#he is but a small ball of rage

[the-time-between-the-ether]

The Flighted Plight - A very short story my roommate wrote about her bird's rivalry with the mourning doves outside the window

From the moment this world was graced with my presence, I have felt nothing but rage. For two and a half brutal years, I have been underestimated and coddled. I know not whether it is due to my stature or my floof. All I know is my heart is that of a velociraptor. With wings and beak, I will one day watch the world burn. I will dance upon the graves of all who dared call me “just a lil guy.” My only solace is that they require steel bars to contain me. Even still, they work to appease me by giving me a cell fit with a view. It is upon this very perch that I intend to watch reality crumble. Or at least I did before the mourning doves.

Never before have I been forced to witness such pitiful creatures. It burns me to my very core that they too belong to the class Aves. Rest assured, that is where the similarities end. These skittish excuses for birds are unbearably dim and unmotivated. It is a marvel that they managed to survive fledging. I despise these abominations of evolution. Even worse, I despise how they undermine my reign of terror. Every waking moment where they plague my vision is a curse. After much deliberation, I have concluded that there is only one path for me to take. I must destroy the mourning doves. It is only then that I can raze the world.

I may be ruthless, but I am not entirely cruel. For months, I have given these pathetic lifeforms every opportunity to flee. Yet with each of my warnings, they insult me with their oblivious cooing. They have failed to tremble before my profane screeching and aerial superiority. My patience has finally snapped. I have given up any efforts at a democratic solution. My only wish now is to personally hand their worthless souls over to Hades.

With my powerful beak and razor-sharp talons, I am more than capable of slaughtering the doves in mere moments. However, their offense is too great for a swift death. I must make them feel every ounce of my fury. The only logical solution is to enlist weapons to slow me down. As a natural-born assassin, I have been training with weapons since I left the nest. My skill is unmatched regardless of what I am armed with. Yet, my capabilities are truly unfathomable with hair ties and sewing pins. They are mere extensions of my beak. The doves will rue the day they built a nest in my sight. These dull creatures remain ignorant of the fact they are seconds away from being strangled and eviscerated. They live on borrowed time.

In preparation for the execution of my brilliant plan, I staked out the doves. Day in and day out, I watched. In all that time, they never demonstrated any semblance of survival skills. It is a wonder they did not drop dead of their own accord. My hatred festered as I observed their blissful ignorance. Not a moment went by where I did not feel pleasure picturing their demise. I bided my time until the perfect opportunity arose. This was it. I was free of my cell, armed to the teeth, and they were home without a care in the world. Adrenaline coursed through my veins and my vision turned red. Quick as lightning, I darted for them. Each beat of my wings was in time with each beat of my heart. My revenge was so close and I knew it was going to be sweet. I pushed myself faster, closing the distance. I could finally glimpse the fear in their eyes. And then — thunk.

Some invisible force stopped me dead in my tracks. The sound was enough to make the mourning doves scatter. Shit. My opportunity crumbled to ash as quickly as it had arisen. What the hell? This should not have happened. I accounted for everything. I inspected the invisible barrier and finally saw it. There was a pane of glass standing between me and my revenge. Never before have I experienced such earth-shattering wrath. My blood boiled and my heart slammed. My gaze was lethal. I am certain I could have shattered anything in my vicinity except that damn window. My screeches for blood were ear-splitting and the collateral damage was devastating. Had the only person home not been the one who feeds me, I guarantee there would have been no survivors. With rage in my eyes and shame in my heart, I retreated.

Every day, I see the doves. Their chirping haunts me. An incessant cooing of my failure. Yet, I am nothing if not persistent. I will bide my time until those cowards no longer have a shield to tremble behind. I will wear their blood with glee and keep their feathers as souvenirs. Their destruction is my first step to world domination. And with my transcendent abilities, I do not foresee either taking very long.

[ap-kinda-lit]

Bulma, holding Kid Vegeta’s hand: Look at me, being escorted around town by this handsome little gentleman.

Kid Vegeta: Just so you know, I’m speaking calmly, but there is a tantrum brewing in me the likes of which this mall has never seen.

[jetstarredocs]

hello jet i looked through your oc pinterest board and i'm dying for you to elaborate on the multiple bert & the used pins in rory's section. of course taylor theusedtism is asking about this but i'm so curious how it specifically relates to him like is it just because of his music taste or something else too

ok i promise i didnt forget about this i just needed to set aside some time to answer this properly bc its a REALLY good question.

so in my mind rory LOVES the used he probably cites them as his favorite band. he found them in middle school, they got him through really hard times, so on and so forth.

these are songs that i think either fit his vibe (choke me, slit your own throat), are his favorites (pretty handsome awkward, the bird and the worm) or describe his characters personality and like story (men are all the same, buried myself alive)

i feel like rory also is inspired by bert and relates a lot to him. in his head him and bert lived through similar hardships (although rorys mightve been worse youre gonna have to remind me what berts been through besided being homeless) and he finds comfort in how bert expresses feelings of anger and like, ??? idk im blanking on other emotions explored in the used's songs but like its a LOT of stuff that really resonates with rory.

rorys very much "2000s movie cool emo and edgy older brother" energy and i think in high school he definitely modeled his whole look after bert as best he could and pieces of that still play a part in how he currently looks in his adulthood.

[heireign]

TAG DROP. p1.

[suksatoru]

sukuna and you got into a fight after you had a near death experience. when you're in need of comfort—he's hostile and enraged. you're hurt tenfold and overcome with sadness after his outburst. going to bed after fighting with sukuna is a war all in itself–but one day, you'll be able to see just how hard he works to be a good lover to you. pairing: sukunaxfem!reader ⋆. 𐙚 ˚

Sukuna is silent as he changes, save for the quiet grunts and sighs that leave his lips every now and then. The dim lamp lit on his side of the bed creates shards of gold that glisten and shine in his eyes, and he regards you quietly as he slips out of his formal robes and into a simple pair of pants.

He could be so mean sometimes. You were never one to take his insults to heart, they were always empty words he muttered out to mask his true feelings. You know Sukuna is bad at communication, you are all he's had and ever will have. There was no one before you, and there will be no one after you. So, Sukuna has to learn to go through all the hard stages that come packaged with a relationship alongside you.

Your back is turned to him as you lay in bed, your body tense and shoved so far towards the edge of the bed, he's sure you'll fall off if you shift even just the slightest bit. You're so desperate to stay away from him, and a small part of Sukuna's chest squeezes painfully at the sight.

He doesn't know how the argument started—you were always so level headed. He could come to you fuming, enraged from his duties and the stress he has to endure everyday—but your fingers raking through the pink tufts of his hair never failed to calm him.

Except today.

Because today—today he was mad at you.

You didn't mean to upset him, those were the words that tumbled from your lips as you weeped into his lap—begging for forgiveness. Your lashes clumped together with glistening tears, and all you wanted was to be comforted by him. But Sukuna scolded you instead, berating and belittling you with the cruelest of words that only made you cry harder by the end of the entire ordeal. He wasn't mad, he was fucking furious.

He told you to stay away from his estate's river whenever it's raining. But you ventured outside anyways, mindlessly and stupidly and almost died. He warned you how strong the currents were, told you how he'd lost so many idiot servants to the river's ruthlessness.

He thought you had died. It was the single, most terrifying moment of his entire life. Because when he pulled you out of the water, you were shaking like a leaf and your pulse was barely there. And when they took you to the medical wing, the doctors were brought to near tears as they tried to keep you alive. Because if you died, if they couldn't bring you back to consciousness safely—then Sukuna would probably kill everyone in a mile radius just from pure rage.

But you're here. Stubborn and alive, arms crossed over your chest as you curl up into a little ball. He slides under the blanket eventually, turning off the lamp as darkness finally envelops his room. The rain still goes on quietly outside, pitter pattering against his window softly.

He presses his lips onto your shoulder blades, pulling your back against his chest and frowning a little once he feels how stiff you are in his grasp. He doesn't want to speak the words—doesn't even want to acknowledge them, but he knows he has to. Or your tear stricken face was sure to haunt him and keep him awake the entire night

His lips are rough against your skin, and you let out a huff—before elbowing him, the King of Curses, in the gut.

He sucks in a hiss from between his teeth, before biting down on your shoulder in retaliation as you yelp

"You bast–"

You're turning around to tell him off, brows scrunched together and lips pulled back in a wobbly scowl, and he takes the opportunity to shut you up when his lips collide with yours

You would have expected the kiss to be rough—angry and hard and mean. But his lips brush yours gently as you pause, before his warm mouth presses softly onto yours

Sorry. He mumbles the word quietly against your lips as he wraps a single arm around your waist, turning you around and over him before securing you on top of his chest with a deep sigh. His irises are lined with a ring of ruby, and you watch him gaze at you through half lidded eyes.

The moonlight barely illuminates his face, but you can see the sheen in his gaze as he peers up at you

Thought I lost you. He murmurs when you suck in a cry, and he rubs your back whispering I know, I know.

Ryomen Sukuna wasn't gentle, no one would describe him as gentle. But the manner he's rubbing your back in has you sinking into his skin as you soak up all the comfort he offered—the one you so desperately craved.

"It was so scary. I-I was just—" And you hiccup on a sob as he coos quietly, curling his large palm around the back of your head as he presses your face into his chest, mumbling sweet nothings into your hair as his hand rubs up and down the slope of your spine

" 'm here now. Rest, you're safe with me. You know that, don't you?" He questions, and you nod, sniffling as your small hands wrap around his neck, legs locking around his waist as you breathe him in.

No, he wasn't the best at managing his emotions. He was quick to anger, and, simply put, the biggest asshole to walk the earth. But he feels. He loves and he hurts and he knows that there is only one person who can accept him and his broken heart as it is—you.

[nekoashiii]

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ Back Off!

Pairings: Dad!Lads x Afab!reader

Summary: a creep won’t leave you alone, time for your big body guard and small body guard to step in

Notes: masterlist \ part 2

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ Sylus

The streets of N109 Zone pulsed with their usual chaotic energy, half-lit neon signs flickering above suspiciously quiet alleyways, the scent of smoke and street food blending into something uniquely dangerous. It was the kind of place where you kept your head down if you weren’t someone important. But Sylus? He was the boss here. The head of Onychinus. The name alone made people shut up and get out of his way.

