#the tears come back...i cried so much back then | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tender-rosiey · 6 hours ago

Note

I can’t get thisss out of my head and I wish I didn’t have adhd and could sit and write it correctly but oldest daughter y/n having to marry the brute lord Sukuna (arranged marriage type beat) and the only reason why she agrees is Becuase if she doesn’t marry him one of her sisters will have to and she just cannot bring herself to put her sisters threw that 😣😣😣

a garden among thorns — ryomen sukuna x f!reader

a/n: this is longer than most of my works, but i needed to do this idea as much justice as I can

your father’s face is pale as he kneels before the messenger, the weight of the moment pressing heavily on his shoulders.

his hands tremble in his lap, and his posture slumps, as if the air has been sucked from the room. the messenger stands tall and unyielding.

“lord sukuna requires one of your daughters to marry him,” the messenger states, his tone sharp and businesslike. “to refuse is…inadvisable.”

your mother gasps, clutching the edge of her robe, and your sisters exchange wide-eyed, horrified looks. aya’s grip tightens on hina’s sleeve, and hina’s mouth trembles, unable to form words.

you remain silent.

sukuna’s name hangs in the air like a curse—the king of curses feared across the land. to be sent to him is to step willingly into the jaws of a predator.

your father stammers, his voice barely above a whisper. “p-please…surely, there must be another way…”

the messenger’s gaze hardens, his words sharp and final. “lord sukuna does not make requests twice. you have until the week’s end to decide. one of your daughters will be sent to his estate.”

the messenger leaves, and the room plunges into a suffocating silence. your father collapses forward, burying his face in his hands, his body trembling with despair.

your mother’s sobs start quietly but grow louder, echoing through the room. aya clings to hina, her face pale with fear.

“I won’t let you choose,” you say, your voice cutting through the heavy silence.

all eyes turn to you in shock. your father lifts his head slowly, his expression a mixture of disbelief and sorrow. aya’s small hands clutch your arm. “no, you can’t mean—”

“I do,” you interrupt firmly, despite the turmoil gnawing at your chest. you meet each of their gazes, the weight of the choice pressing down on you.

your mother rises, hands trembling as she reaches for you, her face etched with anguish. “no, y/n. you’re the eldest, yes, but that doesn’t mean this burden should fall on you.”

you step back gently, removing her hands from your face. “do you want it to fall on aya? or hina?” you gesture toward your sisters, who stiffen at your words. “do you think they’ll survive with a man like him?”

aya shakes her head, tears streaming down her face. “you’re just as important as we are! why does it have to be you? please, don’t do this.”

you stand in front of her, brushing the tears from her face. “aya, I don’t want to go either. but if we don’t do this, sukuna will come for us.

he’ll take what he wants, and we won’t be able to stop him. you don’t deserve this life. hina doesn’t deserve it. at least I can try to protect you this way.”

aya sobs harder, her small frame shaking. “I can’t lose you,” she cries, burying her face in your shoulder.

you hold her tight, feeling the pain of this decision settle heavily on your chest. hina steps forward, her face unreadable. “be safe,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

“I will,” you promise, though the words feel hollow.

your mother sobs uncontrollably into your father’s chest, and he remains silent, broken. he doesn’t stop you—he can’t. you know he wouldn’t, not in the face of sukuna’s power.

you pull away slowly, aya’s small hands slipping from your arm. “I’ll write,” you murmur, turning toward the door. “I’ll write as often as I can. you’ll be okay. just…take care of each other.”

they nod silently, but the fear in their eyes won’t fade.

your mother’s voice breaks through the quiet. “you’re so brave,” she whispers. “but I wish you didn’t have to be.”

you take a last look at your family, standing together in the doorway. their figures grow smaller as the cart takes you away, the weight of their sorrow heavy in your heart.

the world outside seems darker, colder as you leave them behind. the home you’re leaving is more than just a place; it is everything you know.

and with every step, you feel a piece of yourself slipping away.

the journey to sukuna’s estate feels endless, each passing mile colder than the last. the wind bites at your skin, and the clouds above seem to mirror the heaviness in your heart.

the long ride in the cart gives you ample time to think, but there is no solace to be found.

your family, the warmth of your home, and the lives you knew are fading into the distance, replaced by the looming unknown of sukuna’s estate.

your stomach churns with unease as you approach the gates. they are massive, imposing iron structures that seem to swallow the light, and as the carriage slows to a stop before them, the oppressive silence only amplifies the dread in your chest.

the heavy gates groan open with a reluctance that seems to mirror your own, revealing the vast grounds of sukuna’s estate.

everything about this place screams power—an estate built to intimidate, to assert dominance over all who enter.

the stone paths are harsh and cold beneath your feet as you step out of the carriage. the servants who meet you are stiff, their eyes avoiding yours as they take your belongings.

you are no more than a stranger in their world, a burden that they carry, and you feel the sting of that isolation.

as you make your way inside the grand hall, your footsteps echo in the silence. it’s all so stark, so cold. the air feels thick with tension, and as you round the corner into the heart of the estate, you are met with the full weight of his presence.

sukuna sits at the head of a long table in a massive hall, his eyes fixed on you as you enter. the sight of him is enough to take your breath away—his posture relaxed, yet every inch of him exudes power.

his dark crimson robes shift slightly as he stands, towering over you with an unsettling ease. his gaze is sharp.

“so,” he says, “you’re the one they sent.”

you stand tall, refusing to let the weight of his gaze break you. beneath the surface, your heart races, but you force yourself to keep it steady.

“I came of my own choice,” you reply, your voice firm but betraying a hint of the turmoil churning inside.

his lips curl into a smirk, an expression laced with amusement and something darker. “did you, now? brave. or foolish.”

the words sting, but you bite back the retort that rises to your lips. there’s no point in showing him weakness. “I’m not foolish,” you say, your voice colder than you intended, but it’s enough to get his attention.

he chuckles, a sound rich with disdain and amusement. “well, little wife, you’ll learn soon enough what your choice means.”

his eyes glint with a dangerous promise, and despite your resolve, something tightens in your chest.

after that meeting, his presence lingers, an almost tangible force, but he keeps his distance. it’s not until later that night, when you’re left alone in your new room, that the weight of your decision truly hits.

the walls feel too close, and the silence is suffocating.

life at sukuna’s estate is harsh, far colder than you anticipated. the mansion itself is sprawling and filled with echoing corridors, but it never feels warm.

the servants, though polite, are distant, as if afraid to make eye contact. your days are spent in isolation, wandering the gardens or sitting alone in your chambers, trying to make yourself useful without getting in the way.

you are nothing more than a visitor in this grand, empty place—a prize claimed by a man who has no use for you beyond the title you now bear.

at times, sukuna’s presence seems to vanish entirely, leaving you to grapple with the silence. but on other days, his sharp words cut through the air like blades, his moods as unpredictable as the wind.

he is a storm, sweeping through the halls when he deigns to speak, his eyes always sharp, always calculating.

one afternoon, you are working in the garden, your hands busy with the familiar task of pulling weeds, trying to occupy your mind.

the scent of earth and flowers is the only thing that feels real in this place. a soft breeze stirs the air, and for a fleeting moment, you almost feel like you’re back home.

but then, you hear his voice. it’s low and mocking, a drawl that sends a shiver down your spine.

“do you plan to sulk forever?” sukuna asks, his tone cutting through the air.

you glance up from your task, narrowing your eyes at him. he stands in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame, his robe flowing around him like an aura of danger.

“I’m not sulking,” you reply, your voice clipped, though you know it’s a lie. you are, in fact, sulking—trying to retreat into yourself because it’s the only way to survive this.

“could’ve fooled me,” he retorts, a smirk curling at the edges of his lips. “you’ve been quieter than a graveyard since you got here.”

you get ticked off by his words but force yourself to stay composed. “what would you have me do? laugh at your jokes?” you don’t know why you say it, but the challenge is there, raw and unfiltered.

he chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that grates on your nerves. “I don’t tell jokes.”

you mutter under your breath, “clearly.”

to your surprise, he doesn’t take offense. instead, he raises an eyebrow, his eyes narrowing slightly as he steps into the garden.

his presence fills the space, as if he owns it. he leans against the stone wall, watching you with a mixture of curiosity and something more.

you feel his hand hold the top of your head for a moment, and he hums, “at least you’ve got a spine. I’d hate to have a wife who folds like paper.”

you don’t know what to make of the compliment—or if it’s even meant as one. but his words, though gruff, are the first acknowledgment he’s given you that isn’t full of disdain or indifference.

“I don’t fold,” you reply, try to shake his hand off. you find yourself meeting his gaze, a silent challenge passing between the two of you.

for a long moment, sukuna doesn’t say anything. the tension hangs in the air, thick and unspoken. then, finally, his lips curl into something that might be the start of a smile, though it’s fleeting.

“good,” he says, his voice almost too soft for you to catch. “you’ll need that fire, wife.”

you don’t respond, but as the days pass, his words linger in your mind. slowly, something starts to shift. his unpredictable moods, his sharp words, his occasional moments of unexpected gentleness—they all begin to add up.

it’s not love, not yet, but something else.

you’re not sure if you want to like him, but the more time you spend in his presence, the more you begin to understand him. in return, he seems to start observing you more closely, his interest piqued.

whether you like it or not, you are now bound together in this cold, sprawling estate, and the strange, slow pull between you grows with each passing day.

the first real instance happens during dinner. the grand dining hall is silent, save for the soft clinking of silver against porcelain.

sukuna sits at the head of the table, a looming figure of power, draped in his usual white and black.

his gaze flicks to you once, but he doesn’t speak. it’s a familiar pattern by now—he speaks only when he has something to say, and even then, his words are sparse, deliberate.

but tonight, as you reach for the pitcher of wine, your hand knocks over the glass beside it. the sound of the glass tipping and shattering against the floor startles everyone in the room.

a sharp, echoing crack. the servants freeze, eyes flicking nervously from the broken shards to sukuna.

you stand frozen, the glass at your feet, heart racing. the tension in the room thickens, but no one moves. you glance up at sukuna, half-expecting the usual cold indifference or a sharp rebuke.

but tonight, his dark eyes flicker to the broken glass before meeting yours. there’s something in his gaze—a spark of amusement—before he leans back in his chair, arms crossed, his posture lazy but commanding.

“careful, little wife,” he drawls, his voice low and slightly mocking, but there’s no malice in it. “I wouldn’t want to see you spill any more of my wine.”

you nod, instinctively bending down to pick up the shards, but before your fingers even touch the glass, sukuna’s voice cuts through the air.

“stop,” he commands, his tone sharp and unwavering.

you freeze mid-motion, looking up to find his gaze already fixed on you.

“clean this up,” sukuna commands, glancing at the servants, his voice a deep rumble that makes the servants rush to obey without a word.

as they quickly gather the shards, sukuna’s attention returns to you, though his eyes linger a moment longer than necessary.

