowed in sync with your drones, your wings unfolding and fluttering over the lights, creating a bright and reflective shine looming over Joker.

“But death seems to be a kind route… You killed j̸͈̆͌̂̋̑́͂͜͠â̸̠̋y҉̃̀̋̑j̸͈̆͌̂̋̑́͂͜͠â̸̠̋y҉̃̀̋̑, so I have a special fate for you,” That name was like a mixture of poison and fondness, an unknown yet familiar. You weren’t going to kill him. God knows you can’t take a life, you’re not a monster.

But you could make him into something useful. Something you can make better. After all, royalty needs a jester. You pushed his jaw down, opening his mouth as he kept on cackling, his permanent smile painted on his sickly pale face.

“You wish to be this party’s entertainment?” You stared down at him, pushing his mouth farther apart while your clawed finger lowered a single large drop of your honey, glowing so bright as everything seemed so fuzzy in Joker’s eyes.

Buzzzzz

“Then open wide,”

A/N: Heyyy!! Looks like you got ONE thing from your father, you don’t kill! Just… use them ig-

Anyways, that’s neither here nor there.

You finally got the Bats reacting to your videos! All sad and shameful really, but now they know!

Taglist: @pix-stuff @jellystar-star @moon0goddess @bad4amficideas @lettucel0ver @lithiumval @degenerates-posts @ryuushou @deathbynarcisstick @silverklaus @artistwithcreativeburnout @middevil465 @jsprien213 @1abi @oliviaewl @redkarmakai @nxdxsworld @the-dumber-scaramouche @sc3n3mo-t3to @tw-om-gi-hs-56387 @bunniotomia @welpthisisboring @rad4bean @ithoughtthinks @reeyy0-2 @ceramic-raven @danart501 @esposadomd @trashlanternfish360

[fayes-fics]

Rebel

Paring: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: You only wanted a quiet refuge away from the ball, you got a lot more than that…

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, rake!Anthony, innocent!reader, frottage incl. clit stimulation through clothing, female and male orgasms.

Word Count: 3.8k

Authors Note: For all the Anthony fans, sorry it's been so long since I posted a fic for him alone. I don't recall where this idea originated from other than my wanting to do a trapped-together trope for him. It turned out sweeter than I expected tbh. Thanks to @colettebronte for an awesome betaing, as always. Enjoy! <3

You are grateful to find a little oasis of calm. A small storage room that is cool, dark and quiet—a world away from the loud, stuffy ballroom. The perfect hideout from the undesirable whirlwind of your first-ever society event, escaping your aunt’s clutches at an opportune moment as she was detained by a verbose member of the Ton. Slumped against the wall, shoes removed, and eyes closed, you finally find a calm reverie, your flushed skin cooling….

Until that is, your refuge is rudely invaded.

There is a shaft of almost blinding light and then a whirlwind of movement. The door makes an odd clicking noise as it is practically slammed shut again. 

And then a deep, wracked sigh that is decidedly male.

All of your serenity evaporates, a prickle over your skin at the realisation you are not alone. In fact, you are unchaperoned in a darkened room with an unknown man. 

Fretting for a few moments, you know it's impossible to slip past him unnoticed. So you hope you can stay quiet enough and pray he will leave again shortly. Perhaps it's the darkness that heightens his hearing; maybe it's that you are unable to silence your breathing sufficiently in such a small room, but your hope is instantly dashed.

“Who is there?” his voice rings out loudly, and you wince, knowing it's probably pointless to stay silent but seemingly unwilling to speak.

There is the rasp of a match being struck, and then a tiny flame appears to illuminate the lines of a face. It looks youthful, handsome, well-bred… and very annoyed.

“What in God’s name are you doing in here? And who are you?” He questions as he swings the flame around, looking for a sconce to light, making a quiet sound of victory as he locates one near the door.

“I…I came to escape.” Your confession is easier with his back turned as he lights the fixture. “I'm Miss y/l/n. And you are?”  

He guffaws as he faces you again. “Hah …”

“Did I say something amusing?” you squint slightly as you adjust to the light after considerable minutes alone in the dark.

“I believe you did...” he chuckles, bemused that you do not instantly recognise him. “Well, ‘tis of little consequence,” he sniffs, “as this is occupied, I shall bid you adieu and find a different private space….”

It appears he was looking for escape as much as you. But, what he probably hoped would be his parting words, accompanied as they are by a brusque nod, turn out to be anything but. 

The polished brass door knob spins in his grip, but the door does not relent, staying firmly within its frame. He tries a few more times before huffing and starting to rattle it more insistently. Then, beginning to lean into the door with his weight as if hoping that would shift it.

The door opens inward, idiot… you roll your eyes unseen, assuming the man is playing a prank at first. But the more he repeats the same move, each a shade more frantic than the last, the more you realise it is perhaps not a comedic bit.

“We are stuck?!” You check, indignance flaring. The door was just fine before he got here.

“It would appear so, Miss,” not pausing in his actions as he answers, a curl of hair flopping rather fetchingly over his forehead.

