#fluid paranoia

[puriette-archived]

✙𓈒 paranoia flags ❞

1st flag is for those who experience low paranoia. 2nd flag is for those who experience fluid paranoia (could be going from none to low to high, etc.) 3rd flag is for those who experience high paranoia.

these flags are for people who have paranoia, i made these with people with paranoid disorders in mind (like me), but anyone who experiences paranoia can use these. the first three colours don't have any meaning but the last/bottom one means (in order) the level of paranoia! first one being low (green), second being fluid (yellow), and the last one being high (red/pink), almost like traffic lights!

don't use these if you're transid/transx.

dividers by @/iv-ry

[piosplayhouse]

One of the scariest parts about this really is that this mentality has sort of co-evolved alongside the death of internet safety where people (especially teens who feel isolated in real life and are desperate to find community and solidarity online) are being publicly encouraged to share more and more intimate details about themselves to validate their own opinions or be accepted as part of a group, which results in that information becoming almost like collateral for online moral policing

I feel like a somewhat disregarded aspect of modern internet callout culture is the impact on people with anxiety or paranoia or intrusive thoughts and how the general sentiment of "bad things will only happen to you if you're bad, so just be good all the time" just exacerbates obsessive self flagellation

[futurefind]

//thinking abt making charas oc/fake gameplay kits is so funny bc its like...... in more limited/strict formats like g.n.sh.n ur Mandated to get locked into x amnt of skills and maybe multiple ults if ur lucky. on top of sliding scale of 'public'/shared skill pools like fe

and then theres wuwa making me scream into a cup bc its Exact Execution is so gd fucking flexible you can do whatever you fucking want, basically, which is to say IVE GOT NO IDEA WHAT TO DO FOR SA...

like yeah sure no player-made walls/constructs to parkour off of but also whos to say that wont be made later...

[shellxrls]

SFW

lovedrunk!snow who loves to fall asleep with his face buried in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent to lull him into a restful sleep. freeing him of the paranoia that you might leave him in the middle of the night.

lovedrunk!snow who wraps his entire arm around your waist and pulls you close to him, burying his face into your hair and peppering kisses along your hairline.

lovedrunk!snow who ignores his capitol duties in favour of letting you sit in his lap and tell him about your day.

lovedrunk!snow who lets you call him an assortment of cutesy nicknames - "babe", "coryy", "coryoo", - that he would rather die than hear coming out of anyone else's mouth.

NSFW - mdni | 18+ content cw: explicit smut, unprotected PinV, breeding kink, cockwarming

lovedrunk!snow who fucks you sloppy n dirty against whatever surface he can find, desperate to get his hands on your hot skin and ravage you with his mouth, his fingers and his cock.

lovedrunk!snow who lets you dig your nails into the muscled flesh of his back and claw red and raised marks because he wants to be able to carry lasting reminders of you with him.

lovedrunk!snow who prefers fucking you in missionary bc that way you get to lay there all pretty, hair spread in a halo, while his abs tense and he fucks into you as hard as he can.

lovedrunk!snow who'll let you ride him just so that he can bottom out every time and watch your combined fluids dribble out onto his pelvis and stick to each other with every thrust.

lovedrunk!snow who wants to breed you - "ah f-fuck baby im gonna cum inside you, 'm gonna push all this cum deep inside, you're gonna look so beautiful pregnant."

lovedrunk!snow who lets you cockwarm him when you wake up in a restless fit, holding your back tight against his chest while he does his work.

[yandere-daydreams]

file #1: the piss fic.

part of the FREAK SHIT MARCH evidence packet.

pairing: yandere!neuvillette x reader (genshin).

length: 3.2k.

warnings: fem!reader, non/con, omorashi, semi-public sex, humiliation/degradation play, unhealthy relationships, obsessive behavior, and unbalanced power dynamics.

The first sign that something was deeply, deeply wrong should’ve been the small glass bottle perched on the edge of your bedside table – filled to the brim with water so clear and so pristine that you might’ve thought it was empty, had you been a touch more optimistic.

You blinked once, then twice before summoning the strength to sit up, confusion and well-earned paranoia fighting to clear the fog over your exhaustion addled mind. Neuvillette stood at the foot of your bed, already dressed and currently focused on securing his cravat with a pointed intensity, or so he seemed to want you to believe. “What’s that?”

“Water. Fresh from the finest springs in Fontaine.” He allowed for a lengthy pause, then went on. “Admittedly, I thought you would’ve been more familiar with the concept.”

“I know what—” You started to defend yourself, then thought better of it – gritting your teeth as you snatched the bottle from the tabletop. It was odorless, unclouded, and as far as you could tell, containing a negligible amount of a foreign entity’s bodily fluids. All good signs, but Neuvillette wasn’t the caretaker type, and he knew you weren’t the type to want to be taken care of. You’d learned, over time, that any explicit display of his fondness for you was to be followed immediately by a demand that you reciprocate that fondness or, more realistically, grit your teeth and bear it while he poured further ‘affection’ onto you. “Is it… Is it supposed to be for me?”

“If you’d like for it to be.”

“And you didn’t put anything—”

“Please, love.” His voice was flat, but gentle. “I’d hate to find myself in the middle of an interrogation so early in the morning.”

You were more than tempted to refuse, but your dry throat and bleary mind provided ample motivation. With no small amount of reluctance, you brought the mouth of the bottle to your lips before pulling it away just as quickly, sending Neuvillette a half-hearted glare. “What are you getting out of this?”

At that, he folded. There was an airy sigh, a slight shake to his head, a notable pause before his answer – less hesitant and more measured, tempered. “As long as you’re under this roof rather than that of the Fortress of Meropide, you’re within my guard. That means your health and well-being is my responsibility, as well as your containment.” You opened your mouth, but he went on before you had the chance to cut in. “Left to your own devices, you’re prone to neglecting yourself. Is it so wrong of me to want to correct that?”

You shrunk into yourself, glowering. You could’ve done without the reminder that he saw your personality as something to ‘correct’, but compared to his methods, nudging you towards hydration was a negligible offense. “Fine,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him. “But don’t get it into your head that I’m some… some incompetent child that’s going to start crying for your help every five seconds.”

His only response was a soft smile, as tender as it was ingenuine.

~

A member of his personal staff left your breakfast (Neuvillette never ate with you – in fact, you were beginning to wonder if he ate at all) in front of the door a few minutes later, and Neuvillette made sure you’d finished the bottle of water, everything on the tray, and an additional glass of bulle fruit juice before he let you dress. Usually, you were allowed to entertain yourself while he attended to his responsibilities as the Iudex, but today, you were taken by the hand and guided to his office – keeping your eyes on the floor as you passed by the secretaries and bureaucrats that populated most of the Palais Mermonia’s administrative floors. You might’ve had Neuvillette’s favor (however much you could’ve gone without it), but in Fontaine, a criminal record wasn’t an easy thing to erase. You tried not to draw too much attention from those who surely thought you should’ve been buried underneath the nearest ocean and forgotten. “I miss you most in the dull hours of the early morning,” he said, when you asked him why you were being denied your usual freedoms. “Bear with me just this once, and I might be able to find time for a stroll through the palace gardens, this afternoon.”

No part of you wanted to spend your day rotting on a loveseat in a dusty corner of his frigid office, but the promise of being able to step outside (a privilege you were rarely afforded) was irresistible. You dutifully nursed a lukewarm cup of bland peppermint tea as he sorted through decade-old casefiles, made a show of gulping down a mug of hot chocolate brought to you by a doe-eyed melusine while Neuvillette reviewed evidence for an upcoming trial, and managed to hold a strained smile when a man with a wide smile and a jarring laugh stopped by with two armfuls of vintage wines – gifts for the Iudex from a wealthy merchant hoping to buy for the favor of Fontaine’s most influential. Since Neuvillette didn’t have a taste for anything with more flavor than morning dew, you were called over to sample each in generous portions as their conversation stretched on and on and on.

By the time the man took his leave, your thoughts were fuzzy around the edges, your lips were stained red, and there was a pressure on your lower stomach that you didn’t care for. You made it about a minute, then another after his departure before pushing yourself to your feet and starting for the door. If you were quick, you shouldn’t have to weather the disdainful looks of too many of Neuvillette’s—

“Dearest?”

You cursed under your breath, glancing over your shoulder. Neuvillette spared a small smile when he caught your eye, tapping his knee. “If you have a moment?”

Your grin faltered. “I… I was hoping to—”

“It’s rather important.”

You pursed your lips, but relented. You’d already done your time. You weren’t going to jeopardize your reward, now.

Irritation written clearly across your expression, you made your way to Neuvillette and, with another tap to his thigh by way of command, clambered into his lap. He positioned you to his preferences; Your legs thrown over one armrest while your back rested against the other, your shoulder pressed gingerly to his chest – the contact minimal, but enough to earn a sigh, a feather-light kiss to your cheek. One of his hands settled on your waist while the other cupped your chin, tracing over your jaw for a moment before dropping lower – to the lace of your low neckline, then your stomach, where it settled. You tried not to squirm as he lowered his head, his cold breath fanning over your neck before his lips came to rest against the side of your throat. “Such a beautiful thing,” he muttered, his voice low enough to reverberate against your skin. “I’ll have to get you another dress in this color. It’s unbearable, just how lovely it looks on you.”

The praise was far from alien, but no less frigid for its familiarity. Whereas his wardrobe seemed to contain only the harshest of blacks, the purest of whites, and the richest of blues, he favored you in softer tones, faded pastels and desaturated hues that always made you feel like a doll, buried in sheets of silk and lace and left to gather dust on a forgotten shelf. The style, too, was a distinct departure from what he preferred for himself; all plunging necklines and full skirts and lacey bodices pulled so tight, you were tempted them to a proper corset. It was far from immodest, even for a setting so formal, but the length of your skirt never seemed to stop his hand from slipping under the many layers of fine material, his gloved fingers skirting over the length of your clothed slit. You felt his lips ghost over the side of your neck, the points of his unnaturally sharp teeth grazing over your jugular, but you shoved him away before he could make contact. “Wait, Neuvillette, I—I don’t—”

Your voice gave out, and Neuvillette raised his head curiously. “Is something wrong, my love?”

“I… I, uh…” You balled your fists in your lap. “I can’t, right now.”

You couldn’t remember ever seeing his smile so wide. “You… can’t?”

“Shut your mouth,” you mumbled, face burning with humiliation. “I… I have to use the restroom.”

It sounded so pathetic, so childish. More out of embarrassment than anything, you moved to stand, but Neuvillette’s sudden stock of mercy had evidently run dry. With an airy laugh, his arm found its way to your waist, his hand slipping under the thin fabric of your panties. Now, he chose not to waste time – the pad of his thumb finding your clit and pushing slow, languid circles into the sensitive bundle of nerves. You couldn’t temper your reaction, your elbow jutting into his chest as you jerked away from his abrupt touch, but Neuvillette held you tight, his fingertips digging into your hip as two of his fingers skimmed over your entrance, the leather of his gloves smooth and freezing against your cunt. Your stomach ached, your eyes flitting unconsciously towards the very much unlocked door of his office, but if Neuvillette noticed your lasting hesitancy, it wasn’t enough to stop him from pressing a lingering, open-mouthed kiss into the corner of your jaw, then the crook of your neck. Usually, you tried to bear his unwanted affection with a silent grimace, but you couldn’t help but shift uncomfortably as he gathered the arousal slowly starting to drip down your thighs. “Neuvillette, I don’t want to—”

“Hush, now. There’s nothing to be afraid of.” Another kiss, this one to the dip of your shoulder. “You don’t have to worry about anything, I’ll take care of you.”

“I’m not worried, I’m—” You started to protest, but Neuvillette cut you off with a sudden nip to the tender patch just above your jugular. You weren’t enjoying this, you didn’t want to enjoy anything, but it would’ve been impossible not to feel something as his cool breath fanned over your neck, your chest, as his thumb fell away and he ground the heel of his palm into your clit, drawing a pained whine out of the back of your throat.

It took a conscious effort to keep your mind off of the fullness sitting heavy in the base of your stomach, to stop yourself from squirming quite so pitifully as he pushed two fingers into you with a cruel sort of ease. His pace was just as slow as it had been when he was only toying with your clit, but you didn’t know whether to curse or be thankful for the lethargic, ebbing way he pumped his digits into you, only ever pausing to spread them apart when his knuckles were flush to your entrance, when he knew he’d be taking advantage of the most vulnerable parts of you. Despite his vice-like hold on your waist, it took a considerable effort to stop yourself from swaying, from shifting, from moving in any way beyond the little, inevitable bucks of your hips you just couldn’t seem to suppress when his fingers brushed against that soft, sensitive spot inside of you. Moving only made it worse. Everything only seemed to make it worse, and it was only getting harder to ignore the pressure mounting against the walls of your bla—

Without warning, the hand on your waist fell to your hip. On moment, you were laid across his lap, and the next, you were straddling his thighs, your back pressed against his chest and your ass slotted against the now unignorable bulge in his pants. Whatever complaints you might’ve had about the previous angle were tripled in an instant. A third finger was forced into your cunt alongside the last two, the stretch immediately turning from awkward to unbearable. You thought you’d gotten used to the size of his hands, his monstrous tongue, even his twin cocks, but suddenly, it was like you were being forced to take him for the first time again, every new quirk and flick of his wrist bringing tears to your eyes, drawing fractured whimpers from deep in your chest. You tried to raise your hands, to cover your face, to make the thought of crying in front of him for the first time in months that much less devastating, but Neuvillette was faster – his hand finding your chin, tilting your head back and tearing away any foolish thoughts you might’ve had about hiding from him. His mouth crashed into yours with enough force to bruise your lips, his tongue shoving its way past your teeth and raking over your own with an almost zealous desperation – a type he rarely showed. His mouth moved against yours for a second, then another before he let out a throaty growl, the noise rough and gravely. If it hadn’t known it was coming from such a refined man, you might’ve taken it for that of an animal. “You still taste like that bastard’s grime.” It was the angriest you’d ever heard him. “To taint such divine purity with such wretched filth – it should be a crime, no, a sin.”