“you seem eager to be useful,” he observes, his voice tinged with a hint of something almost approving. “but I’d rather not have my wife make herself filthy for something as trivial as this.”

you open your mouth but stop, unsure if you want to argue with him or remain silent.

a week later, you find yourself in the garden again, absentmindedly tending to the flowers that line the stone walls.

the peace of the garden is a brief escape from the heaviness inside the mansion, and you’ve come to cherish the quiet moments there.

this time, however, you hear footsteps approaching behind you. you don’t need to turn around to know it’s him. the weight of his presence is unmistakable.

“I see you’ve found your little sanctuary,” sukuna’s voice comes.

you don’t answer at first, focused on trimming the overgrown vines. his footsteps stop, and for a moment, there’s just the sound of the wind rustling the leaves and the faint scent of flowers in the air.

“are you going to ignore me every time I approach?” he asks, a hint of curiosity and a bit of annoyance lacing his words. “you don’t seem like the type to hide from confrontation.”

you glance over your shoulder, meeting his gaze for a brief moment. his eyes are narrowed, but there’s no hostility in them. it’s a rare look for him—almost like he’s testing you, waiting for your response.

“I’m not hiding,” you reply, your voice steady, though there’s an edge to it. “I just prefer peace.”

sukuna steps closer, a slight smirk tugging at his lips as he watches you work. “peace? in my estate?” his laugh is low and dark, more of a scoff than an actual laugh. “you won’t find that here, little wife.”

you focus on the flowers in front of you, resisting the urge to let his words unsettle you. but for some reason, you can’t quite brush off the way he’s watching you.

“I didn’t expect to,” you reply, your voice quieter now, softer.

there’s a beat of silence, and then, to your surprise, sukuna crouches beside you. his presence looms close, his eyes scanning the flowers you’re tending to. “they’re not bad,” he says.

you glance up at him, meeting his gaze. for a moment, the weight of the estate, the pressure of being in his presence, fades away.

it’s just the two of you, sitting in this strange, delicate quiet.

“well, they’re not as high-maintenance as you are,” you mutter under your breath, a playful jab that you can’t quite hold back.

he chuckles—a low sound that vibrates through the space between you. it’s the first time you’ve heard him laugh like that—without mockery, without an edge. it’s almost human.

“high-maintenance, huh?” he muses, his tone teasing, but there’s a shift in the air now. “maybe you’ll find that out the hard way.”

the words are playful. you’re not sure what to make of it, but it stirs something in you, something that’s both unsettling and... intriguing.

over the next few weeks, these small moments become more frequent, threading together a fragile tapestry of connection. sukuna’s presence is still overwhelming, but it feels less suffocating now.

he no longer seems entirely distant, nor does he hover with the same oppressive force. instead, he’s there, always watching, always waiting for something unspoken to unfold.

one evening, as you sit alone in the garden again, this time reading a book your family had gifted you, you hear his footsteps before you see him. sukuna doesn’t announce his presence this time.

he simply stands there, watching you with his usual, inscrutable gaze. you feel his eyes on you, and for once, you don’t feel the need to pretend you don’t notice.

“I’m surprised you can read,” he says, his voice a low murmur. there’s no mockery in it, only a genuine comment. “thought you’d be too busy sulking.”

you glance up from your book, meeting his gaze. “I’m not sulking,” you reply, the words more matter-of-fact than before. there’s no need to explain yourself to him anymore.

he steps closer, his presence heavy as always, but this time it doesn’t make you want to shrink away. “what are you reading about?”

“it’s just a story,” you say, closing the book slowly. “something to pass the time.”

“hmm,” he murmurs, his eyes flicking down to the book. “must be a boring story if it’s keeping you this entertained.”

you chuckle lightly. “maybe I just need a distraction from you.”

he doesn’t respond immediately, but there’s a tension in the air, as if the words have just cracked open something between you.

the turning point comes one evening when you receive a letter from home. you’ve been sitting by the window, when you notice the familiar parchment.

aya’s neat handwriting graces the top, and as soon as you read her name, your heart stutters.

you eagerly unfold it, fingers trembling slightly as you begin to read.

her words spill across the page with such love and longing that they cut deep, each line filled with updates about their daily lives, the little things that no longer seem so insignificant to you.

she tells you about hina’s recent antics and how their mother insists on planting a garden in the courtyard, even though the soil remains stubbornly unyielding.

she writes about how your father has been more quiet than usual, always looking out toward the horizon, waiting for the day when his daughters are reunited.

but more than anything, the letter is a reminder of how deeply you are missed, how the absence of your presence has created a space no one can fill.

you can feel the tears welling in your eyes before you realize it. they sting hotly as you read on. the weight of being apart from them—your sisters, your parents—becomes almost unbearable.

you can’t suppress the sobs that rise in your chest, so you quickly wipe them away, desperate to regain some composure.

but you’re too late. the door opens with a soft creak, and you don’t need to turn to know who’s standing there. sukuna’s presence fills the room as it always does.

he pauses, his sharp eyes narrowing in on you. his gaze flicks over your tear-streaked face then down at your hands.

“what’s that?” he asks, his tone surprisingly less abrasive than usual. it’s subtle, but there’s a shift in the way he speaks.

“a letter,” you reply quietly, your voice thick, the emotion still lingering. “from my sisters.”

his eyes linger on you for a moment longer, studying you with an intensity that seems to reach beyond your tears, deeper into the vulnerability you’ve been trying to keep hidden.

he steps forward, closing the distance between you, and before you can react, he takes the parchment from your hands, his fingers brushing yours just slightly as he does so.

you watch him scan the letter, his expression unreadable, as though the words don’t mean anything to him.

but you notice the slight twitch in his brow when he reads aya’s mention of hina’s mischievous behavior and the mention of your father’s quiet gaze.

he hands the letter back after a moment, his face still impassive, but something lingers in his gaze as he meets your eyes.

“they miss you,” he says simply, though his voice is quieter than usual, less detached.

you swallow hard, trying to steady yourself. you nod, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. “I miss them too.”

for a long moment, neither of you speaks. the room is thick with the weight of unspoken words, the quiet intimacy of the exchange hanging in the air between you.

you wonder if he understands what it means to miss family—what it means to be torn from them, to feel so distant from the people who raised you, loved you.

you wonder if there’s a part of him that understands loneliness, even though he wears it like a badge of honor.

his expression remains unreadable, and for a moment, you think he’s about to leave, to retreat back into the distance that has characterized most of your interactions.

but then, to your surprise, he speaks again, his words low and deliberate.

“you may go visit them,” he says.

your breath catches in your throat, and you stare at him, eyes wide with disbelief. the words don't seem to register at first, not fully, and you find yourself unable to respond immediately. “what?”

his gaze remains steady, unwavering. “you heard me,” he repeats, a touch of impatience creeping into his tone. “you may visit them. if it’s that important to you.”

the shock slowly fades, replaced by confusion and a strange warmth that spreads in your chest.

you’ve always thought of him as a cold, imposing figure—a man who ruled through fear, who demanded respect through power.

but now, in this moment, you realize that he’s offering you something more than you ever expected. something human.

“I... thank you,” you finally manage to say, your voice barely a whisper.

“don’t make me regret it,” he warns, his voice returning to its usual gravelly tone. “I’m not doing this out of kindness. I simply don’t want you moping around here for the next week.”

you nod, the weight of the gesture sinking in, even as his words remain curt.

you don’t know if sukuna truly cares for you, or if this is just another act of power—his way of testing your limits or asserting control over your emotions.

but for now, you can’t help but feel a flicker of something more, a warmth that feels entirely out of place.

“thank you,” you repeat, your voice firmer now, despite the uncertainty that still lingers in your chest.

he grunts in response, turning to leave, but there’s a moment where his eyes meet yours again. and for the first time since you’ve arrived, you don’t see just the ruthless lord in those dark depths.

the journey back to your family’s home is a blur of emotion. the reunion with aya and hina is everything you imagined and more—warmth, laughter, and the comfort of familiar faces.

for the first time in months, you feel like yourself again, surrounded by the people who’ve always known you.

but even as you relish the joy of your visit, something lingers in the back of your mind. sukuna’s words, his unexpected offer to let you go, echo in your thoughts.

the days with your family fly by too quickly, and you can’t help but feel the ache of leaving them again.

aya hugs you tightly before you leave, her words of encouragement like a balm for the unease building in your chest. “you’ll be okay,” she whispers, her arms tightening around you.

when you return to the estate, everything feels oddly unchanged, yet different. the servants carry on as if your absence was nothing more than a passing breeze, and the cold, vast halls are just as you left them.

but sukuna is nowhere to be found—until you’re alone in the courtyard, unloading your things from the carriage.

the familiar sound of footsteps reaches your ears. the air shifts, heavy with his presence before you even see him. then, his shadow falls over you. you don’t need to look up to know it’s him, but you do anyway.

his gaze fixes on you, unreadable, but his lips are curled in that signature smirk. “back already?” he asks, his voice low.

you stand still, setting down the basket you were holding.

his eyes are sharp, studying you, but there’s an underlying softness you weren’t expecting. you nod, keeping your expression neutral. “I couldn’t stay away forever.”

sukuna doesn’t respond immediately, instead stepping closer. his feet crunch against the gravel.

you can’t help but notice how his gaze lingers on you, assessing, like he’s trying to understand something about you that he hadn’t before.

“do you miss them now?” he asks, his tone surprisingly casual.

you hesitate for a moment, feeling the vulnerability of the question. “of course,” you admit, your voice softer than you intended. “but I missed you, too.”

there’s a brief silence, the words hanging in the air between you. you can see the flicker of surprise in his eyes, something momentarily caught off guard by your honesty.

it’s rare that sukuna is disarmed, but somehow, your admission does just that. his lips quirk, but it’s not the mocking smile you’re used to. this one is different, almost amused in a way that doesn’t feel as patronizing.

“did you now?” he murmurs, taking another step toward you. his hand reaches up, and he places a finger under your chin, lifting your face to meet his gaze.

the touch is intimate, but there’s an unspoken weight to it, like it’s a silent acknowledgment of something neither of you are quite ready to voice. his thumb brushes lightly against your skin, the gesture soft but somehow grounding.

“I didn’t think you’d miss me,” he says quietly, his voice a low rumble, softer than usual.

you’re suddenly acutely aware of the space between you, of the way your heart seems to beat a little faster in your chest, of how his presence pulls you in like gravity.

the tension, always so thick and unyielding before, now feels different—softer, but just as real.

your breath catches. “you’re not as bad as they said you are,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

sukuna’s eyes narrow slightly, and he takes another small step forward, the tension rising again, only this time it feels like a slow burn.

his fingers curl gently under your chin, his thumb stroking your skin as he leans closer, his breath mingling with yours.

