#He's experiencing The Terrors though

[demaparbat-hp]

keep the AU kisses coming you say?

kintsugi AU where Katara kisses Zuko's wrists after finding out how he got those scars...

If you know, you know.

[lord-westley]

I always understood, logically, why the joker was such a terrifying person. A crazy man, prancing around like a fairy- carrying bloodied crowbars and killing hundreds of people for laughs.

But today, maybe 15 minutes ago, I experienced what I believe to be the true gothamite fear experience.

It started out as a normal morning. Where I woke up at 3:30am to take my mother to work, and start the drive home by myself so that I can go to work at noon.

It's a fairly nice drive, no sudden turns. Only a few curved bends while staying on the same street for 4 miles. The only tedious part were all the lights in downtown, which thankfully, if you time it correct you can drive through all green lights.

Downtown hosts a shopping mall with sky bridges to connect each block. At this point, its 4:10am, and I'm making my way through the last two lights before reaching the bridge home when I noticed someone walking along the sidewalk up ahead to my left.

Now, this isn't something unusual. My city has lots of homeless in downtown. What did make it odd was the fact this was one of the main roads.

I have driven this road many times at this time of day and never seen someone walking down it. Far too dangerous with no lights on around. Everyone tends to stick to a street a few blocks down that is fully lit up.

I'm minding my own business, tapping my fingers to the beat of Killer Queen that blasts through the old subaru speakers.

I look over at the man a second time as I get within 30 feet of him. And for a moment, I didn't believe what I saw. Having to do a double take to really take it all in.

Walking down the sidewalk was a man dressed head to toe in all black. Baggy Black pants, a baggy black hoodie. A normal outfit, would be fine if it wasn't for the bloodied scream ghost mask. Twirling what appeared to be two rusty crowbars.

I felt my heart stop and blood run cold. I watch in the left side mirror as I drove past. I watched as he watched me, one crowbar in each hand. Tilting his head as legs positioned in a way that I knew. I knew if I slowed down just slightly he would come sprinting towards me.

I let out the most audible, terror filled "what the fuck" as I watched him.

He eventually turned back around, continuing his path just as I reach the beginning of the bridge.

The rest of the drive was quiet, and if I nearly shat my self, tripping over my feet as I tried to run to my front door. I have no shame in admitting that.

[on-my-way-to-lesser-things]

Dear Friend Jonathon Personally Relatable Denial of Danger Moments:

1.) cannot afford to lose this job

2.) oh god, the Uber driver is doing something weird and there’s no way I’ll get another one

3.) Is my host eccentric, or actually a murder? There’s no polite way to leave, so I guess I’ll stay!

4.) lol if I end up murdered tell my girlfriend I love her (actual text I have also sent)

5.) Puppy!! Oh, oh no, not actually a puppy… much too big to be a puppy…

6.) Really! Can’t! Afford! To! Lose! This! Job!

7.) confused but comforted by external Catholicism

8.) everything is terrible!! Except for the chicken which was 7/10 stars, thanks for reading my recipe blog!

9.) *experiencing full bodied terror in a house worth more than I will make in my entire life time* Rich people! What can ya do lol?

10.) If I smile and nod hard enough, there’s still a chance I’ll come out of this with a good performance review!

[beeapocalypse]

trying to craft a funger oc like aughhhh i can see him i can picture him in my head right now [image of the most off putting little man possible]

[tender-rosiey]

a star — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: lovesick gojo does smth to me

it’s not often that you don’t find your husband on the jujutsu grounds terrorizing some students, save for today that is. however, it doesn’t pose that much of a problem to you. in the end, he is your husband and you should know him more than anyone else.

so you pride yourself in the fact that you quickly spot his figure on top of one of the buildings. you swiftly make your way up. your shoes click on the roof as you walk towards your husband, “hey ‘toru.”

“hey,” he smiles while you sit beside him and get yourself comfortable. his face turns towards you with a little tilt of his head, “why’re you here, wifey?”

“why’re you here?”

“fair point,” he sighs blissfully, “reminiscing.”

you hum quietly and your hand moves slowly to hold his own. your thumb slowly rub his hands. he chuckles at your concern before pulling your hand to his lips, pressing a firm kiss, “don’t worry; I am not sad.”

he takes a deep breath, “it’s just nice to remember these fun moments every once in a while.”

you nod quietly before looking in front of you, the view captivating you even if you have seen it a million times. tokyo was always a sight to behold from such heights, especially in the night. you close your eyes for a moment, taking it all in.

“yuuji is getting stronger.”

you perk up at your husband’s comment then you murmur, “yeah.”

“so is megumi, but he just has to adjust his way of thinking.”

you smile, “good thing he has you to do that then.”

he throws his head back in laughter, “I am his teacher, after all.”

“everyone tends to forget that,” you tease and he rolls his eyes, “all mighty silly teacher.”

with a tsk, he raises his index finger, sporting a smug grin, “didn’t you know that women like their men dumb?”

“I don’t know if all women do that,” you hum before resting your head on his shoulder, “I sure do, though.”

his hand slips around your waist, and he gasps, “are you flirting with me? I will have you know that I have the prettiest woman ever as my wife.”

“she’s a lucky one.”

he frowns then pouts, lips jutting out and everything, “she sure doesn’t think so.” poking your side, he huffs, “she’s always so mean to me, the epitome of bullying even.”

you giggle swatting his hand away, “you probably deserve it.”

“you’re just like her,” he whines. you giggle and he slowly rubs your side after he lets out a grumble. you let out a soft breath and your hand moves to hold his own. his hand squeezes yours and you squeeze it in return.

the atmosphere is filled with the sound of the soft breeze and crickets’ noises. you’re both left to relish in the silence and the comfort it gives. you’re both looking up at the sky. your gaze trails to the trees on the ground that sway with the wind.

you see the tree where shoko was healing haibara that one time. you see the vending machine that satoru and suguru always hit. you see the bench that nanami always used to sit on. you see the cabin that you and satoru used to hide in to escape from yaga.

you finally understand why your husband chooses this place.

he gets to truly see it all because despite his six eyes’ powers and capabilities, it doesn’t let him see what he truly cares about: friends and memories. from here, he is able to be the spectator that relishes in memories that passed, but will always live in the minds of those who experienced it.

even if, sometimes, only one of the two remains.

feeling your throat tighten at the melancholy thoughts, you take a breath. you take a moment then you inquire, breaking the silence in hopes of distracting yourself, “sooo, what are you watching?”

“a star,” he answers simply.

you furrow your eyebrows, focusing on the dark blue canvas above you, “‘toru, there are no stars tonight.”

he breathes out a chuckle, “I know. I said a star not stars.”

you narrow your eyes, “what do you mean?—“

and then your eyes lock with his own. he is staring intently at you, almost memorizing your features with a lovesick smile on his face. 

you don’t know when did he take his blindfold off, but you’re met with his azure eyes that have love and adoration swimming in them, shades of blue mixing in with the invisible shades of love.

you see your reflection in his eyes and others could swear they see hearts surrounding your figure. his eyes are now a canvas for what he wholeheartedly believes to be the love of his life.

the small soft quirk of his lips is noticeable. the light crinkle of his eyes as he gazes at you gives away how he feels. his entire face is glowing as it faces your own. his hand reaches to hold your face and he grins.

“my star.”

.

.

.

“satoru, that was so cheesy!”

“you love it.”

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copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

[ohtobeleah]

Something that goes without saying is how uncertain Logan really is about sleeping in the same space as another person. Sure, he'll commit to the fun beforehand….The foreplay, the sex, the highs.

But the inevitable act of sleeping beside someone, terrifies him.

We see it in Origin, we see it in Days of Future Past. Sometimes while Logan is sleeping, his claws come out when he feels under duress. Nightmares are a common occurrence for this man, not a night goes by where he isn't waking in the dead of night to the ghost of his past.

And I'd like to think of all the Logans running around the multiverse, that the Worst!Logan has surely been through some things. He's never experienced true rest. Not until he met you.

“I'll sleep on the couch.” Its common at the beginning of whatever the dynamic between the two of you is. Logan ends up back at your cafe, or in your living-room, bathroom, kitchen or bed—but he never stays beside you for longer than a few minutes after. Not because he doesn't crave that intimacy or true human connection, but because the idea of losing you to his own mutation truly scares the ever-living fuck out of him.

But one night, you catch him off-guard. So off guard that Logan doesn't even have a counter proposal ready.

“Ill join you,” You beam, padding down the hallway with your blanket and pillow wrapped in your arms. “Somethings bothing you and with friends like me and Wade, that shits gonna come up eventually,” You ramble. As you sit beside Logan on the lounge he slept on more often than his own bed, he catches a glimpse of a few noticeable scars on your back. Scars where his claws had once accidentally taken over in an otherwise romantic moment between the two of you. “So, get talking pops.”

“Don't call me pops.” Logan sighs as he opens his body up for you to snuggle up against him. “It's nothing I can't handle, didn't anyone ever tell you not to stick your nose where it doesn't belong?”

“Are you trying to tell me that I don't belong here?” You counter quickly, playing Logan’s logic against himself. “Me? Resident of this timeline? Doesn't belong right here next to you?”

“Go fuck yourself,” Logan smiles all the while trying to keep his brooding man mask on. But with you he feels ever atom of his being igniting with desire and unconditional love. “I worry I'll hurt you, while I'm sleeping,” Logan explains as you listen to his heartbeat inside his chest. Snuggled on the lounge in your apartment. “You don't know how much that thought terrifies me.”

“Hmm,” You hum in response. “Perhaps the question you should be asking yourself Lo, is what if the nightmares, what if the fear stops, when you allow yourself to rest with someone you love?” It was a bold word to use, and even though it was rarely, if ever used, there wasn't another word in the English language to describe how Logan felt about you. Or how you felt about him.

And its a thought that's never crossed Logans mind before. He frowns, thinking it over in the late-night silence. You fall asleep there, right with your head on Logans chest as he tru thinks.

Only to wake up in a tangled mess of sheets, with Logan snorning next to you as the early morning sun kisses his golden, aging skin. Its the first night in years he hasn't woken in screaming terror.

“Tell me told you so and I'll turn you into a skewer.” Logan mumbles as you pepper him with kisses across his exposed back.

“I think I'll take my chances with you, Lo,” You chuckle to yourself. “I'll make you some coffee.”

@a-reader-and-a-writer Canon Ilya universe content

Ilya

[wilwheaton]

there are a lot of broken people out there

A sampling of the sort of things people have been saying to me the last 48 hours.

To be clear, they are MASSIVELY outnumbered by people are are good, kind, and decent. To be clear, these people show up in little groups, around ten or so at a time, as if they were sent by someone to be hateful and cruel.

I weep when I see this sort of thing. These people are so cruel and vicious. Someone told me he wished my dad had hit me more.

I mean, just think about that. I was a little boy, a child, just existing, and a grown man -- my father -- for no reason at all would grab me by the shoulders and scream in my face until I cowered and cried and begged to be left alone.

That was my reality. That's the terror I lived in, every day. And my mother's solution to my father's abuse was to just try harder to make him love me.

Okay? That's who these people are talking about when they mock my trauma, or the pain and terror I experienced; the sadness, loss, and grief I live with.

If I could change anything, I would reword what I said so people who have a vested interest in protecting a powerful celebrity couldn't tone police me and ignore the substance of what I reacted to. I would have taken the terrified child inside of me and soothed him before the adult I am spoke up in his defense they way nobody ever did for me when I was him.

Not gonna lie, it's disappointing that I've become the subject of mockery and the real issue of how violent and out of bounds Larry David's behavior and how insincere his "apology" was seems to be ignored while a lot of angry, hurting, cruel, emotionally stunted people mock and attack me.

I don't regret what I said, and I'd say it all again.

Even though this is the sort of thing people are saying to me:

See that? I made my father bully and abuse me, because something something the bible.

And all the rest.

What a messed up world we are in right now. Please, please choose to be kind.

[cherryheairt]

Dragon Dreamer pt. I

When Rhaenyra followed Jacaerys' suggestion of sending her three eldest children as messengers to call upon bannermen for their queen, Daenys did not expect to be sent to the North.

Perhaps the Eyrie, to treat with Lady Jeyne Arryn, as the widow might have seen a princess coming personally to see her as a sign of great respect. Instead, Jacaerys was being sent to the Vale, and Daenys to Winterfell to treat with Lord Cregan Stark.