And yet, he was already reaching for the wine glass on the corner of his desk – still half full of a sugared white variety, nearly colorless if it wasn’t for the slight, pinkish tint to its hue. You tried to twist away as he raised the glass to your mouth, but there was nowhere to go, nowhere to run, and it only took a few seconds for him to slot the curved rim against your lips, to tilt the glass back and fill your mouth with sickeningly sweet alcohol. It was too hasty, too clumsy – wine splashing against your face, trickling out of the corner of your mouth despite your feeble attempts to swallow it down and save yourself just an ounce of further embarrassment. You’d barely managed a mouthful when Neuvillette’s patience gave out – the glass falling away, shattering on the floor of his office as his hand dropped to your midriff, groping at your bloated stomach while his fingers pounded into your aching core. “Stop,” you managed, between broken moans. “Stop, Neuvi’, I can’t— I don’t want to— Stop.”

He let you whine and mewl, twisted and thrash, but it didn’t make a difference. Neuvillette only nuzzled into the nape of your neck, laughing as he spoke over your pitiful noises. “It’s alright, love,” he muttered, the harsh edge of his tone softened by heady affection. “You don’t have to fight it. I promise, I’ll take care of you.”

You tried to reach for the edge of his desk, to make one last desperate attempt to pull yourself away from him, but it was already too late. You clenched your eyes shut as you came undone on his fingertips, as some badly beaten wall inside of you finally gave out and an awful, awful warmth sopped into the fabric of your gown and trickled down your thighs. You didn’t want to look, didn’t want to know how bad the damage was, but as Neuvillette nursed you through your stilted climax, you couldn’t stop your eyes from rolling open and dropping to the dark stain slowly spreading in the lap of your skirt, couldn’t stop yourself from hearing Neuvillette’s deep, rumbling groan as your… your accident began to soak into the priceless fabric of his pants. This time, he didn’t stop you when your hands shot up to cover your face, to muffle your broken cries as he finally drew back, pulling out of you entirely for the first time since he hauled you into his lap.

There was a second of stillness, of sweet-nothings muttered into the curve of your throat, but whatever relief you might’ve been able to feel was quickly replaced with a jarring, painful sort of vertigo as Neuvillette’s hands fell to your hips and he lifted you onto his desk – your chest pressed flat to the chilled wood and your ass raised high enough for your shirts to pool around your waist. You sobbed unabashedly as your ruined panties were torn away entirely, as the flat of Neuvillette’s tongue ran over the length of your slit, his saliva only adding to the terrible blend of slick and piss and mess leaking out of you. Any concerns he might’ve held for your pleasure were forgotten as he lapped and licked at your pussy, his tongue fucking shallowly into your cunt as his fingertips bit into your waist. If your nerves hadn’t been so fried, if your mind hadn’t been so clouded with embarrassment and despair and pure, undiluted humiliation, you wouldn’t have been able to feel anything worth salvaging, but somehow, you found little, wavering moans breaking through your incoherent sobbing, something other than pain and pressure beginning to coil in the pit of your stomach. You buried your face in your arms as you clenched around his tongue against your will, as Neuvillette left you whimpering and grinding against his mouth, helpless to stop your pathetic body from doing anything he wanted it to.

It was only when the final aftershocks of your second climax faded and the first pangs of piercing overstimulation began to set in that he pulled away, panting as he straightened his back. He didn’t so much collapse onto you as deliberately drape his form over yours – his chest pressing into your back as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. “Perfect,” he mumbled, voice distant, dream-like. “So perfect for me. You did beautifully.”

Your only response was another wobbling cry, a trembling sniffle. You couldn’t so much as imagine attempting to stand on your own, but Neuvillette didn’t seem to need you to. With one arm wrapped around your midriff and the other underneath the bend of your knees, he pulled you against his chest and hummed softly as you sank into his shoulder, your ruined dress falling into place like a leaden shroud around you. You decided, in that moment, that you would burn it as soon as possible, as thoroughly as possible. Neuvillette’s chambers didn’t have a fireplace and you’d never found so much as a candle within the walls of the Palais Mermonia, but that didn’t matter. You’d get rid of it if you had to break down the furniture for kindling.

“Can I…” You melted further into him, your eyes drooping before shutting entirely. “Can I go back to my room, please?”

“Soon enough.” He pressed a tender, lingering kiss into your temple. In your dazed state, you could nearly miss the scrape of pointed fangs against delicate skin, as he pulled away.

“I believe I promised you a walk through our gardens, first?”

[wilwheaton]

There’s no plausible evidence that Republican voters are opposed to acts of sedition but will begrudgingly tolerate them if that is the only option available. Trump’s Republican competitors had been parroting nearly all of his flamboyantly ridiculous policies, only to be shot down by those very voters. You can offer up a Nikki Haley, but it will go nowhere. You can lob a Ron DeSantis onstage, full of hydraulic fluid and have him mimic the same Trump mannerisms and grievances and demands for violence—not just persecution but bullet-to-the-head violence against immigrants—and they won't bite. They like Trump. They want Trump, and when presented with candidates who are not facing 91 criminal charges, not found to have committed sexual assault, not proven to be a lifelong tax and bank cheat, and not the ratbastard personification of malice, they will not bite. This is a movement premised on ending the government itself if that's what it takes to assuage paranoia about globalist cabals and plotting immigrant hoards.

The GOP is about to officially coalesce around a seditionist for president

yikes

[zombiewhor3]

BLUE EYES AND JEALOUSY

rick x fem reader (season 5 era)

WARNINGS: mentions of jealousy, protective rick, mentions of injured reader, mentions of blood from injury, alexandria era, smut, reader is over 18, penetrative sex, oral, fluid consumption (cum only), jealous sex, rick marking reader, slight public sex, fingering, clit play, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), dirty talk, dominant rick, rough sex, loud sex, getting caught but kinda on purpose ig,

a/n: sorry for the no uploads i've been so busy and i keep randomly starting new drafts and never end up finishing the old ones but anyways i've been working on this one for a week so i'm shocked i even got the chance to actually write out the full thing, i might come back and edit some more of it later because i hate some of the details but feel free to enjoy this for now!

-

a protective prick is what she labeled him as, she could see the difference from the man in the beginning to the man who was now ruthless and so paranoid with practically everything that had seemed to been thrown their way.

she looked at the man who's beard needed an obvious shave while he paced on the porch of one of the houses in Alexandria, she could see his hands placed on his hips as his mind seemed to be a running treadmill of thoughts at full speed inside him.

she remembered how he knocked out aaron and about how badly he had treated him, when all he ever wanted to do was help their group, he just wanted to help their group.

Aaron wanted them to get out of the barn to get out of the poor life they lived in the woods because the truth was they needed food, they needed water and a stable shelter which is what they had now at Alexandria, and living like that simply just wasn't a life for them.

Besides Alexandria was perfect for them the community had hot water, bigger rations to feed their people, air conditioning, hell it was almost like the world was before, the way they all had the opportunity to sleep in beds and never had to worry about going hungry.

Except she could tell everyone was on edge, the paranoia starting to catch onto them, the lack of trust as well, thinking that maybe someway or somehow this was another trap just like Terminus.

Especially Rick had been off his rocker, with all these interviews stressing him out, because he hated the camera filming him,

not because of the way he looked he hadn't cared an ounce if he was covered in Walker blood and dirt that lingered over his skin and hair from traveling through the woods.

he wasn't sure why he hated the way the camera and its red blinking light seemed to soak into him, but he hated the feeling, he hated the feeling of being watched ever so precisely with it.

She noticed he stopped his pacing and instead leaned against the snow white railing while he let go of the hand that was placed on the holster where his knife rested.

"you alright?"

a voice called out from the bottom of the porch making y/n turn her head, a man dressed in nice clothes and a clean pair of jeans rested just near the wall with one of his eyes squinting from the sunlight that was beaming down on him.

his hair color the color of a dandelion and his eyes the prettiest honey golden she had ever seen, his hair short and obviously freshly trimmed because she could see some gel in it still from the way she was ever so guessing he liked to style it as.

y/n pointed to herself watching the man nod with a somewhat of a charming smile approaching the steps of the porch, she could see the dark pupils of Rick's eyes grow,

like a shark meeting its prey the blue was quickly swallowed up and turned into the color of soot that had poured out of the prison while it was being engulfed in a heard of flames and walkers.

"your leg it seems to be bleeding, our doctor is great and i'm sure it wont take long to fix you up" the man offered to her,

he hadn't noticed Rick's nails practically digging crescent shapes into the woods his hands gripped on but she seemed to, she seemed to notice the jealousy and the anger that was boiling through his blood, the way he seemed to be so furious over the man before them.

"it's just a small cut, i caught a branch on the way up here i'd only need a bandage wouldn't want to waste resources" y/n spoke with a gulp looking over to see Rick's grip loosen on the railing as he used a hand to rub over his bushy facial hair.

She had lied that it was a small cut and well that she needed just a small bandage, all she wanted was to maybe ease the man who stood envious and threatening next to her.

"not a waste if you need one just trust me on this" the man held his hand out watching as y/n hesitantly took it making her way down the stairs as she followed him, she swore she could hear a raspy grumble fly from Rick's lips as he watched her run off with some tramp.

-

she looked around the clinic, it was nice and well it was sanitary. unlike the prison clinic where blood and some walker guts had remained before it was burned to the ground.

she looked at the man who forcefully lifted up the denim fabric of her jeans up above her calf to look at the wound on her leg,

"well it ain't no scratch but lucky for you, you don't need stitches"

he gave a half false smile before using some rubbing alcohol to sterilize the wound making her bite down on her inner cheek once he wrapped it in a clean bandage.

Rick slipped into the shower feeling the hot water pour onto his back, with a relieved sigh he used a cloth and a bar of soap to clean over his body. making sure to wipe the residue of blood and dirt from the woods that he had collected over the period of time.

the water poured down his face as he let out a deep exasperated sigh while his mind started to wander to her, his mind seemed like a freight train that wouldn't stop itself from spinning in one big giant circle around him.

no matter what he did, no matter where he went even if he was with her, he couldn't stop thinking so damn wrong, so damn erotic was how you could describe the thoughts pooling into his mind,

a sudden snap of anything and it could send him in a mind filled haze of just imagining how good his cock would be inside her, he imagined how well she'd take him, if he hadn't torn open her walls with how large the size of his cock was.

he let his hands wander over his body while he combed through his shaggy hair that also needed a cut, he wiped over his face pushing some water out of his eyes as he flushed himself with cold water to make the dirty thoughts go away.

he could feel the chill through his bones, of course it didn't feel good, but he had to. He was merely a few seconds away of stroking himself to the idea of her being stuffed to the brim, her pussy full of his cock while she was a moaning mess beneath him.

she was out playing a game of explorer with this man while rick was drowning himself with the guilt of imagining her perky tits pressed against him, and it wasn't like she hadn't taken a notice to his staring or just the way he loved it whenever she touched him.

a subtle hand graze was just enough to set him off, to send him to heaven and hell with the dirty thoughts lingering in him.

Alec had shown her everywhere, he'd shown her the garden and all the houses, the food pantry, he even showed her how they managed to keep all of their power just from the power of science and sun rays.

she giggled as she bit into an apple feeling the sweet juices lace over her tongue she let out a moan, a sigh of the relief and well the sweetness of the fruit in her mouth.

she hadn't eaten anything fresh in weeks, it had been almost a month since she had eaten anything remotely near fresh, they all had been eating from beat up cans or even random rabbits Daryl had been able to catch with his crossbow.

"good isn't it?" alec asked scooting a little closer to her as she took another bite before she was even done chewing the first one, she nodded her head eagerly before taking another bite.

she felt like a slob eating this way but then the thought only crossed her mind because she hadn't really cared what he was thinking of her right now because she was hungry, so hungry that she was already half way through the sweet red fruit.

"so what is with Mr scruffy?" alec asked nudging y/n as she bitterly swallowed the apple in her mouth feeling like it had gone sour from his out of the blue question about Rick.

"he's nervous that's all, he doesn't like new people or new places" she spoke honestly but left out a few of the true details about his strange behavior towards her and Alec.

She left out the fact that somehow they had a weird connection, or somehow they couldn't seem to not get jealous over anyone who came close to one another.

it was like a loop that couldn't seem to stop for the two, even if they managed to set a boundary she could tell the pressure between Rick and her was growing and starting to bottle up,

like a soda can ready to explode after its been shaking and well rick was the can in this case and Alec was the one shaking it.

-

Rick wanted to lose his damn mind, he wanted to yell and simply go ape shit once he saw the two laughing from the bathroom window, he was wrapped in a white linen towel,

it dangled just to his v-line to show off the perfect outline of it and well his abs were visible which was even more of an benefit if she were just to stop talking to that man and come up stairs.