Which was why walking around at night with Sylus and Elena—your five-year-old daughter, was exactly a casual family outing. Eyes followed you everywhere, but no one dared approach. Not when Sylus was around.

“Are you sure she’s not gonna tear into that thing?” you asked, watching Elena clutch a handful of Sylus’s coat as they walked ahead. whenever you took her out to eat ice cream, she ate so fast she would be complaining about a stomachache.

“She’ll be fine,” Sylus said, amused. He flicked a glance down at your daughter, who was practically vibrating with excitement. “Won’t you?”

“I’m gonna eat it slow,” Elena swore. But you knew that was a lie. Elena was many things, sharp, observant, stubborn as her father—but patient? Never.

You leaned against a bench outside a shop, deciding to let them handle the ice cream mission. The air was thick with the usual N109 energy—danger hidden under pleasantries. You were used to it by now. Used to the way people here either respected or feared you because of Sylus.

But apparently, not everyone in this city had a survival instinct.

“Didn’t expect to see someone like you sitting alone,” a voice drawled.

Your shoulders stiffened before you even looked.

Creep.

You turned your head slightly. Man in his late thirties, leather jacket, smug expression that made you want to break his teeth. He had the look of someone who thought he was important—probably one of the many wannabe gangsters in N109 who weren’t smart enough to realize who you were.

“Keep walking” you said, not bothering to be polite.

Instead of leaving, the idiot laughed. “Come on, no need to be like that. Just saying, a pretty thing like you sitting all alone in a city like this? That’s a bad idea.”

Your fingers twitched. Sylus would kill him. You didn’t even have to do anything—if this guy laid a single hand on you, Sylus would carve him into something unrecognizable before he had time to scream.

But before you could decide whether or not to send the guy off yourself, a small, familiar voice cut through the tension like a knife.

“Hey, ugly.”

Both you and the creep froze.

Then, Elena stepped between you and the man, a little ball of rage wrapped in a pink jacket and a scowl that was all her father.

She wasn’t holding her ice cream anymore. Instead, she had her tiny fists clenched at her sides, Red eyes burning.

The guy actually laughed.

“What the hell—”

Elena kicked him in the shin. Hard.

“Ow—what the—”

Before he could finish his sentence, Elena reached into her pocket, pulled out a bottle of glitter and uncapped it before chucking it straight into his face.

The effect was instant.

“What the—gah! What the hell?!” The man stumbled back, frantically rubbing at his eyes, which were now full of sparkling, pink glitter.

You stared. Sylus’s daughter, alright.

“That’s what you get, idiot.” Elena spat, tiny hands still clenched into fists. “You don’t talk to my mama. You don’t even LOOK at my mama.”

The guy wasn’t listening, he was too busy trying to get glitter out of his eyes, coughing and cursing.

Elena didn’t care. She turned to you, face serious. “Mama, are you okay?”

You blinked, then slowly grinned.

“Oh, I’m great, sweetheart.”

Before you could say anything else, a shadow loomed behind you.

Sylus.

His red eyes flicked from you to the creep—who was still on the ground, wheezing and covered in glitter—then to Elena, who had crossed her arms and was looking at him expectantly, like she wanted him to finish the job.

Sylus exhaled through his nose, then crouched beside the groaning man.

“How about you crawl away before I let my daughter do worse?”

The man scrambled up, still half-blind, and ran.

Elena made a triumphant noise. “Hah. Loser.”

You laughed. Sylus just shook his head.

“She gets that from you,” he muttered.

“She gets it from you,” you shot back.

Elena stomped her foot. “I get it from ME.”

Sylus huffed out a laugh, ruffling her hair. Then he pulled something from his pocket.

A second ice cream cone. mint and chocolate flavored, Your child had such a uniquely bad taste, inherited from sylus dare you say.

Elena gasped. “You got me another one?!”

“You lost the first one defending your mother,” Sylus said. “That deserves a reward.”

Elena took it reverently, eyes shining. Then she grabbed Sylus’s coat and started dragging him forward.

“Come on! Let’s go before Mama finds another idiot to fight!”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ Caleb

The mall was bustling with activity, but it felt like the perfect escape for you and your little family. The sun was shining brightly outside, casting its warm glow into the large, open space of the shopping center. Noah, your five-year-old son, was practically bouncing off the walls with excitement as he pulled at your sleeve.

“Mom! Look! These are so cool!” Noah exclaimed, holding up a T-shirt with a picture of a superhero on it. His eyes were wide, and his grin was so full of joy, it made your heart swell. You couldn’t help but laugh at how excited he got about even the smallest things.

“Let’s make sure you have enough clothes to last for the week first, buddy,” you said, guiding him over to the racks of shirts and pants, making sure they weren’t too small. Caleb, your husband and childhood best friend, was already a few steps ahead, scanning the store for something that might catch his eye. The way he moved through the store, quick and energetic, was such a contrast to how he was at home—patient, smiley, and filled with protective energy.

You and Caleb had been together for years, and now, as parents, your bond was stronger than ever. Caleb had always been the energetic, charming guy with an almost perpetual smile, but when it came to family, he was fiercely protective—especially of you and Noah.

“I’m going to grab some clothes for myself,” Caleb said with a wink as he turned toward the men’s section.

“Okay, but don’t take too long,” you replied, giving him a playful shove. He laughed and waved as he went off, leaving you with Noah to pick out his new clothes.

After about ten minutes of Noah trying on a couple of outfits—one of them a pair of bright yellow shorts that made you laugh—you decided it was time to go check the changing rooms.

“Noah, go ahead and try those on, honey. I’ll be right outside if you need anything,” you said as you walked him toward the changing rooms. You leaned against the wall next to the entrance, glancing around at the other shoppers while you waited.

You could hear Noah’s soft voice from inside, asking if the shirt he was trying on looked good. You smiled to yourself, knowing that it was probably his favorite part of shopping—getting to see his reflection in the mirrors and be proud of how grown-up he was becoming.

But then, your moment of peace was shattered.

A man, probably in his late thirties, appeared from the corner of your vision. He had an oily, creepy grin plastered across his face as he stepped closer, his eyes lingering a little too long on you.

You immediately felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

“You look like you’re waiting for someone,” the man said, his voice too smooth, too casual.

You forced yourself to smile politely, though it felt fake. “I’m waiting for my son, actually,” you replied, keeping your tone calm.

The man didn’t seem to get the hint. He leaned in slightly, his breath smelling of too much cologne. “I’m sure your son’s adorable, but you look even better.” He chuckled, making you feel uncomfortable.

You took a small step back, hoping he would take the hint and leave you alone. But no such luck. Instead, he stepped closer again, his expression changing to one of false interest.

“So, how about we—”

Before he could finish the sentence, the changing room door slammed open with such force, it made everyone nearby turn.

There stood Noah—his eyes wide, his little chest puffed out, his arms folded across his body like a mini version of Caleb when he was standing up for his family.

“Hey!” Noah shouted, his voice loud and firm. “You leave my mom alone!”

The man’s eyes widened, taken aback by the sudden interruption. You couldn’t help but let out a relieved laugh.

“Noah, sweetheart, go inside, okay?” you called softly.

But Noah wasn’t done. “You hurt my mom, I’m telling my dad. And he’s really strong.” He lifted his chin, his five-year-old voice full of the authority he had definitely inherited from his dad.

The creep smirked. “Oh, yeah? And who’s your dad?” He leaned in too close, clearly not recognizing who he was dealing with.

But before you could respond, a familiar voice rang out from behind the man. “You better take a step back, pal.”

You turned to see Caleb standing there, his smile gone, replaced with that dangerous glint in his eyes that only came out when he was ready to protect his family.

The man froze. The entire atmosphere shifted. Caleb's mere presence seemed to make the creep realize who he was dealing with. Caleb’s reputation as a colonel in the farspace fleet military, a man whose name commanded respect and fear.

“Colonel, right?” the man muttered, his voice shaking as he took a step back. He must have recognized Caleb from his black uniform. Either way, he’d lost his bravado.

“Yeah, that’s me,” Caleb replied, his voice smooth, but the cold edge in it was undeniable. He took a few slow steps toward the man, causing him to flinch. “And if you ever come near my wife again, I will make sure you regret it.”

The man turned and started walking briskly toward the exit, all sense of confidence gone. Caleb watched him leave, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“Are you okay, babe?” he asked, his expression softening as he came over to you. He placed a hand on your shoulder, pulling you close.

You nodded, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief. “I’m fine. Thank you, Noah,” you added, bending down to give your son a tight hug. “You’re my little hero, you know that?”

Noah beamed up at you, his smile growing even wider. “I’m just like Dad!” he said proudly. “I’ll protect you, Mama.”

Caleb chuckled, ruffling Noah’s hair before bending down to his level. “You’re more like your mom,” he teased gently, “but I’ll take that. You’re my little protector, huh?”

Noah puffed out his chest again. “I’m strong, just like you, Daddy.”

The proud moment melted into a laugh, the tension from earlier dissipating into nothing. You looked at Caleb, who gave you a reassuring smile before picking up a couple of shirts from the display table.

“Now,” Caleb said, with that familiar twinkle back in his eyes, “how about we get some ice cream to celebrate the fact that we’re all still alive? thanks to our superhero noah”

You chuckled, nodding. “Sounds good to me.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀Rafayel

The sun was setting on the horizon, casting a golden hue across the sparkling waters of the private beach. It was one of those perfect afternoons—warm, serene, and untouched by the noise of the world. You, Rafayel, and your little girl, Seraphina, had come to the beach to enjoy the rare tranquility that only a private getaway could offer. The beach, a hidden paradise that sat just behind the villa Rafayel had bought years ago, was the perfect escape from his demanding career as a world-renowned artist.

Rafayel had always been dramatic, always joking around, making you laugh even when you were sure you had nothing to smile about. But that side of him was always reserved for you and Seraphina, the two people who knew him best. Outside of the family, though, he was a completely different person—aloof, and intimidating to most who tried to get close. But with you, his beautiful, vibrant wife, and their daughter, his playfulness knew no bounds.