You start to pace back and forth, only a few steps possible in the small room, but an overwhelming need to move to dissipate the nerves creeping up your spine.

“Well, bang on the door then!” you gesticulate, forgetting any manners in your growing disquiet.

“Outspoken...” he pauses to mutter under his breath, but it’s begrudging respect more than chastisement. He starts to do exactly as you suggest: pound his fist on the door and call out for anyone. He presses his ear to the door, hoping to hear an approach. When there appears to be none, he repeats. “You could help, you know…” he throws out pointedly, side-eyeing you.

“Tis not becoming of a lady…” you counter sarcastically.

“Neither is ordering me around, but you seemed to have no issue in that regard,” he retorts, raising an eyebrow that calls your bluff and has you springing to his aid.

With both of you thumping on the door, you hope discovery is imminent, but after a few attempts, no one comes to assist. 

“Urghh! The ball is likely too loud, and this corridor too seldom visited,” you surmise.

“Most likely,” he concedes, a flash of what looks like admiration flitting across his features. “Perhaps we will need to remain in here until the ball is quieter.”

“That could be hours; my aunt will wonder where I am,” you slump your head into your hands before moving to pace again.

“Then maybe she will dispatch a search party. You are not the first debutante to hide in a storage closet, believe me. This may well be the first place they come looking.”

“Not exactly ideal, or did you forget it would be a scandal if we are found here together?!” you point out tartly.

Again, there is a flash of something over his face, as if he enjoys it when you behave the very opposite of polite.

“Of course, I did not,” he gruffs, then softens his countenance. “I shall conceal myself in that alcove behind the door,” he gestures to the corner where, indeed, there is an almost hidden indent in the wall. “Your search party shall be none the wiser. I can make my escape once the coast is clear.”

His suggestion immediately assuages you, believing the sincerity in his tone. There is a beat as you both nod to each other as if sealing this pact.

“You still have not told me your name…” a need to know it after this gentlemanly gesture.

“You honestly do not know?” prompting an attractive furrow between his eyebrows.

“No. This is my first ball. I am here at the behest of my maternal aunt. I have no earthly idea who most of these people are,” you huff, gesturing towards the jammed door.

“Some may argue lucky for you….” his response laced with amusement before he squares his shoulders to continue. “Bridgerton. Viscount Anthony Bridgerton.”

“Oh…”

If there is one name your cousin has warned you about before tonight, it's the Bridgerton brothers. All handsome, rich, intelligent… and very unlikely to take a wife. It would be wiser to howl at the moon than expect the pursuit of a Bridgerton—her stark words of warning echoing in your mind as you sense him observing you curiously. Your response is obviously not what he expected, that forehead crease reappearing. 

“Oh?” he mimics. “What on earth is that supposed to mean?”

“I am… aware of your family…” You confess, unsure what else to say.

“It does not sound a pleasant recollection,” he astutely surmises. “Am I to assume my family has done yours some harm?”

“No!” you reply quickly. “Nothing of that nature…”.

“Then what?... Out with it!” a mild irritation rising as you hesitate.

“My cousin warned me about the Bridgerton brothers,” you blurt out.

He barks a brief laugh but takes a step closer, his stance relaxing and gaining a swagger.

“Oh, did she now?” his voice changed; deeper, smokier, firing something in your belly.

“Yes…” it's your turn to square your shoulders, crossing your arms defensively for good measure. The trouble is, it just draws attention to your breasts. You don't miss the way his eyes flick down briefly.

“What did she tell you?” he seems to move inexorably closer, dark eyes sparkling in the low candlelight.

“That I should not seek a dance with you,” you admit, seemingly unable to avoid answering this man truthfully.

“And why might that be?” his cadence almost a rumble now.

“You are not marriage material.”

“And is that what you want? Marriage?” Skillfully deflecting an admission it’s true.

“It’s what’s expected of me. What I may or may not want is irrelevant,” you sniff.

“What a pity. I think what you truly want may be something far more… interesting,” Anthony’s tone is like velvet as he draws closer, towering over you. Your body responds almost against your will, a flush running down your torso, a tingle in your arms.

“Irrelevant,” you repeat, as you defiantly glare up at him, heartbeat racing.

“Is it…?”

He seems to know you want this precisely because it's what you should not be doing. The tempting taste of rebellion wrapped up in a handsome face.

A warm hand rounds your elbow, and his lips suddenly brush your ear.  “Also, it seems unfair to condemn me a rake based on the words of another, does it not? Should a man not get the chance to defend himself? Surely you are of sound enough mind to draw your own conclusions?” 

The irony of attempting to defend himself against the accusation while acting the archetypal rake is not lost on you, even as you fight every twitch in your body, a want to grab and be grabbed, almost an itch on your skin.

“Your current actions, my lord, do not exactly dispute her assessment,” you counter boldly, pleased you can tamp the waver in your voice.

His laugh is a warm gust down your neck that makes you shiver.

“Perhaps not,” he concedes, “and yet… here you still are…” 

You can’t argue with that. You could indeed easily move away, his hold on your elbow symbolic…. No, it’s that you most definitely don’t want to.