Rick cracked the window open so he could hear about whatever the hell the two had been murmuring about for over 15 minutes, for rick it had seemed like and endless damn time loop he couldn't seem to let his mind escape from, he couldn't seem to make it stop.

"Alec i should go, it's close to meeting up with my friends it's been great you showing me around and well i'm glad i met you" she spoke honestly watching the man place a charming smile on his face while his honey eyes seemed to make her heart skip a beat.

"dinner tomorrow? just me and you please? i promise i can cook" he asked watching as she tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear and she looked down at the jet black asphalt underneath her boots.

she left him without an answer for a few seconds watching as he shuffled and tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans, "or is it the big guy that's stopping you because i can tell Deanna to come and handle him with no problem"

she licked her lips with a chuckle at his words, "he doesn't stop me from doing anything Alec, and no Deanna doesn't need to get involved with my group i think we can manage ourselves"

y/n bit back watching Alec take in the realization that he said the wrong words but she frowned softly once she realized maybe she had been just a little bit to harsh towards him.

"dinner then tomorrow at 7"

she didn't even get the chance to respond to his obviously already planned out offer because he had walked off to another side of the wall so he could fulfill his duty of keeping watch on Rick and their group even if it was just for the night and here she was about to lose her damn mind over the dinner date part.

she was surely just about to lose her mind because a handsome man asked her to dinner, a man she had only known for less than a day, but she planned on seeing and talking to him more.

After all he seemed to be sweet.

Y/n walked past the people sitting in the living room up to the room she left her bag in but the bathroom door cracked seemed to get her full attention, she hated cracked doors it was just some damn pet peeve of hers but when she saw Rick who was shaved and freshly showered her jaw seemed to fall to the ground.

"oh god" she mumbled slipping inside the bathroom making sure to shut the door behind her, "you shaved finally" y/n remarked watching as rick started the water and rested the razor against the white porcelain of the bathroom sink in front of him.

he didn't respond instead he turned his head to look at her watching as her eyes seemed to want to glance down at the sight his torso held for her, she mumbled something under her breath watching him take a step closer until she was pushed against the door,

Her back was pressed against the wood while she could feel one his hands lingering and brushing some hair from the soft skin of her neck, it sent a chill down her body as she tried to buck her hips up.

She was bucking her hips up at him, maybe to give him a message or maybe just to feel his hard cock that she knew was surely gonna poke against the white linen of the towel he had ever so sloppily wrapped around his waist, almost like he wanted it to fall.

Almost like he wanted to fuck her until her brains were scrambled, he wanted to fuck her and make her forget about whoever the hell that man was, no matter how nice he seemed.

he used his thumb to wipe over her cheek while his other hand slid down to the middle of her hips just above her cunt where he forcefully but gently pushed her against the door.

"needy huh? well you shouldn't be so wanting for me to touch you y/n, not after the game of explorer you've been playing with whatever the hell his name is"

he gestured his head behind him where he knew the window was, he knew he was still leaning against the wall with a smug look, his hands tucked in his pockets as he probably thought about y/n.

he could feel her breaths grow shallow and raspy from just the small of contact his body had on hers, he gently let her hand glide to the flat part of his abs feeling her gasp softly.

"his name is Alec, and you know damn well who i'm with shouldn't be in your level of concern" she spoke back pulling her hand away to try and make him believe that she wasn't enjoying pressing her hand against him, but hell they both knew the damn truth.

Rick cocked his head to the side softly while using one of his fingers to toy at the waistband of her jeans, "i think you know why" he spoke back watching as her eyes couldn't seem to stop glancing at the bulge that had formed underneath his towel.

"i'm not your property rick, and you can't make me" she scoffed back her eyes finally having the courage to look up at him instead, to look into his that were the color of a blank night sky.

his hands gripped a slight pressure on the side of her hips watching as it was once again an excuse for her eyes to trace down just to get another glimpse of how hard he was.

"i don't give a damn what his name was and i don't give a damn that you think i shouldn't care, you think he'd be better than me? you think he'd know how to touch you y/n? And god believe me if i need to prove you wrong i will"

he grumbled at her feeling his grip grow tighter at her waist feeling her shudder at the contact, she didn't respond except she kept her gaze on the bulge he had hidden under the cloth that she ever so desperately just wanted to tear off of him.

"stop staring and answer my question" he spoke watching her eyes look up at him once more, she licked her lips clean from the desire to look back down at him,

"w-well no, but" she froze feeling his hands start to rub its way down to the waistband of her jeans slipping them down lightly

as she tried not to pay attention. "but what y/n? finish your sentence" he spoke pulling his hands away from the denim that was now hanging just below her hips.

without even such a warning or hint to her action she reached her hand out to rub the bulge in his towel making him groan her fingers spun so perfectly through the fabric making him practically buck his hips up to get more from her, her hand rubbed a small set of circles making his voice grow raspy and huskier with each sly movement of her handwork that truly seemed to be working like a charm on him.

"you're trying to distract me" he griped at her, she could tell he was enjoying it, and maybe just a little to much, she slipped down to her knees watching as he looked down at her,

he pushed her hand away just so he could pull off her t-shirt revealing her breasts being held up by her bra, the bra that was a dark blue color that seemed to blend well with her skin.

he liked the sight of her, he liked seeing her down on her knees while she was ever so willingly playing with his cock even if it had been clothed it was all still such a damn sight for him.

she wiggled her way out of her jeans to reveal her black panties, the hem such a pretty damn lace that he knew that soon he was going to tear off of her to get access to her cunt.

her hand ripped away the towel that was wrapped around his waist, she tossed it across the bathroom floor while her eyes admired his member that was lengthy and hard right in-front of her,

she was practically drooling at the sight of it, rick's cock was long and thick, it had veins just in the right places making it even more god damn pretty to her.

she used a hand to start from the base until she made her way up to the tip of his cock using her tongue to lick off the salty clear liquid that seemed to form on top because of his eagerness.

he groaned softly while his hand reached out to tangle in her hair, he forcefully gave himself a grip at the root of her hair swirling his fingers at her scalp to keep a steady hold on her.

her tongue seemed to be like god damn magic with each way it seemed to warp around his cock each time he bobbed in and out of her mouth like a lollipop, her mouth was so full of him her eyes started to prickle and her throat felt sore.

he was bucking his hips up just a little so he could help force even more of his needy cock down her throat, he could feel her saliva starting to build and spill out onto his cock while her nails started to dig into his inner thighs.

she had a full set of prickling tears flowing down her cheeks from the pressure building up in her throat and well the fact she was trying not to gag all over his cock, she could feel him twitch in her mouth.

already so close and all she had to do was work her mouth,

but it wasn't just the pleasure her mouth was feeding him that was about to send him off the edge, it was the way she looked so pretty on her knees, the way her eyes filled with tears and the way her nails dug into his skin as she whimpered against him softly.

he had been finally able to shoot his load down her throat hearing as the breathing from her nose seemed to sharpen while her nostrils flared, her mouth was trying to take all of his seed,

once she swallowed his warm seed she pulled away from his cock, panting and her throat scratchy from the saltiness of his liquid pouring down her throat like she was a cum rag.

his chest rose up and down while he helped lift her up from her knees and pressed her back up against the door, his hard cock now pressing against her belly as she tried not to moan at the hand that was now pulling off her panties.

he wrapped them around his fingers while he admired them for just a hence of a few seconds before finally tossing them to the floor,

he used just one of his hands to un-clip the bra watching it slip off her body so peacefully. her breasts still perky while her nipples grew hard at the arousal each of his thumbs was giving them.

she let out a soft moan for him as she could feel him the one dropping to his knees to place a soft kiss on top of her cunt that was clenching on practically nothing because of how impatient and how desperate it was for any touch of his,

she whimpered tossing her hips forwards at him but he simply pushed them back and stood back up, he peppered a kiss on each of her breasts feeling as goosebumps formed on her arms.

"n-need you" she whined at him practically sinking her nails into the biceps of his arms hoping he would understand the message and once she felt the tip of his cock teasing the inner of her wet folds she knew he took the message the right way.

he allowed one of his hands to trace into her wet folds as he pulled his cock away, just to give her a taste of what she actually wanted or just what she actually needed.

she let out a loud moan feeling as his middle finger was inserted into her and when she felt his ring finger join the other in her dripping cunt she let her hands wander to the top of his shoulders planting down a firm and stable grasp for herself.

he pumped his fingers slowly inside her watching as she tried to keep back her moans by forcing her teeth to clamp down on her bottom lip, his eyes flicked up at her as he started to pump faster.

"c'mon don't be shy now let them know how good you feel" he spoke hearing as she let out a sputtered gasp at the feeling of his thumb rubbing its way in fast circles amongst her clit.

"f-fuck Rick!" she cried, "god that pretty throat of yours has so many talents" he chuckled in her ear while his hand slipped around her neck gently to rub just under her chin.

it was like she could already feel her orgasm starting to arise in her because her legs shook and her mind was a damn minefield ready to explode with profanity and dirty words that she was sure that she could no longer hold onto inside her.

"so c-close fuck i'm so close" she whimpered feeling as his other hand moved from away from her throat and down onto her breasts swapping back and forth to make sure they each got the same amount of attention from him.

the soft swirl of his thumb on each of her nipples and the feeling of his fingers inside her curling at her g-spot with each thrust was like heaven to her, she was so damn close to letting out an erotic cry once she felt the knot growing looser and looser in her stomach.

"come on, cum for me let em hear how good you are baby" with just those subtle words he could feel some of her juices spurt out onto his fingers while she made a loud set of whimpering noises so loud that even Alec was able to hear them spilling out of the bathroom window.

Rick licked his fingers clean with a smile as he made sure to clean off every ounce of her juices off of them, without a hesitation he flipped her around so that she was pressed against the door.

his cock teasing her soaked entrance while she whimpered at a finger skimming over her clit just to see how sensitive she really was, "p-please" she whined at him her fists pressed against the door.

he himself was so damn impatient, he was so needy to be inside her he could stand the teasing either, with swift up rise of his hips he thrusted into her while his full drive hearing as a scream was pulled out from the back of her throat.

-

"as i was saying Dixon, you suck at go fish and i'm going to kick your ass, i've already decided it" Michonne spoke pulling down two sevens in her deck next to the pile of her other matches.

Daryl scoffed as he licked his lips clean about to ask if she had a '6' but a loud sound coming from the bathroom stopped him, the door was rattling as a rhythmic pounding noise was coming through.

he could hear a loud cry as he furrowed his brows and looked over at the others, Glenn sat up and Rosita tossed down her knife and the piece of wood she had been whittling away at.

another cry emerged as Daryl stood up in a slight crouch position and pulled up his crossbow but Sasha grabbed his arm and forced him to put it down.

the pounding seemed to go on forever along with the set of screams that started to flood out of the bathroom, it was y/n crying and moaning aloud for Rick.

They could hear her muffled profanities faintly while the pounding didn't seem to stop, "fuck rick! god dammit right there!" she screamed so loud that they were all sure even all of the houses and buildings surrounding them had surely heard it.

"so fuckin tight this pussy" they heard a loud groan and a whine back in response, the door shaking so much from her body being pressed up against it, her tits smushed against the wood while her nipples were perky from the slight coldness it was pressing on her with.

his cock was buried so deep inside her she swore that he was re-arranging every single organ in her stomach maybe his cock had even skimmed past her own heart that's surely what it felt like to be this full of him, to be filled to the brim so much that she had tears flowing down her face and her hair a scrambled mess.

"you think Alec could fuck you like this?" rick asked bitterly as he held onto her waist to fuck into her even deeper, "n-no!" she cried almost sounding like another whimper from her.

"so fucking close" she whined so loud that she could practically feel the vibrations of her own cries, she was letting out a series of pleasureful moans while she felt his cock twitch inside her.

"i should fill you up for being so bad today" he huffed into her tugging a piece of her hair hearing a moan return back to him, he groaned feeling as his cock twitched inside her while her walls clenched around him hoping to spill its juices.

"gonna c-cum oh f-fuck!" she practically screamed feeling his hand slip around to her front to rub against her sensitive clit only making her even closer and once both of their knots untied they both let out a series of profanity while they panted.

rick could hear her whine when he pulled out of her with a soft 'pop' sound that seemed to make her legs wobble without the stability of his hands on her body, she flipped around to see him grab a rag and putting some water from the faucet on it.

he gently spread her legs while he wiped his cum clean from her, even though he loved the feeling when he thought about watching it pour from the walls of her cunt.

she hissed softly watching as rick grabbed a fresh rag to clean himself off, he helped to get her dressed by slipping back on her clothes letting them slip onto her body, she thanked him while watching him change into the fresh pair of clothes he had laid out for him after his shower.

he followed her down the stair case to see all of their friends staring at them, Rosita rolled her eyes in a slight disgust and got up to grab something from the kitchen.

Rick had been so lucky that he placed Judith and Carl in a different house with Jessie and their son Ron, maybe just to get Carl around more kids to keep him somewhat a normal person,

Daryl shook his head at y/n while he had put his crossbow against the white wall next to him, "thought a walker got in but it's just ya two fuckin" he scoffed watching as Michonne practically choked on the glass of water she was sipping on.

she coughed with a smile on her face trying to hold back the disgust and the laughter all at once, "oh god you two are horrible!" glenn piped in watching as his wife chuckled a little.