“and you,” he murmurs, voice hushed, “are much more than I gave you credit for.”

before you can respond, something shifts between you. the air crackles with an intensity that neither of you can ignore. his lips are so close now, and you don’t think.

you lean in, your mouth brushing against his, tentative at first, like testing the waters of something new, something dangerous.

but then, without warning, sukuna’s hand grips your waist, pulling you into him. the kiss deepens, slow and steady, as though he’s savoring it, taking his time.

his touch is commanding, yet there’s a tenderness to it that surprises you, a carefulness you didn’t expect from someone like him.

when you finally break apart, your breath mingling in the space between you, there’s a quiet understanding in his eyes.

he doesn’t speak immediately. instead, he holds you close, his hand still resting on your back, steady and sure.

“you’re fully mine now, wife.”

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss@pompompurin1028@scul-pted@requiem626k@nameless-shrimp@sonder-paradise@jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @starlostlaiba @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @dazaisbloodybandages @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @moon-catto @the-midnightskies@pianopuppygirl @gojosblackqueen @kryscent @kunikida-simp @whoami-72 @mx-0-child @fiona782 @kisakitwister @imjustasimpxd @psychopotatomeme @dreamcastgirl99 @watyousayin @doobiebochana @laylasbunbunny @hojicha-expresso @4sat0ruu @nineooooo @chuuyasboots @alekssashka7 @rieejjyubi02 @satoryaa @nothisispatrick300 @fallencrescentmoon @etheviese @ho34gojo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @the-weeping-author

@libbyistired @anon1412@maehemthemisfit @satorustar @b4nka1@sad-darksoul@ko-fi-heart@pumpkindudeishere@suyaaachin@babyqueen17@chaosguy352@murakami-kotone@sukun4ryomen@yumieis@hearts4itoshi@sleepyxxhead@dunixxd@sleepycrybbylaiah @imjustaduckwholikesbread @emilyyyy-08@spacebaby1@arabellatreaty@viscade @washeduphasbeen @janbannan @sugurubabe @enidths @mwtsxri @peppersapro @uranosbaaee @lifeisadumpie @guacam011y @kurooandkenmasslut @callmemirro @your-sleeparalysisdem0n @dindjarins1ut @candy-s72 @lulumi1u

do not copy or plagiarize or I will cry

check out my buy me a coffee!

#jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk imagines #jjk x y/n #jjk sukuna x reader #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x you #ryomen x you #ryomen x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna ryomen x you #sukuna ryoumen x reader #sukuna ryoumen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you

313 notes · View notes

mapiforpresident · 11 hours ago

Note

"You really have three babies growing in there, I need to start making more money" alessia Russo