Daenys, although a Targaryen-Velayron princess, had never been gifted in politicking. Never sitting on council meetings as a cup-bearer, never paying much attention to her septas lessons, nor promenading with the court ladies during her time at the red keep. Her only company was her family, her five little brothers and parents. And, of course, her beloved dragon. Rhaenyra liked to jest of how Daenys was perhaps more dragon than girl, spending more time in Dragonstone's nesting caves than her own chambers.

When she was in the company of unfamilar people, she found her throat tightening and her eyes avoiding those of others. Most at court found this behavior to be rude, and indifferent, often ignoring her in favour of more approachable ladies.

Her time in the red keep, though now more of a distant memory, was spent in her chambers or with her dear aunt Helena, who was quite similar to her in most ways, besides the bug collection kept on her desk. Daenys shuttered at the sight every time but tolerated it in favor of spending time with Helena.

It was not always like this. Daenys was born a bright and charismatic young girl, charming the Keep's lords and ladies with her chatty demeanor. Rhaenyra lovingly named her after her ancestor, Daenys the Dreamer, in hopes of her to be blessed and beautiful as she was. Daenys had only one dream to be accounted for, the Doom of Valyria. After saving the Targaryen dynasty, it seemed to be a one-time event.

Daenys, unlike her ancestor, deemed herself cursed instead of blessed. Her dreams started to occur after her fifth nameday, waking up the Keep every night with blood-curdling screams of terror. Every night, guards would come in searching for a threat, only to find the little girl locked in a dead-sleep, thrashing and screeching.

Eventually the intensity of the dreams stopped, to the relief of Rhaenyra and Daenys both. Her dreams still haunted her day and night, but she was no longer waking the keep as she experienced them.

The Queen, Alicent Hightower, looked down upon Daenys as if she was a curse embodied. She called the girl mad, deeming it a fitting punishment for Rhaenyra for her adulterous behavior. Though the scorn was meant to spite Rhaenyra, the only one affected was Daenys.

Shunned by the other young ladies of court, whispered about by the young lords, Daenys found herself friendless and alone in the Red Keep, of all but Helena and her family.

After Joffrey's birth, Rhaenyra had decided she had enough of Alicent's ire and moved her family to Dragonstone. Daenys found it much more agreeable, no court to deal with, and the entire island all to her family alone.

Daenys never recovered from years of ostracizing, still quiet and seemingly rude to any guests of Dragonstone.

"Mother, surely Jacaerys would be a better fit for Lord Stark. I do not think he would be pleased to be sent a girl deemed mad by the queen over the heir to the Iron Throne," Daenys pleaded with Rhaenyra, while they waited for Jacaerys and Lucerys to come.

Rhaenyra, ever so regal in her father's former crown and fine deep-red dress, smiled down at her eldest daughter. Her eyes were still brimmed red with the recent loss of Visenya, though that never stopped her from performing her duty as Queen. "Lord Stark would be delighted to have a princess of the realm visit the north. Never mind what Alicent has said against you. You are gifted in ways only Targaryens will understand. You are my blessing, not my curse."

Daenys picked at the skin of her nails harshly, looking at the cobble she stood on and finding more interest in the damp stone. "I am not like you, mother."

"In what way, sweet girl?" Rhaenyra frowned, reaching to lift her daughter's chin gently, a nonverbal reminder.

Taking a breath in, "I am not so..perfect. You have a million things on your shoulders and never falter once. I..cannot even greet our guests appropriately. I can't do this. Please, let me stay here instead" Glossy-eyed, Daenys squeezed her mother's head with a plea.

Observing her daughter for a minute, Rhaenyra was silent a moment. "You were never meant to be like me. I was a reckless and perhaps foolish girl in my youth, always getting myself into trouble one way or another. You, my girl, are meant to be better. You always have been. It takes time, to learn and heal, there is only one way to do that."

"How can I learn to be like you?" Even the mere thought of it seemed like a dream, distant and unreachable.

"Practicing, tis all. It may seem like I am throwing you to the wolves now, but you can not get better without first trying. Locking yourself on this island has done you no favors, and for that I am sorry. You will see, that it is not so bad out in the world." Rhaenyra squeezed her daughter's hand back, kissing her forehead before stepping away as Jace and Luke finally came.

Holding a hand to the book of The Seven, the three princes and princess swore to only go as messengers for their queen, abhorring all violence.

Daenys said a swift goodbye to her younger brothers before she mounted Morningstar, who had been led to the perch alongside Vermax and Arrax. Fittingly, the dragons sizes corresponded with their ages, largest to smallest.

Morningstar had grown quite fast since her birth alongside Daenys' cradle, almost as big as Meleys now. Vermax and Arrax were smaller in comparison but no less loyal or fierce. The white scales and purple eyes of the dragoness perfectly matched Daenys. Purring at her rider's mount, Morningstar stretched her wings and waited for command.

With a last tight smile to her brothers, Daenys was off with Morninstar across the sea. The three dragons traveled together for almost an hour before splitting to their respective directions. Daenys silently prayed for the safe return of her dear brothers, knowing that they would be home even before she was done treating with the Starks.

◽️

The journey to the North was longer than she had anticipated, boredom and anticipation being her worst enemies. Or, perhaps that title belonged to the biting winds that nipped at her exposed face. Daenys cursed her lack of preparation, only bringing her house cloak for the flight. It was late summer, for the Seven's sake, why was it already so freezing?

To Daenys' surpirse, and also jealousy, Morningstar seemed to enjoy the cold. It was a harsh contract from Dragonstone's humid beaches, but the dragon seemed to have no problem adapting during their ride.

Finally, Winterfell's grey stone Keep was in view, larger than Daenys had anticipated and covered in blankets of pearly snow. Morningstar landing just outside of the gates, shaking off snow from her wings and grumbling at the guards who shakily approached the dismounted princees. It seemed even Northernmen were not brave enough to face a dragon.

Smiling at the sight of such a large man being so timid under the watchful violet eye of Morningstar, Daenys didn't move forward to give the man any peace of mind. Perhaps a little fear was good for rallying bannermen.

The man spoke now, northern accent different than any she had heard before. "State your name and buisness."

Eyeing the dragon at her side, Daenys almost sighed. How many female dragonriders of her age were there in Westeros? Perhaps there were some that she was made unaware of.

Sucking in a breath, and trying to keep her voice steady despite her shivers, Daenys answered. "I am Daenys Valeryon. Messenger to the rightful Queen Rhaenyra."

The guard paused a moment, glancing at his partner, who smartly chose to stay at the gate. There seemed to be a silent conversation happening before the other nodded to an unknown third party. The old gate creaked open, Daenys shifting awkwardly at the silence between the three of them. Why weren't they saying anything.

Finally, "Lord Stark will be with you shortly. You are welcome to warm your hands by the fire inside the keep." The guard said, bowing his head respectively towards the princess.

She nodded, for lack of words to say, thanking him quietly. She followed him into the walls of Winterfell, the stares of the commonfolk following her every step. The whispers started after, Daenys ducking her head and walking faster to attempt to avoid hearing them, but that made no difference when the guard stayed at his steady pace.

"Princess Daenys, 'e said?" A heavy womanly accent leaned into her friend.

"Aye. The mad one, I 'ear."

Daenys shuffled into the keep's dining hall, relieved to find it empty. The guard left fast, assuming his post once more. She took a seat by the hearth, allowing herself to warm up in peace. Curling up, in an unladylike fashion, Haze hoped Lord Stark would take his time. She needed to think about her words carefully and hopefully not stutter them out foolishly because she is still shivering like a dog.

The Gods must truly have it out for her, Daenys cursed, as the Lord himself strided into the room only minutes after she sat. Quickly, she stood to her feet, stumbling slightly at the vertigo hitting her head. "My Lord Cre-Stark." Daenys greeted, bowing her head shortly.

Lord Stark fixed his steel grey gaze on her, pinning her to her spot without so much as a touch. "My princess," he bowed his head, looking into her eyes all the while. His voice was husky with the Northern accent, which Daenys decided sounded best coming from his mouth. He folded his hands in front of himself as if trying to appear less imposing. Failing miserably, of course, with all those heavy furs, leathers, and the longsword strapped to his back. Did he carry that thing everywhere? Normally, lords carried swords at their belts, but longswords were too heavy for that. Daenys shuttered at the thought of such a burden.

"What do I owe the pleasure? Surely, the Queen's daughter does not simply wish to visit the forgotten houses of the North." Though his tone was straight and respectful, the words themselves were slightly bitter, knowing that royalty only visits houses when they need something.

Daenys looked down at her feet a moment, glancing between the floor and his eyes, which were intent on not leaving her own. Shifting, she found herelf lost for words and panicking at what response she should give him, knowing time was ticking by.

He was already upset by the burden of housing her, and knowing that her request was not a light one made her heart drop to her stomach. How does one simply ask for thousands of men to go to war?

Lord Stark hummed at her silence, politely looking to the fire instead of keeping that intense stare on her. "I apologize for my lack of hospitality, princess. I should've shown you to your chambers and allowed you to rest. Your journey was not easy, I'm sure."

Daenys looked up at him, surprised. Both glad to be rid of that intensity and sadden to not see the pretty color anymore, she felt her throat open again. "Of course, my lord. Thank you." The words came slowly, and much quieter than she intended.

As Cregan led her through the keep's halls, Daenya thought of how disappointing it might be to receive a fumbling girl instead of a regal princess. For the first time in over a hundred years, Targaryens visited the North. A shame it had to be her instead of Jace, who never lost his confidence even when being named a bastard.

Cregan stopped at a door, opening to reveal a comely guest chambers, a fire already running at the hearth for her. "I had the servents set up our best, for you. There are some furs in the wardrobe, I hope you'll find them appeasing. I'll see you at supper, princess?" He asked, looking down at her patiently.

From their close proximity in the doorway, Daenys could feel the warmth from him in waves. "I will be there." She told him, nodding shortly. With a charming smile finally adorning his stoic face, Cregan stark left the chambers with a polite bow of his head.

How could he be so kind to her, and patient? After watching that humiliating display she gave him, Daenys was confident he would sneer and send her away, as no lords ever had patience for her fumbling. It certainly didn't help her nerves that he was handsome, a quality not used to describe northmen.

Daenys had always heard of northmen as being fierce, savage warrior men, always loyal and dutiful, but never handsome and mannerly.

Handsome was a term to describe peacocking young southern knights, who have never experienced hardship besides an occasional tourney. It was not a term for scarred and weathered northerners.

Daenys wasn't sure if this was a good or a bad change from her expectations, but she decided not to dwell too much on it. Reaching her frosted window, she made out Morningstar's massivw white shape flying above the keep, most likely looking for a resting spot. She silently hoped that the dragon wouldn't take too much livestock and piss off local farmers.

Hours passed by fast, much to Daenys' misfortune. For hours she spun words around her mind, speaking in whispers to herself to practice what she might say to Cregan's questions. Startled by a maid entering her temporary chambers, Daenys stood from her seat. The woman, older than her mother, gave her a suspicious look. Daenys flushed, feeling her face grow hot in embarrassment at being caught mumbling. It was a nasty habit that didn't help the rumors surrounding her.

"Princess, supper is ready." The maid told her curtly, leaving the room even swifter than she came.

Daenys sighed, throwing a coat of white fur over her shoulders. The weight was heavy but comforting as she walked down the echoing halls of the Keep.

She entered the dining hall to see it dimly lit, the evenings in Winterfell becoming dark much faster than they did back home. "My lord," she greeted, earning a warm greeting back.

Cregan sat alone at the head of a table, reminding Daenys of his status. The Lord was made an orphan at three and ten, becoming lord of his house at six and ten. His brother had also passed years ago, leaving the lord family-less. She wondered how many times he had dined alone, not even being able to imagine such a fate for herself.

Daenys sat opposite him, only a few feet away from each other. For a few minutes, the only sounds were servants suffling about, pouring wine, ale, and serving plates.

"I picked out a sweet wine for you, princess. I know ale is not a preferred drink amonst royalty." Cregan started up, a light look in his eye as he glanced to her over his own cup of strong ale.

"Thank you, my lord. You needn't go out of your way for me, though. I am not picky." She said, voice quiet but loud enough for him to make out in the silent hall.

Cregan laughed, a graveling and husky one that made her stomach tingle with butterflies. "I wouldn't have expected a princess to be so humble. When I saw your dragon fly down, I was expecting a feast to be demanded, our finest accommodations presented for the princess' pleasure." He lifted his cup slightly to her. "You are quite different than what I pictured."

Her face felt hot again, a feeling she would apparently need to get used to during her stay here. She hid behind her chalice of wine, "I hope I do not disappoint my lord."