"you two fuck like dogs!" y/n remarked back taking a seat against one of the cushions rested on the floor for her, "one time in the guard tower doesn't count!" Glenn huffed back watching as Maggie raised her eyebrows while her eyes widened a little.

"that's disgusting you know i used to keep watch in that tower!"

y/n shuddered at the thought of her two best friends having sex with each other but it couldn't be as bad as hearing Rick and her going at it upstairs.

-

Alec flicked his eyes up to look at y/n who planted a kiss on Rick's cheek before she made her approach towards him, he took a bite from his oatmeal bitterly swallowing it while he looked at her.

"you were sweet trust me Alec i just have something else waiting for me i'm sorry" she spoke, she hadn't felt that bad about it, even though the situation did seem pretty shitty.

"i was only gonna pity fuck you anyways i haven't had action since this bullshit started so don't get to excited" he spoke the truth, she could tell he wasn't lying which is why she hadn't said another word instead she walked back over to her friends.

"god if he knew what an actual fuck was" she mumbled watching as rick furrowed his brows, "what?" he asked rubbing the sides of her waist watching as she smiled at him, "i think alec understands now" she spoke proudly while feeling Rick press a kiss against her neck.

"good"

[kanekisfavoritegf]

Shameless

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI you will be blocked!🩷

@indigoballad and I were being messy after i came up with idea…

warnings: smut, cheating, multiple positions, kinda manipulative, infidelity.

Toji was a sick man. Sick enough to shake hands with your husband Sukuna as he congratulated you on the pregnancy. Eyes never leaving yours as he talked to your life partner. He had no shame.  Eye fucking you as he held a conversation with the alleged father of your child. But Toji knew the truth.

He had no shame the night he decided to breed you on the very bed you share with your husband.

He wasn’t home, though, it seemed he never was anymore, and after a whole three hours of arguing, Sukuna let out a mumble of divorce before leaving you alone in the apartment.

Truly that man has no shame. Not as he cooed in your ear, “Stop crying, baby. You are too pretty for this.” wiping the few tears that slowly ran down your face. You could feel the heat coming from his body, from how close he was. 

“Toji, he’s leaving me. Sukuna is actually going to divorce me.” You sobbed.

“He is an idiot and an asshole.” Toji would smoothly say like he wasn't a long-time business partner with your husband. Moving a braid away from your face, feigning any true care for what Sukuna did.

“I just wanted a baby. A child of our own, like little your Megumi. He is adorable.” You let out a shaky breath. “I thought he was ready. But then he started coming home later and later. So when I pointed it out, he snapped at me. 

“If you want a little Megumi, I can give you one.”

“Excuse me?” Who does he think he is?

“I mean, I can give you a baby.”

“Do you not have any shame?”

“No.” He smirked. “Think about it, baby.”

“Don’t call me baby.” He only rolled his eyes.

“Just think about it. Sukana is leaving you anyway. And you want a baby.”

You weren’t an idiot, you knew he had a habit of lingering touches and wandering eyes. But you wanted to hear him say it out loud. To your face. “And what do you get out of it, huh?”

“You.” He said without hesitation

“Oh.”

“I want you. Let me give you a baby.” His face was now inches from yours. His breath fanned your face. 

You’d be a fool to pretend you weren’t attracted to Toji in some kind of way. But this? It was different. He inched his hand up your lap and was now gripping your thigh awaiting your response.

It would be okay, right? If Sukuna is leaving you, then who cares? You can say you got a surrogate and divorce him.

And Toji wants you.

No. Toji needs you. 

Needs to be in you.

So who were you to deny him, or yourself?

You don’t know how long it has been. Or what room Toji had dragged you into next. But you were bent over a desk. And Toji seemed to have made it his goal to fuck you in every room. All Eighteen…

Making you suck his dick in the cinema. 

Fucking against the bookshelf of your personal library.

Bending you over your antique piano in the music room.

And now you lay over your husband’s desk in his home office as Toji plowed into you like a madman. It was like he had limitless stamina. In fact, it seemed like he was gaining more energy with each thrust. The way he was fucking you was inhumane. 

He had one goal. And that goal was to breed you until he physically couldn’t keep moving. 

And that he did.

By the time he was done with you. He had tears in his eyes, his pubes were drenched in both of your fluids, and he lay flat on his stomach, fingers scooping the cum that oozed from your beaten, raw cunt, right back in. 

“I have to make sure it sticks. My love.” 

Toji paid for someone to clean up the mess the two of you made, not wanting the regular maids to come and report back to Sukuna right away.

Toji reassured you everything would be fine if you got pregnant. He’d take care of you as soon as Sukuna left you.

But what Toji didn’t know was that Sukuna had no intention of leaving you. Ever. 

Paranoia AKA Pt. 2

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

aita for misleading cishet guys?

im very queer, i see gender as a performance and my sexual orientation is very fluid as well—but one thing is clear to me: im queer for queer. but since being queer is a punishable crime in my country and my parents are both queerphobe, i do this thing where every once in a while i go on a date with a cishet guy, both to get a free meal and to quench my parents ongoing paranoia about me being queer. then i break up with them.

i honestly dont think what im doing is bad, but my friend said that im being an asshole to these guys by misleading them into thinking that they have a chance with me, and then manipulating them into spending money for me. i think i should at least pay for the meals myself, but i dont think im toying with other people's emotions. so, aita?

quick note: im not coming out. its out of question. i cant stress enough, coming out will kill me. the government can actually kill me for it, so yeah. as long as i can im going to pretend to be cishet.

What are these acronyms?

[foldingfittedsheets]

So neither my wife or I have been sleeping well and their mother in law is visiting. She’s been hacking and coughing since she arrived setting off all my panic alarms about getting sick. We’ve gotten two negative covid tests but over the counter drugs aren’t able to tackle her cough.

It’s hard to tell what’s paranoia, allergies, poor sleep, or real illness but I’ve been feeling worse and worse over the last couple days. We have a feast planned at a medieval village on Saturday with several friends and an unventilated room full of people.

She’s staunchly resisting the idea of going to the doctor, insisting this is allergies even after admitting she’s never had allergies like this. The more medical questions we ask the more she digs her heels in. She finally admitted her nose fluids are not in fact clear.

My wife went to tell her we’re dragging her to a walk in clinic tomorrow to get a clear bill of health before the feast but I feel like she resents how alarmed I am by her illness. She’s not pleased with the plan.

[xythlia]

getting high with belphie but he's letting you smoke his shit only so he can mess around with you the type of slimeball guy

𓏲 ࣪₊ belphie x f!reader

dregs demon with a fuckass bowl cut plows ur girl (for the sake of this let's pretend smoking would work the same in the devildom as it does irl okie)

— 1k+

— cw : smoking, recreational drug use, sex under the influence, reference to drug induced paranoia, kinda dubcon ish, humping, degradation, fingering, cervix fucking, dumbification, mating press, crying, squirting, creampie

You should've figured Belphie wouldn't invite you to his room for any actual study session. He sat cross legged beside you on the bed, breaking down the weed with careful fingers before packing it, his practiced ease of no surprise to you. Everyone else in the house preferred to pretend they couldn't smell the headiness that regularly clung to the younger sibling, the result of a long abandoned argument.

His eyes flicked away from you, nervous as you watched his tongue slide along the edge. It was a natural instinct to shift closer as the lighter coughed, watching it spark as he sealed the edge with one fluid movement. Clearly rolling a blunt was second nature to him, and you nearly giggle aloud thinking that he should've been dubbed the patron demon of rolling instead of sloth.

It's clear he sees something flash across your face, barely raising an eyebrow at you before leaning back against the pillows. It irks you for a second, the way he looks at you like you've never done this before and says he'll take the first hit. His faux confidence makes you snort in answer nodding anyway as he brings the lighter in close, cupping around the flame as the end lights up deep orange.

On the inhale, as his shoulders roll back, you feel a strange stirring inside your abdomen. He's always had that grubby sort of beauty about him, a slightly rough exterior that melts in the privacy of his room. You lean back against the wall as he offers it to you, eyes barely open but you can see their sharpness as he watches the way you move.

The paper offers a better flavor than you thought it would, a subtle cherry mingling with thick smoke as it glides down your tongue. The throat hit isn't harsh, a pleasant surprise he wasn't using stem filled regs. You close your eyes as it seeps from your lips in a slow exhale, feeling his eyes on you all the while.

You grin at him, earning a smirk from him as he gestures for you to keep it for a bit.

"Trying to put me on the moon?" It's coy, but you don't refuse the extra hit.

"Lightweight." He flashes a smug smile, "you'd be there in what, five minutes?" You laugh, but can't ignore the way your tummy twists while looking at him and you know he notices, desire subtle in the way his tongue slides along his bottom lip. You take another deep drag before passing it back, holding his gaze.

You hate that he's right, in the next few quiet minutes your brain gets fuzzy and your body comfortably warm, like taffy left in the sun to soften. Your movements feel equally slow and stretchy as you turn to face him, leaning in close. Belphie had the same idea, to your surprise as your noses brush and his inhale stutters.

The hesitation in you both is achingly frustrating, so you take the first step, tilting your head to press closer. Your mouth parts easily, offering no resistance as your lips meet and arousal coats your insides like sticky honey.

His hand, warm and urgent, caresses your thigh as his tongue slides against yours. As your mind drifts farther your movements become sloppier, spit slicking your lips as you move to straddle him and his hand cups your ass, kneading the flesh through your sweatpants.

When you finally break away shyness sets in, your fingers curling against his shoulders as he leans back to raise the blunt you forget about back to his lips for a leisurely drag. His head tilted up, making sure to exhale above yours before whispering.

"You look good," the huskiness of it makes butterflies swarm inside your stomach. That hand slides up to your lower back, slightly pushing you to lean back in as his lips brush the shell of your ear.

"I think you'd look better with my dick in your mouth," he barely whispers. It makes you shiver, eyes wide in shock but before you can even process it hes gone. Pulled back simply rubbing that hand up and across your lower back as if nothing had happened.

Gooseflesh prickles across your skin, making you feel almost paranoid, did he even say that?, until those suggestive eyes come back to you and you know it wasn't imaginary. Before you can open your mouth again he's grinding the blunt out, fingers curling beneath the hem of your shirt and ghosting against your sides.

It makes you jump in his hold, inadvertently brushing against his erection.

"You okay?" he asks, fingers going still.

You don't trust yourself enough to talk, head fuzzy with the high and the desire so you simply nod and press yourself back against his chest. It's warm and comfortable, making you long to stretch out like a cat and close your eyes.

That smirk is back and you know he's feeling smug seeing you like this. Gently he guides you to lay on your back, taking care to lift your shirt off before you're fully against the mattress. He follows, tugging his shirt off before pushing himself between your knees, pressing his erection against your clothed cunt making you gasp.

He takes the opportunity to bring his lips back against yours, devouring your gasps and slipping his tongue back into your mouth, sliding over yours until all you can do is claw at his back and take it. He tastes like the rillo, cherry burnt with earthy smoke, and it reignites your body to move. Hips rolling with his in a strange pantomime of sex, the friction of your clothes making your clit throb with every push.

The high makes you bolder, locking your legs around his hips as he grunts, a faint fuck lost in the perfect meld of your mouths, swallowed as if never spoken at all. He breaks from you, resting his forehead against yours as his breathing comes in shallow pants.

You don't let him ease back though, hips rolling once more and making his chest hitch. He ducks down, pressing lips to your throat before a searing nip from his teeth makes you yelp.

"Don't tease," his breath fans hot across your skin, "I'm trying to be nice here."

"Who ever said you were nice," you quip before you can catch yourself.

As he leans back you see a glint of cruelty in his eyes, then feel the sting of his thumb and index that snuck inside your bra to pinch your nipple. It makes you cry out, grabbing his forearm as he huffs out a laugh.

"Yeah, I guess I don't have to be," his hand slides down to slip past your sweatpants and the band of your underwear, "When you're already begging to get fucked there's no point."

The whine you let out as his finger flicks against your clit makes embarrassment sear across your skin, proving him right. You turn your head to the side, refusing to look at him even as you raise your hips so he can slide your bottoms off, and refusing to show that his words made you even more aroused.

"Shit, you got that wet from a little kissing?" He teased, nuzzling his face against your cheek to make you face him again. "You don't gotta tell me I'm right."

Lithe fingers prod at your cunt, making your hips buck as you finally turn your face and whine, pressing needy kisses to his lips. But he's not just going to give you what you want and you can feel the shit eating grin as he kisses you, fingers swiping through your wetness and barely pushing against your hole, it was torturous.

"You're so needy", he coos and you don't even attempt to bite back, reveling in the feeling of his fingers pushing inside you with a slick squelch. As they scissor and stretch your muscles out you pull him back to you, a kiss all teeth and hunger as heat builds in your gut and you squeeze around his fingers.

As you break away to throw your head back against the pillows he withdraws, leaving you to whimper as he rolls his boxers down letting his slim, but not lacking in length, cock spring against his belly. He gives a few short tugs before rubbing the flushed precum slicked head against your pussy.

As he positions his head against your slick hole you moan, anticipation making your adrenaline spike, yet the satisfying stretch doesn't come. Instead he gives shallow thrusts, just the tip, making you pout and stutter your hips to try and guide him inside fully.

It's making you feverish, squirming against the bed as he hovers over you braced on his forearms. You gasp, making him groan as you clench slightly but in one fluid movement he slides inside you and the length of him momentarily makes your head spin. You almost swear he's prodding against your cervix and it steals the air from your lungs.