Seraphina, at five years old, was the perfect mix of both of you. Her eyes sparkled pink and purple, appearance was an exact copy of rafayel's, while her attitude was half like yours. She had inherited many things from Rafayel—his mischievous smile, his artistic temperament, and most importantly, his lemurian merman heritage. The faintest trace of shimmering scales peeked out from beneath the hem of her swimsuit as she darted across the sand, kicking up water behind her.

Rafayel, ever the playful spirit, was already in water, splashing some on seraphina, his laughter light and carefree, as if he had no worries in the world. You watched them both, your heart full.

But, of course, that peace was destined to shatter.

“Mom, look!” Seraphina giggled, pointing at a large driftwood she had found, perfectly shaped like a mini boat. She was attempting to push it into the water, her small hands struggling with its weight.

“Good job, honey,” you said with a smile, nodding in approval. You were about to turn back toward Rafayel when you noticed a figure in the distance—a man walking alone along the shore.

You didn’t think much of it at first. The beach was private, after all. But as the man came closer, you felt a strange unease settle in your stomach. His steps were slow, and his gaze was fixed on you, too focused for comfort.

You tried to ignore the feeling, chalking it up to being overly cautious and pent up from work's stress, But when he got closer and his eyes lingered too long on you, and you instinctively stepped back.

“Hey,” the man called out, his voice low and grating. “You look like you could use some company.”

You forced a smile, tightening your grip on your towel. “I’m fine, thank you.”

But the man didn’t back off. Instead, he took another step forward, closer to you, as if testing your boundaries.

You quickly glanced over to Rafayel, who was still distracted by the waves, unaware of the interaction. Your eyes darted to Seraphina, who was too far away to notice anything amiss. This was your moment to de-escalate the situation.

“I’m really not interested,” you said, your voice calm but firm. “Please leave.”

The man’s grin widened. “Oh, I think you’ll change your mind.” He took another step forward, this time almost too close for comfort. His presence was almost suffocating now, his smile unsettling.

That was it.

Before you could even react, you heard a voice—sharp and clear—cut through the tension like a blade.

“Leave mama alone.”

The man turned toward the voice, startled, just as Seraphina appeared in front of you, hands on her hips, her small frame looking even more determined.

“What—”

Seraphina didn’t wait for him to finish. She raised her arms, her fingers curled as if preparing to cast a spell with her evol. In a moment of pure instinct, she summoned the water from the ocean, sending a wall of waves crashing toward the man with a force that sent him stumbling back into the sand. He sputtered, mouth agape, completely drenched, his eyes wide with disbelief.

“You heard my mom,” Seraphina said, her tone serious, matching Rafayel’s when he was displeased. “Leave.”

The man’s hands flew up in a panicked gesture, clearly shaken by the little girl’s unexpected power. He scrambled backward, tripping on the wet sand, and sprinted away without another word.

You stood there in stunned silence for a moment before letting out a breath of relief. Seraphina had always had a remarkable connection to the ocean, inherited from her father.

You kneeled down to her level, your heart swelling with pride. “Seraphina, you were amazing. Are you okay?”

She smiled brightly, her wide, innocent eyes gleaming. “I don’t like it when people are mean to my mom. I’ll always protect you, mama.”

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes at the simplicity of her statement. Your little girl was so strong and so brave, just like her father.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Rafayel finally turning toward you, having noticed the commotion. His eyes scanned the scene, and when they landed on Seraphina, standing there with her head held high and her chest puffed out, a big smile spread across his face.

“You did it again, little gululu” he said, walking over to you both. He lifted Seraphina into his arms, and she giggled, throwing her arms around his neck. He kissed her cheek, the playful affection in his eyes mixing with a quiet pride.

“You’re my daughter, alright,” Rafayel teased, his voice light and warm despite the tension that had just passed. “You’re just like me" He smiled at you, his eyes softening.

“I don’t know whether I should be proud or worried.”

At that he let out a big teasing pout.

Seraphina wiggled between you both, demanding attention.

Rafayel laughed, holding her close as she nestled into his arms. “Yes, fishy, we will go in the water”

You smiled, looking out at the ocean, the waves continuing their eternal dance along the shore. For a moment, you let the world slip away, allowing yourself to relax in the embrace of your family. Nothing could touch you here—no matter who tried to cross the line.

splash!

With a playful toss, Rafayel sent Seraphina into the ocean, watching with a proud smile as his little fish learned to swim even better. He then followed her into the water, diving beneath the surface. Moments later, he emerged, his form now transformed—his body now stretched to an impressive twelve feet, the full Lemurian form he’d inherited from his ancestors.

[spacedace]

You ever think Dick overhears someone say Jason was the most violent Robin and just gets so mad about it?

And it's not even about like, defending Jason's honor or anything. It's purely because he's just so incredibly insulted that people somehow forgot how much of an unhinged ball of rage he was as a child.

Like I'm imagining him storming into the cave and yanking on his now way too small Robin costume and muttering angrily about I'll show you the angriest Robin

Barbara is facepalming about all the nonsense that's about to pop off that inevitably she's gonna have to clean up. Bruce just starts sweating profusely and desperately trying to talk Dick down because he suddenly remembers that time Dick kicked a criminal so hard they ended up in a coma for a week and smiled so brightly while doing it that the other goons there at the time just chose to jump off a three story building into the suspect sludge that filled Gotham harbor rather than face the unhinged ten year old on bright colors and pixie boots.

Duke: But wasn't Dick the nice one?

Tim, who idolized Dick Grayson's Robin like his own chaotic god: Don't ever insult my favorite Robin that way again. Here are my top thirty photos of him reigning deranged chaotic violence upon his enemies. I'd show you more but this album just has the photos from the first month I started following him and Batman around.

Jason: The hundreds of dead assassins and all the shit I've heard about you and Young Justice suddenly make a lot more sense

[snail-noodle]

shadow milk cookie x reader headcanons

having the beast of deceit as your lover was not something you had planned to happen in your life. funny how life works, huh?

the main thing you had learned from him was that he's desperate for physical touch. being sealed away for thousands and thousands of years hit him the hardest out of the five beasts.

he wept when you gently cupped his faced the first time. you whispered reassurances as you planted soft kisses on his cheeks, nose, and lips. this man is so touch-starved... please give him a ton of kisses! (he really enjoys it when you place kisses on the scar on his eye)

dark moon magic has a cold-like feeling to it. since shadow milk practically depends on that magic, his entire body is cool to the touch. it's also a reason why he enjoys cuddling you and sleeping with you at all costs! he enjoys basking in your warmth and he makes sure to let you know.

during his imprisonment, he came to realize how much he missed the touch of another. ever since the beasts fell and joined forces, they were never as close as they were before. comforting hugs and gentle touches ceased to exist among them after their fall.

hope you like pranks, because shadow milk enjoys pulling them on you! he finds your reactions so funny and cute <3 his cute little cookie.

when the others are around, the both of you pair up to pull pranks on them as well! the others can only sigh in frustration at the two of you constantly teaming up together to mess with them.

even after his fall, shadow milk enjoys stargazing every night. it calms his raging thoughts and gives him comfort. now that he has you with him, he makes sure to stargaze alongside you whenever you're able to.

if you're ever in danger, he's quick to react and will (usually) be quick to get rid of whatever threat is near you. he hardly even cares if it's a cookie or not, he goes in for the kill and asks questions later.

"shadow milk cookie.. that was just a ball..."

"pfft so?? it was about to hit you!"

out of all the beast cookies, shadow milk is by far the most overprotective and powerful of them all. it both scares you and captivates you at the same time. it gets your heart beating quickly knowing that someone that overpowered cares about your wellbeing.

just as he cares about you, you do the same back to him. he tends to get carried away with learning new spells or spying on others. he sometimes forgets to feed himself or take small breaks when he's focused on something. you always pull him away from his works to get a good rest or to eat the delicious meal you just made <3

he swears he falls in love even more with you every day whenever you do these kind actions for him! he sometimes wonders how he got so lucky to have someone like you around...

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP Fanfic: Shift

Danny wanders down the street, confused.

A few minutes ago, he had been sure that the tour guide and his school group were only a few feet away. They were on the last day of their three-day field trip, covering the history of one of the oldest cities in the USA.

It's not the oldest, but the closest Casper High could offer. Gotham City is much bigger than Amity, but it didn't have anything really interesting about it besides having more things to do. Its only claim of fame was how old some significant buildings were in Old Gotham.

Still, for some students who have yet to leave the small town of Amity Park, Gotham was a thing of wonder. Danny couldn't wait to explore with Sam and Tucker tomorrow on their free day. They were going to walk around the plaza market and the mall.

Gotham's mall had five floors. Five.

Then Danny noticed the hotdog cart just a few feet away from the guide informing the group about the large theater, the first public building in Gotham. He hadn't cared for how many balls were held there or how, a few hundred years later, the building gained a stage and seats.

He gestured to the cart to tell Sam he wanted to buy one. He turned to Tucker, but his friend was genuinely interested in the history lesson and shook his head. Danny figured they would cover for him, so he stepped to the side to buy a hotdog, keeping Tucker and Sam in his provisional vision.

He had just finished putting the ketchup on his food when he realized the sounds of the busy city had shifted. It wasn't that it went silent or anything. It was more like sound traveling from one headphone to another.

But he wasn't wearing earbuds, which made the shifting noise extremely alarming. He looked up and around, but everything seemed to stay the same, except there was less traffic, and the sidewalk wasn't as clean as he initially thought. Also, what happened to the sun? Where did all these clouds come from?

Danny turned to ask Tucker and Sam if a freak storm was supposed to happen, but they were gone. So was the Amity Park group. Swinging his head back and forth, he attempts to spot them in the moving crowd, but he can't spot a familiar face.

How did twenty-seven people move that quickly and silently?

"Hey! You need to pay for that!" The hotdog vendor on the other side of the cart shouts. "The ketchup isn't free!"

"But I just bought these two from you." Danny raises his food so that the man can see the logo of his own cart. The man's eyes widen when he sees it. "I just paid-"

"You little thief! You stole from my cart!" The man sneers. Danny reels back, surprised by the accusation as much as the rage in which the man yells. It seems like an overreaction to the student.

"No, I literally just handed you seven dollars for-" Whatever Danny is going to say is cut off by the man cocking a gun, now aimed at his face. Nearby, a woman screams, and the walking crowd breaks into a run, almost as if it's practice clearing the street in seconds.