Babies

alessia x reader

~~~

It had been a long journey. A journey full of anticipation, hope, and a lot of patience. The kind of patience that only people who’ve been through multiple rounds of IVF truly understand. You and Alessia had been together since your college days at UNC, where you met during your first practice. Fast-forward to now, you were married, both playing for Arsenal, and building a life together.

The news of your pregnancy had come a couple weeks ago, and it was almost surreal. The weeks of waiting for results, the endless uncertainty, the longing for something more, and then, finally, that beautiful moment when you saw the two pink lines on the test. You’d both cried—tears of joy, relief, and even disbelief. The doctor’s office had felt like a whole new world when you heard those words: “You’re pregnant.” You both had been holding your breath, praying for this moment.

But today was something even more monumental. Today was the first scan. You’d been counting down the days, feeling a blend of excitement and nervousness building up inside you.

You and Alessia had been in and out of doctors' offices together, and though she had always been supportive and excited for you both, you could sense the difference today. She was pacing back and forth in the waiting room, her hands running through her hair, trying to calm her nerves. She couldn’t stop glancing at her watch as though time would speed up if she willed it enough.

"Less, you’re going to wear a hole in that floor if you keep pacing like that,” you teased with a smile, nudging her shoulder as you sat down on one of the chairs, trying to settle your own anxious thoughts.

She let out a small laugh but still couldn’t help herself. “I’m just… nervous, you know? It’s our first scan, babe. What if there’s something wrong?”

You reached out and took her hand in yours, squeezing it reassuringly. “Everything’s going to be fine. You know how much I’ve wanted this, how much we’ve wanted this. We’re in good hands.”

Alessia paused for a moment, her eyes softening as she looked at you. “I know. I just… I want this to be everything we dreamed of, you know?”

You smiled, reaching up to brush a lock of hair from her face. “We’ve got this, Less. All of it.”

As soon as the nurse called your name, you stood up, your hand still tightly clutching hers. The scan room was calm and sterile, with the soft hum of machines in the background. Alessia moved close to you, not letting go of your hand for a second.

“Okay, let’s take a look,” the sonographer said as she began applying the gel on your belly. “This will be a little cold, but it won’t take long.”

You flinched at the cold gel, but Alessia’s hand on yours steadied you, and you leaned back against the bed, your eyes locked with hers. She was staring at you, her expression a mix of awe and anxiety, and you could tell she was trying to hold it together.

"Ready?" the sonographer asked with a smile, looking up from the screen.

You nodded, your heart racing as you waited for the image to appear.

The room was silent for a moment as the screen came to life, and then the sonographer's voice broke through the quiet.

“Well, it looks like we have three little ones in there,” she said, her voice filled with warmth. “You’re having triplets.”

Alessia froze, her eyes widening, and you could feel your breath catch in your throat. Triplets?

“Wait… three?” you managed to choke out, glancing at the screen where three tiny dots were visible, all of them moving, all of them so incredibly small. You looked up at Alessia, who was still staring at the screen, her jaw dropped.

"Three..." Alessia repeated, her voice barely a whisper.

The sonographer nodded with a smile. “You really have three babies growing in there. Congratulations.” She decided to give the two of you a couple minutes alone to process the information an stepped out of the room.

The words hung in the air, and for a second, neither of you said anything. Three babies. It was everything you had ever wanted, and more. Your head was spinning. You could see Alessia’s expression shifting from shock to sheer joy, her eyes tearing up as she reached over to squeeze your hand tighter.

“This is… this is unreal,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “We’re going to need a bigger house.”

You smiled through the daze, your heart fluttering. “Yeah, and maybe a bigger car too,” you joked, trying to lighten the overwhelming wave of emotions crashing over both of you.

Alessia turned to you with wide eyes, her lips curling into a grin that reached all the way to her eyes. “Oh my god, we have three babies, babe.” She laughed lightly, almost nervously, but it was clear she was trying to wrap her mind around it, just as you were.

You laughed too, your hand still on your stomach, the reality of the situation slowly sinking in. “I really need to start making more money,” you said, the words escaping before you could think about it. “Maybe I should work on my endorsement deals or get another sponsorship.”

Alessia raised an eyebrow, slowly starting to break through her shock. “Three babies, huh? Well, I guess I’d better stop spending all my money on shoes, then.”

“You’re not allowed to spend a penny until we figure out how to pay for all this,” you teased back, and she threw you a mock glare.

“What are we going to do with all these babies?” she asked, laughing softly.

You chuckled, both of you caught in the absurdity of the situation, “I guess we’ll just take it one day at a time,” you said, squeezing her hand tighter. “We’ve been through everything together—college, football, marriage. And now… we get to be parents. Together.”

Alessia nodded, her eyes brimming with tears now, but her smile never faltering. “Together,” she echoed softly, looking at the image of your babies she now held in her hands.

#woso x reader #woso #woso imagine #arsenal women #alessia russo imagine #alessia russo #alessia russo x reader #arsenal x reader #woso imagines #woso fanfics

248 notes · View notes

hhoneylemon · 1 day ago

Text

“𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘴”

summary: you love sam. it hurts.

genre: angst/comfort

word count: 3k

edited

you knew the life. you knew what attachments could do. you’d heard about hunters who fell in love and had their terrible endings, watching their partner die or waiting for them to come back (they never did). yet you couldn’t help yourself.

more often than not, you felt as though you were drowning. the little smiles he would send you, his dimples and the way his eyes would brighten. how his voice sounded so gentle when he spoke to you, how his hands were gentle whenever he gave you little touches. they were all friendly. you knew that. you wished they weren’t.

you always got so worried when he got hurt during hunts. when he was thrown to the ground, or when he was cut or shot. it was funny; dean got hurt just as much as sam, yet you didn’t worry over him as much as his younger brother. you still cared for dean, just… not as much as sam.

the day you accepted your feelings for him, you cried. he had gotten into a fight with dean, prompting the older of the two to go on a walk. sam had sat on his motel bed, researching the lore. you felt bad; you were showering during the fight, didn’t pick up the details. you didn’t know who was right or wrong, but you tried to comfort him nonetheless.

you had sat at the edge of dean’s bed, frowning at sam. you gave him gentle eyes, wanting him to know you were being friendly.

“what happened?”

he had glanced up at you from the book he was reading. your heart beat a little faster at his puppy eyes. he sighed heavily.

“he’s just… being dean. he makes me so mad, sometimes, y’know?”

you nodded, because you did know. dean was protective of you too, although not to the same extent of sam. it was annoying sometimes. he thought he could control so many aspects of your lives. you also understood that it was just his way of taking care of the two of you, knowing he was scared to be alone.

“yeah, i know. he does that sometimes, hm?”

sam huffs, nodding. his lips fall into a tight line. you frown, crossing your arms and leaning forward a tad. you didn’t like how upset he seemed.

“well, i mean, i kinda understand him too. he’s just trying to protect you.”

he had rolled his eyes, sighing, annoyed.

“yeah, yeah. i know. he just needs to understand i can protect myself.”

you nodded in agreement. he turned his attention back to his book, but you looked at him just a moment longer. the way his hair fell onto his face, the way his eyebrows furrowed as he concentrated. the small bite of his lip as he reads, the way he squints when a sentence is confusing.

he glances back at you after a few minutes.

“do you have more to say? you’re staring.”

you shook your head, standing up from the bed.

“no, sorry. got lost in thought.”

you had wandered back to the bathroom to collect your dirty clothes. you paused in the mirror. you could feel your cheeks were warmer, and you were suddenly aware of your heartbeat. it was faster than normal. you just stared at yourself, lips slightly parted. you had always thought sam was attractive, but that was it. he was your friend. you weren’t even sure if he was over jessica yet. you bit your lip at the thought. was he not over jessica? were you just waiting for him to be so that you knew if you had a chance or not? you didn’t like the thought. if jessica wasn’t completely out of the photo, were you even there period? he might love that woman until the day he died. there was no reason for him to feel for you when he had already found his person. maybe it’s good you had never met her yourself. you’re sure her prettiness and kindness would’ve made you a jealous beast. maybe you would’ve began hating yourself within that time.

you’re not sure how long you were in the bathroom for, but a hand on your shoulder snapped you out of it. your cheeks were warm and wet with tears. your eyes find him in the mirror. his are soft and comforting.

“i noticed you weren’t out yet. what’s wrong?”

you shake your head, wiping your tears.

“nothing’s wrong.”

“you sure? crying in a bathroom is suspicious.”

“i’m sure, sam.”

you brush him off of you, walking into the main room. you take your spot on the couch, climbing under your blanket. maybe sleep could take you to a better place. to be fair, anywhere would be better than here. you could hear him sink onto his bed, and then you could feel his eyes on your back. you were sure he was trying to assess you, trying to figure out what was wrong and if he could fix it. the answer was no.

after that day, you tried being distant. you would look everywhere but him when speaking to him. you would favor sitting beside him at restaurants so that it was dean who was across from you and in your immediate vision. you stayed polite and tried to have less conversations about everything you normally did, sticking to just hunting and lore and stuff during cases. it felt easier this way.

of course, sam was confused. the person he considered his best friend was growing cold. did he do something? so he wouldn’t go out of his way to have conversations with you, much to your chagrin. he would be extra nice, offering his bed to take the couch (even if his long legs would dangle off of it), he’d let you shower first after a hunt, he would take the burden of researching so you could relax. he was getting frustrated when you didn’t seem to be getting as close as you used to be. why?

you, however, felt as if you were hurting every time you saw him, heard him, even smelled him. he smelled like crappy motel soap most of the time, but there was always a hint of coffee and sweat and dirt. you hated it. it wasn’t that he necessarily smelt good, unless you were posing as agents or reporters where he would spritz his cheap cologne. it was good cheap cologne, you were sure it was from his days at stanford. you were jealous of the people he sat beside in classes everyday who got to experience a good smelling and actually happy sam. you wish you had gotten that.

there was a point where you realized you couldn’t have him. you were sure of this, because you began speaking to him normally. you were sure your eyes betrayed you and looked at him as though he were a lamp and you were but a moth, but he never commented about it. you were happy about this. you didn’t have to embarrass yourself with that conversation. the times you spent speaking were heavenly, the amount of attention he focused on you and the looks and tone he reserved specially for you. that look and that tone were something you kept in a pocket in the background of your mind.

you wish he’d love you.

you started to feel suffocated the longer this went. you know it’s been months, maybe even a year. it was terrible. little comforting touches he gave you after a hunt were everything to you, letting you melt against him and give him a smile.

you had confided in dean one time he caught you crying, unable to be alone any longer. he had given you a sympathetic look, a small hug. you began sitting side by side, your head on his shoulder. his arm was around your waist, giving you a comforting squeeze as you began calming yourself. he gave you his soft big brother voice when he finally spoke.

“i’m so sorry. i thought you two would’ve been dating way before this.”

you weren’t sure what he had meant. you hadn’t asked him to elaborate, just wanting someone to lean on. you had fallen asleep and he tucked you into his bed, taking the couch. when sam came back from getting dinner for everyone, they just left your portion in the bag. they ate in silence and went to bed, not wanting to rouse you. dean was extra careful about teasing the two of you from then on.

sam wasn’t sure when he had began loving you. he was sure of why, however. in the way you actually listened to him when he spoke, how you were so kind and caring, how you understood him and had shared experiences. he feels a tug at his heartstrings every time he sees you with a fresh injury after a hunt, or every time he can swear he hears you crying in the bathroom. he just wants to wrap you in a big bear hug and keep you from everything in the world. he wanted you to realize how he felt, now. maybe all you needed to cheer you up was a relationship. he was sure the hunting life was driving you crazy, though he’s unsure since you’ve done it for so long. maybe it was a seasonal thing? he could’ve sworn you’ve been so upset for months…

one hunt was your breaking point. you posed as journalists, all wearing nice suits or just a nice outfit in general. sam wore that cheap cologne.