Belphie doesn't even wait for your adjustment, thrusting into you so harshly it rips a wheezed moan from your throat, hands frantically finding purchase against his back to dig your nails in. It's all you can do to hold on against the jostling of your body as the obscenely wet sound of your cunt dragging him back inside with every outward pull rings in your ears, toes curling and mouth dripping open as the head of his cock kisses your cervix again.

"D'you hear that?" he groans against your shoulder, making you dig your nails into his skin harder for his teasing. But god the sound alone could make you cum, wet sticky slapping as he fucks you hard enough to make you sob. "Aw, is it too much? You gonna cum already?"

If you could speak you'd tell him you hate him, but his mocking only makes the coil wind tighter in your gut. You choke on your own breath, coherent thoughts unraveling as your impending orgasm mingles with the high to leave you mouth agap, high pitched cries cut off by every brutal thrust.

You don't even realize he's trying to kiss you again, only feeling the spit and drool smear into your skin as your legs hook around him, heels pressed harshly into his lower back. It should be impossible but you swear he's hitting a faster pace now, balls slapping heavy against your ass as he fumbles to shove your legs up instead of around him, hands pressing your thighs to fold up so hard you'll surely bruise in the morning.

The orgasm makes you feel blind, sobbing as you grip the backs of your knees only to end up choking around his fingers as they frantically shove inside your mouth. Salty tears slip against your taste buds, everything a blur as you feel a pressure release inside, not even registering the liquid spurting against his abdomen. You clamp around him like a vise, a grip so unwilling to let go it's like your body's begging for him to cum inside.

Teeth sink into the junction of your neck and shoulder, as his hips slam into yours one last time before you feel thick, hot cum flooding your pussy but it doesn't even enter your mind. Too numb and boneless to protest, sniffling as his fingers leave your mouth.

"Damn, you're so messy", he murmurs, helping you bring your legs down as he pulls out, humming as you feel cum leaking out of you. "I'll grab a towel then we're taking a nap."

You huff, basking in the warm glow before finally getting that stretch you longed for earlier, joints creaking and for once you're incredibly glad he's the demon of sloth.

[pretzel-box]

Tags: Established Relationship, Slight Fluff, Domestic Life Style, Hallucinations, Lucid Dreaming, Paranoia and Angst. Also a tiny bit of violence.

Words: 2,6k

The smell of freshly prepared pancakes wafted through the house, mingling with the divine aroma of coffee and blueberry muffins. It was breakfast time—the most important meal of the day, essential for keeping the mind sharp and the body energized.

This was one of the rare occasions Sebastian experienced such a meal, seated at a fine mahogany table set with golden cutlery and a plate of his own. He squeezed himself into the cramped living space, just large enough to fit him halfway comfortably, though his tail still extended into the living room. The golden utensils felt weightless in his hand, the fork seeming almost comically small as he picked it up. He paused, glancing up.

The clock with its silvery frame, hanging on the wall, ticked softly, showing 11:11 AM. A bit late for breakfast, Sebastian thought.

Then you stepped into the kitchen, wearing a comfortable ocean-blue apron with a bird pattern on the front. You held a small kitchen knife between your fingers, ready to slice the fresh vegetables you must have just picked up.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” you hummed, your voice so sweet it almost rivaled the sugar-coated food on the table.

He could swear, his heart just skipped a beat. It was followed by a kiss on his neck, right between his shoulder.

It only took three things: breakfast, the small comforts scattered around the room, and you, to remind him that he was safe now—living in your home until you both could afford something bigger. Somehow, you two always managed.

The radio crackled to life, filling the space with soft background noise, just like you always preferred during breakfast.

And then, you ate together.

The morning sun streamed through the windows as you shared a quiet breakfast. Sebastian ate slowly, savoring each bite, though still not entirely used to the normalcy of it all. You chatted between bites, your laughter occasionally filling the air, though he remained mostly quiet, content just listening to your voice.

After breakfast, the day unfolded in its familiar routine. Sebastian took to the chores without needing to be asked. He collected the dishes and brought them to the sink, the sound of running water filling the kitchen as he carefully scrubbed each plate and cup. His hands moved methodically, enjoying the repetition of the task. There was something satisfying about watching the bubbles form and then disappear, the dishes gleaming clean beneath his fingers.

Once the dishes were done, he moved to sweep and mop the floor, his tail brushing softly against the corners of the room as he worked. It was something he excelled at—cleaning. Each stroke of the mop was deliberate, leaving the floor spotless and gleaming under the light. He took his time, making sure no spot was missed. The rhythm of his movements was almost therapeutic, grounding him in the routine you had created together.

While you kept him from venturing outside due to the risk of running into too many people, Sebastian didn’t mind. He found comfort in the quiet tasks around the house, feeling useful in a way that kept him from thinking too much. Watering the plants was next. He carried the small watering can through the house, carefully tending to each plant you had nurtured. He had learned their schedules—when each one needed a bit more or less water, and which ones preferred more sunlight. The leaves glistened with droplets by the time he finished, the greenery adding life to the small space.

Meanwhile, you busied yourself with tasks outside. From the window, he could see you trimming the bushes with a precision that matched his own care inside. The flowers you had planted were in full bloom, their vibrant colors adding a lively contrast to the house's neutral tones. He watched as you watered them, your apron fluttering lightly in the breeze, your movements as fluid as his own.

You hung laundry out to dry, each piece flapping gently in the wind. Occasionally, you'd glance back toward the window, offering him a soft smile, which he always returned with a quiet nod. He knew you handled the outside tasks because it was easier that way, avoiding the complications of him being seen. And though he longed to be outside with you, to feel the sun on his skin, he understood. It was safer this way, and he was grateful for the life you had created together, even if it was within the confines of your small home.

By the time you returned from shopping, arms full of groceries, Sebastian had already finished his tasks for the day. The house was spotless, the plants were watered, and everything felt in order. You gave him a playful look, shaking your head as he reached out to help with the bags.

“I’ve got it,” you said with a grin, though he still managed to take a few from your hands. Together, you put away the groceries, slipping back into the easy rhythm you had both grown accustomed to, a dance of quiet understanding.

Though your space was small, and the outside world seemed just out of reach, there was a sense of peace here. You two managed. You always did.

Then you two would sleep, only to wake up for the next day.

Sebastian rubbed his eyes, still groggy, but the enticing smell of fresh pancakes, his favorite blend of coffee, and blueberry muffins quickly pulled him from sleep. A smile crept onto his face as he peeked into the kitchen, his heart light at the sight of the familiar setup. Though you weren’t in sight yet, his attention was drawn to his seat at the table, where golden cutlery and his own plate waited for him. The clock on the wall ticked softly, showing 11:11, the rhythmic sound almost lulling him into a daydream.

Just then, you appeared, breaking the spell. You walked into the kitchen with a soft smile, wearing that blue apron with little birds, carrying a basket full of fresh fruits. The sight of you always made him feel at home, a reminder of the routine you'd built together. Breakfast was the most important meal of the day, you always said, and adding healthy fruits made it all the better.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” you greeted sweetly, your voice as warm as the smell of pancakes in the air. Then his kiss followed, placed on his skin between the neck and the shoulder. After that, you moved with practiced ease, grabbing a kitchen knife and quickly slicing the fruits into neat pieces, your hands steady as you filled a bowl with the colorful mixture.

You placed the bowl in front of Sebastian, the freshly cut fruit adding to the already enticing spread on the table. He mumbled a quiet thank you, still a little sleepy but content. As you turned to flick on the radio, the soft hum of music filled the room, adding that comforting background noise you always preferred during meals.

After breakfast, the day moved into its usual rhythm. Sebastian quietly took to his chores, starting with the dishes. As he reached for the sponge, he noticed the water was cold, the warmth from earlier long gone. He frowned slightly but didn’t complain, plunging his hands into the chilly water, the suds forming weakly as he scrubbed each plate. His fingers worked with precision, despite the cold bite of the water, and the familiar routine grounded him.

Once the dishes were neatly stacked to dry, he moved to the floors. There were wet spots scattered around the house, remnants of water splashes and humidity. He picked up the mop and began moving it across the floor, the soft swish of the mop head the only sound breaking the quiet. The floor seemed more slippery today, perhaps from the condensation that clung to the windows or the moisture that had snuck in overnight. Sebastian worked with steady focus, making sure each corner was spotless, soaking up every last drop of water before it could cause any accidents.

As he mopped away the dampness, he glanced out the window, catching a glimpse of you outside, tending to the garden. The sound of the radio played faintly in the background, still giving the house that soft, comforting hum. You were hanging laundry now, the colorful clothes flapping gently in the breeze. You looked peaceful, and even from inside, Sebastian couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

Once the floor was dry and gleaming, Sebastian set the mop aside. He wiped his hands on a nearby towel, satisfied with the way the house was starting to feel in order again. It wasn’t glamorous work, but it was something he could do to help. He couldn’t go outside like you did—too many people, too many risks—but here, within these four walls, he could contribute. And that was enough for now.

The day had slipped by quickly, leaving Sebastian to drift into sleep beside you, only to be gently pulled from his dreams the next morning by the familiar scent of freshly prepared pancakes and coffee. And then, that unmistakable divine aroma of blueberry muffins. It never failed to get him out of bed.

In an instant, he found himself moving toward the kitchen, eyes lighting up as he admired the spread of food on the table. Right there, next to his plate, the golden cutlery gleamed in the soft morning light. Breakfast was easily one of his favorite parts of the day—not just for the food, but for the way it filled him with energy and set the tone for the rest of the day. More than anything, it was because he got to share that peaceful moment with you.

The clock on the wall showed 11:11, ticking softly in the background. The rhythmic sound was almost hypnotic, but before he could fall into another daydream, you entered the room. You wore your usual blue apron with the birds, a familiar sight that always brought a sense of comfort. This time, you held a basket full of fresh meat, setting it down near the kitchen knife.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," you greeted with a soft smile, leaning in just enough for your lips to brush against his skin. It was the kind of gentle affection that made his mornings brighter. "I picked up some meat for lunch—it was on sale."

Before sitting down, you walked over and turned on the radio, filling the room with a soothing background melody. With the quiet music accompanying your soft conversation, the two of you sat down to eat. You shared small talk, laughter filling the space as naturally as the morning sunlight.

When breakfast ended, it was time to tackle the day’s tasks once again, but those moments spent together over the meal made everything else feel lighter, even the inevitable chores that followed.

After breakfast, Sebastian moved to the kitchen to start his usual chores. The house was quiet except for the low hum of the radio in the background. He turned on the faucet to wash the dishes, expecting the familiar warmth, but the water was cold again, colder than it should be. His fingers tingled as he scrubbed the plates, the icy water making the task feel more tedious than usual. He couldn’t shake the growing sense of unease, but he pushed it aside, focusing on the rhythm of cleaning.

Once the dishes were done, he grabbed the mop and made his way around the house. His eyes caught something unusual—dark red liquid pooled in scattered patches across the floor, smeared slightly as though it had been dragged by something. His heart skipped a beat, but he told himself it was probably nothing. Maybe it was just juice, or some spilled wine from the night before, though neither of you had drunk anything like that recently.

He moved quickly, mopping away the dark stains, but the uneasy feeling clung to him, growing heavier with each stroke of the mop. The house felt darker than usual. The curtains were all drawn, casting deep shadows across the room. He hesitated for a moment before stepping toward the nearest window. The thick fabric of the curtains felt unnaturally heavy as he pulled them open.

Instead of the familiar view of the garden outside, Sebastian was met with a scene that made his blood run cold. On the other side of the glass was a dimly lit hall, stretching far into the distance, filled with looming submarines and figures in hazmat suits. The people moved methodically, their faces obscured by the opaque visors of their suits. They didn’t seem to notice him, but the sight alone was enough to make his heart race.

For a moment, Sebastian stood frozen, his breath catching in his throat. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t his home. Panic welled up inside him, and without thinking, he quickly let go of the curtains, letting them fall back into place. He turned around, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.”

Sebastian’s head shot up, startled. His gaze locked onto you standing at the entrance to the kitchen. You were wearing that familiar blue apron, but something was wrong. The little birds that used to adorn it were gone, replaced by the stark, cold logo of Urbanshade sitting squarely on your chest. In your hand, you wielded a kitchen knife, casually slicing through a lump of white flesh.

“Breakfast is ready, and you're just standing there... Still spooked by a nightmare?” you asked, your tone sweet but unnervingly calm.

His heart pounded in his chest as he moved closer to you, his feet almost betraying him, as if they were drawn forward by some invisible force. You gently pulled him into the kitchen, guiding him to his usual seat. The cutlery was silver this time, not gold like it had been before, but it still rested beside his plate, polished and perfect. The table was covered in food that smelled familiar and warm—pancakes, coffee, blueberry muffins—but the air felt off.

You sat down across from him after turning on the radio, filling the silence with faint static. His eyes flicked to the clock. 11:11. A bit late for breakfast, isn't it?

He reached for a muffin, the warmth of the room doing little to calm the eerie chill that crept up his spine. Lifting it to his mouth, he took a bite, expecting the comforting taste of blueberries. Instead, his mouth filled with something cold, tasteless, and wrong. The texture wasn’t soft or sweet, but rubbery.

He glanced down in horror. The muffin was gone. In its place was the same lump of white flesh you had been cutting earlier. Panic surged through him, and he gagged, dropping it instantly. Without thinking, he jumped up, rushing to the sink, bile rising in his throat.