Wow, it's a much better reaction time than the people of Amity Park. He would have been impressed if he hadn't had a gun aimed at his face.

"What are you doing?"

"You damn street rats are the reason good upstanding citizens like me are struggling! Go back to your county!" The man hisses, and Danny is confused by the sudden attitude shift of what he previously thought was a friendly vendor to take the gun in his face seriously.

The guy wasn't even that scary, not with that pathetic stance. Danny had learned a better stance by the time he was five, and his father had pointed a gun at him in a more threatening way that one time he was dressed as a rubber duck than this.

Scowling, Danny pushes the gun away with the tips of his fingers. "Rude. See if I give your food any stars."

The man makes the motion to pull the trigger, so Danny moves his hand into a strike, knocking the gun from his grip. In one quick turn, he turns it around and points it at the gawking man with a bored expression.

"I'm going to walk away with my meal now," He tells him, watching sweat gathering on the vendor's forehead. The pulse in the older man is rapidly bouncing around his neck, making Danny smirk.

Hotdog man goes sheet white but shutters out, "Alright."

Danny keeps the gun aimed at him even as he gathers his two dogs in one hand and backs away into the street. It's only when he turns a corner, out of sight, that Danny lowers his weapon.

He texts his friends in the three-way chat they have, asking where they went. When a few minutes goes by without the little read sign next to his words goes by, Danny tries calling them. His phone, however, claims his services are out, making him wonder if his Dad forgot to pay the bill again.

Jack could afford it, but the bill deadline always slipped his mind, and he would like to have to wait till Monday to turn it back on. Sighing, Danny decides to head back to the hotel where the school is staying, thinking it would be better to wait out for Mr.Lancer than get lost in the big city.

He strides down the street, following the same path the group took from the Hotel. As he does so, he notices something odd.

Gotham seems wrong. Darker somehow, and the previously friendly people had all vanished as everyone around him gave him dark, mistrustful glances. Not everyone smiles back when Danny says, "We're strangers, but this is a quick, friendly acknowledgment" smile.

It couldn't be the gun. Danny hides it in his pants, the same way he hides his thermos. No one should be able to tell what he's carrying.

It is strange. He's so busy trying to figure out what happened that he nearly misses the fact that the previously well-kept streets have been replaced with closed-down, decrypted buildings. He does notice that the hotel he was staying at for the past two days was boarded up, looking like it's been years since someone last used it.

"What?" He whispers, checking the large sign twice. It's the same name, but three letters are missing.

"That's what I want to know." A man grunts behind him, causing Danny to wirl around and stare in horror at the approaching police officer. "What are you doing with here?"

"I was staying at this hotel." He tells the other man, too disorientated to notice how silent the street had become. He can spot some people watching from the alleyway despite broad daylight. They were hiding. From what?

"Were you? And how much do you have on you?" The cop asks casually.

"Of what?"

The man rolls his eyes before he suddenly kicks Danny in the stomach. The boy is knocked to the floor with a soft grunt of pain. A stomp on his hand has him screaming in pain, but what really makes him angry is the fingers moving around the back of his hands until they close around his wallet.

Nah, was this cop trying to mug him?

Danny throws up a hand, using the palm of his hand to slam it against the chin of the mugger. The man's head is knocked back, and he tilts over, falling into a dead heap. Danny stands, dusts his clothes, and kicks the cop once.

He looks back to the hotel.

Where should he go now? A few seconds go by, and he can see the people in the alley cautiously start to climb out of their hiding, and he thinks it's better to try to find a phone to call home.

He twists on his heels and marches down the street, unaware of the man in yellow watching from a nearby roof.

The man reaches up to his ear, clicking on his communicator as the stranger looks confused despite knowing where he is going. "This is Signal. I found the guy that triggers the Nest's alarms. He seems trained but can't be, at most, sixteen. He also just took down Jeff, the one Gordon was talking about. Let's keep an eye on him. He looks like radiation grew legs and took the shape of a human. "

[bernardsbendystraws]

𝐇𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐝 𝐓𝐨𝐨 — 𝐌.𝐒.

Synopsis: Matt helps you with your trauma.

Warnings: Smut, angst, fluff, soft dom Matt, SA mentions, crying, panic attacks

With love and big tits, Rose

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

He didn’t need much detail to know whatever happened affected you on a daily basis. Matt just knew. It happened more than a year before you two started dating. So much time had passed, yet it still made your life look so…different. 

You didn’t sleep with a comforter. When you did, all you could hear was the ruffle of the sheets, an alert that made you think someone was about to violate you. Because that’s what your ex had done. You wished it was a stranger. You wished it wasn’t somebody that you would've sacrificed everything for. But it was him—a ghost from your past that lingered in every corner of your mind. 

“Sweetheart, I…I know it’s not something you ever talk about. I never wanna make you feel like you have to, but…but can you let me know the things that trigger you, maybe? So I don’t…so I don’t accidentally hurt you—I…I really just wanna make you feel safe, baby. That’s all I want.”

Those affirming words led to a new confrontation of emotion. You talked. For the first time ever, you said your ‘ex’ instead of ‘him.’ The assailant's identity being confirmed into reality just made it so nauseating, yet relieving. You had finally said it—it was finally real. 

“You—your ex?”

It broke Matt’s heart. He could tell by the glossy haze over your eyes that you trusted that poor excuse of a man with your heart fully. Someone broke you—someone broke you enough that you still couldn’t feel safe every night in your own bed. 

Matt listened with full intent. He heard a vibration of rage in his ears, making sure to remain as calm as possible and holding your hand secure with a gentle grip. 

Changes were made instantly. Matt was so genuine, so observant. He switched everything in his bed. Cotton sheets were exchanged for satin and silk. A small night light was purchased—one that looked like a silly penguin. He claimed it was just because he thought it was cute, but it didn’t take you long to realize it only got plugged into the wall when you spent the night. 

It was all for you. 

Even though he wanted to be as close to you as possible, he spent the first couple sleepovers on the opposite side of the bed. The first time, he felt a little sick. You were curled into a ball, nearly falling off from how far your body was on the mattress. 

It took months, but eventually you started gradually shifting to Matt in your sleep. Your body cooperated before your mind did. The first time you woke up with your head resting on his chest and his arm looped around your shoulders…it was horrid. Matt felt awful. The panicked gasps of air still made his chest tighten with guilt, even though he didn’t even really do anything. 

But, it was okay—it was okay because it was Matt, not him. Not the man who had ripped away a love language from you and turned it into a screaming siren of anxiety. It still hurt, but it hurt a little less. You didn’t feel deprived anymore, you just felt heavy. 

A bit more time gave your mind enough reasons to start following your body’s reactions. Matt had learned to move slowly to detach himself from you. He didn’t want you to wake up with that scared look on your face—he couldn’t let that happen to you over and over again. 

“No,” you mumble, pulling Matt closer. Your features are still softened with sleep, a slight furrow between your brows showing a subtle amount of distress. 

Matt pets over your head, trying to soothe you awake gently. “Sweetheart, I…gotta move, I don’t want you to panic—”

“Please.” 

Your gentle whisper is enough to make him relax again. He’s a bit confused, but it’s not enough to make him move. Instead, he lays there, staring at the ceiling and appreciating your warmth—your trust. 

The trust only bloomed with time and patience. Eventually, kisses had gotten more passionate.

His hesitant hands suddenly got grasped by yours as you guided them to your hips. You were sitting on his lap. You had every chance to stand up and leave if you wanted to. But you didn’t want anything else but him.

“Touch me, Matt.” 

Your directions make him swallow with a loud gulp. His eyes widen as he looks into yours with a search for confirmation. “Are you…are you sure, sweetheart. We don’t—”

“I trust you.” 

Light touches got more affirmative as you started to roll your hips onto him.

It felt good…up until it didn’t. 

“I–I don’t know what happened,” you ramble, curled in a ball as he rocks you like a baby from side to side. It’s humiliating, but you can’t find it in yourself to have any dignity in such a raw state. 

You tried. You really fucking tried.

And you failed. 

“I’m sorry for leading you on, I–”

“No. Don’t apologize. We’re gonna take it slow, okay? Don’t…don’t look at this as something to be ashamed about. You…you feel safe enough to try with me and that—that means everything to me, I…”

He pulls you upward into a tight hug as you cry. Part of him just wants to hold you closer, but another part of him just doesn’t want you to see him cry. He wants to focus on you—he wants you to focus on yourself too, not him. Slow, gentle rocks soothe you to doze off as he silently lets hot tears drift down his cheeks. 

You don’t deserve this. Whatever happened to you—he doesn’t care how it affects him, he doesn’t care that his girlfriend of nearly five months hasn’t had sex with him. He cares how it affects you. Sleepless nights, avoiding the mirror, shying away from men—even his brothers. It’s so unfair. It’s so fucking unfair. 

Figuring it out was hard—harder than you would’ve imagined. Failed attempt after failed attempt that left you in tears or distress. It felt so pathetic. You felt weak. Matt was incessant on affirming the opposite.

Weak meant you wouldn’t try—weak meant giving up and the tears meant you were still fighting. 

It wasn’t how you expected it to happen, but it happened. You felt so safe, so comfortable. You didn’t need control like you thought, you just needed to trust him and let him guide you. Being on top of him left more room for overthinking—more room for air to lather your skin with heavy reluctance. 

You both had spent the day together. It wasn’t anything special, no fancy date or big present, but it was relaxing. Matt had gotten you matching pajama pants. He even begged you to wear his favorite shirt that he knew you loved. Blankets piled on top of your bodies as you cuddled together, movie after movie playing on the TV in his room as you sank further into the bed. 

A soft, romantic kiss had led to this—Matt hovering over your naked body while grinding his hard length into your core with his briefs still covering him. The noises, the sensations…it was all so good, but Matt was analyzing every flutter of your eyes, every slight motion from your hands as you gripped onto the sheets. 

“Matt, I—” 

Wordlessly, you tug on the hem of his briefs. Matt freezes for a second. Looking into your eyes, he cups your cheek. “Are you sure, sweetheart? I…I’ll stop if you say the word—but are you sure? Fuck, I just—” Matt bites hard on his lower lip as he feels your hips chase upward and against him. “---just don’t wanna hurt you,” he rasps. 