“You are a rake,” you murmur, even as your lips brush his cheekbone.

“And you like it…” he breathes raggedly, skittering across your skin as your heart pounds in your ears.

God, if that isn’t the truth.

“Do I?” you sass and pull back a few inches.

Anthony’s nostrils flare, and his eyes flash. The pluckier you get, the more it riles him up and reels him in.

“There is something you could teach all the other debutantes out there,” he tilts his head to one side and reaches for the dance card tied to your wrist, holding it between his thumb and forefinger.

“Enlighten me…”

“That a feisty young woman is far more attractive than a demure, meek girl,” he breathes, a finger now tracing the ribbon on the card, lingering on the delicate skin of your wrist.

“So you can domesticate a free spirit?” you sneer disapprovingly.

“Oh no, no. The very opposite. To let her run wild…” his fingers trail up your forearm, causing goosebumps in their wake, your breath quickening. Then he leans in, his lips by your ear again, breath hot “....and hang on tight because that will be the ride of your damn life.”

“Rake,” you murmur.

“Rebel,” he rumbles in return, goading.

Exhilaration makes you turn a fraction into his cheek, and it’s the permission he needs, moving to capture your lips with his. 

Fireworks explode in your body as, for the first time, a man kisses you. And not just a peck. No, it's a soft, sensual dance at first, his lips warm and wet, opening yours and inviting you to take it further. And you do. Grab his jacket sleeves, feeling the muscular outline of his biceps underneath as his hands move to grasp your waist and haul you against his body. The kiss turns hot and electric, his tongue entwining with yours, you following his motions, a flash of heat spiking through you as if struck by some powerful force. He pulls back, breaking the kiss, both of you breathing hard and staring at each other. 

“Tell me to stop…” he challenges, but everything in his demeanour tells you it's the opposite of what he wants. And it's definitely not what you want.

You bite your lip and shake your head.

There is a noise, male, hungry, utterly arousing, and then he is back on you. Kissing like wildfire and walking you backwards against the wall, velour wallpaper tickling the skin of your shoulders where your dress scoops lower. His hands are hot through the thin silk of your gown, grasping your waist and pulling you into him. His mouth tastes of whiskey, a hint of smoke and something earthy that is sinful.

“What do you want to know?” he asks teasingly, his mouth ghosting over yours. “Do you wish to know a man’s body, to know pleasure, or possibly both?” 

Each option sounds wonderful, tempting, perfect even. But there is one that trips from your tongue.

“Pleasure,” you answer greedily, feeling selfish to continue chasing this fizzing effervescence you have inside, both sweeter and tarter than any champagne.

“Mmm, I thought you might say that,” he chuckles, nuzzling your cheek. 

“Next question. And I shall offer no clues as to what this might mean if you do not know already…. But do you want…” he pauses to swipe his tongue sinfully into your mouth, “tongue…” he breathes, pulling away a fraction, “or…” his hand cups your chin, then two fingers push between your lips, an earthy, smoky taste from holding cigars now lingering on your tongue, “...fingers.”

Instinctively, you close your mouth around the invading digits and suckle lightly, his eyes flaring, and a groan catches in his throat.

1“Good god, I wish you had said you want to know a man….”

You have no idea what he might be referring to, but you can't resist suckling harder on his fingertips, feeling wanton but enjoying the power you seem to hold over him in this moment, his entire dazzling focus on you.

“You did not answer my question, y/n,” he scolds gently, slowly removing his fingers from your mouth and trailing your saliva over your own throat.

“Whatever you will,” you breathe, already missing him in your mouth as his fingers trail lower, leaving a dampness over the swell of your breast that makes your breath quicken.

His lips are back on yours, demanding, plundering kisses that have you wanting more. So much more. As he pulls away, his lips are red and damp, and his dark eyes intense, sparkling in the candlelight.

“Perhaps my fingers are best, for this circumstance at least,” he opines, sounding a touch reluctant, “less incriminating should we be swiftly interrupted…”

Part of you wishes there was some furniture you could push against the door so no one could disturb you, let him do whatever - everything - he wants. Because if it makes you feel anything like what you do now, you’d know you would allow it, consequences and propriety be damned.

“Pull up your dress,” he orders lowly, his lips on your cheek.

He makes a tiny noise of approval as you put your hands at your hips and grab handfuls of your dress and chemise until the hem is high above your knees, looping the fabric over your forearms, the air cool on your thighs. He drops a little soft kiss upon the shell of your ear as if to reward your obedience.

But then you gasp as suddenly his hand slides down your front and cups between your legs, so much heat through the thin layer of your silk undergarment. He makes an approving noise, apparently liking what he finds, pulling your earlobe into his mouth and grazing it softly with his teeth. Two of his fingers drag achingly slowly against the soft material. Your skin seems as if it could vibrate straight off your body and you cling to him, eyes going wide at the intensity from just a light touch.

“So perfectly responsive”, he gusts. “I almost forgot how very beguiling an innocent can be… and such a keen one at that.”