“Not tasty?” Your voice was right behind him now, soft and teasing. “I baked them with love. Or maybe you're just upset I haven’t given you your good morning kiss?”

His hands gripped the edge of the sink as he fought to steady his breathing. He could hear your footsteps, soft but deliberate. Before he could react, you were behind him, leaning in. Your fingers slid through his hair, your touch cold, freezing even. Your lips brushed against the back of his neck, sending a shiver through his entire body.

Then, without warning, you sank your teeth into his flesh.

Sebastian jolted awake, his body trembling. He wasn’t in the kitchen anymore. He was lying on a bed of wet, glowing moss, his breath ragged as he blinked, trying to get his bearings. The familiar, sterile walls of that cursed underwater facility surrounded him. His hand instinctively went to his neck, feeling the tender, raw spot where the teeth had sunk in, the memory of the pain still fresh.

In the distance, he heard footsteps—a wall dweller, scurrying away from him, the sound echoing through the halls. He sat up, the realization sinking in. Had that thing really taken a bite out of him?

Sebastian took a mental note. Staying in the moss for too long wasn’t healthy.

[novaursa]

The Price of Fire (14)

- Summary: In the shadows of the Red Keep, the daughter of the Mad King, Princess Y/N Targaryen, finds herself caught between duty, love, and survival. As her father’s madness deepens and political intrigue swirls, she seeks solace in a forbidden romance with her sworn protector, Ser Arthur Dayne. With King Aerys plotting to use her as a pawn and her brother Rhaegar maneuvering to shield her from their father’s grasp, Y/N must navigate a web of deceit and desire. As tensions rise, secrets ignite into fierce passion and dangerous alliances, where the wrong move could mean the end of them all.

- Paring: targ!reader/Arthur Dayne

- Note: For all the parts check out my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+ (Aerys is warning on his own)

- Word count: 6 000+

- Previous part: 13

- Next part: 15

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @lightdragonrayne @onlyrealjoy @hajmola-vs-aamchaska

(unspecified time jump)

The chamber in the Red Keep is thick with the scent of smoke and burning pitch, though no fires are lit. The atmosphere itself feels heavy, oppressive, as though the very walls remember the echoes of past screams. King Aerys sits upon the Iron Throne, his disheveled silver hair cascading in knotted waves around his shoulders now. His eyes blaze with an intensity that is neither entirely sane nor completely mad, but rather somewhere in between, a dangerous twilight that keeps those in his presence on edge in these past months. His once-proud stature has withered under the weight of his paranoia, his frame thinned even more beneath the extravagant robes that drape from his bony shoulders.

"Lord Qarlton Chelsted," Aerys’s voice crackles, sharp as a whip as he stares down at his new Hand, who stands at the base of the Iron Throne. The man bows deeply, though his face betrays a hint of unease. "Speak."

"Sire, I come with news from the battlefield," Chelsted says, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands. "The battle is over. Lord Jon Connington has fallen... slain by Rhaegar himself."

Aerys does not immediately respond. His long, twisted fingers grip the armrests of the Iron Throne, the blades biting into his skin as if the throne itself hungered for blood. The king tilts his head slightly, his lips twitching in a smile that holds no warmth. The madness in his gaze flickers, like wildfire waiting to consume.

"Jon Connington, my Hand... slain by my treacherous son?" Aerys murmurs, his voice slow, as though tasting the words. He lingers on the word treacherous, as though it holds special meaning to him.

"Aye, Your Grace," Chelsted replies, straightening. "But I swear to serve you loyally. I will be a more—"

"Yes, yes," Aerys waves a hand dismissively, as though Chelsted’s life were a mere afterthought. His attention is no longer on the fallen Hand or the war outside the Red Keep’s walls. His thoughts have wandered somewhere far darker. His eyes gleam, burning with a different kind of fire now. "But what of, Y/N, my daughter?"

A palpable tension fills the room at the mention of you, the daughter of the Mad King. Terrax, who now rests behind the Iron Throne, shifts his great bulk, his tail thumping once against the floor. His head lifts, nostrils flaring as if even at the sound of your name, he senses your absence. The beast's eyes, much like Aerys's, are alight with something primal.

Varys steps forward from the shadows, his movements so fluid and quiet that one could almost forget he was in the room. "Your Grace," the spymaster says in his usual soft, syrupy tone, "there are whispers. Whispers that suggest the princess is in Dorne. Hidden away, though there is little more I can say at this time."

Aerys's eyes narrow, his lips curling back to reveal the yellowed teeth of a serpent about to strike. "In Dorne? My daughter... stolen... by that traitorous son of mine?" His voice rises with each word, his temper flaring, but there is something more, something darker lacing his anger. An obsession that claws at his mind, unrelenting. "She belongs to me!"

Terrax lets out a low growl, a rumble that vibrates through the stone of the throne room, and Aerys's attention shifts to the dragon, a deranged smile curling his lips once more. "Yes, my son... yes. She belongs to us. The mother of dragons. The queen that was promised."

Tywin Lannister stands quietly, his sharp eyes watching the scene unfold. His face betrays nothing, but there’s a calculating gleam there, as if measuring the madness in Aerys’s words and how best to maneuver it. His gaze flickers to Jaime, standing silent as a sentinel by the door. Their eyes meet for a brief moment, and though no words are exchanged, the tension between father and son is tangible. Jaime’s grip tightens on the hilt of his sword, the Kingsguard armor feeling heavier on his shoulders with every breath the king takes.

"My king," Varys interjects smoothly, bringing the king's attention back. "Dorne may yet harbor the princess, but with patience, we will learn more. Our spies are ever vigilant. The people of Dorne, they are not ones to act without reason. Perhaps she is kept there for now, hidden in shadow, waiting. But rest assured, I will know when the time comes."

Aerys leans back into the Iron Throne, the metal spikes and edges digging into his flesh, though he seems not to notice��or perhaps, he enjoys the pain now. His fingers trace one of the jagged edges of the throne, slicing open his finger. A thin line of blood drips down his hand, unnoticed by all but Varys, who watches with cool, calculating eyes.

"She will come back to me," Aerys says, his voice soft now, almost a whisper. "She will come to her dragon. We will be whole again. All of them will burn for this betrayal... all of them."

His words linger in the air, a promise of fire and blood, and Terrax lowers his head, resting it near Aerys's feet, as though the great beast himself understood. As though the dragon, too, awaited the day he would burn the world for his king.

Tywin shifts slightly, his lips pressing together into a thin line. Jaime, still at his post, cannot help but glance at the king, wondering how much longer the madness will be contained—if it ever truly could be.

The room falls silent once more, save for the occasional creak of the Iron Throne and the slow, rhythmic breathing of Terrax behind it.

The winds off the Torrentine River were warm, carrying the scent of salt and stone as they whipped across the walls of Starfall. Perched on the cliffs overlooking the river’s mouth, the ancient castle stood like a sentinel, its pale stone towers catching the light of the midday sun. Below, the river sparkled in shades of silver and blue as it met the Sunset Sea beyond. Starfall’s walls were high, built with the pale stone that gave the castle its name, and they seemed to gleam like starlight even in the brightness of day.

You stood on the edge of the courtyard, watching Arthur Dayne train, the weight of your worries momentarily lifting. His legendary sword, Dawn, gleamed in his hand, the pale blade flashing as it moved through the air with impossible grace. Arthur’s movements were fluid, almost like a dance, each swing of the sword a testament to his mastery. It was mesmerizing, watching him—how effortlessly he wielded the blade that had felled countless foes.

And when Arthur was near, the voices in your head—the dark whispers, the warnings—always fell silent. It was as though his presence calmed something deep within you, a stillness where before there was only unrest.

Your gaze trailed from his sword to his face. The focus in his violet eyes, the way the sun glinted off his sweat-slicked brow, and the steady rise and fall of his chest as he trained all made your heart ache. He was beautiful in his strength, in his quiet determination. And he was yours, in a way that only the two of you understood. His loyalty, his affection—they were unshakable, even in these turbulent times.

When he finished, Arthur wiped the sweat from his brow and turned to you, his features softening as he caught your gaze. He approached, the familiar warmth of his presence like a shield against the world outside. "You’ve been watching me for some time, haven’t you?" His voice was low, teasing, but filled with affection.

You smiled, feeling lighter just by his closeness. "It’s hard not to when you’re so captivating," you replied, stepping closer, the fabric of your dress rustling against the stone as you moved. "Though I wonder," you added, glancing at the sword in his hand, "is it true what they say? That Dawn was forged from the heart of a fallen star?"

Arthur glanced down at the sword, a small, thoughtful smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "That is the legend," he said, his voice steady and quiet, the way it always was when he spoke of something deeply meaningful. "They say that long ago, a star fell from the sky, and from the metal within it, the first Dayne forged this sword. Dawn has been passed down through my family for generations, always given to the knight deemed worthy to bear it."

He paused, the tip of the sword resting lightly against the stone at his feet as he looked back at you. "But it is not the sword that makes the knight. It is the honor with which it is wielded."

You stepped closer, your fingers brushing lightly against his arm. "You carry both with such grace, Arthur. I've never seen anything or anyone like you."

His gaze softened, and he reached out, cupping your face with his hand, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek. The touch was intimate, familiar, but there was always something more, something deeper between you both. His thumb traced your skin as though trying to memorize every part of you, as if this moment was fragile, fleeting.

"I only wish I could shield you from all of it," he murmured, his voice low, filled with emotion. "You’ve been through so much. Your father... the rebellion... everything. I hate that I can't keep you safe from it all."

You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch, savoring the rare peace that his presence brought you. "When I'm with you, the world feels... quieter," you admitted, your voice a whisper. "Everything falls away, and it’s just us. Even the voices—" you hesitated, glancing up at him, "they go silent as before."

Arthur’s expression tightened, the concern clear in his eyes. "The voices... they're still there, even now after all these months?"

You nodded slowly. "Always. Dark dreams, dark warnings. But when you’re here, it’s as though they can’t reach me."

He drew you into his arms, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "I’ll always be here for you, Y/N." His words were a quiet vow, one that you knew he meant with every fiber of his being.

The two of you stood there for a moment, the sound of the waves crashing against the cliffs below blending with the soft breeze. Starfall, for all its ancient grandeur, was peaceful in a way King’s Landing never could be. Its history, though steeped in blood and legend, seemed to settle like a protective blanket over its halls. Here, among the high towers and old stones, it was easy to believe that the world beyond couldn’t touch you.

"Starfall has always felt... different," you mused, resting your head against Arthur’s chest as his arms wrapped around you. "There’s a sense of peace here. Like it's somehow separate from the rest of the realm."

Arthur chuckled softly. "It’s the land of my ancestors. This place has stood for thousands of years. The Daynes have always been here, and the sword..." he paused, tilting his head slightly, "well, perhaps it does carry a bit of that fallen star’s magic. I’ve always felt it too, though I think it has more to do with you."

You lifted your head to look at him, your heart swelling at his words. "Me?"

He nodded, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "Yes, you. There’s something about you, Y/N, something... otherworldly. You have a strength that no one else can see. And I’m drawn to it, just like I’m drawn to you."

The sincerity in his eyes made your breath catch, and for a moment, all the fears, the dark dreams, the war—none of it mattered. All that mattered was Arthur, his arms around you, and the sense of safety he gave you.

"I love you," you whispered, the words slipping out as naturally as breathing. You didn’t say them often, not because they weren’t true, but because they felt too precious, too fragile to speak aloud too often.

Arthur smiled, leaning down to kiss you softly, his lips brushing against yours in a way that was both tender and full of promise. "And I love you, more than you’ll ever know."

The air in the Stormlands was thick with the scent of rain and the promise of battle. The tent’s flaps fluttered softly in the breeze, the canvas walls stained with the grime of weeks of warfare. Outside, the campfires flickered in the dusk, casting long shadows across the muddy ground. The sounds of soldiers preparing for the night echoed faintly—clanking armor, sharpening swords, quiet conversations—but within the tent, the atmosphere was tense, a weight pressing down on the men inside.

Rhaegar Targaryen stood by the map-strewn table, his silver hair falling loosely over his shoulders. His violet eyes were focused, studying the battle lines marked out before him. Robert Baratheon’s forces held the Stormlands with grim determination, their defenses solid despite the prince’s best efforts to break through. The rebellion had grown larger, fiercer than he’d expected, and the weight of it bore down on him like a chain. His fingers traced the inked lines on the map as though they held the answers he sought.

The flap of the tent rustled, and Rhaegar looked up to see Eddard Stark step inside, his face somber, the weight of responsibility heavy on his shoulders. The young Stark lord was quieter than most men Rhaegar had fought alongside, but there was a strength in his silence, a kind of unyielding resolve that Rhaegar had come to respect.

"My prince," Eddard said, bowing his head slightly as he approached. "A raven arrived, bearing a message. Varys sent it."

Rhaegar’s heart quickened at the mention of Varys. The spymaster had been his key ally, working behind the scenes to manipulate Aerys’s growing paranoia and keep the Mad King’s attention diverted from his sister. He took the sealed parchment from Eddard’s hand and broke the wax with swift, deliberate motions.

The message was brief, written in Varys’s careful, looping hand:

"Aerys’s eyes have turned to Dorne. All goes as planned."

Rhaegar’s eyes narrowed, and his jaw tightened. He crumpled the message in his fist and tossed it into the fire pit beside the table. The flames devoured the parchment in moments, leaving only ash behind.