“I want this, I…I want you, I trust you. I…I just…I—please,” you whimper, tugging a little harder on the fabric. 

Peeling off the remaining barrier between your bodies, Matt glides his tip along your folds and fuck…it feels like heaven. Not just the sensation, but the emotion—the trust—-the bare vulnerability. 

Circling your clit delicately, he lets himself kiss into your neck. “Do you want my fingers first, sweetheart? I—” 

“No, please—” you grind into his touch. “--just want you—all of you.” 

Even though he’s on top, he follows your directions. You’re in control. He’s doing whatever you want, doing what makes you feel good—pleasure and security. 

The initial stretch of his tip is a lot. It feels a bit unfamiliar. You’ve never had sex like this—so raw and bare. It’s more than just skin and bodies, it’s your trust and your peace. 

"Oh--Matt,” you whine. His thick cock is gliding into your walls viciously slow. You feel everything and it all feels like bliss. You’re safe. You can trust him. There’s nothing blocking you from devoting yourself to the present—letting you bathe in the intimacy of truly letting go. 

“I…oh my—are—are you okay? Do you, um,” His mind isn’t connecting words as well. The feeling of your warm walls squeezing his dick is distracting, but he’s intent on taking care of you—making sure you know this is only about you. “--do you need me to stop?” 

“No—keep going, please—” you both let out explicit, lewd moans as your legs swarm around his waist, nuzzling him deep inside of you. 

And god…it’s so consuming. You can’t think of anything. Not when he slowly starts to grind his cock inside of you, a wet squelch making your walls clench around him. 

“I…”

The wordless trail off of your words makes Matt hesitate again. But, he hisses as he feels you start to match his rhythm, your hips rutting upward to meet each motion of his pelvis. 

“Is…is this—ah fuck, is this okay, sweetheart? Is it, is it s–still—”

“More than—-more than okay, I—more, Matt. Please.” 

Your legs loosen as he starts to lazily drive his cock and and out of your slick entrance. He angles his hips upward, digging into you with passion as he sees your mouth fall into an ‘O.’ Your nails dig into his biceps. The pain is encouraging. He’s making you feel so good—so good that your body reacts involuntarily as he plunges himself against the same spot that makes your chest arch into him more and more. 

“My girl, shiiiit,” he seethes. Erratic motions become urgent as he watches your eyes roll back. Your lips smack open to spare him a warning, but fail as he keeps sliding in and out of you with passion and intent. “---gonna cum?” You nod. “Yeah, that—-that’s okay, sweetheart. Just—let—go,” he soothes, trying desperately to hold back his own release as you start muttering his name as a mantra with your walls convulsing deliberately around him. 

“I—Matt, I—”

“That’s it, c’mon. I…I—fuck, feels s’good, baby. Can’t—I can’t hold back much longer. I—” 

The heels of your feet dig into his back, forcing him as deep as possible as you climb down from your high. 

“Sweetheart, please, I need—-need to—-gonna cum, where—”

Tightening your lock around his hips even further, you massage your hands through his hair, pulling him into the side of your neck. Matt’s hips thrust forward with urgency and exhaustion. “Inside. Please, I—-”

“Are you—-are—-you s-sure? Can’t hold back…..can’t---baby,” 

His mindless rambles are cut short as you whisper a soft plea into the air. The deep moan that falls from his lips is mesmerizing. A warm feeling of his cum spilling inside of you makes everything so much more real. 

“Fuck….” Matt breathes heavily, his hot breath fanning onto your neck as he slowly hovers himself above you again. His eyes meet yours with a new found connection, a silence that speaks volumes as you both bathe in the after effects of the intimate acts. “You,” 

You can’t help but swallow thickly as warmth clouds your face. His eyes water looking down at you, his hand cupping your cheek as a soft, sympathetic smile covers his face. 

“I’m so proud of you, I….”

An overwhelming amount of peace consumes you. Your cheek falls further into his hand as his thumb swivels against your skin. The pale blue eyes gleam into you with so much emotion. 

“I’m proud, sweetheart. I just—I hope you’re proud too,” 

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Cregan’s wife gets taken by Silas the Grim and horrible things happens to her. Cregan’s men finds her during the battle or after and bring her back to their Lord. She is traumatized and her dress is ripped in places that makes Cregan sick and rage. Back to winterfell, she gets nightmares and cregan gives her a wolf pup so she feels safe

Please read the warnings carefully. This one might not be for you. 

Warnings: mention of non-con/sa, ptsd, kidnapping,

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

You didn’t know nightmares could happen while you were awake. The worst part was, unlike regular nightmares, you couldn’t wake up to get away from the horrors in your mind. You were trapped in a waking terror, unable to find refuge even in the daylight.

Yours started the day Cregan and a bunch of his men got caught in an ambush by Sylas the Grim’s men on the way to Queensgate. It wasn’t your first time traveling north of Winterfell, you knew to stay close to the group and never stray as it was easy to get lost when the snow was affecting the visibility. But you ended up getting captured by the wildlings and taken to their chieftain. 

The wildling who brought you to Sylas was very proud of himself. You were the wife of the Warden of the North, the only one who his loyalty to was stronger than his one to the Wall. Your capture opened so many opportunities for Sylas, and he planned to use you as a pawn in his game.

Chained inside a small tent, you tried to think of a way of getting out. You couldn’t just wait for Cregan to come and save you from your captor. You were the Lady of Winterfell, you needed to be resourceful and strong. 

Two men were standing outside your tent, guarding — and ignoring you. They were relaying their service at night and bringing you scraps of food, just enough to keep you alive. Because you would serve their chieftain nothing if you were dead. 

Although the food was disgusting, it wasn’t the worst part of being held captive. It was Sylas. The wildling chief would come into your tent and question you about Cregan’s strategies. Loyal to your husband and your people, you didn’t give any information away. You would never betray your people. 

One night, you were asleep in the corner of your tent, your body curled on itself to keep warm, when you heard Sylas come in and undo his breeches. He was drunk and horny. 

His sick intentions immediately clicked and you tried to get away from him. The tent was small, so he quickly got hold of you. You clawed and kicked at him as his filthy hands snuck under your dress and uncovered your intimacy. You screamed, which earned you a slap in the face and Sylas’s tighter grip on your hips. 

⁂

Two long moons went by. By that time, your body was so weak and frail that you didn't even hear the battle raging outside your tent. Your mind, clouded by malnutrition and the relentless abuse, struggled to make sense of anything beyond the constant pain and exhaustion.

Your eyes opened when you felt someone’s hands on you, shaking you awake. Assuming it was Sylas coming to empty his balls, you closed your eyes and let him take you. You didn’t have energy to fight him anymore. But the voice that filled the tent didn't sound like a wildling. 

‘’Go and tell Lord Stark we found her.’’ 

The man who had spoken stayed by your side, keeping watch until his Lord arrived. He must have been far because darkness was beginning to fall when Cregan stormed into the tent, his face and clothes had blood and dirt from the battle.

‘’Where is she?’’ his voice boomed, a mixture of anger and desperation. 

The sight of his wife trembling in the corner nearly made his heart stop. You looked fragile and thin, your skin was as white as the snow, and your dress was torn in several places. Your hair was matted and there were stains of fluids on your dress. 

Cregan felt sick. If Sylas had not been already dead, he would kill him again. 

The Northman quickly knelt by your side and wrapped his fur cloak around you, covering your body as much as possible. He whispered your name, but you only blinked. ‘’I came as fast as I could. I'm here now, you're safe.’’ He gently raised your chin to look at your face, and his jaw clenched tighter at the sight of her bruised and weakened state. 

⁂

The journey to Winterfell was a complete blur to you. You didn’t remember anything of the ten days spent sitting in the carriage, bundled in furs. Cregan personally took responsibility to escort the carriage, walking right in front of it and making sure no one would try to capture his wife again. 

Once you walked through the gates of Winterfell, a maester was summoned to tend to you. You would need a bath and new clothes too, but that could wait. While the maester was getting gathering his things, Cregan reached for the button of your coat to help you out of it, but you began screaming and thrashing in the cot as if he was trying to harm you — to rape you. 

Cregan quickly stepped back and held his hands up so you could see them. ‘’I will not touch you if it is what you wish. That’s alright.’’ His voice was calm and soft, and his eyes held your gaze. ‘’But the master needs to see your wounds and tend to them.’’

You shook your head. ‘’Don’t touch me. Please, not again.’’ 

Tears filled your eyes and Cregan nodded. ‘’Fetch the servants and have them draw a warm bath for Lady Stark. And a warm meal brought to our chambers. The best meat we have.’’ 

The maester frowned at his lord’s instructions. ‘’My Lord, it would be preferable if I could—’’ he began to protest, but Cregan shut him up. 

He will not have a man touch his traumatized wife against her will. Not after what you had endured when held captive. 

‘’Another day,’’ he said firmly. ‘’Lady Stark needs a bath and a warm meal, and rest.’’ 

⁂

The days that followed were difficult and required a lot of accommodations. Starting with a change in the personnel who were allowed in your chambers. You had made it clear that you didn't want men around you, so Cregan requested that only women came to your chambers. To bring your meals, to help you bathe or dress. 

The only man who was allowed near you was your husband. In fact, you didn't want Cregan to leave you — ever. He was always close. Especially at night, when the nightmares of the horrors you went through invaded your dreams. 

A blood chilling scream filled your chambers, startling Cregan awake. 

Every night since your return had been like this. The maester suggested you take a drought to help you sleep, but it didn’t work. Since you were in a deeper sleep, it made it more difficult to stir you from your nightmare.

‘’Shh, I’m here. We’re in Winterfell. You are safe,’’ he whispered to you, pulling your trembling body against him as tears rolled down your cheeks. 

Cregan felt helpless. There was nothing he could do or say that would take the pain away. He couldn't magically make the memories and images go away. All he could be was a chest for you to cry into. 

He prayed in the Godswood and asked counsel from women who he knew had gone through difficult things, hoping to find guidance from their own experiences. Unfortunately, years later, some still had not overcome their trauma. 

Cregan sat in his study while you were taking some fresh air with Lady Lysa, rubbing his temples with his eyes closed. He knew your fear was rooted in your assault. You weren’t scared to be alone, you were scared that a man would use his size and strength against you — again. 