You can tell from his inflexion it's intended as a compliment; he seems so very charmed by your willingness. And you are so very eager for him, for the sensations he is wringing from your body never to cease. As those fingers keep stroking, your mouth is slack, and you press your breasts into him, wanting no inch of your body away from his. His lips are hot on your cheekbone, the other arm caged around you. 

He doesn't make any move to discard your underwear. Instead, he just keeps stroking over a spot between your legs that is rapidly swelling under his touch, viscous warm liquid leaking into the silky material and seeping through onto his fingers.

“Perfect,” he growls and moves faster.

“It feels so different…” you gulp, then clarify, “...to when I touch myself.”

He inhales sharply, his eyes flashing dark, and his fingers curl more insistent against your nub.

“You do this to yourself? An innocent?” He looks unbridled now with both admiration and lust.

You just nod, biting your lip.

“My perfect little rebel….” he lauds.

He is huffing into your hairline now, scenting you as you writhe instinctually on his questing fingers. Someone else’s touch is a magnified experience of what you have done alone before. This is wholly other: another human with you in this moment, him panting with desire, his body heat seeping through clothing, his fingers calloused in a way that catches perfectly on your swollen flesh as his resonant voice and smoky mint breath pleads with you not to stop. 

Grabbing onto his lapel, needing an anchor, you stare up into his deep brown eyes, the look on his face utterly triumphal, his lips lowering to cover yours, breathing each other’s air. Something hard pressing into your hip bone as you ride boldly upon his fingers now. A shiver runs up your spine at how good this is, little sparks firing from the pinpoint of pleasure between your legs. The coiled spring of desire is so much more profound with him, a delicious tension in your whole being. He keeps muttering low words of praise of how well you are doing, and how beautiful you look. Your skin flushes with arousal and exertion, and a bead of wetness runs down your inner thigh just as you are climbing to that point of no return. 

Suddenly, he withdraws his touch, your responding whine trailing off as his fingers swipe through that trickle of moisture. Then you stare transfixed as he brings it up to his mouth and sucks the dewiness from his fingertips, a hungry noise hitching in his throat as he does. It makes you desperate for him, for this. To reach that pinnacle with him. A burning want to do it time and time again. To find your pleasure with him, for him. To experience everything that can happen between a man and a woman.

“I want to know a man too,” you exhale unevenly, not able to censor your wayward thoughts, your abandoned clit throbbing hard in your soaked underwear.

He groans, the vibration of it quaking through him and that hand now cups your jaw. “By god, you will,” he asserts roughly, and you can smell traces of your arousal on his fingers as he leans in and kisses you deeply, the flavour of it tart on his tongue.

“Please touch me again…” your voice a broken plea.

His smile is devilish handsomeness personified, as he does just as you ask. You cry out over his lips as he expertly swipes over that spot again, rubbing even faster now. Rocketing you right back to the point where you have to cling to him, your knees buckling.

His other hand snakes around your body and grabs your breast through your dress. It makes you groan loudly, a yearning for him to strip off the layers, rip away your stays and snag your pebbled nipple between his teeth.

“What are you thinking?” he demands hotly, and you realise your face must give away something of your licentious wishes.

“I want your mouth on my breasts,” you confess the truth raggedly, riding his fingers again, whimpering and moaning with each expert flick of his fingers.

He growls, more untamed creature than man, and he pinches you through the layers, seemingly knowing exactly where your nipple is. The sensation, even though dulled through cotton and silk, makes you shudder and call out loudly. To the point he hushes you, deciding next to swallow your cries with kisses. Stealing your breath with his tongue as his fingers swirl in a rough circle between your legs, a drag that is so delicious, it hurls you right over the edge you skate and into oblivion.

Your whole body convulses, him pressing you into the wall to stay upright, your lungs tight as you scream your release into his mouth, vision swimming, a complete fuzziness as you float away. Nothing like you have experiences alone, a hundred times more visceral, carnal—utterly addictive.

As you return to the room, he is rutting himself against your hip bone, a solid mass between his legs. The feral nature of his movements awakens something in you, and you grasp his neck and pull him down to your lips.

“Do it,” you challenge through gritted teeth. 

Wanting him to reach his peak as much as you just have. Not yet understanding fully what is happening, but everything between your legs clenching and aching for something you can't articulate as he follows your bidding and ruts himself against you furiously now, grunting. You kiss him with ferocity and reach around to grab his shapely rear to encourage his movements. 

That’s the catalyst he needs, and, with an almost howl, he stills, pressed harshly into you, his face contorted, slack-jawed, and you feel a bloom of warmth through the wool of his trousers.

There are no words spoken for a few moments, just harsh breathing, the air heavy with the tang of sex. Then he moves to cup your face tenderly, closing his eyes and tilting his forehead on yours.

“Good god,” he sounds gravelly, sated, floored. “I….”

But he is interrupted by the sound of the door handle being jiggled violently, making you both spring apart lightning fast, clothing being rapidly rearranged. The door finally relents, and a footman’s face appears in the crack. He likely can surmise, and perhaps indeed scent, what has just transpired. 