"Varys moves the pieces well," Rhaegar murmured, his voice low, more to himself than to Eddard. He stared into the flames for a moment, watching them dance before he turned to face the Stark lord fully. "But no matter how well the game is played, some pieces can’t be moved easily. And I wonder, Eddard, if Robert is one of those pieces."

Eddard’s face remained impassive, but his brow furrowed slightly as he shook his head. "Robert is... stubborn, my prince. Once he sets his mind on something, it’s hard to pull him away from it. Especially now, with war upon us. His blood is up, and all he sees is victory."

Rhaegar sighed, rubbing a hand over his face as weariness settled in his bones. "He’s promised to your sister, is he not? Lyanna. Can’t you talk some sense into him? Remind him what’s at stake? This isn’t just about war. It’s about the future. The realm."

Eddard’s eyes darkened, and a shadow passed over his expression. "Robert loves Lyanna, or at least the idea of her. But this war... it’s no longer just about love or promises. Robert hates the king, as do many. And while he may hate Aerys, he does not hate your sister." Eddard paused, his voice quieter now, more thoughtful. "The people... they love her. Many speak of the princess with admiration, more than they speak of the king himself. And there are many lords, my prince, who would see her on the throne. Many more who would see themselves beside her."

Rhaegar’s eyes flashed with a brief, irritated gleam. He straightened, his shoulders tense. "I know how much my sister is loved," he said, his voice carrying a hint of frustration. "But I’m not doing this to place her as some prize to be won by ambitious lords. She is not to be another man’s conquest, another ladder for them to climb to power. She’s my blood. And I would see her safe, not used."

Eddard nodded, understanding the conflict in Rhaegar’s heart. "I understand, my prince," he said quietly. "Truly, I do. My father and brother... they loved her too, in their way. They died by dragonfire because of it."

Rhaegar’s expression softened slightly at the mention of Rickard and Brandon Stark, their tragic deaths by the hands of his mad father a stain upon the Targaryen name. "Your father and brother were good men. They died protecting my sister’s honor after Aerys made his intentions clear. I wish their fates had been different."

Eddard’s jaw tightened, and a flash of pain crossed his face. "They stayed longer in the capital than they should have," he said, his voice thick with grief and regret. "Had they left sooner... perhaps they wouldn’t have been there when Aerys declared he would take your sister as his second wife. They might have lived, and the rebellion might have never begun."

Rhaegar was silent for a long moment, his mind turning over the weight of Eddard’s words. The rebellion had been sparked by many things, but Aerys’s obsession with you—his declaration that you, his daughter, would be his bride—had been the breaking point. It was a madness that had consumed the king, and the cost had been paid in fire and blood.

Rhaegar moved toward the edge of the tent, looking out across the camp where his men gathered around their fires. "My father’s madness has cast a long shadow over all of us," he said quietly. "But I won’t let it destroy my sister, or the realm. If I must fight, I will fight for her—for her future."

Eddard stepped closer, his presence solid and reassuring, even in the face of so much uncertainty. "You have allies, my prince," he said firmly. "Men who believe in your cause. Robert may be headstrong, but there are others who will listen. The princess has more support than you know."

Rhaegar’s gaze shifted back to Eddard, a glimmer of determination in his eyes. "Let’s hope that support is enough," he said softly. "Because if it’s not, this war will consume everything."

The two men stood in silence for a long moment, the weight of their shared burden pressing down on them like the gathering storm outside. Another war was coming, and with it, the fate of the realm hung in the balance.

The air in Starfall was warm and fragrant, the scent of blooming jasmine and orange blossoms wafting through the castle’s sunlit courtyards. It was a rare day of peace, and you wandered the familiar paths alone, seeking a brief respite from the weight that had been pressing on you since your escape from King’s Landing. Terrax’s absence weighed heavily on you, a constant reminder of the danger that still lingered in the capital. The bond you shared with your dragon was strong, but with him so far away, you felt a deep emptiness, a loss that you couldn’t shake.

As you rounded a corner, your steps faltered. By the fountain in the courtyard, Ashara Dayne was speaking with a woman you recognized immediately. Her long, dark curls cascaded over her shoulders, her sun-kissed skin glowing in the midday light. She was dressed in the loose, flowing garments of the Dornish, her eyes as sharp as the smiles she so often wore.

Ellaria Sand. Oberyn Martell’s paramour.

The woman’s presence here surprised you, though perhaps it shouldn’t have. Dorne had long been a haven for those who defied convention, and Starfall itself was no stranger to intrigue. Still, the sight of Ellaria made your heart quicken with a sense of unease, even as you tried to push it down. What could she want here?

Ellaria caught your gaze before you could slip away. Her lips curled into a playful smile, and her dark eyes sparkled with something that felt like curiosity. "Ah, the dragon princess herself," she called out, her voice rich with the accent of Dorne. "I’ve heard many tales of you, Y/N. Intriguing things, from Oberyn."

Ashara glanced over her shoulder, her expression softening as she saw you approach. She gestured for you to join them. "Y/N," she said warmly. "Come, we were just speaking about you."

You hesitated for a moment, but then forced yourself forward, stepping into the courtyard. The sunlight danced on the surface of the fountain’s water, casting a shimmering light across the smooth stone beneath your feet.

Ellaria smiled, her gaze sweeping over you with clear interest. "I must admit, I was eager to meet you. The stories don’t do you justice."

You forced a polite smile, though you felt the slight shift in the air as something stirred within your mind. A voice, soft at first but growing stronger, whispered faintly in the back of your thoughts: “Stop doing that. Mother shan't be too pleased. None too pleased.”

You blinked, trying to shake the strange sensation. The voice had been absent for so long, quelled in Arthur’s presence, but now it returned, a dark whisper threading through your thoughts like an unwanted guest.

"I hope the stories were flattering," you said, keeping your voice steady as you took a seat beside them. You glanced briefly at Ashara, her serene expression betraying no sign of concern, though she had always been difficult to read.

"Flattering?" Ellaria’s eyes gleamed with mischief. "Some were, but others were... more intriguing than flattering. Oberyn speaks of you with a kind of admiration I’ve rarely heard from him. A Targaryen princess without her dragon at her side, living in secret in the south. It’s the stuff of legends, no?"

Ashara chuckled softly, brushing a stray lock of her dark hair behind her ear. "Oberyn always did have a taste for the dramatic."

Ellaria nodded, her smile widening. "True enough. But I see now that the stories pale in comparison to reality. The princess has a fire all her own."

The words, though kind, seemed to carry a weight to them, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that Ellaria was assessing you, as though she were looking beyond your face, beyond your title, to something deeper. You shifted slightly, feeling the heat of the sun on your skin but also the cold grip of the voice still echoing in your mind.

"Mother shan't be too pleased. You know better."

Your stomach twisted, and for a moment, the courtyard seemed to dim. You glanced around, expecting to see someone lurking in the shadows, but there was nothing. Just the voice. Just the quiet reminder of something darker within you.

"Tell me, princess," Ellaria’s voice cut through your thoughts, bringing you back to the present. "What is it like, truly, to have a dragon? Oberyn says Terrax is unlike any other, and that your bond is... unique."

Your heart sank at the mention of Terrax. You could feel the distance between you, like a severed thread. He was still in King’s Landing, still under your father’s control, and it pained you every moment you were apart from him. "It’s difficult to describe," you said, your voice quieter now. "It’s... it feels as though he’s a part of me. More than just a creature, more than just a dragon. When we’re together, I feel his thoughts, his emotions. He feels mine. It’s... comforting. But now..."

Ashara’s gaze softened as she listened, but Ellaria’s eyes gleamed with interest. "A bond that deep? It’s no wonder the stories are so grand. The Dornish respect power, and I think they would envy such a bond."

"They envy, they watch, they want. But it’s not theirs. It never will be." The voice was louder now, more insistent, its words laced with an edge that made your skin prickle. “None too pleased, Mother.”

You flinched slightly, your hand gripping the edge of the stone bench beneath you as you tried to shake the voice free. Not now. Not here.

Ellaria must have noticed the flicker of discomfort, for her smile softened, and she leaned closer, her voice dropping to a more intimate tone. "You seem... troubled, princess. Is everything well?"

You forced a nod, though you knew it was a lie. "It’s nothing. Just... memories. There’s been much to remember lately."

Ellaria’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, as if she sensed there was more you weren’t saying, but she didn’t press the issue. Instead, she leaned back slightly, her demeanor returning to its usual playful charm. "Well, memories are heavy things. But you’re safe here, princess. Safe and among friends."

You managed a small smile, though the words rang hollow in your ears. You were safe in Starfall, but the voices, the dreams—they were always with you. And Ellaria’s words, though kind, couldn’t banish the darkness that lingered at the edges of your thoughts.

As the conversation shifted to lighter topics—Dorne, Oberyn’s exploits, the happenings in the wider world—you forced yourself to focus, to stay present. But all the while, the voice in your head whispered, a constant, unrelenting reminder that something larger loomed on the horizon, something you could not yet see.

"Mother shan't be too pleased."

The nightmare begins in darkness, as it always does. It pulls you in slowly, insidiously, until you’re no longer aware of what is real and what is not. This time, though, the shadows are thicker, heavier, like a weight pressing against your chest. It’s not just the darkness that surrounds you but the stench of death—rotting flesh, blood, smoke. You can see them now, shapes in the distance, hazy at first, but then they become clear.

Bodies.

Men and dragons alike, lying in twisted, grotesque forms, as if struck down mid-battle, their limbs contorted in unnatural ways. The dragons’ once-magnificent scales are dull, lifeless, their wings tattered and blackened. The ground beneath you is slick with blood, so much blood that it feels as though the earth itself is drowning in it.

You try to move, but your legs won’t obey. You’re rooted to the spot, forced to watch the carnage unfold around you. The sky overhead is red, as though the sun itself has bled out into the heavens, casting everything in a sickening light. The air is filled with the moans of the dying, the cries of the defeated.

And then, a voice. It cuts through the chaos, sharp and cruel, echoing in your head like a distant thunderclap.

"All are blind whose eyes are closed."

The words make no sense, yet they send a shiver down your spine. You try to block them out, but they grow louder, reverberating inside your skull, rattling your very bones. More voices join in, overlapping, like a chorus of madness.

"They see nothing because they choose not to see."

"The storm will come, and none will be spared."

"Ashes, only ashes will remain."

You close your eyes, willing the voices to stop, but it only makes things worse. When you open them again, you’re no longer standing among the dead. Now you’re in the throne room of the Red Keep, but it’s wrong, all wrong. The Iron Throne looms ahead, but it is twisted, a monstrous thing made of jagged, blackened metal, as though the fires of Hell itself forged it. Sitting upon it is a figure you can’t quite make out, obscured in shadow, though you know who it is.

Aerys.

He laughs, a high, manic sound that echoes in the empty hall, and beside him stands a dragon, not Terrax but something far darker, its eyes glowing with an unnatural fire. And at the foot of the throne, lying in a pool of blood, is a child—a babe no older than a few months.

Your heart seizes in your chest, and you take a step forward, but the voice returns, louder, more insistent.

"Death comes for all, even those not yet born."

"The child will die. You cannot stop it."

"The flames will consume them all."

Terror grips you like a vice, and you scream, but no sound comes. The child on the floor doesn’t move. Its tiny body is still, so terribly still.

"Even your child will die, princess."

Your breath catches, and your hand flies to your stomach instinctively, as though you can protect the life that might be there, but the voice laughs, mocking.

"The flames will take it, too."

The nightmare shatters into a thousand jagged pieces, and you wake with a gasp, your heart pounding violently against your ribs. You’re back in the chambers at Starfall, the soft light of the moon filtering through the window. The sound of waves crashing against the cliffs below is distant, barely audible over the roar of blood in your ears.

Arthur sleeps beside you, his body warm, his breathing slow and steady. You force yourself to remain still, swallowing down the panic that threatens to rise, trying not to wake him. Your skin is clammy, drenched in cold sweat, and your hand trembles as you place it on your abdomen, the place where life might now be growing.

You bite your lip, holding back the wave of fear. Could it be true? Could you be with child? The possibility had crossed your mind before, but now, after that nightmare, it feels far more real, far more terrifying.

The voices... they had never spoken of a child before. And yet tonight, they did. You squeeze your eyes shut, forcing the memory of the nightmare back, but the image of the lifeless babe on the floor of the throne room won’t leave you. The voice’s threat lingers in your mind, refusing to fade.

Carefully, you shift, propping yourself up on one elbow, watching Arthur as he sleeps. His face is peaceful in the moonlight, his brow untroubled, his lips slightly parted. For a moment, you’re overcome by the sheer intensity of your feelings for him, how safe he makes you feel, how much you trust him. But now... now you’re not sure if even Arthur can protect you from this.

Could you tell him? Could you burden him with this fear, with the knowledge that you might be carrying his child, even as the world teeters on the brink of war?

You reach out, your fingers brushing lightly against his arm. The touch is gentle, and he stirs slightly, but doesn’t wake. For now, you’ll keep this to yourself. For now, you’ll protect him from the weight of it.

But as you lie back down, staring up at the ceiling, your mind races. You need to be certain. You need to know.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow you’ll find out if it’s true.

For now, you’ll try to sleep. Try, though you know that the nightmares will return.

"The child will die."