When Winter comes, he’ll have to go to the Wall…and leave you. What will you do when he’s not there to make you feel safe? You didn’t allow any other men near you. He had to come up with something to ease your fears and make you feel safe in his absence. 

⁂

‘’Where is my husband?’’ you asked the servant who brought you your morning meal. He was gone when you woke, and only left a vague note on the table. 

The small girl cleared her throat before replying. ‘’Lord Stark had to absent himself for the day, my Lady. He is to return before nightfall.’’

You nodded. ‘’I wish to be notified when he passes the gates.’’ 

‘’Very well, My Lady.’’ She bowed and exited your chambers. 

As the servant had said, Cregan returned before nightfall. Snow dusted the top of his head and the pelt of his cloak when you greeted him in the great hall. 

When he saw you standing by the entrance, a warm smile spread over his face. “Good evening, my love,” he said, his voice was gentle as he placed one leather gloved hand under your chin to pull you closer and press a soft kiss against your forehead. "I have something to show you. Come with me."

You were not dressed apropriately to go outside, but Cregan had already take your hand to lead you out of the great hall and towards the courtyard. The sky was getting dark and fresh snow fell steadily, leaving a blanket of white across the ground. You felt a chill thorugh the sleeved of your dress. Hopefully you won't stay out long. 

Cregan turned a corner towards the kennels, leaving you confused. He opened the door and asked you to close your eyes. 

''Cregan, what-''

''Just close your eyes.''

You did as directed, and to make sure they were properly closed, the northman placed his hand over your eyes from behind. "No peeking," he whispered into your ear.

He closed the door and led you deeper into the kennels, careful with every step, making sure not to make you trip or stumble. Once you were where he wanted you, he removed his hand but didn't tell you to open your eyes yet.  

You heard shuffling and rustling, then...a small cry. 

‘’Open your eyes.’’

With the command, you opened your eyes. Lying in the crook of Cregan's arm, was a small gray and white pup. It sniffed the fabric of his cloak, its small tongue licking at the thick wool. You reached to pet it, and immediately felt its cold, wet nose brush against your hands, causing you to giggle. Cregan smiled, watching the two of you get acquainted. 

''It's a direwolf,'' he stated, his voice echoing in the quietness of the kennels. ''Like the sigil of our house. He'll grow large and strong. He'll be able to protect you when I'm not around.'' 

The little pup looked up at you, its beady eyes staring into yours. You didn’t know what to say, deeply touched by his gift to you.

—

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[ap-kinda-lit]

This is Vegeta as a kid and you can’t change my mind

[parfaitblogs]

never grow up ❀ s. reid x reader

in which you are at the age you never thought you'd live to. 

genre: hurt/comfort + fluff! tags: established relationship. (very brief) mentions of r not eating. depression. non sexual nudity. mention of a past suicide attempt. reader is codependent on spencer #anxiousattachment!! mini argument not really because he loves you a lot!!! please know your triggers ♡  word count: 2.2k a/n: this was a vent write. LOL! i think i switch tenses a lot in this? i tried to fix it. this is why we don't write fanfiction while we're crying!!! i love u i love u i love u and i am so so glad you are the age that you are!! continue to grow please!! life will become beautiful!!!

Depression is a funny thing.

Sometimes you are forgetting there has ever been a version of you out there that fantasised about death and longed for an escape from this world you deemed so cruel, so invasive. Other times, you are sat naked on the cold floor of your bathroom rocking back and forth, clawing at your skin and ripping hair out of your scalp because you are sobbing so ferociously. The world spinning around you and your cries, so violent, are making you lightheaded and you wonder if you pass out here if anyone will ever find you. 

Clearly, tonight, you are the latter.

It started as a small pit in your stomach that morning, that you braved through and ignored to the best of your ability, even as you said gentle 'no thank you's' to food offered by your co-workers and forced your brain to focus on work and not the never-ending abyss of dread in your abdomen. Then, it became a tear or two on your way home, that you vehemently wiped away and pretended was never there because it couldn't be. 

Then you were showering to get your mind off things — a stupid decision, really. For your brain was latching on to every awful emotion it had felt thus far today, and you were stepping out of the shower with an even heavier heart, and your hands were wrapping around your now goosebump riddled body, as you were sinking to the floor in a ball.

And maybe hours passed by you. Maybe days — it certainly felt that way. Maybe it was only a mere five minutes. But your loud sobs felt like they took an achingly long time to slow and quiet down, until they were falling into ugly sniffles of the snot on your face, and a raging headache behind your eyes. 

Loud sobs — scream sobs, really — had a lot of disadvantages. The aftermath feeling of embarrassment of screaming at your brain that refused to simply shut up, the scratch at your throat from every sound you ripped from it. The audio block it gave you from the rest of the world. For you truly were in your own universe when you were howling alone in the comfort of your bathroom walls.

So much so, that the familiar sound of a door opening and closing, and a bag being placed down by the side of it, went entirely unnoticed to you. Footsteps against your apartment's wooden flooring weren't picked up, nor were the first two knocks on your bathroom door. By the third, you were blubbering through saliva and snot, and you had heard it. Followed by a very gentle calling of your name, that had your heart clenching within your chest for a new reason. 

He had said he was coming home tomorrow. Which almost always meant he wouldn't be home for another three days, and so, in your mind, you thought bawling that night could be a secret kept between you and your tiles. 

Apparently not. 

He called your name again when you didn't reply, an added hint of desperation in his voice. Trembling, you stood, your limbs feeling as though they were creaking while you straightened them out. And you didn't bother about the towel sitting in a crumpled heap on the floor, nor the pile of your clean clothes sitting on the countertop. In fact, you didn't bother about anything as a shaking hand twisted the doorknob and pulled it open.

In an instant, his worried frown deepened, and eyes that might usually drink in the sight of your naked body beautifully, now didn't wander further than the scarlet scratch marks along your neck — blood vessels risen to the surface from how fragile that part of you was. He exhaled, and took a hesitating step towards you. One you welcomed by remaining planted in your spot — you didn't know if you could move, though. 

"Can I ask what's wrong, or do you simply want a hug?" 

Both, you wanted to say. Both, but also neither. 

You didn’t say that. Instead, you said, "Hug."

He hardly took a second to register what you'd said before his arms were wrapping around you. If he found the slightly damp state of your skin annoying, he didn't comment on it. He didn't say much at all, as he enveloped you into his body, a hand securing itself on the back of your head, and his chin resting atop your head. 

Water dripped uncomfortably to the floor, splattering on the tiles and his shoes, being the only sound aside from your irregular hiccups and sniffles. His button-up was wet from your tears and your body, and you could almost hear his complaints about it, if this were any other day. 

Minutes passed, and even though you didn't want to, you pulled back, feeling his hands slip around to your waist and hold you benevolently. Your own hands reached up to your face to wipe away tears, an embarrassed laugh escaping your lips. 

"This is pathetic," you said, fingers digging into the corners of your stinging eyes. 

"How?" he asked you.

"I didn't think you'd be home to see me having a mental breakdown."

A smile that didn't quite reach his eyes appeared on his lips. "Well, I am." Fingers squeezed your waist reassuringly. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

You shrugged, wordlessly, your eyes dropping from his face to the damp spot on his chest from where your face had once been, heart stuttering. 

"We don't have to, honey," he said. "But it might help."

"I know it might," you muttered. 

He was silent, as were you. A few more beats passed between you two, before you were turning around to pick up clothes you had left for yourself on the counter. You didn't really feel any different under his watchful gaze as you dressed yourself. Accustomed to the act, or simply too overwhelmed with another emotion, you didn't know. 

He followed you into the living room when you walked out there, and he sat down next to you on the couch you curled up on. You opened and closed your mouth a few times, and he lifted his head on each intake of breath you had, as if about to say something. But you never did. 

So, he took over.

"Did something happen today?" You shook your head, and he nodded his own. "Okay. This past week?" You shook your head again, because other than missing him while he had been stuck in Texas for a case, nothing had actually happened. 

You wished it had. Truly, you wished you had experienced a murder on your way to work, or a distant family member had passed away so you could blame this feeling on something other than memories simply resurfacing. 

You sniffled again. "You know," you began, voice thick and wobbly from the lump lodged in your throat. "When I was fourteen, I didn't think I'd ever be this old."

Your gaze lifted from your lap to look at him, and you let a helpless tear fall from one of your eyes when you locked eyes with him. He was confused, unsurprisingly so.

So, you continued. "I tried to kill myself. When I was fourteen."

He readjusted his posture, eyebrows falling into a more concerned state, and he was silent for so long you wondered if this was when he decided you were too much and too complicated for him to deal with. 

He didn't. "I didn't know," he said, instead. 

"I don't exactly advertise it," you replied, and even if it was an attempt at being light hearted, it fell flat. "I just realised I never thought I'd be this age," you continued when he hardly reacted, "and I've been really anxious and down all week, so I think that realisation kind of sent me over the edge."

"Are you happy you're at this age?" 

Hesitantly, but surely, you nodded your head. "I got to meet you."

His lips twitched, but a smile never crossed his face. "You should be happy for reasons more than just me."

"You are my reason for being happy," you argued. 

"And I'm glad to hear I make you happy, but I cannot be your only reason."

"Why not?"

"Because that's dependency." 

You short-circuited, and he sighed upon realising the way you were taking his words — maybe not the smartest thing he could've said to his still tear-stricken-faced girlfriend. 

"What I mean is you should have other areas in your life that make you happy. Not just me."

"I like my job," you mumbled, gaze relocating to your lap. "And my friends."

"Great," he said, and you could feel his weight shifting on the couch as he nudged closer to you. "As long as I'm not your reason for living."

Your eyebrows furrowed. "You've been my reason for living since we started dating. Why is it different now?"

"I didn't know I was your reason for living until now."

"So if you are, then what? You leave me?" 

"No," his response was so immediate you were sure you could feel the whiplash, and he ran a hand down his face with an exasperated sigh. "I don't want to fight with you when you're like this."

"I don't want to fight with you either," you agreed, fidgeting with your fingers in your lap. "I'm sorry I'm co-dependent."

He didn't respond for a while, mulling everything you two had shared and now, your apology, over in his head. You sat, anxiously, as minutes ticked by until he was puffing his cheeks to let out air, and standing up from the couch. 