Shaking his head pointedly, he put his mug down. "That is precisely what I meant," his tone was amused, the bitterness from their first conversation long gone. "I suppose I was wrong about the Targaryens. I admit, I thought you would threaten me with your dragon and demand that I bend the knee, just as our ancestors did."

Daenys met his eye, placing her own cup down. "Do not mistake me for my family. You'll find our methods are quite different in terms of treating. My mother is the queen of the seven kingdoms. This includes your own. I do expect bent knees, and loyalty to our Queen." She stated. "I am merely a messenger this day, I am sworn to peace."

Despite the undertones of a threat in her words, Cregan was not offended or taken aback like she had expected from her sudden mood switch. Insulting her was one thing, but Daenys didn't tolerate disrespect to her family.

He only smiled, corners of his mouth pulling up in a way Daenys couldn't describe. Almost a proud look in his eye gleamed, staring her down once more as she met his line of sight perfectly. Even sitting down their height difference was apparent, him looking slightly down his nose at her.

"And if you weren't a messenger for Her Grace? Would you threaten me with your dragon?" Cregan pondered.

Daenys, fighting the urge to look away, shook her head slightly. "Not unless you gave me a reason to. Would you have sent me away if I came on horseback rather than dragonback?"

"Its an honor to host a princess, dragonrider or not." He said firmly, dark brown tresses falling slightly into his face from the half-up style he decided on. Distracted, Daenys glanced at the way the veins on his hand twitched as he tucked the strand behind his ear.

"I am glad to hear it. I am pleased to be able to visit the North, despite the somber circumstances that we face. It is quite beautiful here, I've never seen snow." Daenys changed the subject, earnestly complimenting his home.

"You've seen enough of it to last a lifetime now, I venture." Cregan dug into his stew, whilst Daenys simply stirred her own.

"I do not fare well in the cold, unlike Morningstar." She mused, smiling to herself.

The two fell into a silence once more, this time more comfortable and less tense. Daenys took small spoonfulls of her meal, not wanting to appear rude or wasteful, simply having little taste for eating in front of strangers. Eventually, Cregan finished his bowl, and she decided that was a good time to let herself set the utensils down.

"Is now a good time to ask your purpose here again, my princess?" He asked her tentatively, as if she would break with a louder tone of voice. Perhaps Cregan thought from their first meeting that she was in some way incapable of her duties, much to her chargin. She swallowed thickly, shifting in her seat.

Daenys pulled out a small scroll from her belt, handing it to him. "The official message from Her Grace.'

He scanned it quickly, a solemn look on his face as he did. Cregan breathed out through his nose, a less dramatic version of a sigh, rolling it up again and pocketing it. "I had heard of Aegon Targaryen usurping the Queen's throne after King Viserys' death–my condolences–but I had only expected a raven to come from the Queen. You've traveled quite a ways just to ask for men."

Daenys nodded, "We thought it more earnest to see our allied houses personally. Ravens are slower than dragons, and do not leave room for negotiations."

"How many is the Queen expecting from me?" He asked, straight to the point. In every way, Cregan Stark proved to be different from court lords.

Picking at her nails again, Daenys winced when she pulled on the skin too harsh, drawing specs of blood. Under the table, they were hidden from his view. If Rhaenyra saw her now, Daenys was she she would frown and shake her head. But she wasn't, Daenys was alone with the lord of Winterfell. "How many do you have available?" She avoided.

He breathed heavily again, and she bit her cheek guiltily. How could she come into someones home and demand that they fight a war they will see no benefit from? Daenys was suddenly very glad that she was not heir. Even being simply the princess wasn't fit for her.

"I will take some time to think of our numbers, and what I can offer Her Grace." He stood from his seat, making his way around the table to her, holding out a gloved hand.

Daenys took it hesitantly, her uncovered hand a stark contrast to the pure black of his glove. She saw him glance at her hand, the red not yet rubbed away. After standing, she folded them carefully in front of herself, hoping he didn't notice too much. "Thank you, my lord. The crown appreciates your consideration."

He nodded, brow furrowed but not questioning her directly. Cregan guided her to her guest chambers, leaving her at the door. "If you need anything, I'm just down the hall." He gestured towards a door near the end.

Daenys settled into her bed after changing into a shift provided by a maid, fur coat drapped over a chair near the hearth. The bed was cozy, a small thing but covered in more furs, soft and warm.

Daenys fell asleep quickly, mind on the man sleeping a few rooms over.

[chaedomi]

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 ✦ twtptflob

fem!child!reader x the black agriche; minus fontaine (platonic!yan), violence, death, unhealthy relationships, everyone somehow finding a way to terrorize reader, the agriche family as a whole; flowers come in assorted colors and produce sweet nectar. as a result, flowers attract various kinds of butterflies, even the so-called deadly ones. pt. 2 ꨄ — masterlist

YOUR MOTHER was already a laughing stock and a huge disgrace to The Black Agriche. Due to this, she was confined to her room, away from the disgusted eyes that followed her form with every step she took. Her reputation further decreased when word spread in the household that she gave birth to a baby girl… a sickly one at that. Was she trying to ruin the image The Black Agriche carefully built for years!?

When LANTE found out, he was beyond livid. The disdain he held for your mother was very evident as the slightest hint of her has him in a sour mood and heads rolling. Still, he gave her a chance to redeem herself; birth a worthy child was all he commanded. However, the ending result only proved that she was indeed a useless woman.

Nobody could have stopped him from what he did next, not even the wails and desperate pleas of his other wife that knelt helplessly on the ground. Unleashing his bloodlust, your mother was brutally killed. The only ones spared were his other wife and you, as he deemed it foolish to judge you as a newborn. Perhaps your state was only temporary and as you grew older, you would impress him.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. Although you weren’t sick, you grew to be a rather fragile individual. The littlest pressure has you crumpling in pain, wheezing breathlessly. A disappointment, really. Nevertheless, he kept giving you another chance to prove yourself. When you fail, he gives another and another, and another, and another-

It was then he realized how lenient he has been with you out of all people. Why he hasn’t diced you into a pile of meat as he claimed each time was beyond him. Every time you made a fault, he found himself scrambling for a reason to excuse your deplorable actions. It was unlikely of him and bothered him to a large extent.

Having enough of the confusing emotions you struck within him, an order was sent out, requesting your presence. Understandably, you were petrified as it was not common for the Head of The Agriche Family to express interest in seeing anyone out of the blue. And with an amused smirk, he watched as you nervously eat the desserts brought by the servants before dismissing you from his private room.

He continued doing this, either inviting you to the room or seeking you outside, the extreme feelings he experienced deepening with every interaction he held with you. Eventually, it escalated to a point where he didn’t want you to leave his side. He soon concluded that he will never understand what aspect of yours drew this uncharacteristic side out of him. And oddly enough… he was at peace with it. Maybe your mother was capable of doing good. Hmm…

Effortlessly, the killer of your mother lifted you from your seat. A touch meant to be comforting caused shockwaves of discomfort and fear to travel up your spine. His expression was unreadable, scrutinizing gaze never leaving your form. Eyes resembling the crimson red of blood, the picture was forever burned into your memory.

“...How strange.”

Unsurprisingly to most, SIERRA was the best friend of your mother. Looking past the horrible rumors that lingered inside the household about your mother, she decided to befriend her. And boy, was she relieved, discovering that your mother was nothing like the rumors had stated, no, your mother was just a sweet, harmless woman. The moments spent were very wholesome and a change of pace from the insanity that lingered in the household.

Though… everything went crashing down when your mother became pregnant with you. Don’t misunderstand Sierra… she was overjoyed over the announcement of you. What frightened her so much was that your mother fell terribly ill and without much reason. When your mother expressed her concerns about your health, Sierra also felt dread, wanting nothing horrible to happen to you. While it’s not related to health, Sierra knew what it’s like to be worried about your child’s well-being; she knew it all too well. Bless her kind-hearted soul, she hoped your mother would never experience the pain she was put through.

But, it appeared as though her prayers and hopes were all for naught as you were born sickly and frail. And aware of the monstrosity that will arise afterward, her heart shattered into a million pieces. Still, her knowledge of this evil pattern will never emotionally nor mentally prepare her for the disastrous event. Oh, she hated how powerless she was. Her screams, wails, and pleas were futile, having to witness the execution of her beloved friend at the hands of her husband. Why must the people she loves suffer so much?

She was left alone in the room, sobbing into her palm. Had it not been for the soft wails of your newborn self, she would have remained there on the ground, allowing the coolness of the tiles to seep onto her skin as she wept to her heart’s content. Frantically leaping to her feet and momentarily pushing her grief aside, she scooped your bundled self in her arms, listening to you calm down as a woeful frown etched itself onto her lips. Blinking away the stray tears in the corner of her eyes, she hugged you closer to her chest, rocking you slowly. She might as well enjoy what was left of her beloved friend.

History surely had its cruel way of repeating itself. As you aged, you developed a lovely personality; innocent and pure, contrasting the sadistic and aggressive personas the rest of your family members owned. Why it destroyed her the way it did was because your traits were on par with her deceased son, Ashil. Just what did she do to relive such a nightmare?

By some miracle, Lante seemed to favor you tremendously. The stress that was lifted from her shoulders was refreshing. …It was especially difficult to ignore how extremely clingy Sierra was toward you. Every hour of the day, every second, Sierra insisted to be by your side, never allowing you a moment of isolation. Even so, her clinginess will never compare to how overprotective she was. God forbid if you got injured in her sight, or somehow managed to sneak away from her watchful eyes for too long. She will fall into hysterics, holding onto the little thread of sanity she possessed as she smothers you with overbearing attention.

You almost screamed in terror at the figure looming above you. Thankfully, your brain reacted quicker as you identified the figure as your stepmother. What mostly unnerved you was not the fact that she most likely might have been watching you sleep, but how… lifeless she looked. You didn’t know she was able to make such a face. Quietly, you called out to her which successfully snapped her out of her trance. Wordlessly, the woman sunk to her knees and wrapped her arms around your small body, stuffing her face in your torso. Regardless of your utter confusion as to why she visited you in the dead of night, you returned the gesture, spurring her to tears. Doesn’t look like she’ll be leaving anytime soon…

“...It could have been you as well…”

When Sierra says she’s going to stay with you, she means that she is staying with you. She does a good job of it as well, much to your dismay. But her whimpers every time you tried to run away always filled you with guilt, grounding you next to her. And thus, due to Sierra’s stubbornness to leave you alone, this is how MARIA met you.

It was a bright and sunny day, the flowers were in season, and birds were chirping merrily… it was the perfect condition to host a tea party! What better way to relax under this glorious weather than to enjoy tea and desserts with her favorite guests? So excitedly, Maria sent invitations.

Sierra was one of the last few to arrive. When Maria went to greet her, what she wasn’t expecting was two instead of one. Honestly speaking… Maria did not care for both you and your mother. Yes, she has heard of the gossip of your mother circulating among the Agriche Wives, and yes, she has heard the talk of your birth. But for someone who has never seen you or your mother before, there was only so much fuel she could add to the fire.

Her eyebrows were raised as Sierra timidly states that she brought someone along. Since Sierra was mostly alone, it was a surprise to her. Though all questions died down in her throat when she caught a glimpse of you.

The umbrella that was tightly grasped in her hand fell to the ground, her jaw slackening as she stared at you with blown eyes. …Was it even possible to be more beautiful than Sierra and her daughter combined!? You were just as pretty as a flower!

Not much explanation was needed, she immediately fell head over heels for you. Forget the fact you came uninvited, come relax and have some tea! Squealing with a skip in her step, she snatched you from Sierra's side, ushering you to a comfortable seat where she and all the ladies present fussed over you. …You left with a stomach bursting from sweets that day…

Unfortunately, gaining Maria's affection means you're subjected to her bizarre actions. If you had Sierra visiting your room in the dead of night, you had Maria visiting your room at the crack of dawn. You've woken up to her beaming face far too many times to count…

Braiding your hair, dressing up, and playing pretend are Maria's favorite activities with you and they always end with her pinching your cheeks and kissing them before she leaves. She really wanted to lock you up for herself, a cute little doll all for her to admire, pamper and cherish.

Maria was very cheerful and a bit eccentric, so you mostly felt at peace in her presence. …But that all changed when you stayed at a party longer than you should have. What you saw was like a wake-up call for you, unless they were Sierra, no matter how sweet they make themselves appear, they were still an Agriche, dehumanized, and evil.