The voice’s cruel words still echo in your mind as you close your eyes once more, hoping—praying—that sleep will come without the darkness.

The throne room of the Red Keep was sweltering, the air filled with dread and the ever-present scent of smoke and char. The massive iron doors were shut tight, barring the world outside from what was about to unfold within. Terrax, lay coiled behind the Iron Throne, his scales glinting faintly in the low light of the hall. His enormous body stretched across the cold stone floor, a beast far too large for any room in the Red Keep, but Aerys, in his madness, had insisted he remain close.

King Aerys II sat on the Iron Throne with an unsettling calmness, his ragged silver hair framing his face. His pale eyes gleamed with a feverish intensity that betrayed the stillness of his body. There was a flicker of his old instability in those eyes, but for now, he appeared unnervingly composed, watching the men below him with an expression bordering on delight.

"Bring them in," Aerys said softly, his voice carrying through the hall like a snake’s hiss. His long fingers gripped the armrests of the Iron Throne, nails tapping against the twisted swords that formed the seat.

Jaime Lannister and Ser Barristan Selmy stood at attention near the foot of the throne, their faces carefully neutral, though Jaime’s eyes flickered to Terrax now and then, the dragon’s looming presence making the knight uneasy. Both knew that no matter how calm Aerys appeared now, his moods could shift like wildfire, unpredictable and deadly.

The heavy doors creaked open, and a group of prisoners were dragged inside, their hands bound in chains, their faces drawn with fear. They were accused traitors—men who had dared to speak against the king, who had plotted rebellion or whispered dissent. Their crimes varied, but their fates would be the same.

Aerys leaned forward, his eyes glittering. "Traitors," he murmured, as though savoring the word. "You thought to betray your king, to betray the realm. But you forget that I have a dragon."

He smiled then, a thin, crooked thing, and his gaze shifted to Terrax, who stirred at the mention of his name. The great dragon’s golden eyes opened slowly, glowing with a dim, molten light. His massive tail thumped once against the floor, causing a tremor to ripple through the room.

"Burn them," Aerys commanded, his voice cold, dispassionate. "Let the flames cleanse their treachery."

There was a moment of tense silence before Terrax moved, his great head lifting from the floor, nostrils flaring. The prisoners’ eyes widened in terror, some of them pleading under their breath, others too petrified to speak. But there was no mercy here. The dragon reared up, his neck arching back as his jaws parted. For a brief second, the room was filled with a sickening, heavy anticipation.

Then, with a roar that shook the very walls, Terrax unleashed a torrent of flame. The dragonfire swept over the prisoners, reducing their desperate cries to nothing in a matter of moments. The flames were impossibly bright, and the heat was so intense that even those standing near the throne could feel it singe the air. When the fire died down, nothing remained of the men but charred, blackened bones and smoldering ash.

Aerys watched with a twisted, satisfied grin, his eyes alight with something that was neither relief nor regret, but pure, unadulterated madness. "Beautiful," he whispered, almost to himself. "The flames are so beautiful."

Terrax lowered his head again, smoke curling from his nostrils, but something in the air had changed. The dragon shifted uneasily, his tail lashing once, twice, against the floor with increasing agitation. His eyes, once calm and steady, now flickered with a wildness that had not been there moments before.

Aerys, too absorbed in his own reverie, did not notice. "More," he murmured, his voice growing louder. "We must find more traitors. Let the dragon cleanse them all."

But Terrax wasn’t listening anymore. Something had snapped inside him. The flames that had poured from his mouth moments before now seemed to burn within him, unsettling and uncontrollable. His wings twitched, his breath coming faster, and then, without warning, he let out a thunderous, guttural roar that reverberated through the throne room, shaking the very foundations of the Red Keep.

Jaime’s hand went to his sword, his heart pounding. He glanced at Ser Barristan, whose expression had hardened, but neither moved. Terrax thrashed his tail, knocking over a brazier and sending embers scattering across the floor. The dragon’s eyes glowed brighter, wild, and full of rage.

"Calm him," Barristan muttered under his breath, stepping closer to the king. "Calm him now, before—"

Aerys, oblivious to the growing danger, waved a dismissive hand. "He is my dragon," he said, his voice cracking with arrogance. "He will obey me. Terrax!"

The dragon snarled, his head swinging toward the throne, teeth bared. For a moment, it looked as though the beast would strike, his eyes locking onto the mad king’s form with a fiery intensity that sent a ripple of unease through the room.

"Terrax!" Aerys barked, his tone sharp, commanding. "Do as your king commands!"

But Terrax did not obey. His rage had consumed him. With a deafening shriek, he turned toward the doors of the throne room, his wings unfurling in one swift, powerful motion. The force of his wings sent a gust of wind through the hall, knocking over banners and rattling the ancient windows.

"Open the doors!" Jaime shouted, his voice ringing with urgency. Barristan was already moving, rushing toward the doors to throw them open.

Terrax lunged forward, his enormous claws scraping against the stone floor, his tail smashing into one of the pillars as he charged toward the exit. The massive iron doors groaned as they swung open just in time for the dragon to escape, his huge body barely squeezing through the entrance.

"Stop him!" Aerys screamed from the throne, his calmness shattered. His voice was high-pitched, desperate. "He is mine! Bring him back!"

But it was too late. With a terrifying, ear-splitting screech, Terrax launched himself into the air, his wings beating furiously as he took flight, disappearing into the darkening sky above the Red Keep.

The throne room fell into a stunned silence, the only sound the crackling of embers still smoldering on the stone floor.

Aerys, his face pale with fury, gripped the arms of the Iron Throne so tightly that his knuckles turned white. "He will return," he hissed, his voice shaking with a barely contained rage. "He is mine, and he will return, just as my daughter."

But in his heart, there was a flicker of doubt—one that he would never admit.

[ametrictonofaudacity]

How would the yandere Batfamily react if reader got sick? Maybe reader ends up so fevered that they start crying if someone isn’t holding them because they don’t understand what’s going on.

Boy oh boy do I love this ask!

Enjoy!

Warnings: altered mental states, overprotectiveness, paranoia, and captivity. Also medical stuff (the use of liquid IV to rehydrate, as well as pills to reduce a fever)

There’s a cool hard carding through your hair and it’s so much better than the cold tile beneath you. The tile was great, sure, but it was hard and uncomfortable and not nearly as nice as the way the hand brushes back your hair and presses against your forehead.

You groan, and blink your eyes open. Dick is kind of fuzzy above you, and his face is twisted in worry, making you want to reach up and wipe that worry away. You manage to weakly push yourself up, before a strong arm supports you, holding you up and keeping you steady. You decide you like that, and hum, the sound a little cracked because of how much your throat hurt.

“Oh, god..”

Dick murmurs, and he sounds almost panicked as he presses a cool hand to your forehead.

“Let’s get you to Alfie, yeah? You’re burning up, Y/N.”

He hums, and strong arms hoist you up, cradling you against an even stronger chest. You sigh, snuggling into the embrace, and you hear that huffy laughter Dick gives when he’s trying not to be mean but finds something funny. Or cute. Could be both.

“How come you aren’t this snuggly without the fever, huh?” He teases, and you’re vaguely aware of the sensation of movement, which makes your stomach twist and churn. He notices.

“Just hold on a little longer, okay? Then you’ll feel so much better.” The man soothes, and at some point, there’s a new body next to you, walking alongside Dick, silent and small but comforting.

It’s Cass. You blink at her, exhausted, and she gives you a gentle smile. You liked Cass, out of all your siblings, she was one of the best. She didn’t crowd you, or demand things you couldn’t give. She could be cuddly, and it was nice when she was, because she always knew when you were upset and tired and frustrated.

You reach out to grab her hand, and she takes it. They’re just as cool as Dick’s, like ice on your fevered skin, and you sigh. Her thumb soothes over the back of your hands, over the delicate bones there, and you hum.

When Dick sets you down, there’s immediately a distressed sound trying to escape your throat, something between a sob and a yell, and Cass is suddenly there, wrapping you up in cool arms. Cass was much closer to your size, and it was nice.

“You’re okay. We won’t leave.” She assures.

You sigh, glad that someone was with you when your body ached and your head was pounding. You lean into the coolness of her embrace, and she runs her fingers through your hair, gently untangling it the best she could. You thought that wasn’t the best idea, since you felt sweaty and gross, but she didn’t seem to mind and the feeling was too nice to really protest.

There’s a prick in your arm.

When you turn your head, the needle is already gone, and you wonder just how long it had taken for your fevered brain to register it.

“Crap. Cass, can you..?”

Cass is pressing something to your lips before Dick finishes, and you take the pill without even thinking about it. A liquid, vaguely sweet, follows it. It’s practically heaven on your parched throat.

“How are they?”

It’s the first time you hear Bruce’s voice all day, and he buries his hands in your hair, not seeming to mind that it was sweaty and kind of gross. You practically melt into the gentleness of it.

“Has their fever gone down any? Have they had enough fluids?”

He questions, even as he moves around you, reaching for things you can’t see and don’t bother looking at. Bruce never risked your health, and your head hurt too much to really care.

“Cass have them some fever reducers and liquid IVs.” Dick hums. “We just administered it, and we’re monitoring their temperature.”

Bruce hums, and you blink when Cass slips away, and you make a distressed noise, tears springing to your eyes. You felt wrung out and exhausted, so when

Bruce is there instantly, wiping the sweat from your face with a damp cloth, and you lean into it, breathing out a sigh of relief. It felt so much better than even Cass’s cuddles, or Dick’s cool hands.

“You’re going to feel better in a little bit. Just hang in there.” He assures gently, and you nod. You trusted Bruce. Or, with this at least. It was hard not to, with the worried gleam in his eyes and the way he held you so gently.

“Why can’t you be this cuddly healthy, huh, baby bat?”

Dick asks, and there’s a tiny pinch in your arm. You cringe at the sensation and he makes an apologetic noise.

“Sorry, sorry, that’s the I.V. We just need to get some fluids in ya, mkay? And bring the fever down.”

You nod, and Bruce runs his hand through your hair again, fixing the strands.

You sigh, drifting off, confident they wouldn’t leave your side.

[vivalarevolutionxd]

Plants that unalive people.

Project 2025 (if it is voted in) will get rid of a woman's right to divorce her husband and her rights to her own body. This means we need to protect women from dangerous men. Here we go:

-Abrus Precatorius (Aka Crabs eye, rosary pea, Indian licorice, ect) causes vomiting, convulsions, liver failure, and death. Even one seed will cause it.

-Aconitum (Aka Wolfsbane, aconite, monkshood) causes disabled nerve endings, low blood pressure, cardiac irregularities, vomiting, and of course death.

-Actaea Pachypoda (Aka dolls eyes, or white baneberry) which basically paralyzes the cardiac muscles, not always deadly.

-Ageratina Altissima (Aka white snakeroot, white sanicle, richweed) causes milk sickness, which if you don't know it causes significant weightloss, polydipsia, vomiting, appetite loss, difficulty standing/walking, coma, and then death. Death occurs 2-10 days after eating it.

-Arnica Montana (Aka mountain tobacco, leopards bane, Mountain Arnica) causes bleeding in the intestinal tract, inflammation of the liver, paranoia, accelerated heart rate, muscular weakness, and death. Though a lot of the seeds/plant need to be digested for it to kill, though little amounts for long enough time can cause cancer.

-My personal favorite,Atropa Belladonna (Aka deadly nightshade) it's a long list but it causes: dilated pupils, sensitivity to light, blurred vision, slurred speech, dry throat and mouth, tachycardia, loss of balance, staggering, headache, urinary retention, constipation, confusion, delusions, hallucinations, convulsions, necrosis(limb death), paralysis, and death.

-Brugmansia (Aka angels trumpet(cause you will see the lord)) causes hallucinations and losing connection with reality. Not 100% deadly by itself but causes severe paranoia, hallucinated pain, and delusions. The most notable case of Angel's trumpet is a young man self amputating his leg with pruning shears after consuming the tea of just two flowers, he died.

-Caltha Palustris (Aka marsh-marigold, kingcup) causes convulsions, burning of the throat, vomiting, bloody diarrhea, dizziness, fainting, blisters, inflammation, gastric illnesses, and patients usually die to the symptoms.

-Cerbera Odollam (suicide tree) the one just kills you within a few minutes, muted taste, undetectable in autopsies, and can't be treated once consumed.

-Chelidomium Majus (Aka Greater Celandine) this one also just kills you, but you need at least 18mg per kilogram of body weight, so a 50kg (110lbs) person needs at least 900mg to kill them.

-Cicuta (Aka water hemlock, cows bane, wild carrot, snake weed, poison parsnip, child's bane) this one causes just over and over seizures until death. Can't be treated.

-Colchicum Autumnale (Aka Autum Corocus, Meadow Saffron) causes burning in mouth and throat, fever, diarrhea, abdominal pain, kidney failure, multiple system organ failure, hypovolemic shock, fluid loss, damage to the gi tract, bloody urine, low white blood cell count (damages the bodies ability to fight off infections), anemia, muscular weakness, respiratory failure, and death. Death occurs in 42-74hrs from consumption.

-Another one of my favorites, Conium Maculatum (Aka Hemlock, spotted parsley, spotted cowbane) for the following symptoms to occur you need to consume at least 6-8 leaves or half a gram of the roots. Symptoms include but not limited to, necrosis (limb death) within 30 minutes of initial dose, and paralysis of lungs, this causes suffocation within the hour.

I'll make a pt. 2 later.