you had been talking to an older lady that had been in the building during the attack, asking the usual questions.

“what are you aware happened?”

“did you see or hear anything beforehand?”

“any flickering lights? cold spots?”

“did you know this person? what were they like?”

“i’m so sorry you experienced this. those were all of my questions, thank you for answering. have a good day, ma’am.”

you had then gone to a local cafe to purchase a coffee; it was early and you were still tired. maybe it could get your mind jogging the way you needed it to. you had left the shop, finding the brothers speaking in hushed tones where you left them. you got back to them and were quickly caught up in their plan; they would fight the ghost off that night, trying to save tonight’s night shift workers. you would have to find the bones and torch them. simple enough.

the ghost wasn’t appreciative of this. it threw the brothers around, they swung at it with the fire pokers they had brought, it would vanish and then come back. after one of dean’s swings, it didn’t reappear. they stood en guard in case it did, and when it didn’t, they assumed you had finally torched it. they walk back to the impala, laughing about another hunt finished and how they would celebrate.

they got to the graveyard, expecting you to be waiting for them by the gate. you weren’t. sam climbed out of the passenger side, a feeling of dread settling in his gut. he got his fire poker back from the trunk of the impala and wandered in, feeling uncomfortable not knowing what he would find. why weren’t you waiting for them, smiling and ready to celebrate?

his question was quickly answered; he spots you standing several yards from where he remembers the grave being. the closer he gets, the more he sees. the bruise on your forehead, the salt circle surrounding you, slightly illuminated by the moonlight. then there was the ghost, angrily growling and hissing, unable to reach you through the salt. she’s staring you down, waiting for you to accidentally nudge the salt or to step out of the circle. you don’t.

the ghost notices sam before you do. in a flash she’s in front of him and scratching with her freakishly long claws. he fights back with the fire poker, yelling for you to ‘torch the bitch!’ and so you run back to where you remember the grave being.

you sprinkle the corpse with salt, then coat it with gasoline. you sigh sadly, giving an apology before throwing in the match. the body catches up in flames, and after a few moments, sam is at your side. he’s panting, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“c’mon.”

he’s saying, voice gentle as he begins directing you to the impala. he’s not sure if you’ve got a head injury or if she just hit you from the look of your forehead. he won’t take any chances, opening the backseat door for you. he sits in the passenger seat, though he keeps glancing at you through the rearview mirror.

you get your shower once you get to the motel. you don’t dry off fully, being quick so that sam can get his turn. he was very urgent that you took pain killers, even giving you his own plastic water bottle to drink from. he gives you a smile, only heading into the bathroom once he’s sure you’ve swallowed. you sit on dean's bed for a moment, fingers digging into your thighs. the walls of the motel are suffocating you; sam’s scent is lingering almost everywhere, specifically in his bed and his bag and the couch. you need out.

you step outside and sit on the curb. your legs bend in front of you and you lean onto them. it’s a cold night and you find yourself regretting not grabbing a jacket. you’re sure dean’s gone to get food for everyone; the impala’s missing. you watch cars drive by the motel, you look at the stars, you occasionally close your eyes to soak in the tranquility and peacefulness of it all. that gets taken from you. for once, you don’t mind.

a jacket is draped over your back and it curls around your shoulders. sam sits beside you, wearing sweatpants and a different jacket. you hug the one he draped over you close to yourself for some warmth. the two of you sit in silence for a while.

“are you okay?”

he finally breaks the silence, although his voice is so close to a whisper that you can barely say that. you know the question is loaded. he’s not asking about after today, or if you’re in pain (he already gave you some pain killers and his plastic water bottle to take them with, so it’s not this), he’s asking in general. it may actually be about these past few months. you’ve been acting different and even you knew it. how do you explain it to him?

“no.”

you finally respond, voice weighted. he huffs softly into the air. he sounded amused.

“no shit. wanna tell me why?”

you look to him. he’s already looking at you. his eyes are soft but imploring, he’s got a gentle smile on his face. his hair is damp and sticks out at weird angles. there’s a bruise forming on his cheek. you don’t think he’s looked better.

“not really.”

he sighs gently in response. you can tell he’s about to gently scold you, tell you he can’t help if he doesn’t know what the problem is. he so badly wants to help.

“however, i’m tired of being alone.”

this confuses sam. it shows on his face, in his eyes. you’ve never been alone. one of the main reasons he was drawn to you in the first place was that you were similarly struggling.

“sam…”

you begin. he knows not to interject. he gives you a comforting smile, imploring you to continue.

“i’ve felt suffocated these past few months. as if i were drowning. i wish i had drowned, it would have saved me from this.”

a flash of something passes in his eyes. you couldn’t read what it was. you pull the jacket closer to yourself, searching for comfort.

“but here i am. so, i’m telling you my biggest secret. i thought i’d die before i voiced this to anyone. this is my second time telling someone, so i was clearly wrong.”

you pause to close your eyes and gather your thoughts. you never thought you’d be able to tell him, of course you hadn’t rehearsed.

“sam, i’m so upset with you. you and your long legs. they’re taking up my whole heart. give me room for other things!”

the look you give him is almost angry. the lights from the motel betray you, however, illuminating the tears in your eyes.

“you can’t love me back. and that sucks. so, i don’t know… reject me or yell at me for being stupid or something.”

sam does not like the look in your eyes. he gulps, reaching out and cupping your face in his big hands. he offers a comforting smile.

“i think that’s an over exaggeration. i do love you, alright? you and your pretty eyes and your big heart.”

he smiled at his own small joke, prompting you to do the same. he loved you? you’re about to ask questions as he leans in and presses his chapped lips to yours. he’s gentle and slow. it’s everything you’d hoped it’d be. you feel tears begin slipping from your eyes; he feels them as they hit his fingers. he smiles fondly at you, pulling away to wipe the tears.

“you didn’t know? i tried making it so obvious. i’m sorry you couldn’t tell.”

he kisses you again. the warmth in your gut turns to a fire that warms your heart. you feel yourself melting into him, your own hands reaching out to hold his forearms. he breaks the kiss, his breath fanning across your face before he leans farther back.

“i can offer you the other side of my bed, and i won’t touch you ‘til you initiate, okay?”

his thumbs gently caress your cheeks, right under your eyes. he’s giving you his puppy eyes, a small smile spread on his face.

“will you have me?”

you find yourself the one to initiate the third kiss, gently cupping the back of his neck to bring him back to you. this one is shorter, more just to feel the warmth of his lips once more. you sigh against him as you pull back, being the one offering a smile this time.

“of course.”

he smiles wide, humming in content. he then pulls all the way away so that he can stand. he offers a hand.

“let’s go inside before dean gets back. also, it’s cold, i don’t like it out here.”

you laugh softly, taking his hand and letting him pull you up. neither of you let go even as sam unlocks the motel room door and you walk back inside, not even as you both sit on his - your - bed and begin talking about whatever. you finally have what you want, what you craved so badly.

he loves you.

thank you for reading <3

masterlist

#sam winchester x reader #gn reader #male reader #fem reader #spn x reader #sam winchester

78 notes · View notes

seasprincess · 18 hours ago

Text

bsf!jj who needs comfort angst

warnings: mentions of abuse

JJ is a troubled boy, anyone who knows his name knows that. Luke Maybank being the main cause of that.

So it’s not uncommon for JJ to knock on your window late at night. Bloodied and bruised due to the fact his father had just gotten drunk.

And that’s how you ended up in your bathroom. Bent over as you carefully wipe his split lip. Him twitching as the cold paper touches his skin.

“You wanna talk about it?” You ask this question everytime and usually get the same answer back. And this time it’s no different to usual.

“No.” He says bluntly. He doesn’t mean it to be harsh. He just isn’t great with his emotions. Evident in many prior situations.

“Okay.” You say softly, not wanting to push it and make things worse. All you want to do is make him feel better.

Your hands pulls the wet cloth away, chucking it in the bin as you look into his eyes.

“Don’t do that.” He says, his talking not helping the split lip as it keeps reopening. Not allowing it time to heal. But JJ never shuts up so that lip will be taking a while to heal.

“Do what?” You’re genuinely confused as to what he means. He is always confusing.

“Lookin’ at me like you feel sorry. Don’t want that shit.” JJ’s hand comes and rubs his mouth. Eyes averting your gaze. Thinking if he looks away everything will disappear. That this nightmare will be over.

“Well I am sorry.” You reply before grabbing his cheeks and making him look at you. Thumbs brushing them softly not wanting to hurt any of the bruises on his face. “I’m sorry your dad doesn’t see how special you are.”

And with that the tears that were threatening to escape his eyes falls down his cheeks. He hates crying, hates it so much. He never cries infront of anyone. But with you. He cares a little less.

Your arms wrap around his head and body as you pull him into a hug. Your shirt getting wetter as his tears pick up. He just cries softly into your chest, arms slowly reaching your back as his breaths stop and start.

You place a kiss on the top of his head as you play with his hair. There’s nothing you can say or do to help him. Just being there for him is enough.

He just needs you to be there.

a/n: need to give him a hug so bad.

75 notes · View notes

nakylvr · 2 days ago

Note

need to be watching comfort movies with manon and holding her like please let me take care of you my heart hurts

i stopped studying to write this up, it's probably trash but i needed to do something

— ANYTIME, ALWAYS 👑

warnings/tags: fluff, established relationship, f!reader

you knew something was off the moment you stepped inside the dorm for the girls after getting a text from manon. it was quiet with the rest of the girls gone for the award show, an oddity for the home that was buzzing always. you were given an extra key from sophia who explicitly told you that you were the only one to have an extra and to not let the staff find out. to be fair, you didn't really care though if the staff found out right now.

when you got the text from manon that read; can you come by? :(, with nothing else, you had a feeling something was wrong. you showed up at the dorm within twenty minutes.

you step into the living room, seeing manon sitting on the couch with the hood of her hoodie over her head watching, or trying, to watch a movie on the tv. she doesn't even notice your presence until you step closer to her. "hey, baby," you say softly, making her finally realize you're there and look up at you.

"hey," she says quietly. "how did you get in?"

"sophia gave me a key a while ago," you answer, sitting down next to her on the couch. "is everything okay?" you ask hesitantly.

"mm," manon hums, not moving. "just...things," she mumbles.

"okay..." your voice trails off as your eyes glance around. "do you want to talk about it?"

manon shakes her head, her eyes finally meeting yours with tears in her eyes. she opens her mouth to speak but you're wrapping your arms around her and pulling her into your embrace before she can get anything out. she puts her face in your neck, her arms grabbing your shirt tightly as if you would disappear.

"it's okay," you whisper softly. "it's okay," you reiterate a few times, your hand rubbing her back reassuringly. you can feel a few wet droplets hitting your skin, and you pull her closer to you, her body practically pressing against yours as she quietly cries into your neck.

you can hear her mumbling into your skin, and you can only make out a few words every now and then, but you can decipher it and figure out what she's saying. "look at me, baby," you say quietly, moving your hands to her face.

manon slowly lifts her head from your neck to look at you, her eyes slightly red from crying with a few tears still trailing down her cheeks. "i-i don-don't understand-"

"hey, hey," you interrupt her quickly, knowing exactly where it would lead. "i'm going to stop you right there. just breathe, okay? everything will be okay, you will be okay. i don't know what you're seeing, but ignore it. it's hard, i know. it's been hard, i know. but you're the strongest person i've ever met," you wipe the tears away with the pads of your thumbs. "i love you so much, the girls love you so much, everyone loves you. forget the small percentage of people who are jealous because you're talented and they aren't. you are so important to so many people. you mean the world to so many, to me. i love you so much."

listening to your words has more tears welling in manon's eyes as she nods along to what you're saying. "i love you too," she mumbles quietly.

you lean in and softly press your lips against hers, feeling her reciprocate instantly as her hands rest on your waist. you pull away for a moment, leaning your forehead on hers while wiping away the remaining tears. "is there anything you want to do?" you ask.

manon shakes her head lightly. "not really. i was watching a movie, but it's kinda trash."

you nod while giving a short hum. "okay. how about we put a good movie on and i'll order us something to eat?" you suggest.

"i'm okay with that," she replies.