You suddenly felt the dessert you ate creep up your throat as you stared at the servant's corpse... what was left of it, at least. The spoon you used to eat the treat slipped from your fingers, falling onto the table with a loud rattle. Your second stepmother, the murderer, was unbothered by it all, a devilish smile occupying her doll-like features, calming dishing out orders for the servant’s body to be fed to the beastly creatures that resided inside the mansion. At the sight of you, her sadistic smile morphed into one filled with pure adoration. She made her way to you giddily and squeezed you into a hug, uncaring of the evidence of her killing smearing all over your body. Frozen, you just stood there as she lovingly pressed a sweet kiss on your cheek.

"My! Aren't you such a Cutie Pie!"

The first time she saw you, she only gave you a glance… before she almost stumbled over as she did a double take. Once she regained her composure, in quick, long strides, ROXANA closed the distance between you both, firmly placing a gloved hand on your shoulder. You flinched, nearly shooting off the ground. The hallways were pretty much empty, so where the hell did she randomly emerge from?

Her stare intimidated you as her eyes were practically glaring holes into your body. It remained that way for a while, her hand on your shoulder as she stared, you, too scared out of your mind to even breathe properly. Soon, her hard stare turned soft, her reddened lips curling into her iconic smile.

Do you know how long she has waited to see you? The answer, she’s been waiting for years. The Abysmal Flower is a book that was offered to her by a school friend in her previous life… to which she initially detested reading because of the triggering contents the novel entailed… but she got past that. Because of all the dark themes, your character was an abnormality in the novel so to speak, especially when you were a member of The Black Agriche. The Black Agriche was known for its criminal activities… Fraud, Theft, Drugs & Poison, and most importantly murder, taking away lives without batting an eyelid.

You didn't belong with that, choosing peace as a method rather than violence. You were just a poor unfortunate soul inside a den filled with savages. It was a custom tradition in the household to eliminate those who stood outside their reputation as it displayed signs of weakness. But you remained unharmed by their gruesome acts. You see, the book portrayed you as possessing this indescribable charm where people feel more inclined to protect you than to harm you. Clearly, The Black Agriche was under this so-called charm of yours. It also extended to the novel’s heroine, Sylvia, who despite hating The Black Agriche, fell in love with you because of your angelic nature, viewing you as a younger sibling. Sadly, blinded by her rage and sorrow over the news of her brother’s killing, she wiped you out with the rest… falling into deeper despair after realizing she destroyed you as well.

Admittingly, Roxana held a grudge over Sylvia and the authors for that stunt. You were her favorite character by far and had so much potential. So even though the alarms blared loudly as her mind registered that she reincarnated as an Agriche and the trials that come along with the name, she was buzzing from glee now that she had a chance to see you… years after.

But after that ‘incident’ and the daily nuisances, she ought to handle for survival, the thought of you slowly slipped from her mind… until now. While no one will stupidly lay a finger on you inside the household, the same cannot be said for some outside the household. The Black Agriche has made quite the amount of enemies, after all. You being the favored one, including your predicament will make you a big target of these enemies. Thus, Roxana does her best to add extra security to your life.

Whenever she gets the chance, she will constantly check on you. If not, she will simply send one of her butterflies to always be updated about your whereabouts. Don’t you see? Whatever she does, it’s done in your favor… So, please enlighten her as to why you appear to be so antsy around her. She hasn’t done anything wrong, has she? She didn’t know you had a dramatic side… but, oh well, that’s endearing too.

She was nice to you, very very nice. For some reason though, it scared you more than it flattered you. You were unsure of why, but your instincts always screamed at you to avoid the blonde. She hasn’t done anything for you to fear her, only spoiling you with exquisite gifts and jewelry. But after what happened with your second stepmother… you didn’t want to take chances. A gloved thumb distracted you from your thoughts, gently caressing your cheek. Lifting your gaze, you peered into reddened hues, an emotion you were unable to decipher swirling in them. She smiled at you fondly, cooing even. Placing your hands on your lap, you smiled back, ignoring the nauseating churn in your stomach.

“Did I perhaps do something wrong? No? Then you don’t mind staying longer with your Big Sister, right~?”

Roxana’s extreme adoration for you had JEREMY torn between anxiety and anger. It’s already bad enough that he had to share his sister’s attention with the god-forsaken Blue Pedelian but now a whiny baby has come to steal the remainder of his spotlight!? He’s NOT happy. I mean, he was there longer than both you AND him. Though, it seems that his sister favors you more than the horny dog… Not that it makes it any better. It’s still annoying.

Jeremy has mentioned this several times to his sister, mostly about you. It was obvious he was jealous, but his complaints stemmed deeper than jealousy, it was fear that his sister will leave him if she attaches herself to others. Growing up in a loveless household was beyond excruciating and his sister, being the first one to treat him like a human and not a weapon, he continuously yearned for her affection. He didn’t want to return to what it was before, and if denying his sister interactions with others stopped that, he’s all in for it. Reassuring words from his sister, however, washed away the little panic inside him.

Still, it lingered on his mind, you. His sister doesn’t mention anyone just like that; if she does, it certainly isn’t to that extent. She’s always smiling, her eyes glitter in excitement, and she rambles on and on, very unusual for her. At least you make her happy… Nevermind. He’s still bitter about the whole thing.

In time, he finally asks his sister if he can meet the person that caught her eye. It could be anyone, considering the ungodly amount of siblings he had and since she was heading to where you were located, he might as well tag along too. His sister’s hesitation didn’t escape his eye, no matter how hard she tried to hide it. Looks like you held more value to her than he first presumed…

After contemplating her answer for a while, she gave in, beckoning him closer with a finger. As they walked together, she told him you were the shy type, and it's highly advised that he doesn't do something to overwhelm you. He wasn't sure if it was his imagination or not… but he felt as though there was a subtle threat underlying her words… Soon enough, they arrived at your bedroom doors.

What did you look like? What kind of person truly are you? His sister paints you a good light, going so far saying you were an angel descended from the heavens. But what if there was a dark side you skillfully concealed? That you were just another savage under the disguise of an innocent? It’s not like he doubted his sister’s judgment… just simply concerned for her well-being.

Well, he'll be damned. And slightly ashamed too. Look at you… you were so frail… and gentle too. The way you touched Roxana and spoke with her, (god, your VOICE!) was so soft, musical, and pleasing to the ears. He kind of flinched when the conversation held between you and his sister switched to him, his sister gesturing to him with a hand. His heart warmed, seeing how your big-doe eyes looked at him, the beautiful hue of them twinkling with curiosity.

Most recoil from his touch but, you reached out to him, interlacing your tiny fingers with his. He noticed how your hand trembled, looks like Roxana was correct, you were the shy type. Even so, you overcame your anxiety to greet him! Him! The final blow was the sweet giggle that escaped your lips, swinging your hand in his. Forget Angel, you were Heaven Sent.

It was very silly how easily he fell under your control, but can you blame him? When was the last time someone treated him with genuine kindness and affection other than his sister? He visited you a lot after that, to your surprise. You thought it was a one-time thing, but here he is, bringing spoils and stuffed animals every day. At that point, you had to ask for another room to store your gifts from him… Jokes and banter are common between you two, him doing most of the interaction, pinching your cheeks, and tickling your sides. Jeremy… turns out to be more childish than you, who is a child, and that said something. It amazed you when he’s on the verge of falling onto the ground and crying out whenever you declined his time with you.

Then there were instances that he was similar to a cat, cute and loving to the people he cherishes, pissy and hostile to others when they come near his cherished. What you hated about him was his ugly jealousy streak and the damage he brings with it. It can annoying when someone you like doesn’t spend much time with you as you’d like, but was it really worth bashing their head into the floor?

You walked hand-in-hand with your brother who hummed merrily. As for you, you were in a state of shock, silent as your mind tried to process what had happened prior earlier. Why did he… kill the servant? They were being nice to you were they not? It was just a lovely fresh-picked flower they wanted to gift out of the goodness of their heart. To you, you thought it was the prettiest one you’ve ever seen so far, the vibrant color palette reminding you of yourself. Mesmerized you were very close to taking the pretty thing, your chubby hands reaching to clasp at the plant. In the BLINK of an eye, the servant was no longer in their spot, the flower soaking in a puddle of blood on the ground, and your hands outstretched. The liquid was also splattered on your face, little droplets spluttered on your dress. In front of you was your brother, an enraged face overtaking his features. And underneath his boot was… the servant that offered the flower to you. What just happened…? Shrugging off how your irises dilated as he came closer, he knelt to the ground, scooping the flower from its puddle. And with a beaming smile, he patted your head, giving the bloodied flower to you instead.

“They’re out of their fuckin’ minds if they think I’d allow them to taint you.”

After your encounter with Roxana, she basically took over the role of bodyguard away from Sierra. Then you appreciated Sierra more, for mingling in Roxana’s presence had you stiffer than a board. The evening was a stormy one, the raindrops harshly beating against the roof, the low rumbles of thunder, and the faint flashes of lightning. For some odd reason, Roxana wanted to take a walk with you in this weather. You didn’t want to, but one word of hers led to another, and now you’re here. Too bad you were too scared to speak up.

Suddenly, she told you she had to run a small errand. It won’t take long, she insisted, and just like that, you were left “unsupervised” in the middle of the hallway. When you wanted to be left alone, you didn’t mean it like this. The hallways were eerily vacant and your room was nowhere nearby. The setting didn’t ease your growing anxiety; it was straight out of a horror novel where anything was capable of jumping you at any given moment. So… imagine how your soul left your body when you glanced over your shoulder, only to make eye contact with a face.

Gasping loudly, you spun around and stumbled backward, your small hands clutching at your clothes. Hair dark as the night sky, eyes red as blood… How did your father manage to silence his footsteps…? And most importantly, what could he possibly want from you…?  The deep frown he wore is a bad sign… Did you finally manage to push your father over the edge!?

The distant sound of heels hastily clacking against the floor trickled into your ears. Shortly after Roxana came into view, panting heavily as she shot a firey glare at the figure in front of you followed by a trail of threats. How did she have the courage to do that!? Did she not fear your father’s wrath? More so, why was he not responding? And who is this DION!? Too confused to study your fear of your sister when she lifted you into her arms, you wrapped your arms around her neck staring at a smirk creeping on who you assumed to be your father’s face.

The days continued smoothly (as the routine with Lante, Sierra, Maria, Roxana, and Jeremy occurred too often to be considered strange) and you lived your life as best as possible. But that was just the calm before the storm… 

Jumping from your seat, the porcelain cup slipped from your hands, shattering on the ground and spilling the milk. Your heart was hammering in your chest and your skin grew ice cold. Maria, Sierra, and the women present at the tea party also freaked out, the former rushing to both of your sides as they attempted to soothe your panicking self.

But that was a mistake for as soon as Maria touched you, you broke down into a fit of tears. They were confused, you were fine seconds ago! Was it perhaps the milk you drank with your biscuits that caused this!? Well, that certainly wouldn't slip by!

However, was that the answer to your panic? No. Someone was… watching you. It wasn't a normal glance… but rather one that instilled apprehensiveness in the hearts of numerous, and unfortunately, it was geared toward you. Left, right, and back, you frantically looked around, trying to identify who it was the person that had you so distraught. But, you couldn't, which made you cry harder and flail your arms about.

You knew the situation was very bad that the noise caught the attention of Lante, summoning him inside the greenhouse where the tea party was hosted. He was disgruntled, unsure of what to do. He didn't train himself to be a proper parent, so how should he know how to tame a crying child no less?

The best option he thought of was to carry you to your bed quarters and your stepmothers quickly complied, Maria whispering sweet nothings into your ears as she carried you, and Sierra lurking not too far behind.

There was some fun in isolation, you thought, as you found solace in the confinement of your room. Whenever you tried to stay outside in the company of others, so did the feeling of being watched return, the dread worsening the smaller the crowd gets. The feeling always disappeared when you were alone in your room, or by yourself… hold on, did you just hear your bedroom door lock?

This man was not your father. It made sense now why your sister treated him with disrespect. If he was not your father, could he possibly be one of your siblings? Though he looks like him, a carbon copy you think, he was sure far worse than your father in personality. Dull, apathetic, and very sadistic. He had no regard for life either as he shamelessly killed the maid assigned to you in front of your eyes. Even when the blood splattered on his face, he showed no emotion, maintaining eye contact with you. Could he be the one that was watching you all this time? Why did he wait to approach you when you were alone? Have you upset him in some way? Was he going to slaughter you next? All these questions ran through your head, unknowingly letting the tears gathered in your eyes run down your cheeks. This caught his attention, the smirk you remembered him having on your first encounter spreading on his lips. Kneeling in front of your bed, uncaring of how you trembled in his company, he reached out a hand, rubbing his finger tenderly against your cheek. It was sick how he found satisfaction that he evoked such a reaction from you. A teardrop fell onto his finger and he brought it to his lips, tasting it. What was meant to be salty, the flavor burst with sweetness in his mouth.