“I wondered where you had got to, Sir,” he clears his throat, “but then I was passing by and knew this had to be you,” a barely contained smirk suggesting he could well have been guarding the door for a while.

“Jenkins!” Anthony’s relief is palpable. 

“The carriage, Sir, I presume?” he offers pointedly.

“Yes, please,” Anthony nods. As the man disappears, leaving the door ajar, Anthony’s hand slips into yours. Then, in a tone that brokers no argument - not that you have an ounce of interest in doing so - he declares, “You, my delicious little rebel, are coming with me….” 

masterlist • wips • taglist (must be following this blog to be tagged)

Anthony taglist pt 1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @crowleysqueenofhell @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @fictionalmenloversblog @malpalgalz @amanda08319 @delehosies @m-rae23 @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @vane28282 @kisskissshutmydoor @y0ur-favgerman @sya-skies @urfavnoirette @cinnamoodles @blackdxggr @alexandrainlove @witty-wallflower @black-kitten-imagines @detectiveviridian @themadhattersqueen @tinypinkdragon @fudge13 @fanfiction-she-wrote

[meracyn]

꒰ hopeless ꒱ !

༉ just blue lock boys having a crush on you!

starring yoichi isagi, meguru bachira, seishiro nagi & reo mikage (all separate)! x reader

warnings cursing, implied fem! reader in reo’s part

notes so i forgot how to write..

YOICHI ISAGI

isagi was like a literal simp.

finding any excuse to talk to you— no matter how ridiculous it seemed, isagi would make it work somehow.

yeah. even if it meant purposely accidentally bumping into you.

“oh sh—i’m so sorry! are you okay? i didn’t mean to bump into you,” he stammered, his face already flushed red at the contact of your shoulders brushing. he offered a water bottle, snack— hell, even doing your homework as an apology.

on the other hand, you only stood there watching in amusement. “yoichi, i’m fine, don’t worry.” you said with a smile, trying to reassure him.

and ever since that day, isagi would suddenly be around you constantly— from simple greetings to walking you to all of your classes (it’s fine if he was a few minutes late, what’s the big deal?)— all while still coming up with the most random conversation starters that left you questioning what really was going on through his head.

“bread or rice for breakfast? bread? awesome, me too! so, what are your plans for this weekend?”

it eventually becomes a cycle that leads to his friends finding out about it, too. while some mostly stay back and watch him stumble over his words with a red face whenever they spot him talking to you, others do the opposite. like bachira, for example, who teases him like hell for it.

“hey, what’s with that smile?”

at his friends’ sudden question, isagi immediately felt his cheeks heat up, trying to think of a believable excuse to escape bachira’s teasing. only to fail and say the first thing that came to his mind, “n-nothing.”

“ohhhh,” bachira replied, drawing out the sound dramatically. “i see, you’re thinking about them, aren’t you?”

isagi stammered out a response in denial, but deep down, knew it was true.

later that night as he laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind was full of thoughts of you. the way your smile made him feel like he was above clouds or whenever you looked at him had his heart skipping a beat.

he groaned softly, turning over to bury his face in his pillow with a pink face. “i’m screwed.” he mumbled to himself, feeling his heart pounding loudly in his chest. despite the swirl of emotions that fogged up his mind, a shy smile tugged at his lips.

isagi couldn’t wait to see you tomorrow.

MEGURU BACHIRA

“meguru, i can’t move if you’re hanging off of my back.”

for the past ten minutes or possibly more, meguru suddenly jumped onto you from behind, his arms and legs locked around you, tightening every time you tried to move.

the hallways were empty except for the both of you, which unfortunately meant for the brown-haired male to keep clinging onto you like a koala, no matter how much you complained and turned to pry him off.

he leaned down to rub his cheek affectionately against yours for a moment. “then don’t.”

“you can’t just cling to me all day,”

“why not? you’re not hard to carry.”

you scoffed, placing your hands on his knees to push them down so he would let go, but to no avail. “what’s that supposed to mean?” you huffed, giving up your attempts to free yourself.

meguru grinned, finally letting go before wrapping an arm around your waist, lifting you off of the ground with ease to hold you bridal style. “you’re really light for someone so short.”

“what the fu— put me down!”

his bright yellow eyes bore into yours. “nope. this is way better!” he replied with a hum, abruptly turning on his heel as he spun you around, his laughter echoing through the hallways.

you felt your cheeks redden at his daring hold on your body, frantically looking around to make sure no one was nearby. gosh, it would be so embarrassing if anyone caught you both in this situation right now.

“why are you even doing this?” you asked, avoiding to look into those warm, honey-colored eyes of his.

meguru paused. “huh..i guess i just like being around you.” he said softly, his tone steering away from playful to sincere.