He turned to you. "I love you, you know that," he began, and even before he had a chance to finish, you were already drowning him out, world crumbling around you as tears welled back up in your eyes. Maybe if you weren't as emotional as you were that night, your vision wouldn't have already gone blurry, and your heart wouldn't be shattering in your chest already. 

"But?" you countered, a sob escaping you at the end of the word.

He froze at the sound of it, his eyebrows turning in to each other, "Sorry?"

"You love me, but?"

"I don't understand."

"I'm sitting here, sobbing really violently and I look hideous, and you've just discovered I'm co-dependent, and you don't like that about me, so now you're telling me that you love me, but this isn't going to work out, and I need to work on myself before I get into another relationship, and you hope I can find happiness, and—"

"—What are you talking about?" he cut your ranting off, blinking a few times, confused. 

"Is that not what's happening?" 

"No?"

"Oh."

You stared at him, and he stared at you, and you felt your heart slowly pick itself back up from the pits of your stomach, each piece mending itself back together. He wasn't breaking up with you.

"I wasn't going to say that at all. Please don't put words in my mouth."

"Sorry," you said, though it wasn't very sincere. He crouched down in front of you, hands finding your fidgeting ones to hold them.

"Can I finish what I'm going to say before you cut me off this time?" Wordlessly, you nodded your head, and so he continued. "I love you, and you know that, and I don't want you to think I'm upset or mad at you for being codependent. You're allowed to not know how to navigate a relationship. But—"

"—There it is—" he glared with no real heat at you, and your lips twitched "—Sorry."

"But I need you to communicate with me. I'm going to inevitably do things that upset you, because you're co-dependent. We need to figure those things out, because a lot of the time you will respond unhealthily, and knowing what I know now, I don't want to be a trigger in any way."

"You won't be a trigger," you mumbled, and he shot you a pointed look, and your shoulders deflated. "I just feel stupid communicating things like that. Like, oh, I'm sad because my boyfriend is out of state for work and he's super busy and not responding to my messages so I think he might hate me."

"That isn't stupid."

"Yes it is!"

He said your name, eyebrows risen, and he shook his head. "You're upset about something. That isn't a stupid thing at all."

"It feels stupid."

"Okay, well, how about the next time I'm away on a case and not replying and you miss me, which is what that crazy, sad, completely reasonable phenomenon is called, by the way, you communicate that with me, and you see how I respond?"

"What if you tell me to go fuck myself?" 

He didn't even need to verbally deny your words for you to know that that response was completely out of character for him. All it took was one simple look, and you were diffidently smiling and averting your gaze, mumbling a quiet, "Okay."

And yes, the next time he was out of the state and you missed him, as he so kindly put it, you told him. And he spent three hours on the phone that night with you, reassuringly expressing how much he loved you, and how little he hated you.

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[minarinnn]

“notice me”

luke castellan x aphrodite!reader (pt2 here)

content/trigger warnings: fem! reader, doesn’t follow the plot of tlt!, mentions of smut, sexual tension, manipulation?, groping, reader making luke jealous

a/n: the show has once again sparked up my love for the percy jackson book saga and charlie bushnell has me weakkk ughhh.. i normally don’t write for pjo characters but oh well, lmk if y’all want a continuation of this or just more luke castellan in general ;)

you had always been so used to being the center of attention. as a daughter of aphrodite, you had always been the most popular girl in school, and there was no shortage of boys falling for your charms

arriving at camp half-blood didn change that, nothing was different. except that, for the first time in your life, you found yourself chasing after the attention of a certain boy. luke castellan, the son of hermes and the head counselor of his cabin, he just wouldn’t fawn over you like the others would. despite your best efforts, luke had always remained indifferent to your constant flirting, leaving you feeling frustrated and determined to change his mind

you found yourself spending every waking moment trying to get his attention, trying to find some way to charm him and make him see you the way the other boys did. but no matter how hard you tried, luke remained distant and unimpressed

this week you were extremely busy, you were helping out in the infirmary, one of the apollo kids who usually worked in the infirmary had been sent on a quest and you were asked to fill in until they came back. juggling that with all your other responsibilities as counselor had you beyond occupied

during that week, annabeth barged in with two other guys; percy and luke. apparently their sparring session had gone a little out of hand and they were both injured

luke was already aware of how you’ve been trying to get his attention these past few years. he actually seems to quite like having you, the most fawned over girl at camp, fawning over him instead. he liked the attention you gave him, though he knew that if he ever gave in to your charms you would stop, so he didn’t

he was fully prepared and expected you to be the one to tend to him, so when he sees you head to percy and tend to him while an apollo girl tended to him he was confused

what happened? why would you choose percy over him? we’re you tired of him? did you give up on trying to win him over? luke’s confusion quickly turned to frustration, and he couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy as he watched you tend to percy’s wounds

"how are you feeling, percy?" you asked, giving him a warm smile, one that always had the boys weak in the knees. "n-not great, but i’ll manage" he laughed awkwardly, suddenly nervous. you put your hand on his shoulder, giving it a small squeeze "oh, i’m sure you’ll live”

out of the corner of your eye, you saw luke. he was watching you, watching the way you cared for percy. this was the first time you had ever caught him staring at you with such intensity

so you’re plan was working. you had tried everything to get his attention and you had only one trick left in your arsenal; jealosy. no boy is immune to jealousy, and that was exactly how you were gonna get him

in the end, all you had to do was throw some water at percy and he was good to go. luke though, he had to spend the night in the infirmary

the other apollo kid had left a few minutes ago, something about ‘having other things to do’. so it was just luke and you in the infirmary. you walk over to luke's bed and start tending to his wounds

“oh so now you wanna take care of me? how nice of you” he speaks, sarcasm dripping from his words. “you can tough it out, can't you?" you tease, dabbing away at his cuts with an alcohol-soaked cotton ball. luke is watching you intently and you can feel the tension in the room increasing, his eyes fixated on your hands as you work

luke’s eyes narrow, and you can see the rage boiling beneath the surface. he’s frustrated, jealous, and he doesn't know what to do with all these emotions. you’ve never seen him like this before, and it's a thrill to know that you have the power to make him feel this way

you try to ignore the tense atmosphere in the room, focusing instead on luke's wounds. you finish cleaning and bandaging the cut on his wrist, holding it up to your face to land a soft kiss on the bandages. “all done” you whisper. he tenses at the feeling of your soft lips, and you can see the anger in his eyes. however, you can also see a hint of something else— desire

you look up at him with a smile, knowing that you've got him right where you want him. his eyes are locked on your every movement. you know that you have him wrapped around your finger, and it's a delicious feeling of power

luke’s expression is one of confusion, a mix of rage and desire. he wants you, and he wants to hate you at the same time. it’s a weird combo, but it's working for you.

you lean closer to him, your lips inches away from each other. you can feel his breath on your skin, the heat of his body as he's lying there

"you’re not stopping me" you state, breaking the silence. it’s a quiet, soft whisper, filled with a tiny bit of amusement

"maybe.. maybe i don’t want you to stop" he says, his eyes locked on yours, voice low and husky. you can see the desire building in him, how his gaze trails down to your lips

luke’s breathing quickened, and he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. he knew that this was a game for you, a game where you would always be determined to win him over, but now, in this very moment, he felt like he was losing

he lets out a hiss of frustration, of desire, of... something. he’s sure knows that you're proud of it, but he’s not quite sure what to do about it

you leaned in for the kiss, your lips pressing gently against his, your hand running through his hair. you could feel his body tensing, his hands gripping your waist as he attempted to pull you on top of him

you pull away from the kiss slowly, your lips still pressed to his. luke is still trying to catch his breath, his eyes fixed on yours, searching for any hint of what your next move will be

"not bad" you whisper. "you’re playing a dangerous game here” he chuckles lowly, making your lower regions throb. you smirk softly and brush his hair out of his face “i’ll take my chances”

despite being injured, he pulls you on top of him, making you realize just how hard he’s been this whole time. his eyes are dark, and you can see the lust burning within them

you lean in for another kiss, this one soft and gentle. luke groans when he feels you grind against him, his hands moving down to grab hold of your ass

“i need you s’bad” he mutters out. you smirk as you slide off him, making him furrow his brows in confusion. you land a soft kiss on his cheek. “let’s do this when you’re not injured” you whisper in his ear. now he was alone and hard in the infirmary, how nice

© MINARINNN 2024 - please do not plagiarize or upload my content on any social media platform.

[straows]

Garden Injuries p.2

—in which you wake up after being out for three days from fever, only to find Sukuna waiting by your side. He's rather eager for you to heal... for many reasons.

A/n: I really wanted to write this but like I want to implode because I kind of fucking hate it?? Also, should I make a taglist??????

<< part one

Waking up, you immediately felt a raging pain in your thigh. You could feel your heartbeat pulse in the wound— it was that kinda bad. Not only that, but your throat was dry and you were colder than Sukuna’s attitude towards humans.

Slowly, you pried your eyes open. It felt like you’d been asleep for years, you’d been asleep for three days while the fever wore off. Sighing, you sat up, biting your lip as you winced, keeping down the hiss that threatened to leave you.

Looking down at your body, you had no pants on. Only your panties and the shirt you were wearing were sure as shit not yours. It is massive, and dropped over your body like a blanket almost. The neckline slipping over your shoulder too.

Taking the neck hem to your nose, it smelt like Sukuna. And immediately, embarrassingly enough, it had you smiling softly. However, you quickly notice a figure moving in the corner.

“You’re finally awake, brat.” Sukuna walked over, crouching down in front of you. He pressed the back of his hand against your forehead, “you humans are so weak, however you are on the tail end of the fever.” His eyes glanced down at the wound on your leg, and his jaw clenched with frustration.

Because you’d hidden this from him, it’d gotten infected. The stitches you’d received from one of the servants were horrible and had only made the wound worse.

“Uraume tells me this wound will take a while to heal. It will scar,” he glared at you as he leaned in, his face inches from yours, “this is your fault, brat.”

Your brows furrowed, and you huffed, “I was fine without your help, my Lord.” Oh you were feisty. And he fucking ate it up. No one else had the balls to snap at him like you did, and you didn’t even have balls.

“You would’ve died from the fever and succumbed to your wounds without me.” He mused, raising a brow when you scoffed at him. Looking like a pissed off squirrel in his eyes. A cute one at that.