“I wonder what other reactions I can get from you.”

Weak… Fragile… Gentle… Pure… Innocent… How are you surviving in this god-forsaken household? It’s even more amusing to witness the same man, her father, protect what he firmly strived to kill. And that’s how GRISELDA formed a great interest in you, the youngest of The Black Agriche. She remembers clearly, a conversation she held with one of her younger half-sisters years ago, the person responsible for knocking her out of her top three rankings. Smiling happily with her fingers interlaced underneath her chin, she promised to show her something that will greatly humor her.

You may not have been the ‘thing’ her sister was referring to, nevertheless, it was not an unwelcomed one. Ah, she wonders, how long has it been since she has had that spark of interest? The day her sibling died in front of her eyes, feelings such as love became foreign to her. But, you? You restored these lost feelings of hers from first sight. She was stupefied when it happened, her body overflowing with spontaneous bursts of energy.

Truth be told, she had an eye on you for the longest while now, aching to meet you in person at least once. But, curse her hectic schedule to hell, leaving her no choice but to satisfy her curiosity about you from the little stories told by her other half-siblings. For the first time, she had felt a sense of ugly envy… Will they know of it though? No.

Fate was cruel to her, she thinks. First, to take away her sibling she loved, and second, to present, oh, such an ethereal gift, just to keep it away from her arm's length having to watch down on you from the villa’s balcony, scurrying about with her other siblings. For now, she’ll keep it that way, looking at you with a sober expression from afar, but still offering you exquisite gifts to make you aware of her existence.

It was another gift that seemed to spawn alive onto your dressing table, probably from your anonymous gift-giver. You had asked your siblings, including your stepmother who would occasionally step inside if they were the ones responsible, to which they all responded with a ‘no.’ You wondered if it were a servant that did it, but after what transpired with the previous one, you doubted anyone outside your family will be willing to take such a risk. This time, the gift was sitting in a glass vase, filled with water. In the vase were the flowers you adored with the lovely aroma. Happily, you whiffed the scent. Picking up the note that came with the gift, it read, ‘These flowers reminded me of you. I hope you enjoy them as much as I do… Sincerely, Griselda.’

“Don’t die on me, Little Sister. I won’t allow it~”

You were very confused to see a red-headed girl on her hands and knees, panting heavily for air. She was shaken too, a sickly color to her pale skin and the cold sweat that ran down the exposed parts of her body. But as you caught the dim red glow in the corner of your eye, as well as the faint sound of wings flapping, you were able to put two-and-two together; the girl was most likely tormented by Roxana’s infamous killer butterflies.

You pitied her, knowing what those butterflies were capable of, one almost biting your finger clean off your hand in one instance. But, that was just a sole butterfly you dealt with, she must have encountered several. And from one victim to another, you approached her shaking form in the hopes of comforting her.

Though… it seems she didn’t appreciate the sentiment… the fiery stare she gave you in response shut you up quickly and almost made you lose your bowels right there. Screaming insults and curses, she sprang to her feet and shoved past you, storming off to where she wanted to go. You just stood there in your spot, wide-eyed with your hands on your chest. Well, that’s what you get for roping yourself into situations that didn’t concern you…

From her outburst, you didn’t anticipate seeing her again, nor do you think she would want to see you. So her interrupting the tea party with yourself in the garden the next day startled you. Overcoming your shock, you smiled at her and invited her to join you and enjoy a couple of biscuits. She stuck her nose into the air and gawked at you as though you’d grown two heads… but still agreed. You did most of the talking, shortly learning her name, CHARLOTTE, and her exchanging haughty remarks here and then. It was a decent event…

If only you knew what exactly your brief display of kindness unconsciously resigned yourself to. Charlotte… was awfully demanding. After the tea party, Charlotte appeared by you very frequently, ordering that you drop whatever it was you were doing, and spend time with her. It could be one of the most important things you had to handle and she would not care. You could be with one of your siblings and she would not care. You could be sick and worn out, she will NOT care. If she wants to be with you, it will be now, no time for discussion. Just TRY to say no, it won’t do you any good. You said yes a lot, mostly because of your fear of what she will do if you deprive her of what she desired. She already made you petrified with a glare, how much worse will it be once she reaches her limit and lashes out? You have no ability to defend yourself when the time comes, so why should you cause trouble? Give in and avoid the unnecessary problem.

She was shaking with fury, hands angrily pulling at her puffy pigtails. How dare they…? HOW DARE THEY!? Are they stupid!? What do you mean you can’t spend time with her!? YOU BOTH ALWAYS SPEND TIME TOGETHER AT THIS TIME! WHY was she and him getting in her way of being with YOU!? They have to be stupid! While she went through an internal crisis, you clutched at your clothes, tears pricking at your eyes. Her green eyes were practically glowing with wrath from the hatred she harbored for your older sister and brother! She was also on the verge of snapping, that you can tell. She was losing all of her morality the longer they denied her what she wanted. You would have excused yourself long ago, but when she’s like this, that’s not the ideal option, for she may do something regrettable to you. Stepping behind your sister, your ears twitched at the sound of a whip cracking, inclusive of a butterflies’ wings, indicating the start of a full-on brawl.

“GO AWAY! Can’t you see we’re in the middle of something!?”

And finally… YOU! How do you feel about your family's attention to you? You never saw how other families interact with their kin… but you knew that what your family was doing was wrong. It was dangerous and obsessive. Would you tell them that? No. Unless you wish to suffer a fate worse than death by confronting them, you will keep your silence until all the odds are in your favor.

They were the butterflies, your mannerisms and kindness as the sweet nectar and color that attracted them, and you, their delicate flower.

©chaedomi. please do not modify, edit, copy or reproduce any of the works published.

[bakugoushotwife]

blessing and curse

summary: yuuji is a wonderful boyfriend...you just wish he was able to fuck you... warnings: post shibuya, aged up duh, yuuji struggles with ptsd, night terrors, as well as anxiety, you both see therapists, oral (fem receiving), penetrative sex, fem!reader, pet names, (pretty girl, baby, cutie, etc), rough sex. wc: 3k a/n: this is my first yuuji piece nom nom nom i'm actually obsessed and soaking wet tbh i'm thinking thoughts for yuuji.........anyway to my lovely requester i hope you enjoy this <;3 jjk masterlist here

yuuji feels things very intensely. it’s a blessing and a curse, though the latter is more often experienced than the former. guilt, loss, regret–all things that nearly swallowed him whole while he fought for his friends and the people of japan–for the whole world. it’s so hard to be him, to live with what he carries on his shoulders–on his soul. he’s unloveable. he’s the one who caused all of the pain—things would have been easier if he died. there’s a number of people whose lives ended because of and for him. he was only just adjacent to a murderer. months after the fighting ceased and the war was won, he would wake up numerous times through the night with night terrors. he couldn’t even call them nightmares because they weren’t fabrications of his imagination. they were all too real memories that kept making their rounds–reminding him that he would be forever burdened with a layer of hell no one else could claim to know about. 

he met you in the waiting room of his therapist’s office. he remembers seeing you and wondering what you could be talking to his specialist about. it meant you also had to be a sorcerer—clearly he couldn’t see a normal one about his specific traumas and baggage, and apparently neither could you. he remembers not even knowing you and his heart still hurting for the pretty young girl that must be hurting like him. he remembers hoping that you hadn’t been through anything like what he had—the anxious voice in the back of his mind wondering if somehow he caused your pain via sukuna’s rampages or the destruction and death that followed him. he remembers you meeting his eyes on a seemingly unremarkable thursday afternoon, catching him in the middle of one of his staring way too long episodes. you narrowed your eyes and tilted your head at him in amusement. 

the rest was easy. you were easy to talk to, to admire, to hold, to love. you made him feel intense things in a good way–in a way he had nearly given up on. his world had slowly become a mixed palette of blacks and whites and muted grays–but your smile brought color back. your touch made vivid purples and yellows; your laughter the brightest of pinks and the most warm oranges. you became the blessing where he was the curse, the savior of a damned man bound to paint on smiles and pretend that sacrificing his soul and everyone he’s ever loved was worth it. now he felt unimaginable comfort and love by getting to know you. his smiles weren’t so fake anymore—and the only things that woke him in the night was losing you. truly the only fear that yuuji itadori has left: cursing his blessing. 

you thought he was the best boyfriend around and an even better man. you’ve slowly but surely unraveled the reason he was visiting the therapist through his eventual opening up to you and telling you just a fraction of what he’s experienced in his life and you can understand his intimacy issues. see…yuuji is easy to love. he’s wonderful, attentive, sweet, careful, strong and chivalrous. but he won’t fuck you. you’re too nervous to push him any further—all too aware of his fears of letting anyone in, of loving and showing that in ways that make you vulnerable. he’s all too conscious of what it would mean—of the danger he would be putting you in.

there’s been many times here lately that you’ve thought that line will finally be crossed—heavy petting and make-outs that get you squirming in his lap and soaking through your panties. it always goes this way, no matter how innocent the two of you try to keep your dates. move night, game night, even cooking together ends up with yuuji’s tongue down your throat and his hands under your shirt. tonight is no different, some youtube video plays in the background—a forgotten video game walkthrough that yuuji had been paying careful attention to until you leaned in to rip it away with those teasing kisses to his jaw. you know exactly what buttons to press after four months of nothing past second base driving you to a point of restlessness. 

you just wanted him to see your perseverance. you would do this for as long as it takes, anything to prove that you’re here to stay. you want to make him comfortable enough to tear those walls down—the ones that make his eyes flutter shut and his hands fist at his pants in order to keep them to himself. his eyes close to will himself to concentrate on something–anything—other than the feeling of your warm lips tracing his pulse, smooth fingers sliding under his shirt to outline the dips and muscles of his torso. it’s not that he doesn’t want to this, he craves you like nothing ever before. your touch is the medicine bringing him back to life, but he can’t allow himself to ruin you—taint you. but as you move into his lap and change your kisses to more intense nips and sucks at his skin, his body betrays his mind. he can feel the blood rush to his cock as your thighs trap him beneath you, and he moans out at the same time you do. the pressure of your clothed cunt sitting against his needy dick has his hands moving before he can tell himself to stop. he grabs your waist, accidentally and automatically rutting up against the friction you offer with a hiss. 

“fuck, cutie.” he groans, your lips covering his parted and pouty ones to keep him from protesting further. his fingers only dig into your side as the two sides of his mind argue with each other. he wants you badly, your body slotted against his perfectly and the way you kiss him like you’re trying to touch his soul drives him crazy. anyone with a girlfriend as hot as you would be a fucking idiot to keep denying himself of her. his hands knead the warm flesh of your body as an instinct, his body knowingly responding to your advances. his tongue slides over yours in a frenzy, his head becoming fuzzy as saliva trails down his chin—something in him telling him to stop when his hands slide upwards to palm your chest. you cry out at the feeling—so starved for his affection that you know you’re soaking wet already. just his rough hands scraping over your sensitive nipples sends you into rutting rhythmic circles of your hips over the tent in his pants, breaking your sloppy kiss in order to remove your shirt fully in a silent show of what you wanted to happen next. 

“aw baby—you know i can’t,” he whines, his lips swollen and even pinker than usual. he drops his hold to your hips, making comforting circles over the bone beneath his grasp. your face drops to instant heartbreak and he can feel his own heart try to rip itself apart for making you so sad. he never thought about how this must affect you, a woman with needs and desires for her boyfriend. he knows this can’t last much longer or he’ll lose you anyway. the room is just a mixture of your heavy breathing and the monotone droning of the tv for a few moments, and then you whine in retaliation, picking up his hand and moving it back to your breast. you search his eyes, seeing the fear flickering in those brown embers of his. you just need to show him there’s nothing to be scared of, that you need him worse than you need the oxygen in this room and would do anything for him today and forever. 