“oh.” you felt your cheeks redden further, lifting your head once more to face him. “that’s..cute, but—”

“wait,” he interrupted, his eyes widening as if he realized something. “do i..” meguru’s cheeks turned a tad pink as he kept gazing into your eyes intensely, causing you to get nervous.

then he burst out laughing. “ohh, i get it now.”

you raised an eyebrow, still confused by what he was referring to. “of what?”

he grinned at you again, holding you tightly in his arms as he leaned in closer, his face mere inches away from yours. “i think i really like you. a lot.”

SEISHIRO NAGI

you lost.

again.

gripping the controller in frustration, you cursed under your breath, “dammit, why is it so hard?”

you were currently over at nagi’s place, chilling in his room while laying on his bed. your eyes focused on the large television displaying the ‘game over’ screen, then back at nagi, who was sprawled out on his gaming chair and engrossed in his phone, the sounds of gunshots and taps of his fingers being heard.

“sei,” you called out, sitting up as you went over to him, nudging his shoulder gently with the palm of your hand.

no answer.

clicking your tongue in annoyance, you decided to move so you would sit in front of him, noticing how his dark eyes were laser-focused on his phone. you reached out, booping his nose.

nagi flinched slightly, his eyes flickering up to meet yours. “what was that for?”

“to get your attention.”

“huh? what do you need?” he asked, casually pressing the pause button on his phone as if he wasn’t currently in the middle of finishing the last boss.

“i need help on this level,” you grabbed the controller, holding it out for him to see the screen shown on tv.

“oh. sure.”

after a while, you waved him goodbye, going off to walk home. nagi waved back, shutting the door once you were out of sight. he sat down on the couch, phone in hand to resume his match. reo, who was sitting on the other end of the furniture and had heard everything from upstairs, decided to try to do the same.

“can you pause your game again and get me a drink?”

nagi hummed, not bothering to look up from his phone. “get it yourself.” he replied with a deadpanned expression.

“but you did it for y/n—”

“that was different.”

reo’s jaw dropped, a vein mark popping on his forehead. “why them and not me!?”

nagi only shrugged. “maybe i just like them more than you.”

his comment had reo sulking that night.

REO MIKAGE

it was white day— a month after valentine’s, where boys were the ones giving gifts to the girls instead; whether for friendship, admiration, or simply reciprocating the gifts they had received from them.

although it was more like another normal day for you. when valentine’s day rolled around, you had given reo a box of chocolates for the sole purpose of being a great friend, not thinking much of it back then.

what you didn’t know, was that he decided to give you something back.

except ten times more.

as you walked into the classroom, your eyes widened at the sight of your assigned desk being stacked with all sorts of gifts— heart-shaped chocolate boxes, small bags of cookies, flowers, and a small teddy bear in a suit with a white tag above its chest.

oh, don’t forget a single pink card on top of everything.

a group of your classmates surrounded your desk, murmuring who was your admirer to have gifted you so much. how did you manage to get the most gifts on white day out of everyone else in the room?

from what they knew, you didn’t give any guy a whole stack of gifts. so what gives?

meanwhile for you, it didn’t take you that long to figure out who your—possible— secret admirer was.

who else other than reo mikage himself?

once classes were over, you spotted him standing nearby, leaning against the wall while trying to look nonchalant. you headed towards him, carrying the mountain of gifts in your arms.

“hey reo! look at what i got,” you said with a grin, holding everything up for him to see. “i wonder who got me all this. i want to thank them personally, you know?”

reo silently beamed, thinking he pulled it off perfectly— especially you not knowing who it was. he cleared his throat, trying to maintain his innocent act. “oh yeah, i wonder.”

your eyes narrowed as you looked at him, picking up the teddy bear. “it’s obviously you, it literally has your name on it.”

crap. reo’s eyes widened, his face flushing pink in embarrassment. how did he fail to notice that!? “oh—uh..” he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck while avoiding eye contact.

“..it’s fine, thank you, reo.” you said softly with a smile.

he looked up, his heart racing in his chest once he noticed that sweet smile of yours that never failed to leave him a flustered mess each time.

“really—”

“just don’t send an entire store of chocolates next time.”

[sleeptokenandghost]

LUCIFER HELP US! WE WILL NOT SURVIVE IF VESSEL KEEPS THIS UP!

So this catwalk is going to kill us...

Festhalle November 10th, 2024

(Source)

[yan-randomfandom]

umm hi! wanted to ask if is ok yandere rumi with gn!reader or yandere rumi and yandere jinu if it's ok

Yandere!Rumi x GN!Reader

a/n; HOORAY YANDERE!! #iloverumi thank u anon😙 | warning; dependency

— 💜

You found out about her patterns by accident.

And at the time, instead of feeling fear and panic as she should be, all Rumi could feel was relief. Relief that it wasn't one of the girls. Relief that it was a complete stranger. Relief that someone else knew about it.

When you asked, Rumi explained it was tattoos in frantic desperation. But you knew.

"Those are demon patterns," you say with confidence. You meet the singer's eyes warily, being careful in your expression.

Something crazed lights up in Rumi's face. "How did you—"

"I learn about myths and legends in my free time. But..." you pause, glancing over her patterns again, "I've never heard of a human-demon before. Unless, you aren't human...?"