"okay," you peck her lips, smiling slightly. you grab the remote off the table and grab manon's arm, pulling her down on top of you as you lay on your back along the couch. she giggles softly at the action, resting her head on your chest as you look through the movies listed on the tv. putting on a random one, you put the remote down and look back at manon, wrapping your arms around her. "i love you so much," you quietly speak.

"i love you too," she responds in the same voice. "please don't leave," she whispers.

"i won't," you immediately reply. "i promise." you kiss the top of her head. "you don't have to worry about that. i'm staying for as long as you'll keep me around."

"forever?" she murmurs.

"forever."

#katseye thoughts 💭#katseye x reader #katseye imagines #katseye scenarios #manon bannerman x reader #manon x reader #manon bannerman thoughts 💭

100 notes · View notes

jessicaslittlelovesickmess · 3 days ago

Text

Crazy in Love

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x Doyle!reader

Warnings: guns, Ian Doyle, faking death, cussing, psycho lesbians.

"She's alive?" I asked the tears falling faster than I could register "Hey" there she was, standing with a sheepish smile "You're fucking with me, fuck you all" I stormed past her. I had mourned her, my wife who I had buried, her mother not in attendance and all this time Hotch and JJ knew?

I grabbed my purse from under my desk angrily, I should've been happy to have my wife home if only I didn't have to go through everything I had done in my grief. Our apartment hadn't felt the same since she left now to find out she didn't die at all. I wanted to burn everything in my path, the only people I trusted lied to me and consoled me- they held me in the hospital through everything.

The drive home was short and silent. The apartment hadn't truly been cleaned; her things were laid where she left them last, just in case she came back for them. This wasn't the first time Emily had lied about something either, this was just the worst one in the years we had been together.

Later that day Emily returned home "Baby?" her voice made my knees weak but I still stood waiting for her "You lied. You lied and you lied and you lied and I, the fucking idiot that I am believed you. Well, guess what? I'm not that person anymore. I will pull this trigger, and I will kill you.''

My hands shook as I held her gun. The grief made me manic. "No, you won't, baby; you love me." She held her hands out as she stepped closer. "I will, Emily. I've worked enough cases to know how to get away with it, too." Emily stood still. We both had a deep history—a story full of lies back when her hair was lighter and her smile a little brighter. Everything was a pile of lies.

Lauren Reynolds and Y/n Doyle.

"Pull the trigger" Emily warned as her feet moved slowly until her chest hit the barrel, the muzzle digging into her skin slightly "Do it Y/n, pull the trigger" she whispered. I closed my eyes as my hands shook again "I hate you" I muttered "I hate you and everything you put me through" I cried softly before I moved to hold the gun more steady.

"I love you, Y/n Y/m/n Prentiss." I felt her lips on my forehead before I opened my eyes again to see her, those dark coffee eyes I loved and missed so much. "I love you too, Emily," I pulled the trigger, making her gasp as I laughed, watching the panic in her eyes as she realised what I had done. I stepped back as she grabbed her chest, moving her fingers around, digging into her flesh almost. "Y/n/n," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

"The safety is on, ever pull anything like that ever again and I will pull the fucking trigger no safety to protect you. understand?" I spoke leaning in to kiss her. "You're a psycho bitch" she laughed wrapping her arms around my neck "And yet you walked right to the gun" I chuckled before kissing her.

I met Emily when I had turned nineteen when she was Lauren going after my older brother Ian, trying to take him down and she had until he had come back claiming her from me. He wasn't after me, all these years later and it was still clear she meant more "I don't hate you" I whispered looking at her more tenderly.

"I know" she smiled.

#imagine #wlw #angst #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #criminal minds #lauren reynolds #lauren reynolds x reader #emily prentiss x y/n #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss x female reader #emily prentiss imagine #emily prentiss x oc

52 notes · View notes

novaursa · 14 hours ago

Text

To Win a Princess (the war)

- Summary: Once you come of age, the realm seeks to curry the King's favor once more by seeking a hand of his younger daughter. You.

- Paring: targ!reader/Tyland Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: the king is dead

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @your-favorite-god

The news came in the form of a shaken raven, its wings tattered from the storm it had flown through to reach Casterly Rock. The missive it carried was brief, but the words scrawled in haste burned into your mind as you read them.

Luke is dead. Storm’s End. Aemond. Vhagar.

The parchment fell from your hands, fluttering to the stone floor like a fallen leaf. You couldn’t breathe, the weight of the words crushing your chest as tears welled in your eyes. The room seemed to blur around you, and the faint sound of your youngest daughter’s voice pulled you back to the present.

“Mama?” Alysanne’s soft, trembling voice brought you out of your haze. She stood in the doorway, her wide violet eyes filled with concern. “Mama, what’s wrong?”

You couldn’t speak. Instead, you opened your arms, and she rushed into them, burying her face against your shoulder. She was only nine, far too young to bear the grief that now settled over her small frame as you clutched her tightly.

“It’s Luke,” you managed to choke out, your voice barely above a whisper. “He’s gone, my sweet girl.”

Her body stiffened, and then she began to sob, her small hands clutching at your gown as if holding on to you would keep the world from crumbling further. “No,” she whimpered, her voice breaking. “Not Luke. He… he promised he’d visit soon. He said we’d play again.”

You stroked her hair, your tears falling freely as you tried to soothe her. “I know,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I know, my love. He was so brave, so kind. He loved you so much.”

Alysanne pulled back slightly, her tear-streaked face looking up at you. “What happened, Mama? Why is he gone?”

Before you could answer, the door opened again, and Tyland entered. His usually composed face was tight with grief, his green eyes filled with sorrow as they flicked from you to Alysanne. He moved quickly, kneeling beside you and pulling both of you into his arms.

“Luke is gone,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “Aemond… Vhagar… it was Storm’s End.”

Tyland’s arms tightened around you, his face grim. “I heard,” he said softly, his voice steady but filled with pain. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry.”

Alysanne’s sobs continued, muffled against his chest as he held her close. “Why would Aemond do this?” she cried, her small voice filled with heartbreak. “He was our cousin. Why would he hurt Luke?”

Tyland’s jaw tightened, his voice low but gentle as he answered. “Sometimes, people let anger and hatred consume them. Aemond made a terrible choice, one he can never take back.”

“It’s not fair,” Alysanne whimpered, her tears soaking into Tyland’s tunic. “Luke didn’t deserve this. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“No, he didn’t,” you agreed, your voice trembling as you stroked her hair. “Luke was innocent, Alysanne. He was kind and brave and so full of life. None of this is fair.”

Tyland pulled back slightly, cupping Alysanne’s tear-streaked face with one hand. “But you know what Luke would want?” he asked gently, waiting until she looked at him. “He’d want you to remember him with love, to be strong and kind like he was. That’s how we honor him.”

Alysanne sniffled, her little hands wiping at her red, swollen eyes. “I’ll try,” she whispered. “But I miss him so much already.”

“We all do,” you said, pulling her close again. “But we’ll carry him with us in our hearts, always.”

You fell silent for a moment, your thoughts shifting to Rhaenyra. The grief that threatened to consume you must have already swallowed her whole. She had lost their father, her strength in the shadows, and now her son—her sweet Luke. “Rhaenyra,” you whispered, your voice breaking with sorrow. “How is she to bear this?”

Tyland’s gaze softened, his hand finding yours as he pulled you closer. “She’s stronger than most, Y/N. But no one should have to endure what she has.”

Tears spilled freely down your cheeks as you shook your head. “She’s lost so much, Tyland. And for what? A crown that will only bring more death? I fear this will destroy her.”

Tyland’s voice was quiet but steady as he replied, “We’ll support her. Whatever she needs, we’ll be there. But you mustn’t let your fear consume you. The children need you, and so does she.”

You nodded, though the ache in your heart remained. “I’ll write to her,” you said, your voice trembling. “She needs to know she’s not alone.”

“She knows,” Tyland assured you. “But hearing it from you will remind her. She’ll find strength in that, just as I find strength in you.”

For a long moment, the three of you stayed there, clinging to each other as the weight of Luke’s loss settled over you. The grief was raw, a wound that would never fully heal, but in the warmth of Tyland’s embrace and Alysanne’s quiet sniffles, you found a flicker of resolve. Rhaenyra might be far away, but you would do whatever it took to support her—even from a distance.

The storm raged on outside, the winds howling as if the gods themselves mourned the loss of the boy who had once brought so much light to your family. And though the world seemed darker now, you vowed to carry that light forward—for Luke, for Rhaenyra, and for the family you still had to protect.

The skies over Casterly Rock darkened as the blood-red shadow of Caraxes descended from the heavens. His serpentine form was unmistakable, his wings slicing through the air with powerful strokes as he let out a guttural roar that echoed off the cliffs. The fortress below erupted in commotion as soldiers and servants rushed to secure the grounds, their nerves frayed at the arrival of the fearsome dragon.

You stood at one of the balconies overlooking the landing courtyard, your children gathered around you, their gazes alight with a mixture of awe and trepidation. Loren and Rhaelle exchanged a glance, the silent bond of twins evident as they seemed to assess the situation in unison.

“It’s him,” Loren murmured, gripping the edge of the stone railing. “Prince Daemon.”

“And Caraxes,” Rhaelle added, her voice tinged with nervous excitement. “There is no other dragon like that.”

You placed a steadying hand on Rhaelle’s shoulder, your gaze fixed on the landing courtyard below. “Stay here,” you instructed your children, your voice firm but calm. “Your father and I will handle this.”

Tyland was already descending the steps to meet the arriving prince, his golden hair gleaming in the afternoon light. His stride was purposeful, but you could see the stiffness in his shoulders, the set of his jaw. The animosity between him and Daemon had never truly faded, and this meeting was bound to be fraught with old wounds and new challenges.

Caraxes landed with a resounding thud, his wings folding neatly against his body as he let out another low, rumbling growl. Daemon dismounted with practiced ease, his silver hair tousled by the wind, his dark armor glinting with a faint crimson hue. He strode forward with the confidence of a man who expected the world to bow before him, his sharp gaze sweeping over the gathered Lannister soldiers before settling on Tyland.

“Lord Tyland,” Daemon greeted, his voice smooth but laced with an edge. “Or should I say, the lion who stole my prize?”

Tyland’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he inclined his head with measured civility. “Prince Daemon. You honor us with your presence.”

Daemon’s smirk widened, his violet eyes gleaming with amusement as he stepped closer. “I wasn’t aware your family had taken to hosting dragons. Or was that your wife’s doing?”

Tyland met his gaze evenly, refusing to rise to the bait. “The dragons are here to protect my family and our lands. You’ll find Casterly Rock has much to offer—both in loyalty and strength.”

“Loyalty,” Daemon repeated, his smirk fading as he stopped a mere step away. “A word I’d not readily associate with the Lannisters.”

Tyland’s eyes narrowed, but his tone remained calm. “House Lannister has always acted in the interest of its people and its allies. I trust you’re here to discuss how we can further those interests.”

Before Daemon could respond, you descended the stairs, your gown billowing behind you as you approached. His gaze flicked to you, and for a moment, the tension in his posture eased.

“Y/N,” Daemon greeted, his tone softer but still tinged with something unspoken. “It’s been some time.”

“It has,” you replied, your voice steady as you came to stand beside Tyland. “Welcome to Casterly Rock, Uncle. I trust your journey was uneventful?”

He chuckled, the sound low and amused. “As uneventful as a flight on Caraxes can be. I see your family is thriving.” His gaze lingered on you for a beat longer than necessary before shifting back to Tyland. “Though I imagine your husband doesn’t think much of my arrival.”

Tyland’s hand brushed yours briefly, a subtle show of unity. “The Westerlands have a role to play in this war,” he said evenly. “If you’re here to discuss strategy, you’ll find us more than willing to listen.”

Daemon’s smirk returned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Strategy, yes. And perhaps a reminder of where loyalty truly lies.”

“Loyalty lies with my sister,” you interjected firmly, your voice cutting through the charged air. “And you’ll find no wavering here, Daemon.”

For a moment, the three of you stood in a silence, the weight of history and unspoken words pressing heavily around you. Finally, Daemon inclined his head slightly, though his smirk never wavered.

“Very well,” he said, his tone light but edged with steel. “Let’s see what the lions of Casterly Rock have to offer the realm.”

Tyland gestured toward the keep, his expression impassive. “Shall we discuss this further in private?”

Daemon didn’t answer immediately, his gaze flicking back to you. “Lead the way,” he said finally, his smirk widening as he fell into step beside you and Tyland.