“yuuji,” you gasp out in such a voice that he knows he won’t be able to hold back this time. four months of seeing your body in your cute date outfits and in his shirt after you’ve spent the night; the feeling of your curves under his fingers as he guides you to the safe side of the sidewalk or the swell of your hip as he guides you through the door he’s just opened—four months of draining his balls after he’s sent you home with nothing more than a few wet kisses and tit-squeezes. the way your eyes shine like you’re about to cry if he denies you one last time…it’s too much. “please—i need you,” you breathe out, reaching those gorgeously soft hands out to sweep against his cheeks, to plead with him to be a good boyfriend. he can’t make you suffer any longer—”i need you so bad yuuji, please don’t push me away…i’m your forever girl!” 

oh fuck. he might cum in his pants from hearing that alone. suddenly, silence falls upon his mind. he can only hear the echoes of your cries for him–no more voices in his head arguing about the best way to continue, only you. a guttural groan rips from his throat and he stands with your legs wrapped around his body, a broad hand snaking up your back to keep you pressed against him. you squeal a little at the sudden shift and the deep growl that he let out, his face now devoid of that playful man you’ve come to love. he looks so focused, so serious, his brow furrowed as he looks over your face. 

“i’m sorry i made you wait so long, pretty girl.” he nods, letting your body bounce on the bed as he’s set on immediately removing the remainder of your clothes. he pulls you to the edge, legs dangling over the sides. you almost think it must be too good to be true, sitting up on your elbows to catch a glimpse of that ravenous fire consuming his previously kind eyes. he’s leaned back to peel his own clothes off, but his eyes never leave your body. he looks over your lip pinched between your teeth to your pebbled nipples to the glistening slick coating your inner thighs. he doesn’t even know where to start, but he’s going to ensure that you’re finally taken care of. “i’m a dumbass—thought i was keeping you safer like that.” he mutters, leaning over to kiss the space between your ribcage. he makes his way to your jaw, licking a hungry stripe between your breasts and claiming your neck with bruising nips at the delicate flesh that greeted him. 

you’re set to mewling immediately, the flip switched in your boyfriend making you rub your legs together in anticipation. he chuckles and you can feel him smile against your skin as his hand snakes down to keep you from squirming. he quickly pecks your lips. “m gonna make it up to you now, baby girl.” his eyes are wide, but glazed over with affection. you nod, feeling his strong fingers dig into the supple flesh of your thigh to keep you from closing them, his abs raking over your sensitive clit as he lowers himself to his knees at the foot of the bed. your face burns as you realize what he’s going to do, but he doesn’t give you time to think about it before turning your mind to mush from the feeling of his fat tongue splitting your lips apart and breaching your tiny hole. he seems pleased by the way you react—back arching off the bed and hands gripping at the sheets from the surprising burn. it’s a good burn, the kind you’ve been craving for the months you’ve been with a man who loves you like he does, your wanton moans just cementing that his choice was the right one. he’s growing addicted to this already; your flavor on his tongue, your moans echoing in his ears and your thighs pressing in to the sides of his face. he feels your silky walls clamp down on his tongue, making his eyes roll back at the thought of putting his dick in something so tight. he slurps at the arousal slipping out, sliding his tongue to the hardened bud waiting at the top of your cunt. he wraps his tongue around your clit, making you jolt at the sudden increase in sensation. it’s amazing—goosebumps prickle out over your skin and you reach down to tug at the silky pink locks woven between your fingers. you can feel every nerve running through your body and how it builds with a fiery pleasure that you know only yuuji can give you. “oh my god—yuuji!” you cry out as that pleasure mounts to a tipping point. his teeth scrape against your hood to encourage you to fall over that line so he can see what he’s been denying you of for four achingly long months. 

you make the sweetest face when you cum, it has him closing a fist around his own dick to calm himself—the promise of having your pussy making him jerk at his own touch. you even sound so pretty as you shatter, legs jerking and your grip on his hair yanking almost painfully hard. it only makes yuuji smile wider, feeling a bubbly sense of satisfaction ripple in his own gut from making you feel so good. 

“nngh, yuuji–” you whine, your vision returning to normal after a few seconds of respite. he’s already pushing you back to the pillows, manhandling you into the bent position he wanted. you’re on your back, knees by your ears and a boyfriend giving you no time to be anxious about the angry and leaky horsecock sliding through your folds. you thought he was a sweet man, and maybe he still is–but his own excitement to have you has him forgetting his normal chivalrous behavior. “fuck–yuuji!” you claw at his biceps, fighting against that true splitting burn. his tongue was nothing compared to the girth he pierces you with—and he’s smiling so tenderly at your wiggling and struggling. 

“s’okay, cutie. you can take it, you’re already taking it!! didn’t you ask me to?” he raises a brow, face flashing with mock-confusion as your hands shove at his chest, all in an effort to get used to the feeling of him inside you. his thumb brushes your cheek, his other hand keeping the back of your thigh shoved back. “nyeh—you begged me! come on pretty girl–you gotta loosen up!” he laughs airily, moving the hand from your face back down to pinch and roll your aching clit. you jump at first, the touch sending another jolt of pleasure circulating to your brain–and then you relax enough for him to move. he’s got you folded in such a way that you can hardly breathe–or maybe that’s from how he slams into you recklessly, tip catching on your poor, innocent, cervix each time. it hurts, it burns everywhere—but it’s the best feeling in the world. his breathing grows ragged once he settled into a pace, brutally slamming into you in a way that led you to believe he wasn’t doing this on accident. 

soon, your hands around his biceps slip to your sides, eyes lulling into a pleasure-induced haze. you watch him, the twitch of his nose and the way his hair gets curly once it sticks to his forehead from his sweat. he’s perfect, and he’s finally giving you all of himself, really devoting himself to you, conquering any fear. you don’t mind if you’ll be bedridden for the next week—feeling his heavy cock in your chest from how hard he ruts into you—it would be well worth it to hear his grunts and whimpers of satisfaction, to feel the bruising grip he has on your body like he’s afraid you might disappear. it’s all so good, and exactly like you craved. “there she goes—takin’ it like a champ now!” he cheers you on, panting a little as he leans over your body and grabs the headboard, deepening his angle as if he wasn’t already fucking you brainless. 

the new angle makes your jaw drop in absolute earth-shattering bliss. you two could be the only people left on earth and you would never know—to consumed in yuuji itadori to notice anything else. you’re back to pawing at his chest, the coil in your gut building rapidly as he fucks into you like his life depends on it. you wanted everything, he’ll make sure he gives you everything. the headboard creaks, the bed moans with you and you truly do worry he might break it for a split second–but his broken moan of your name swallows up any wandering thoughts. a bead of sweat slides down the slope of his nose before it drops onto your cheek, the evidence of his hardwork. he moans your name again, warning you that the end was approaching. you nod as he moves your legs to his shoulders, leaning as close as possible to wrap you in his arms and kiss you in short, desperate bursts. he treasures you more than he thought possible, that look you give him right before your eyes roll back into your head from your orgasm makes his own dick jump within your vice-grip of a cunt. you make that sweet face again, a face he knows he’s hooked on—your pussy spasming around him to welcome his fat load gets him to make his own kind of special and beautiful face, lip between his teeth and adam’s apple bobbing at the same pace his balls slap into your backside. you swear you can feel his heart beating, his lungs filling and emptying as he flattens his chest to yours and fills your guts with his loving cum. he keeps thrusting even after he’s done, just watching your face contort and shift, your body bouncing in his arms. he likes the ache of overstimluation, and loves the way you mewl and hug him, eyes all sleepy and far away. 

“that’s it, you did it, so so good.” he praises in a soft tone, kissing your lips and then your nose and then your forehead with equal adoration. “can’t believe i kept us from feeling like that!” he shakes his head, kissing your cheeks to continue showering you in his love if not to keep you awake. he sits back up and slides out of you, quickly snatching his t-shirt up to catch the spillage. it’s hot, watching his seed trickle from your abused pussy—he whines a little at the sight, puppy dog eyes flickering over your body as if to wonder if you could take another round…

now that you’ve gotten him to start, you may never get him to stop.

[rae-writes]

the things we [didn't] forget about

om boys x reader

wc : 2.k

warnings : angst, hurt-comfort, depictions of lesson 16, non-detailed panic attack+ptsd

synopsis : Even things locked away and forgotten can be remembered by the body that experienced it

It all happened so sudden. But terror can do that to a person. 

Terror is cold and dark and it curls around someone like a viper; encasing their ankles so they can’t run, slithering up their legs to squeeze at their abdomen so hard it feels like they’re going to be sick, winding around and around their chest so tight they can’t breathe, and even tighter around their neck so every cry for help is lodged inside. 

Terror doesn’t end there, either. It festers inside of them, flowing through their veins and arteries— ice cold so they begin to shiver, though their bodies are confused when they begin to sweat from the panic. 

And suddenly, that viper unravels, bringing every feeling rushing back to that person all at once- so fast it sends their mind crashing to figure out exactly what is happening and what they’re really feeling and what’s actually real and are they even safe— 

It was only a couple seconds. Only a couple seconds where the body freezes up and this domino effect of emotions lines up before tipping into a hysterical reaction.  It’s overwhelming; and that’s when the sound comes out.

Mephisto had simply thrown a tape measure over your head from behind, swiftly and casually pulling it taut around your neck to get your measurements for the choker that would be going with your festival outfit. 

Yet no matter how gentle his actions were, no matter how non-restricting the tape measure was, the feeling hurdled you right back to that night. 

The night of your death. The night Belphie killed you. 

And you let out a blood curdling scream. 

The common room around you melted into the attic, the thin measuring tape being replaced by Belphie’s tail slyly sliding around your neck from behind before tightening and crushing your windpipe. 

You knew it wasn’t real. You’d moved past that night, forgiven Belphie, made amends. The nightmares ended, the anxiety of being close to the sloth demon became none— you had overcome the incident. 

But as you tripped backwards over your own two feet, screaming and crying and scrambling even further back, you think that maybe you hadn’t forgotten. Maybe you’d just buried it deep, deep down, not wanting to ever think of it again; the memory was still there, however. Still in full color with full intensity. 

For a moment, the others might’ve been confused. Scared, worried, startled. But when your hands shot up to check over your throat, fingers poking and prodding at the skin to make sure everything was still as it should be, they knew.

†

Lucifer, for the first time, doesn’t think about his actions as he moves, covering your body with his own as his wings shield you from your surroundings. His feet moved on their own, body driven by the sole instinct- the need- to just protect you. Even if there was nothing to physically protect you from, even if he couldn’t reach into your mind and just erase the bad memories, he shields you with his body because he wants you to know he’s there. He’s there and he’s not going to let anything past him until you’re ready because you are all that’s on his mind right now, all that’s at the forefront of his heart right now, and so he’ll stay right there on the floor with you pressed against him like glue for as long as you want; even when your cries stop and you relax in his hold, he won’t move until you’re ready to get up. His fingers brush away hair from your face, cradling your cheeks as he keeps you hidden away in his wings, feathers brushing over your skin softly every time exhales. He’s not going anywhere, this, he can promise.

Mammon was by your side in an instant, arms winding around you comfortingly to pull you into his lap, cradling you so gently and so softly. He forces his scent to envelop you, for his voice to be the only one you hear, for his warmth to seep into your skin until you’re able to look up at him with swollen eyes. He’s drying all your tears, cooing sweet nothings because dammit, he couldn’t protect you when it actually happened, so he’s sure as hell going to protect you now. His fingers caress your neck, soothing over the red lines you caused, tapping almost playfully over your pulse point; his voice comes out unusually soft and sweet as he pours out his heart in hopes that it’ll drown out the darkness you’re facing. He loves you so fucking much, you know? He’d do anything for you. Anything and everything, and he’s never going to leave your side, and he’s always going to try and protect you. He swears. 

Levi has the immediate instinct to run and hide, but as he listens to your cries and watches you frantically make sure your neck isn't broken, the instinct changes to wanting to run and hide with you wrapped safely in his arms. His tail curls around you, replacing the discomfort of terror, and instead making you feel protected— he might not be confident in himself, especially when he couldn’t do anything to help you last time, but he’s confident in his love for you and that makes his eyes flare in determination. Swiftly, he’ll lift you with his tail and pull you into his arms and just take you away to the safety of his bathtub-bed; here, he can protect you. Here, you can feel safe with just him and the porcelain tub wall pressed against you. Here, he can hide you away and not let anyone come through that door until you’re ready. Here- right now- he can protect you, and until you’re ready, he won’t move an inch. 