“This is why I hid it from you,” rolling your eyes, you began to try and stand, only for him to quickly push you back down by your shoulder.

“Remember who you speak to, brat.” His glare silenced you promptly, but you still had a pout on your pretty lips. “You will be staying in this room with me from now on.”

“What about the garden? That is my only duty here—“ you were a bit worried now. Sukuna was known to throw away servants who could no longer do their jobs. He’d kill them and use them as an example. But you knew damn well you were his favorite.

“What of it?” Sukuna narrowed his eyes, before sitting down in front of you, a servant came in promptly with a tray of a variety of foods, ranging from meat to fruit to sweets. “Eat.”

“Well I can’t stay here and tend to the garden… your chambers are quite far.” You tried to reason with him, before quickly snatching a chunk of steak with your hands and fucking devouring it. You were starving.

Sukuna enjoyed watching you eat like an animal far too much. It had satisfaction pooling in his stomach, yes, he’d provided for you. You, his future wife and queen.

“Your duties as a gardener have been removed, another servant has replaced your position.”

You froze mid-bite, your eyes wide as you looked up at him, “but— but that’s my job. No one else does it better than me!” You are nervous now. Your only job, the thing you were best at had been taken. Now what were you to do?

“You will remain at my side. As I had said three days ago before you passed out. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten?” Sukuna tilted his head slightly, before putting the meat in your hand. He grabbed a small cloth and wiped your hands and face before grabbing you by your hips and easily pulling you against his chest. Your body rested between his propped-up knees, back fitting perfectly against his chest.

“I-I… don’t remember.” Your face was a bright red as you let Sukuna move you. Swallowing nervously you tilted your head back so you could look up at him.

“Then I will remind you,” his hands came to rest on your throat, so you’d have no choice but to stare up at him, “You are my mate, my queen, and my woman. You will no longer be a simple servant. You will command all others and learn how to lead so you may lead alongside me.” He said it so easily, while you just stared at him.

And you stared.

And stared,

Before busting out laughing. “Pfft— my Lord, you shouldn’t just like that, I almost believed you.” Your laughter mellowed down to giggles as you smiled, before looking up at him again, you saw his hardened expression and shut your mouth.

“I do not jest, human.” His brows were furrowed and he pulled to a natural frown.

“M-My lord—“

“Sukuna. You are no longer my servant, do not address me as such.” He corrected, his eyes analyzing your reaction with growing amusement.

You sighed, “Sukuna, I’m not even one of your concubines, wouldn’t at least one of them be a better choice?”

“I’ve gotten rid of them.”

“What?!” Your jaw dropped as you stared at him. “Why?”

“You are the only one I need. I grew tired of their touches and crave yours. I just have to wait till your wound heals.” He mumbled and moved his chin to rest on your shoulder. His big hands came up to rest on your soft stomach, “soon you will be round with my heir.”

“Heir?!”

“Yes.”

“This is insane.”

“Sanity has nothing to do with what I plan for us.” He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, his hands gently kneaded your tummy as thoughts of you full and round with his kid popped up. Oh how ready he was to finally have you and claim you.

“…you’re serious?” You stared at the tray of food, then down at his hands that explored your torso.

“Yes. Once again, I am not joking, human.” He huffed.

“…right. I still want to take care of the garden.” You were so confident when you said that, a mistake on your end.

“Have I not made myself clear? Must I make you understand another way?” Sukuna bit down on your shoulder, making you gasp before a squeal ripped from your throat as his hand dipped underneath your panties, cupping your cunt in a way that had you aching.

“Wait—“ You tried to grab at his wrist, but he was not having it. It merely made him slip a finger into you, to prove his point.

“You are no longer a servant. I do not touch my servants like this. You will understand this.” His voice was determined and stern as he curled his finger inside you. Slowly stretching you. And while, yes, he was doing this to prove his point, he’s also been holding himself back from touching you. And this? This was a great excuse to get his hands on you… and in you.

Moaning softly, your back arched against him as his middle finger, thick and long, curled inside you. And soon, his middle finger was joined with his ring finger.

“You will learn to rule by my side, I will not have it any other way.” He spoke against your ear, finding your reactions to his touch utterly delicious.

He abandoned the gentle approach and began to quickly fuck you with his fingers. The feeling of you squirm and moan against him had his cock(s) growing hard. “Does that feel good, human? Hm?”

You nodded your head quickly, and despite the pain in your leg, you couldn’t help but rock your hips against his hand, chasing the pleasure that had your muscles taught in need.

“I can feel you tighten around me, your body is so honest.” His other hand slipped under your arm before grasping at your tits. Squeezing and kneading the soft, heavy flesh.

“Kuna-!!” Your words were slurred as you continued to work your cunt like he knew it with his eyes closed.

Sukuna merely hummed in response, happy with simply watching you fall apart against him. He sighed in satisfaction when you finally came around his fingers, and he could feel how tight you squeezed.

“When you heal, I will claim you, and then you will be fully mine.” He murmured against your ear, a smug grin rose to his lips as you just whined in response, your body already growing tired. Eyes fluttering shut, in record time your breathing evened out and you’d fallen asleep against him.

“My weak little human.” He wrapped his arms around you in a protective hold, the feeling of finally having you in his arms was one he was rapidly growing fond of.

Taglist @xyinparadise @sofi4dsam

[invincibledc]

Please please pleaseeeee can we have more of Jack?

જ⁀➴𝐁𝐚𝐧𝐠! 𝐏𝐨𝐰! 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐦!

 ────୨ৎ────

𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐍𝐍 (𝐎𝐂) 𝐗 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐈𝐒!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

Synopsis: when Jack explodes. He explodes. All because his own henchmen had fucked with the wrong person to kidnapped. The one to be the start of his obsession.

Genre: oneshot/slight yandere

Info: this OC is an OC I’m written for my own amusement. He’s the son of Harley Quinn and joker. Full name, Jacklyn Oswald Quinn. I got bored. Reader is the twin sister of Damian, but Damian is the older twin of course. Im only a writer so you can imagine who he looks more like but all I can is he is handsome canonically in my head and anything. Boy’s crazy but handsome.

Word count: 822

Anger barely encapsulates what Jack feels in this moment. His men had promised him a surprise, and he had little patience for surprises.

With his dyed green hair and piercing cold blue eyes, he strode into the warehouse where his so-called henchmen awaited. Sucking on a blueberry-flavored lollipop, his favorite, he remained unfazed by the setting around him.

Jack positioned himself in front of the massive door, inhaling deeply before stepping inside. “Where are they?” he demanded, his voice low and gravelly. He navigated through the stacks of storage boxes until he finally spotted his henchmen—three older men—glaring at him with the usual joker goon attire. Their lack of enthusiasm set a tone that didn’t sit well with him.

“What’s this all about?” he asked, moving assertively toward the trio.

“Guess what!” one of them chimed in, a bald man Jack had nicknamed Baldie due to his shiny head. Jack bit down harder on the lollipop, feeling his time stretched thin.

“Spit it out,” he ordered coldly, his expression darkening. He longed to return to the place he reluctantly called "home," even if it hardly felt like home at all. The three men exchanged glances before one of them shifted away, prompting Jack to raise an eyebrow in skepticism.

Minutes later, Jack sees a girl with a bag over her head. She seemed to be unconscious, making Jack furrow his brow and narrow his eyes to almost slits.

“Who the hell is she?” he snapped, the Brooklyn accent sharpening his tone. “Don’t tell me you brought me some damn girl off the streets.” As he spoke, he yanked the lollipop stick from his mouth, discarding it recklessly.

Jack strode toward the girl’s body, a confident smirk on his henchmen’s faces as they watched him take action with a decisive, swift movement.

But as Jack saw her, his eyes widened in shock. His henchmen misinterpreted this reaction, thinking he was simply entertained.

“Tada! We captured Bruce Wayne’s daughter. Aren’t you thrilled, boss?” the bald one taunted, while the others nodded in agreement.

Jack stayed quiet, his hand caressing your face. Your beautiful face with a busted lip, a small bruise under your eye. His hand started to shake, his other hand balled into a fist, it was obvious they caught you off guard.

They harmed your face.

They dared to mar the beauty he cherishes in you. Jack rose to his feet, a shadow cloaking his face. He began to laugh slowly, but it was not the familiar laugh that echoed in the past.

No, this one was chilling, dark, and laced with malice. He felt something more profound than mere anger—he felt a fierce rage, an overwhelming possession, an all-consuming obsession.

He would be the one to confront you; he would dominate this cat-and-mouse game. They have interfered with his design and obliterated its very essence. They have trampled on his obsession.

Jack's laughter erupted, louder and more menacing, sending a spine-tingling sensation through his henchmen. The pride that once adorned their faces began to fade, replaced by the dawning realization of fear.

“You.. you did this?” He says, still laughing through words as he points to your body, tied up by ropes that also seem to bruise your body.

“W-we did..” one of them said with uncertainty how to answer.

With that simple answer, Jack stopped laughing. He turned his head to face them, finally giving them a glance at his crazed expression. His cold eyes were freezing, the natural blue now deep ocean blue eyes.

“That’s all I wanted to know.” Immediately with that, Jack pulled out a gun, pointing it with a dark expression. “It was fun when it lasted, pathetic.”

The bald one stood up straight, feeling brave as he walked towards the boy. “That’s a toy gun, you aren’t fooling anyone, Junior.” the man says, trying to lighten the situation.

“Is it?” Jack said with a mused grin, the bald man went to snatch the gun when a loud gunshot ran through the air.

The man fell suddenly in front of Jack, Jack’s cold blue eyes stared at the bleeding body. Blood spattered on his clothes and face. Jack effortlessly wiped the blood off his painted face with his gloved thumb.

He looks up at the other men who seem like they sit in their pants, which is good to know.

“I’m not forgiving the rest of you who stuck with this plan.” He raises his arm, the men try to protest, trying the find the words to plead to the emotionless boy.

“Wa-wait!—”

Two gunshots went off.

Jack sighed, putting his gun up and looking at your body with a somber look. “Oh baby girl, they fucked up ya' face, your beautiful face my beloved.” He says softly, untying you from the ropes.

He lifted you bridal style and left the warehouse, not caring for the bodies as all he cared about was you.

His obsession.