Rumi breaths. The kind of breathing that made you believe she's relieving through something. "I— I am."

— 🪻

It's become a habit for you and her to meet up every now and then. She'd ask you what you know about the demons, the Honmoon, Gwi-Ma, and she'd tell you her experience about being a hunter. (You asked for anything fan-related things too, of course. Picture, autograph — it's awesome!)

How curious that demons truly do exist.

You didn't expect her to want to meet you so often. First of all, she's a famous idol. You're a casual fan of Huntrix, but you already know how hard they work for their art. Second, she's a hunter! The legendary three-part harmony protectors of the Honmoon!

A sigh escapes you. You can't imagine bearing all that responsibility — let alone being a demon herself.

Rumi likes to text you a lot, always planning the next hangout. You'd think that she would have to keep changing schedules, but on the contrary, it seems like it's you who always has conflicting schedules.

— 🎶

"The Saja Boys are demons," she says one day, suddenly, her face falling heavy. "Avoid them, okay? The girls and I will fix it as soon as we can."

You stare at her in awe, your eyes narrowing in curiosity. "Demon boy band? Of course..."

She places her hand on your shoulder. You give her a smile, gently brushing your hand against her patterns.

"Don't worry, Rumi," you nod. "I'll help too, in my own way. Thanks for telling me."

"Thank you," Rumi parrots, meeting your eyes. "But you don't have to do anything. Let me handle all of it. Just stay safe."

— ❤️‍🔥

"Don't leave. Don't leave!"

Just like that.

Rumi's patterns were revealed to the whole world. Her own friends raised their weapons against her. Jinu yelled at her, brushed her off, denying everything she believed in him. Celine, to this day, this disaster—

She will never be accepted, will she? Everyone turned against her—confused on who she is, disgusted on what she is, afraid of her.

"Rumi!"

You call, tears blurring your vision as you firmly grip her shoulders. "Please. Your patterns don't make you who you are. I—"

Rumi watches as you let go of your hold on her, turning instead to clutch your aching head. She watches you tremble, watches you cry as the voices take over your mind.

She watches.

"Rumi," you gasp, trying so hard to ignore his voice. "Rumi. Help. Stop, stop it, stop it, stop it! Rumi!"

Rumi watches with quiet satisfaction. You need her. You're not pushing her away—you call her name—despite everything, you tried to comfort her—

A few moments of silence from her, a few moments of sobbing from you. Eventually, she kneels beside you, leveling with your glassy eyes, and offers a weak smile.

"Thank you," she mutters, gently pulling your forehead to her lips. "I'll make it right. I will."

With those final words, Rumi watches as you finally give in to Gwi-Ma's voice and stand to follow him.

She watches as you walk to the stadium.

She trails behind, everything and anything raging through her mind.

— 🔥

"That whole thing felt like a nightmare," you mutter, holding one side of your head.

You look up, seeing Rumi stare at you with a smile. Ever since that doomsday of an event, she's being acting different, somehow. Extra clingy, extra paranoid, extra... happy?

At least she's happy now.

She hasn't been wearing long sleeves, free enough to be wandering with her scars.

You unconsciously place a hand on her cheek, feeling the texture of her skin. She melts instantly into your touch, leaning to chase it closer.

"I'm proud of you," you smile. "Thank you for protecting us."

Rumi blinks her tears away. It's not everyday someone thanks them for doing their duty.

"I'm never abandoning you," she smiles back. "As long as you don't... abandon, me."

— #iloverumi

[ebodebo]

jason can't find you…turns out you’re shitfaced at a club in gotham…

-

Jason can't find you.

It's as if you have just disappeared off the face of the earth.

His phone calls went straight to voicemail, and his texts were getting left on delivered. 

Per Alfred's request, Jason was to attend a crucial charity banquet at Wayne Manor tonight.

So, you told him you'd just stay home, take a hot bath, maybe order some takeout.

Stay at home.

That's what you said.

But, when Jason returned, the house was eerily silent, the bathwater ran cold, and the takeout left untouched. 

You were gone.

So, he's been scouring every corner for you for the last thirty minutes, his efforts seemingly in vain.

He even begrudgingly enlisted the help of his brother to help.

He's desperate.

"I don't care what girl in Gotham you were planning on screwing tonight, Dick. Find her," Jason grits out to Dick over his walkie, his voice laced with palpable tension.

"Fine," Dick sighs, his annoyance at Jason's attitude seeping through. "I'll go look with Tim," his voice is monotone, but the irritation is unmistakable.

"Go," Jason's voice is icy. 

"Asshole," Dick grumbles, not minding that the walkie is still connected with Jason's.

"Still on the line, idiot," Jason spits, clearly vexed. 

"Good. Was hoping you heard that," Dick chimes before the static takes over the line and the line goes dead.

Jason lets out a curse, hand gripping the steering wheel tight with tension his mind flooding with all sorts of worst-case scenarios.

What if someone had taken you?

What if he was to come across your idle body?

All bloody and bruised.

Limp and gone.