Jason Lannister sat at the head of the polished oak table, his golden cloak draped casually over his chair. His expression was guarded, his fingers drumming against the armrest as he listened to Prince Daemon Targaryen.

Daemon stood at the far end of the table, his presence commanding as his sharp violet eyes scanned the room. He wore his dark armor, a faint glimmer of crimson catching the firelight, and his posture spoke of urgency restrained only by necessity. Beside him, Tyland sat, his demeanor calm but watchful, while you remained at his side, your expression neutral as you observed the exchange.

“The Riverlands are key,” Daemon began, his voice low but brimming with conviction. “If we secure Harrenhal, we cut off Aegon’s forces from the North. The Riverlords will rally to Rhaenyra’s cause if they see we have the strength to protect them.”

Jason leaned back in his chair, his lips curving into a faint smirk. “Harrenhal,” he repeated, his tone laced with skepticism. “A cursed ruin surrounded by swamps and ghosts. And you want me to march my men there?”

Daemon’s smirk mirrored Jason’s, though his eyes darkened. “A cursed ruin that commands a strategic position. If you march with me, we secure the Riverlands and bring more lords to our side. Aegon won’t stand a chance.”

Jason let out a humorless laugh, gesturing around him. “You think it’s that simple, Targaryen? Marching an army isn’t just a matter of pointing and walking. It requires provisions, planning, and trust. You’ve brought dragons, yes, but you’ve also brought war to my gates. You’ll have to offer more than vague promises of alliances to convince me.”

Tyland leaned forward, his green eyes fixed on his brother. “Jason, securing Harrenhal isn’t just about the Riverlands. It’s about showing strength. If we let Aegon’s forces control the heart of the realm, it will weaken our position everywhere.”

Jason scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. “Easy for you to say, Tyland. You’re not the one who’ll have to explain to our bannermen why they’re marching toward a swamp to fight a war that should’ve stayed in the Crownlands.”

“Because it won’t stay there,” you interjected, your voice calm but firm. “This war will touch every corner of Westeros, Jason. The Westerlands may seem secure now, but if we do nothing, we’ll find ourselves surrounded by enemies. Supporting Rhaenyra isn’t just about family—it’s about ensuring our survival.”

Daemon tilted his head slightly, his gaze flicking to you with something like approval. “Your sister-in-law speaks sense, Jason. Perhaps you should listen.”

Jason shot Daemon a sharp look, his jaw tightening. “Don’t think flattery will sway me, Prince. I’m not so easily charmed.”

“Good,” Daemon replied, his smirk returning. “Because I’m not here to charm you. I’m here to remind you of the stakes. If Aegon wins, what do you think happens to the Westerlands? Do you think Otto Hightower will forget Tyland’s ‘insubordination’? Do you think they’ll let your family’s dragons remain unchecked?”

Jason’s fingers stopped drumming, his expression hardening as he considered Daemon’s words. The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of the question hanging heavily in the air.

“And what guarantee do I have that Rhaenyra will honor our sacrifices?” Jason asked finally, his tone measured. “If I commit my forces, I need to know it’s not for nothing.”

Daemon stepped closer, his violet eyes narrowing. “You’ll have my word, and Rhaenyra’s. And when this war is over, you’ll have the gratitude of the Queen and the future of your House secured.”

Jason met Daemon’s gaze evenly, his expression unreadable. “Your word is worth little to me, Daemon. But my brother and his family—” He glanced at you and Tyland briefly before continuing, “—they have put their faith in you. That carries weight.”

Tyland’s shoulders relaxed slightly, though his voice remained cautious as he said, “Jason, we need this alliance. The Riverlands are a stepping stone, not just for Rhaenyra, but for the safety of the Westerlands.”

Jason sighed, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. “Fine. I’ll march with you to Harrenhal. But I expect results, Daemon. No reckless gambits, no half-baked plans. If my men are risking their lives, I want guarantees.”

Daemon’s smirk widened, though it carried a sharper edge. “You’ll have them. Harrenhal will be ours, Jason. And when it is, you’ll see the wisdom in this choice.”

Jason grunted, reaching for his goblet and raising it slightly. “To wisdom, then. And to victory, I hope.”

Daemon inclined his head, his smirk softening into something more genuine. “To victory.”

As Jason drank deeply, you exchanged a glance with Tyland, the faintest flicker of relief passing between you. The decision had been made, but the road ahead was fraught with uncertainty. For now, however, you could only hope that this alliance would bring the strength needed to weather the storm.

The faint glow of torches flickered against the stone walls of Casterly Rock’s lower courtyard as Loren approached Prince Daemon Targaryen. The evening was cool, the breeze carrying the faint scent of salt from the nearby cliffs. Daemon stood near the edge of the training grounds, inspecting the hilt of Dark Sister as the moonlight glinted off its polished blade.

Loren hesitated for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest, but his resolve hardened. The young lion stepped forward, his boots crunching softly on the gravel, drawing Daemon’s attention.

Daemon turned his head, his violet eyes narrowing slightly as he spotted the boy. His lips curved into a faint, knowing smirk. “Well, this is unexpected,” he drawled, sheathing Dark Sister with a practiced motion. “What brings you here, young Lannister? Shouldn’t you be in bed, dreaming of glory?”

Loren squared his shoulders, his hair catching the faint light. He looked every inch a Lannister—proud, determined, and unyielding. “I came to speak with you, Prince Daemon.”

Daemon raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “Did you now? And what does the lion cub wish to discuss with the Rogue Prince?”

“I want to join the war,” Loren said, his voice steady but filled with youthful determination. “I want to fight.”

Daemon’s smirk widened, his amusement evident as he stepped closer, studying the boy intently. “Do you, now? And does your mother know you’re here, making such bold declarations?”

Loren hesitated, his jaw tightening slightly. “Not yet,” he admitted, his tone defiant. “But I’ll tell her. She’ll understand.”

Daemon chuckled, shaking his head. “Will she? Y/N is many things, but a fool is not one of them. She knows the cost of war better than you ever could.”

“I’m not a child,” Loren shot back, his cheeks flushing. “I’m old enough to make my own decisions.”

Daemon tilted his head, his smirk fading slightly as he regarded the boy. “Old enough to wield a sword, perhaps. But war isn’t just about swords, boy. It’s about blood, loss, and sacrifices you can’t begin to imagine. Do you truly understand what you’re asking for?”

“I understand enough,” Loren said firmly, his gaze unwavering. “Luke is dead. Aemond killed him. I can’t sit here while others fight for justice. I want to do my part.”

Daemon’s expression grew darker at the mention of Luke, the faintest flicker of grief passing over his face before it was replaced by his usual cool demeanor. He studied Loren for a long moment, his sharp gaze piercing.

“You’re brave,” Daemon said finally, his voice low and measured. “But bravery alone doesn’t win wars. Tell me, Loren, why should I let you march with us? What makes you think you’re ready for this?”

Loren lifted his chin, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Because I’ve trained for this my whole life. My father taught me strategy, and I’ve been learning to fight since I could hold a sword. I’m ready, Prince Daemon.”

“Are you?” Daemon asked, stepping closer until he towered over the boy. “Because the battlefield doesn’t care about your training or your name. When you’re staring down an enemy twice your size, when you see your friends fall beside you—will you still be ready then?”

Loren didn’t falter, his gaze steady despite the weight of Daemon’s words. “Yes,” he said simply. “Because I’m fighting for something that matters.”

Daemon regarded him in silence for a moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re your mother’s son, all right. Stubborn as a mule and twice as bold.”

Loren’s lips twitched into a faint smile at the comment, but his resolve didn’t waver. “Does that mean you’ll let me join?”

Daemon exhaled sharply, running a hand through his silver hair. “Not yet,” he said, his tone firm. “I’ll speak to your mother first. If she agrees, I’ll consider it. But don’t get your hopes up, boy. Y/N has a sharper tongue than I do, and I don’t envy the conversation you’ll have when she finds out you came to me.”

Loren’s confidence faltered slightly at that, but he nodded. “Thank you, Prince Daemon.”

Daemon smirked again, his hand resting on the hilt of Dark Sister. “Don’t thank me yet. And next time, try not to sneak around like a thief. It’s unbecoming of a Lannister.”

As Loren turned to leave, Daemon called after him, his voice laced with amusement. “And tell your dragon to stay out of trouble. We’ll need him in one piece.”

Loren glanced back, his cheeks flushing slightly as he nodded. “Yes, my prince.”

Daemon watched the boy disappear into the shadows, his smirk fading as his expression grew thoughtful. The lion cub had fire, no doubt about that. But fire alone wasn’t enough to survive the inferno of war.

The solar was quiet, the soft crackle of the hearth filling the space as you sat at the writing desk, your quill moving steadily over parchment. The warmth of the fire and the scent of ink should have been calming, but your mind was far from settled. The anxiety in Casterly Rock had been high since Daemon’s arrival, his presence stirring emotions and memories you had long tried to bury.

The knock on the door was firm but not aggressive, breaking your focus. You set the quill down, glancing toward the door. “Enter,” you called, your voice steady despite the flutter in your chest.

Daemon stepped inside, his frame silhouetted by the light from the hall. His silver hair shimmered in the firelight, and his violet eyes were sharp as they locked onto yours. He closed the door behind him, the faint creak of the hinges the only sound as he took a step forward.

“Daemon,” you greeted, your tone guarded but polite. “To what do I owe this visit?”

He smirked faintly, though there was a weight behind it. “You always were direct, niece. It’s one of the things I admired about you.”

You leaned back in your chair, folding your hands neatly in your lap. “And yet, you’ve come to speak with me, not my husband. That’s rarely a good sign.”

His smirk widened, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Tyland has his uses, but this… this is a matter that concerns you more directly.”

Your brow furrowed slightly, but you nodded toward a chair by the hearth. “Sit, then. Let’s not waste time.”

Daemon strode across the room, his movements deliberate and controlled. He settled into the chair, resting an arm on the armrest and studying you for a moment before he spoke.

“It’s about Loren,” he said, his tone quieter than you expected. “Your son approached me earlier.”

Your heart sank slightly, though you kept your expression neutral. “What did he say?”

Daemon’s lips twitched, not quite a smile. “He wants to join the war. He’s eager to fight, to prove himself. I told him I’d speak to you before making any decisions.”

You exhaled slowly, your fingers tightening slightly on your lap. “Loren is brave, but he’s still a boy. He doesn’t understand what war truly means.”

“Perhaps not,” Daemon agreed, leaning forward slightly. “But he has fire in him, Y/N. The kind that could make a difference on the battlefield.”

You narrowed your eyes, your voice sharpening. “And what happens when that fire is snuffed out, Daemon? He’s my son. I won’t risk him for your ambitions.”

Daemon’s smirk faded, replaced by a seriousness that was rare for him. “This isn’t just about my ambitions. It’s about Rhaenyra’s claim, about the future of the realm. If Aegon wins, the Westerlands won’t be safe—your family won’t be safe. You know that.”

You stood, crossing the room to stand near the hearth. The flickering flames reflected in your eyes as you turned back to him. “I know what’s at stake, but I’ve already given everything to this war. My children are my line in the sand, Daemon.”

He rose from his chair, his gaze steady as he approached you. “I understand your fear, Y/N. Truly, I do. But this war isn’t something we can sit out. It’s coming for all of us, whether we want it to or not.”

For a moment, the room was silent, the tension between you crackling like the fire behind you. Finally, you sighed, your voice softer. “You said this wasn’t just about Loren. What else is on your mind, Daemon?”

His expression shifted, a flicker of something unguarded crossing his face. “You’ve always been perceptive,” he murmured, stepping closer. “Perhaps too perceptive for your own good.”

“Daemon,” you warned, your tone firm. “Don’t play games with me.”

He stopped just a step away, his gaze locked onto yours. “I came here because I needed to see you,” he admitted, his voice quieter. “Not as a prince or a general, but as the man I was before all of this.”

Your breath hitched slightly, but you held his gaze. “And who was that man, Daemon? Because I don’t think I’ve known him for a very long time.”

His lips twisted into a faint, rueful smile. “Perhaps not. But that doesn’t change what I feel—or what I’ve always felt.”

You shook your head, stepping back slightly. “Daemon, whatever you think you feel—”

“I’m not asking for anything,” he interrupted, his voice sharper. “I know where you stand, Y/N. I know who you chose. But that doesn’t erase the past, and it doesn’t stop me from caring.”

For a moment, you couldn’t find the words. The weight of his confession hung heavily in the air, mingling with the memories you had worked so hard to suppress. Finally, you exhaled, your voice steady but strained. “You care, Daemon? Then respect my choices. Respect my family.”

He inclined his head slightly, his smirk returning but softer this time. “As you wish, niece. But don’t expect me to stop watching over you. Or your son.”