Satan is startled, as he’s used to you being the calm one while he has outbursts— he has no idea what to do at first when you begin crying, and that makes him so angry because he should know how to comfort you. But how does someone comfort a person who’s having flashbacks from when they died? With careful steps and raised hands, like he’s trying not to spook a cat, he approaches you and whispers your name as a question, scrambling to wrap you in his arms once you reach out for him. He still doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know what to say- what to even think- so almost absentmindedly, he’ll begin reading you his favorite book aloud from just memory alone. He doesn’t know how many chapters in he gets, but he does know that once you begin to relax in his arms, he’s relaxing himself because this, now, is familiar territory but even when it’s not, he’s never going to leave you alone. Ever. 

Asmo immediately begins fretting over your poor swollen eyes and blotchy red cheeks, trying to hide away his panic so he can focus on you instead. He gently dabs at your face with his silk handkerchief, citing off as many positive uses for it before he’s at a loss when the small squared fabric is completely soaked and you’re still crying. He’ll get unusually quiet after that, clamoring his way into your lap so he can wrap as much of his body around you as he can; this is his way of protecting you. Of letting you know that no one is going to hurt you again if he’s here- they’ll have to go right through him first…you shouldn’t cry, you know? But if it’ll make you feel better when you’re done, just let it out, and he’ll be happy to pamper you afterwards! He might not know exactly what to do right now, but he’ll be here anyway. Just for you, always for you. 

Beel is frozen, unable to move as he just stares at the sight of you breaking down with wide eyes; he was there. He remembers vividly what happened, but he also knew that everyone had moved past it in some way— but seeing you like this after so long? …Slowly, maybe as to not startle you- or maybe because he’s scared himself- he lowers himself to the floor beside you and ushers you in his lap. He might not know what to say or do, but he knows how to silently comfort, and that’s exactly what he does as he absentmindedly rocks you back and forth, quietly offering you bites of his snack as you start calming down. He might not be as vocal as some of his other brothers, but his love speaks volumes through the silence, and he just loves you so much. He rests his head on top of yours and promises he’ll always be there for you. . .and, quietly so no one else can hear, he apologizes for not being there that night. Apologizes for not being quick enough, for not knowing something was wrong, for letting his twin spiral so much out of control that he snapped…he’s so sorry. But he’ll be there for the rest of time— because he loves you. 

Belphie is backing away himself, completely mortified by your reaction; he did this to you and he already made it a point of making sure you knew he’d never forgive himself, but seeing you be dragged back forcefully into that experience felt like his heart was getting ripped out of his chest. His vision was getting blurry, chest heaving with stuttering breaths as he spiraled and not even Beel could pull him out of it— the only thing that saved him from breaking down was you. You crying out for him, you reaching out for him as your sobs quieted down into soft whimpers of his name. You wanted him to comfort you, even if he was the reason you were having such a bad flashback in the first place. And so he cries loudly, dropping to his knees and shakily crawling over to you, wrapping you in his arms as he utters apology after apology. He loves you so much and he’s sorry, he’s sorry- so sorry- so, so sorry. He loves you, he loves you, he loves you. 

Diavolo is a bit frazzled at first, molten hues wide in surprise before the feeling of guilt creeps over him. He’d been the one who ordered you to go back in time- he’d been so curious as to how the door opened that he hadn’t thought about the possibility of Belphegor hurting you…he also takes a slow approach, making sure you see him in your line of sight before he lowers himself to the ground. He doesn’t touch you, instead waiting for you to come to him first, but for some reason the first words that manage to come out of his mouth are ‘I’m sorry’. It almost brings tears to his own eyes when you scramble to him and try to bury yourself in his embrace, sobbing harshly against his chest; he doesn’t let you go. And he won’t, not until he knows you’re in a better state of mind. He failed you that day…but he won’t make the same mistake twice.

Barbatos was even more frazzled than Diavolo, even more guilty— because he was the one who sent you back. This is one of the rare times everyone sees him lose his composure because, truly, he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what to do and that scares him because you’re on the ground crying and he doesn’t know how to help you. For the first time in a really long time, he resorts to relying on his instincts rather than his head; he pulls you up in his arms, moving to settle down in a chair with you on his lap rather than being on the floor, and his fingers begin making soothing circles along the skin of your neck. He smoothes over where you accidentally scratched yourself, quietly reassuring you that he’ll be by your side and help you through it all— this, anything, and everything.

+

Simeon isn’t quite sure why you’re in such distress, but when he sees the look Lucifer has, he knows there’s a serious reason behind it. He forces his way past everyone without bothering to keep his polite smile on his face— his eyebrows are furrowed, his lips are tugged into a distressed frown, and there’s a slight shake to his hand as he softly caresses your cheek. He sends a wave of tranquility washing over you and pulls you into his arms when you slump in a sudden spell of exhaustion from his magic. There’s a searing surge of possessiveness that causes him to hold you tight and give the glare to anyone who tries to come closer; he knows it must be something to do with one of the demons because of how they’re looking at each other, so he’ll whisper assurances and promises to you as he sways you back and forth. He’s your guardian angel, remember? He’ll give everything he has to keep you safe, he promises. 

[platonic] Luke jumps when he hears you scream, eyes going wide and teary when he watches you start crying— he doesn’t know what happened and what is happening, all he knows is that you’re upset and that’s enough for him to practically fly across the room. He’s at your side in seconds, small frame latching onto you as he attempts to to fire off a million questions, but he’s starting to cry with you, so a lot of his words are jumbled. He’s so frustrated because all the demons- and even Solomon- are sharing a knowing expression, but he just doesn’t know why. It makes him cry harder but he ignores the fact that he’s doing it in front of everyone else and wobbly exclaims that he’s going to protect you! No matter what, no matter what it’s against— he’s your guardian angel! So he’s gonna be by your side against anything!

Solomon can’t help the grim expression that crosses his face, eyes stormy as he stands back and watches everyone fret over you. A strong possessive urge to protect you flares up suddenly and he also can’t help his snappy tone as he demands everyone get out of his way. He’s bringing you to your feet with magic, wrapping his arms gingerly around your waist as he turns your back to all the others in the room, making you see just him. He doesn’t try to hide the worry plastered over his face as he examines you, verifying there’s nothing physically wrong with you before focusing on reassuring you. He’s firm in the way he promises he’ll make sure nothing bad will happen to you again, swearing that he’ll protect you with every ounce of his being. He was livid when he found out what happened- and he’s livid even now knowing that you still have mental scars from it- but the only thing he can do is be there for you. And he’s going to. No one can stop him. 

Mephisto is horrified, thinking he hurt you somehow even though he’s certain he didn’t accidentally scratch you or pull the tape measure too tight. The knowing glance- and reassuring ‘you didn’t do this’ shake of the head from his lord- made him feel no less panicked, though he at least knew you weren't hurt— physically. With a quiet, almost hesitant voice, he’ll call out for you and get on his knees to softly apologize.  He’s completely out of his element when you crawl into his lap and bury your face in his neck, and yet he pulls you impossibly closer; whatever you want, whatever you need, he’ll be at your beck and call. His time, his attention, his money, his affection- it’s always been all yours and he’ll do anything to make you happy, you know that?

[delwrites]

Tomorrow

roommate!james x reader

“Honey? What are you doing?”

James had walked in on you grabbing a glass of water just after two am, sweat lightly touching your forehead.

“I-” you take a pause before letting out a deep sigh, too exhausted to keep up the pretence of any half-hearted lie you couldn’t be bothered to come up with. 

“Bad dream.” You mumbled, scowl adorning your soft features. James was more than familiar with the bad dreams that inhabited your head many nights, it didn’t make him any more immune to that pout that would always land on your face every time you had the displeasure of informing him, though. The first few times he’d tried to coax the truth out of you, he had always made you feel so guilty about lying, that when you finally told him the real reason for your being up so late (your most embarrassing secret), it was a great relief off your chest. Somehow, saying the night terrors you experienced out loud made them feel less real, and knowing that your roommate would be just down the hall lest anything more drastic happen was a great burden off your shoulders. 

James switched the kettle on, the usual routine slowly falling into place as he opened his arms to you. He could see the fat globs of tears sitting oh so preciously on your waterline; threatening to fall down any time you blinked. It made his heart sink right through his stomach and forced a concerned frown to tense up his face. 

“What should we watch tonight?” He asked as he cradled your head to his chest, rocking you both side to side as his other hand squeezed your back, knowing the pressure of his touch would wordlessly reassure you that he was there, metaphorically and physically. If you weren’t living with the man, forced to see his every side tucked away under boisterous mounds of personality, the softness of his voice might startle you. You knew better than to let it get the best of you.

“Um, I’m not sure…” You were so timid, curled up against him and letting him take the brunt of your weight that his normal want to protect you was tripled tenfold. He knew that when you got so shaken up like this, you found it difficult to talk, and even worse making decisions. By now he knew all your comfort shows anyway, knew your favourite hot drink and ideal sweet treat. 

“Okay, sweetheart, it’s okay.” As the kettle boiled, he gently guided you over to the sofa whilst he fixed you your favoured drink. Picking the telly remote up on the way over, he put two mugs on the coffee table in front of your feet and put a light-hearted show on to help ease your mind of whatever horror had occurred before he could intervene. 

As you sat there, leaning into his side with his arm wrapped around you for good measure, your mind began to drift. Drift away from the bad and focus on James. Since moving in with James, things had gradually transformed into the epitome of a quiet, mundane life. A lot of unspoken moments, learning simultaneously the simplest and deepest parts of each other without even really knowing the most ordinary things. This leads to you asking (rather apprehensively) a question that pulled James out of his little daydream. It was always easy for him to get lost in the contentment he feels tangled up with you, thoughts of married life plaguing his thoughts and tarnishing your innocent friendship.

“What do you do for a job?” You’re embarrassed to ask, but feel even more embarrassed not knowing. It makes you feel so sheepish, how the words come out mumbled against his chest, but if James notices he doesn’t make an effort to bring any attention to it. Instead, he begrudgingly turns his head from the tv screen to look at you, only to find you’re already staring up at his face. The proximity makes a blush bloom over his chest, threatening to rise up his neck as he tries to keep his breathing as steady as it was moments ago. The hand that isn’t wrapped around you goes up to his chin, as he thinks over your question. He supposes that since you had both rushed into living together, desperation getting the better of you both, you had majorly overlooked exchanging pleasantries with one another. 

“I’m sorry, I know it’s super weird and if you’ve already told me I feel really bad about forgetting, but I can’t put my finger on it…” The more you talk, the more heat you can feel residing in your cheeks. You can only hope the dim lights can alter your awkward expression adorning your face, seeing as you can’t bring yourself to do it.

“No, it’s definitely my fault for your not knowing. I could’ve sworn I told you… Honestly, I think it’s kinda funny.” An annoyingly amused smile overtakes him, lips quirked up at the corners and his eyes crinkling with a kind of airy delight that always makes your stomach cramp with joy and head blur with a drunken fuzziness that only he could create.

As you continue to give him your most stern awaiting look, he begins to rub his hand that was wrapped around you up and down your middle, eyes scanning over your face again. 

“I’m a rugby player. Just working with agents at the academy I’m training with for the moment, though I’m hoping to get scouted soon.” That definitely explained the bulk of the man. With his normal comings and goings from the apartment, you had assumed his muscle just came from his being a gym buff. Before your mind could wonder, he interrupted your thoughts with a question of his own.

“Are you a cat or a dog person?” 

The night had gone like this for a while, both openly asking simple questions that came to mind. You weren’t sure if he was intentionally trying to distract you from the earlier shortcomings of the night but either way it was working. By the time your mug was empty and James had answered your rather out of pocket ‘would you rather’ question, your eyelids had grown too heavy to ignore. 

James had already begun noticing the slight slur to your words, head indicating it would drop at any given moment, but this was the calmest he had seen you all night and he didn’t want to break you (or himself, for that matter) out of the little bubble you’d both been brave enough to craft. He urged your head to his shoulder, placing a kiss on your forehead before breaking himself out of his trance, putting you upright before he can do anything else he might regret. 

“Come on, honey. You should definitely get to bed now, if you fall asleep on the sofa your back’s gonna kill in the morning.” 

He had helped you off of the sofa, guided you down the hall with his hand on the small of your back, and was now pulling your duvet over you when he felt your nimble fingers clasp around the palm of his hand as he was turning to leave.

“Jamie…” He wanted to scream. Wanted to run and never look back to see that sleepy look on your face. Wanted to grab your face in his hands and kiss you right there and then. 

You wanted to beg him to stay. Wanted to offer up the right side of your bed so he could sleep beside you. Wanted to tell him how you truly felt.

“Thanks, for um, y’know… Staying up with me. You didn’t have to so, um… thanks.” So much for a grand confession. 

“Yeah, I’m always here for you, sweet girl. Get some sleep, you’ll feel better in the morning.” 