His stomach drops at the thought, throat growing tighter as he drives hurriedly around Gotham.

That is until he hears a ping from his phone, he almost swerves into a building grabbing it.

But, it isn’t from you.

It’s from a friend of his.

“Dude your girl is fucking shitfaced.”

Before he can respond, his friend sends another text.

“Shes dancing on a table at iceberg. attracted an audience.”

Jason releases a sharp breath, both from anger and relief.

You were alive.

But, you were at a fucking club, drunk out of your mind, dancing on a God-damn table.

Jason types quick, eyes moving from the road to the phone frantically.

“Don’t let her out of your sight. I’m on my way.”

-

“Take your top off!”

“This chick is fucking awesome!”

“Keep the shots comin!’”

You can hear a murmur of voices, but it feels like an echo reverberating in your mind.

You’re plastered.

You can hardly believe that you made it up on the table in heels.

Admittedly, they may be shorter, but they’re still heels.

Somehow, you’ve found your footing on the table, dancing carelessly as if the world around you doesn’t matter.

You glance toward the door and spot your boyfriend, as dashing as ever in a tailored suit, maneuvering through the crowd separating you from him.

“Hey, baby,” you shout excitedly as he draws near.

His gaze meets yours before moving over you from head to toe.

Your dress has ridden up your thighs, leaving your skin exposed.

A strap on your dress slipped a little off your shoulder, showing off the top part of your breast.

He can't wrap his head around the fact that these people are still encouraging you and filling you with booze.

“Show’s fucking over,” he grits to the crowd surrounding you, his hand moving to help smooth down your dress.

“I’ve been trying to reach you, but you haven’t answered my calls or texts,” he murmurs, his hand reaching out to take yours.

You lean down a bit as he holds your waist to carefully lift you down.

“This is my boyfriend,” you voice out as your shoulders grip his tight. “I love him,” your eyes drift to him as your feet plant firmly on the ground.

“My calls go straight to voicemail and you haven’t been answering my texts,” he utters, concern evident in his tone.

"My phone died," you say casually. "Been having so much fun," you remark as you push your hands against his chest, a broad smile lighting up your face.

“Did you come alone?” He asks, gently adjusting the strap of your dress so it rests neatly back on your shoulder.

“Of course not," you reply confidently, pausing to tap your finger on your chin in contemplation. "But, I can’t remember who exactly I brought…”

“Jesus Christ," he groans, reaching out to grab your hefty purse from the table, his fingers curling around it tightly. "Can you walk?”

“Mhm. I think,” you say, taking a step forward only to almost fall. “The heels hurt, Jay,” you murmur as he catches you quickly.

“Sit,” he says plainly, motioning to a vacant chair.

You comply as he bends down to carefully unclasp the ankle straps, slipping them off your aching feet.

“Are you mad at me?�� You ask, fingers fidgeting in your lap.

“A little, yeah,” he says, standing up with your heels and purse dangling from his fingertips.

You pursed your lips slightly as he helps you stand. “I’m sorry my phone died,” you whisper as he leads you out of the club, his hand lingering on your lower back.

“Not particularly upset about that, sweetheart," he begins. "Well, your phone should always be charged before you leave."

He turns to you, his eyes intensely focused on yours. "I don't care if you want to go out, but please let me know where you're going. So if anything happens, I’ll know where to find you.”

“Were you…scared?” You murmur, eyes moving to stare at the concrete path you stand on.

“To death,” he replies immediately. “I thought...I thought,” he begins, opting for a lighter tone. “I just thought that something bad happened, you know?”

“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to make you worry,” you can feel tears welling, voice a little wobbly.

Jason lifts your chin to meet his gaze. “Hey, I’m just glad you’re alright, okay? I love you.” He presses a kiss to your forehead.

You give him a gentle smile and go on your tiptoes to press your lips against his.

His hand wraps around your waist, welcoming your lips on his.

“Why are you wearing a suit?” You murmur against his lips, your voice already breathy.

“Banquet?” He questions, raising his brow slightly since he mentioned earlier that he had a banquet.

“Looks nice,” you pant against his lips, fingers dragging over the knot of his tie, haphazardly trying to rip it off. “Really nice.”

That prompts a deep laugh from him, his lips rumbling against yours. “You’re drunk,” he states, pulling his lips back and caressing your cheek.

“Think I wouldn’t wanna fuck you sober?” You press your lips back to his with intent.

“Baby, we have sex regularly,” his voice is slightly strained. “But we aren’t having sex while you’re shit-faced,” he steps back, his hand gently massaging your hip.

“I’ll blow your fucking mind,” you murmur, taking his hand to interlace your fingers as he guides you to the passenger side of his car.

“Trust me,” his voice is strained, as he helps you into the seat. “I know.”

You smile as he leans down to kiss the corner of your mouth.

“I’ll take good care of you in the morning, okay?” he assures, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Looking forward to it,” you say, laying your head back on the headrest and almost immediately falling asleep.

It’s safe to say that he took excellent care of you the following morning…and afternoon…and evening.

-

author’s note: you naughty girl you