Maybe tomorrow.

“Good night, Jamie.” 

There’d always be tomorrow.

“Good night, love.”

[zerosuitsammi3]

If I can take a moment to share my experience as a trans woman on the internet

My experience is by no means unique, it's just one experience in the plethora of trans feminine experiences and not unique to only tumblr. Though, I'll mostly talk about what I've experienced here. In the light of recent events, the reaction of "the ceo," and the comments he contributed regarding dog pile harassment; I simply wish to share my experiences that I have had to juxtapose the dynamic of his statements against a lived experience.

This account started as a way to document my social transition and eventually my journey with HRT. Tumblr had always had a large lgbtqia+ community. The queer people here inspired me and gave me hope. What I didn't know, but soon learned, is that there were people here who hated me for being trans. Being early in my transition I was a prime target. TERF groups would plan raids on my account. What this entailed was: rebloging my selfies into circles that would say the most vile things about me, threaten to kill, tell me I was ugly, tell me that everyone I knew thought I was a joke, I was a monster, my family hated me, that I should kill myself, they'd download and edit my photos into caricatures or depictions of violence. They would fill my ask box with hundreds of asks detailing how they'd kill me, call me slurs, describe the ways that I should kill myself, and pretty much everything else I mentioned above with the reblogs. Their words were carefully curated to try and break me, break my spirit, break my will to live. I tried reporting it. But it was impossible to keep up with, and like many others I saw no real response. Eventually I learned that I had to block all of them. 100's of blogs, eventually 1000's of blogs. My block list these days is incredibly extensive. I had to wade through their blogs, traverse sickening hate speech and imagery to eliminate entire circles of people harassing me. I became jaded to the hate speech, hardened to it. But mind you, I shouldn't have had to expose myself to all of this just to be at peace here amongst my community. I received no help, I was left to my own devices to protect myself. The people who hurt me never saw consequences. It was painful, it was unfair, and no one else should have to put the hours upon hours of effort and exposure to hate in to protect themselves like I did. But again my experience is not unique.

I have had to repeat this process of preemptive blocking periodically once a new circle discovers me. Blocking them all before they can start the process of hate all over again. A process of hate that seems to be hitting my community with rapidly increasing fervor as of late.

I've seen others experience far worse than me. The TERF circles will hunt down their personal information and doxx them. Expose their home address, telephone numbers, names of their family members. I can't begin to imagine the terror my queer siblings must feel when someone tells then that they want to murder them all while showing them that they know where you live. This is not a new thing, not a rare tactic, it happens. And we've all seen the news stories of trans people being murdered by people who planned it and were vocal about it.

I know this is depressing. And it doesn't reflect all of my experiences. I've had wonderful experiences here, met amazing people, made close friends, found inspiration, found hope. I found a community.

And it's my community, and I never want to let it go.

I do have fear that making this statement will get me banned. But, I wanted to say it. I wanted it to exist in the world so that everyone who doesn't know our experiences has a chance to understand and with luck empathize.

I'll part on these words and hope for the best both for myself and for every member of the community.

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Fernando Alonso with wife reader. Their kids terrorized the whole grid as they got the mic from the AM admin which was Lance.. thanks!! :))

Chaos on the Grid

Word count: 632

Pairing: Fernando Alonso x wife!reader

Request are open

______________________________________________________________

The Formula 1 paddock was buzzing with excitement on race day, but no one could have predicted the mayhem that was about to unfold. Fernando Alonso stood by the Aston Martin garage, casually chatting with some of the engineers while his wife, Y/N, kept an eye on their two lively children, Sofia and Mateo. The kids, however, had other plans.

Lance Stroll, always one to engage with fans, was helping the Aston Martin media team with some pre-race content. He held a microphone, recording a quick segment for the team’s social media when Sofia’s eyes lit up at the sight of the mic.

“Mama, can I try?” Sofia asked, her face lighting up with excitement.

Before Y/N could respond, Lance, with a grin, crouched down to her level. “Of course, you can, Sofia! Let’s see what you’ve got.”

As soon as the mic was handed over, Mateo saw his opportunity and grabbed it from his sister. “Me first!” he declared, his small voice booming through the paddock speakers.

Fernando turned around just in time to see his son speaking into the microphone, and his eyes widened in realization. “Oh no…” he muttered under his breath, a mix of amusement and mild horror on his face.

Y/N tried to intervene, but it was too late. Mateo was already making his big debut, and Sofia wasn’t going to let her little brother hog the spotlight. She yanked the mic back, and the two began a playful tug-of-war, their voices blaring through the speakers.

“Attention, everyone!” Sofia announced, trying to sound as official as possible. “This is Sofia Alonso! My daddy is going to win today!”

“No, I’m Mateo Alonso, and my daddy is the fastest! Faster than Uncle Lance!” Mateo added with a cheeky grin, earning a laugh from everyone within earshot, including Lance himself.

The grid was in stitches, with drivers and team members pausing to watch the impromptu performance. Even Fernando couldn’t help but laugh, shaking his head as he walked over to his wife.

“I blame you for this,” he said, wrapping an arm around Y/N’s shoulders, his tone teasing. “They’ve got your flair for drama.”

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully. “They’ve got your competitive spirit, darling. I’m just here to make sure they don’t challenge Lewis to a race next.”

Just as she said that, Sofia, with all the confidence in the world, spoke into the mic again. “Uncle Lewis, if you can hear this, my daddy says you’re not faster than him!”

Lewis Hamilton, who was standing a few garages down, burst out laughing. “Is that a challenge, Alonso?” he called out, amused.

Fernando put his face in his hands, grinning behind them. “These kids…”

Lance, meanwhile, finally managed to reclaim the mic, though not without a struggle. “Okay, future F1 stars, let’s give Uncle Lance the mic back,” he said, still laughing.

The kids finally relented, and Y/N scooped them up, one in each arm, as they continued to giggle uncontrollably. “Alright, you two, that’s enough trouble for one day.”

Fernando leaned in to kiss Y/N’s cheek. “You handle them so well,” he whispered.

She smiled back at him, eyes twinkling with humor. “Well, someone has to keep them—and you—in check.”

Fernando and Y/N watched their children with a mix of pride and exasperation. The paddock had just experienced a small taste of Alonso family mischief, and it was clear that Sofia and Mateo were just as fearless and full of life as their father.

“Next time,” Fernando said with a smirk, “we’re keeping them away from any microphones.”

Y/N laughed, nodding in agreement. “Agreed. But admit it, they’re pretty adorable when they’re causing trouble.”

Fernando smiled, pulling her closer. “Yeah, they are. Just like their mother.”

[amostimprobabledream]

The Sweetest Violence (Homelander x Reader)

Just a lil drabble, also available on Ao3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/57696463

"Sssh..." Blood. So much blood. The fetid stink of it is everywhere. It fills up your nostrils and chokes up your senses. It's thick and sticky in your hair, hot and drying in stiff patches on your skin. You feel like you could take a hundred showers, soak in the bath for hours and hours and it still wouldn't get rid of the sensation of blood clinging to your flesh. Homelander doesn't seem to notice or care about the blood. He carries you easily, clasped to is chest, his own face splashed with blood, dark patches of it staining his blonde hair. The brilliant blue of his eyes seems to burn through a streaky veil of scarlet, made all the more vivid by the contrast. "It's all right," he whispers to you as he walks, his soothing tone at odds with the gore-soaked state of him. "It's okay now. Ssh. You must've been scared, huh?" Yes. You were. The people who took you saw you as nothing more than an object, a tool with which they could use against Homelander. You could tell by the impersonal way they handled you, the way they barley looked at you and didn't bat an eyelid at your screams and shouts. That scared you more than anything, the dead, cold looks in their eyes, like you were trying to communicate with machines, not people. If they could be so indifferent to your fear and confusion, what would they care about doing more permanent damage?

So, when you heard it - the rush of air and signature boom of one of Homelander's signature landings, those dramatic superhero drops that signify I am here, it was like divine intervention. The relief that hit you was like no high you'd ever experienced before, the way you imagine a shipwreck survivor must feel when they finally see the boat that's come to save them after being stranded in the brutal, unforgiving seas. That was, until Homelander got to work. Bodies. Ripped apart like paper. Heads not rolling but exploding like watermelons struck by a bat. Unholy shrieks of horror and agony drowned out in wet gurgles of blood. Eyes shining like warning lights in the gloom - inhuman, like a monster from a nightmare. You could only curl up as best you could and close your eyes to the carnage, a sob tangled in your throat, but you couldn't quite drown out the screaming and your imagination supplied you plenty of images that rivalled the horror of what was happening.

When Homelander calmly melted the chains on you and hoisted you up into his arms, you briefly wondered if you were about to die too - even though he'd come to rescue you. Your mind  is in a haze -a long time ago, somebody had explained to you the difference between horror and terror, and you felt it keenly now. You're not screaming or thrashing to escape, or outwardly freaking out at all. Instead, you feel like you've been plunged into a pool of still, frigid water and simply wait under the surface, unwilling to expend any energy into swimming up to the surface and peering out at whatever may lay above. You retreat into numbness, curiously swamped with cold despite how hot Homelander is. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his suit, your breath coming out in sharp little pants. Homelander can hear the frantic pounding of your heart and how you breathe like there isn't enough air, but he assumes that it's from the fear of being kidnapped, of men in dark clothes and with dead eyes. It probably hasn't even crossed your mind that the one who has driven you to this heightened state of fear is him. And you don't want him to think it, so you nuzzle deeper into him, you can't seem to stop hyperventilating no matter how you try. "S'okay," Homelander shushes you, misunderstanding your trembling, a gloved hand petting your hair like he's trying to soothe a skittish animal. He's so monstrously strong he can hold you, a grown woman, easily to his body with just one arm, and you automatically wrap your legs around him, a gesture you've done many times before, but never in this context. He's being so gentle with you that it's hard to believe you just witnessed a man being torn in half by Homelander's bare hands. "You're safe. I've got you." Yes, he does. You're locked in his powerful embrace like a rabbit in the jaws of a wolf. You bury your face in his chest to hide your expression as well as seeking comfort - it seems perverse to look for it from a man soaked in blood, but what else can you do? You let yourself be lulled into a calmer state, his warmth seeping into you and the slow, rhythmic motions of his hand in your hair weirdly comforting.

But you don't miss the gravel, the hint of threat in his voice when he speaks again. You know it's not directed at you, not his sweetheart, but you still feel a shiver lick down your spine as he speaks; "No one will ever take you away from me."

[inkykeiji]

sukuna is the walking definition of a complete terror to everyone but a touch softer for his baby. like he can deny it all he wants but he would do anything for his weak pretty princess

no truly he would, but he’d always be able to frame it in a way where he’s doing YOU a favour, acting as if he’s doing everything wholly and solely for your sake and not because his heart feels like it’s being wound with a fucking noose at the mere thought of you being unhappy, unwell, unsafe. he pretends as if it doesn’t send thorns of unfamiliar, unsettling anxiety tearing through his veins, as if it doesn’t overwhelm his mind and override his receptors and make every nerve in his body feel overexposed, hypersensitive to the slight change in the air as your aura shifts. it’s as though your mood saturates the atmosphere and he can see it, sense it, smell it—and he can’t fucking stand it. 

the room becomes heavy with your sadness, weighing down on his chest with such force he’s sure it’ll splinter his ribs, send jagged cracks like lightning through the bones and snap them into sharp shards. the room becomes scorching with your fury, flames that lick at his skin and fill his lungs with a seething rage, bubbling as it eats away at his oxygen and pours out his mouth in roars. the room becomes stifling with your disappointment, something that wraps delicate hands around his neck and crushes his windpipe beneath it’s deceptively dainty grasp, choking his sentiments. 

they’re all horrifically irritating feelings—he hates experiencing them and, what’s more, he hates you experiencing them—and so he must eradicate it immediately; destroy the source, devour the seed, dig it out by its roots with his bare hands and pull it apart vein by vein, tendon by tendon, with his claws until it’s dead and can no longer bother you (meaning it can no longer bother him, either). 

in other words, sukuna lives for hedonism, meaning he really doesn’t like feeling bad, so he wants to get rid of those bitter, aching, caustic emotions as soon as physically possible. what he fails to realize in his primal thinking is that he feels all these icky, awful feelings because he loves you, he can’t handle them because he can hardly bear the thought of you being even the tiniest bit upset, at anything, for any reason, he wants to eradicate them not only to make himself feel better, but to make you feel better, too—though it’s all subconscious.