With that, he turned and strode toward the door, his boots echoing against the stone floor. As the door closed behind him, you sank into the chair by the hearth, your mind racing. Daemon had always been a force of nature—unpredictable, relentless, and utterly unyielding. And while his words left you unsettled, you couldn’t deny the truth in them. The storm of war was coming, and whether you liked it or not, your family was already caught in its path.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x reader #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #fire and blood #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #game of thrones #hotd tyland #tyland lannister #tyland x reader #tyland x you #tyland x y/n #to win a princess

48 notes · View notes

giggly-squiggily · 2 days ago

Note

Woke up in the middle of the night, and was like,' this is perfect!' Todoroki x reader. Sentence starters 'what was that?', 'What do you mean?',and 'not there!'. If you can't do all three it's fine. Hope you can do it. Luv you friend!😊

{Puffs are now CLOSED!}

Friend! :D Those midnight thoughts are always the ones that get us! I love it :3 Todoroki is a precious baby- especially when he gets tickled! I've gotcha covered, friend! (Luv you too!)

“Heeh!”

“What was that?” You sat up, brows raised at the soft sound your boyfriend made.

“What do you mean? I didn’t make any sounds.” Todoroki averted his gaze, a blush raising up his collar the longer you stared at him. “Come back down- it’s too cold without you.”

“Says Mr. IcyHot- no, you totally giggled!” You pressed your hands into his belly once more, feeling him twitch. “Are you ticklish?”

“...Maybe?” He finally caught your eye, blushing near scarlet at your growing grin. “(Y/N)...”

“I’ve gotcha now!” You cried in glee, drilling your fingers into his belly and watching him full body spasm. “Tickle tickle tickle, Shoto~”

“Gehahahhahaha! Ehehahaha! Nohohoohoho pleahhahase! (Y/N)-Aheahhahaha!” Todoroki was halfway lost in the sheets, hands grabbing at your wrists as he twisted and turned beneath you. “Nohohoho nhoohoht thehehehre!”

“Not here? Why, does it tickle that bad?” You teased, shoving your hands up his sweater to really get him. “Huh- one side of you is really warm while the other is cold! That’s so cool!”

“Nohohoho, it reahhahally ihiihsn’t-Ehehehehek dohohohon’t!” He squealed when you pinched along his ribs, nearly flying out of the bed. “Yoohohhour hahahands are coohohohld!”

“You can feel it even over here?” You pressed into the colder side of his body, laughing when he squeaked. “Wow! I’m learning so much about your quirk everyday!”

“Glahahhad to heahehahhar I’m soohohoho inteheehheresting! Nohoohow stahhahap tihihihickling mehehehehe!” He tapped out against your leg, making you finally stop. Gasping for air, Todoroki loosely brought his arms around himself, blinking away tears of mirth. “Geheha..hahaha..thahhank you.”

“Hehe, you’re welcome!” You leaned down, kissing his cheek before getting comfortable once more. “I’m gonna tickle you way more often now, you know that right?”

“Sure- say, since we’re talking about it.” He nudged you until you were looking in his eyes. “Are you ticklish?”

Your face grew hot, your smile freezing some. Todoroki smiled. “Is it too late to say I’m sorry?”

“Yes.” He gathered you up in his arms, tickling as he twisted. You squealed with laughter as your positions were reversed, unable to fight off his vengeful fingers.

So be it; you couldn’t deny how happy it made you.

#Puffs #sentence starters #tickle #tickle dabble #todoroki shouto #reader insert #todoroki x reader #made this romantic cause it felt right #but argumentatively you could say this is platonic too #whichever floats your boat :3

33 notes · View notes

sarcasticallyexplicit11 · 12 hours ago

Text

The Curtis parents were buried on a cold, rainy day in January; the weather outside perfectly matching the emotions of the East side. The house was quiet, far quieter than it had been in 13 years.

The kitchen table where Darry was covered in paperwork: bills, custody papers, deeds, more bills. Steve and Soda were curled up on the recliner, Soda’s head laying on Steve’s shoulder while he whispers to Soda about something no one else could hear. Ponyboy, Dally, and Johnny sit together on the couch, silent tears rolling down Pony’s face and Johnny running his fingers through his hair. Dally sat with his arm around Johnny’s shoulder, the unoccupied hand twirling his switchblade.

They had all been like this since the funeral, no one saying much of anything to anyone. “He hasn’t cried,” Ponyboy whispered. Johnny and Dally looked at him in confusion, confused by the suddenness of the statement. They knew exactly who he was talking about without having to ask. Darry had been a rock at the funeral. He handled the arrangements, held his brothers while they cried, gave the eulogy, and spoke with the distant relatives who decided to show up. And he did all of it without shedding a single tear. “He ain’t said nothing but I know he’s hurtin’, he’s gotta be,” Pony says before burying his face in Johnny’s chest and beginning to sob.

Soda hadn’t said a word since they got back from the cemetery. Hell, he’d barely said anything while they were there. He only talked to Steve and his brothers, no one else. Steve looked at him and pinched his brows together in worry. A quiet Sodapop was never good. Steve could almost see the gears in his head turning, like there were words trapped in his mind that just wouldn’t come out. Soda buried his head farther into Steve’s shoulder, sighing deeply. “What’s on your mind,” Steve asked. He wasn’t expecting an answer. The question just came tumbling out of his mouth. Steve felt hot tears on his neck, Soda’s body shaking from crying. “Shhhhh bud, I gotcha.”

Darry wanted to get up and comfort his brothers. He wanted to wrap them up in his arms and tell them it would be okay. No matter how much he craved holding them tight, it was like he couldn’t get his legs to work. His brain knew what he needed, his body just would not cooperate. All he could do was stare at the papers in front of him, none finished. Looking at the clock, Darry took a deep breath and stood up for the first time since they’d gotten back to the house. “I-I’m gonna start on dinner,” he murmured to himself. No one in the living room acknowledged him, but both Soda and Pony heard the waver in his voice, the uncertainty that filled his mind.

Before he could open the fridge, the front door creaked open and Two-Bit’s whistle came through it. The boys in the living room look up and Soda smiles a bit, for the first time since their parents died. “Heya Two,” said Soda without moving his head off Steve’s shoulder.

Two-Bit walked behind the couch and ruffled Pony’s hair, who ducked his head to get out of the way. “Hey y’all,” Two replied, “my mom made lasagna for us so that you don’t gotta cook Dar.”

Darry froze in his spot in the kitchen. He sucked in a deep breath and promptly collapsed onto the floor in tears. Everyone stared at him in shock, unsure of what they were supposed to do. The shock took a second to wear off. When it did, both Soda and Pony lept out of their seats and were at their big brother’s side before anyone could blink. “I’m sorry, God I’m so sorry,” Darry stammers, tears streaming down his face. No one says anything, everyone afraid of making a move in case they disturb the rare vulnerability of the gang's eldest.

Two-Bit sets the food on the kitchen table and drops down on one knee in front of Darry. “I didn’t know a bit of Italian would make ya cry Muscles,” he states from his spot on the floor. Darry chuckles a little bit, then leans further into Soda’s shoulder. Darry continued to murmur a mixture of I’m sorry’s and other apologies while Soda and Ponyboy held onto him.

The only sounds heard throughout the house were Darry’s sniffles and the quiet shuffling of the boys in the living room, unsure of what they should do. Neither Pony nor Soda dared to move to make sure Darry takes the time he needs to get all of his emotions out. Dally, Steve, and Johnny begin to make their way into the kitchen, all of them settling somewhere on the floor near Darry.

After what feels like hours, Darry’s tears finally stop. He swipes at his eyes and says, “Glory y’all I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve broke down like that.”

Two-Bit shakes his head, putting a hand on Darry’s knee. Soda wraps his arm around Darry’s shoulder and squeezes it. “You don’t gotta apologize, you don’t gotta be strong all the time,” Soda replies as he tugs Darry closer to his body. Darry fought the urge to disagree with him. He had to be strong, he had to be. Someone had to pay the bills and take care of the gang. Someone has to keep the lights on and food on the table. Darry had no choice but to be strong for everyone.

They stayed on the floor together until Dally stood up to stretch his legs. “Alright, some of y’all,” Dally says pointedly at the Curtis brothers, Darry in particular, “haven’t eaten all day. And I happen to know Pony here gets cranky so let’s eat.” Pony gets up and shoves Dally with his shoulder, who just wraps an arm around him and laughs. The gang get up, Darry grabbing plates and silverware while Two opens up the dish.

Everyone gathers at the kitchen table, with Steve hopped up on the counter eating his plate. Darry takes a seat at the head of the table, smiling now that he knew everyone was in the house, fed and safe.

#the outsiders #darry curtis #ponyboy curtis #sodapop curtis #two bit mathews #dally winston #johnny cade #steve randle

28 notes · View notes

raginglesbian2006 · 2 days ago

Text

Ne Me Quitte Pas

Alastor x angel!reader

Chapter 4: Stardust

Chapter warnings: Alastor being Alastor

When our love was new, and each kiss an inspiration.

But that was long ago, and now my consolation

Is in the stardust of a song.

Masterlist

Time seemed to stop for Alastor.

Those bright, beautiful eyes he had fallen in love with in the mortal world, turned to look at him, acknowledging his presence.

His ever-present smile wavered a bit, just until those eyes turned away from him to look at Lucifer.

Despite Charlie’s cries for help and Lucifer’s aggressive disapproval, all he heard was silence. His glowing red eyes bore into the back of his beloved’s head.

You’d gone to heaven, of course you did and he knew that for a long time. He had scoured the ends of hell for your presence but found none who held even a shred of your likeness. He was relieved at first, knowing you would be spared from his violence, knowing you would be safe.

But it wasn’t long before he felt a sense of longing, desperation, and want to have you with him. He knew that if he played his cards right, his powers would help him grow stronger. He would be strong enough to bring you back to him.

Even if it meant he had to rip out those striking wings of yours.

Those very wings that blocked his vision now.

He let out a static sigh, ordering his dead heart to calm down as he approached the party.

“Now, now, Your Majesty,” he started, letting his hand act as a barrier between the two of you. It is rather uncouth for royalty like you to act in such a brazen way.”

His eyes shifted to yours, holding your skeptical gaze. He could feel not a smidge of recognition deep within those irises.

His stance faltered for a fraction of a second before his grin widened as he turned to the king of hell who was still seething.

“Why not give this angel a chance to explain themselves, hm? Unless you’re incapable of behaving like an adult, let alone a king?” Alastor jeered.

Hearing this, Lucifer turned his blood-red eyes to Alastor, gritting his teeth and speaking, “And I think you should behave like the easily disposable subject you are.”

Charlie, feeling a murderous staring contest begin between the two, intervened.

“Dad, this angel has come to give our hotel their blessings,” she explained, moving over to you, “And they have proof from Sera! Right?”

Her nervous eyes shifted to you, begging you to try to quell this disharmony.

“Your daughter speaks the truth, Lucifer Morningstar,” you said, summoning the scroll into your hands and holding it out for him.

Lucifer snatched the scroll to read it himself, his eyes moving over every word. Alastor leaned over to look through it as well. As soon as he reached the end, he let out a guffaw.

“Oh, this is hilarious!” Alastor exclaimed, wiping away a fake tear, “The High Seraphim pitying us helpless demons?”

Alastor let out a dramatic sigh, holding a fist over his chest, “Oh how…,” his static faded, only to grow louder as you felt his presence nearing you, “....delightful.”

With a tap, your cane transformed into your weapon. You pointed the sword right at his neck.

All eyes were on the two of you and silence grew, save for the quiet static that prevailed.

“You have a lot of guts trying to intimidate an angel,” you spoke, shifting your gaze to meet his, “especially since you’ve,” your eyes trailed down to his dress coat, “met one already.”

Alastor’s eye twitched as he shifted back with uncertainty. His ever-present grin straining as he tried to compose himself.

“And I don’t think that encounter went quite well for you,” You continued, your gaze piercing his soul.

He had never seen you like this before. Your eyes had always been one of his favorite things about you, having always held so much love whenever they looked at him.

But now, those very eyes he’d adored were holding him down in place, watching him like a predator stalks their prey.

Before he could lose any more of his composure, your eyes turned to find Lucifer’s.

“Your Majesty,” you started, snapping your fingers to get rid of the scroll held in his hands, “As you can see, I am here by the order of the High Seraphim. She sees potential in this establishment and I do too.”

Lucifer’s stature was still guarded, but his demonic form had calmed down a bit, his horns having disappeared completely and his eyes slowly returning to their normal state.

He stole a look at his daughter, her pleading eyes softening his resolve.

Letting out a sudden laugh, he walked up to you and pulled you down by your collar, making sure you were at eye level with him.

“If you try to hurt my daughter,” he glared, “I’ll drag you down to a place worse than hell myself…permanently.”

“I wouldn’t expect any less from you, Your Majesty,” you said, cooly.

With a huff, he let go of you, rolling his shoulders back. He met Charlie’s gaze with a tired smile. She returned it with warmth, an unspoken understanding resonating between them.

“So,” Charlie looked at you with a gigantic grin, “When do we get started?”

You tilted your head, “I’m sorry?”

“Gosh! I have so many ideas to work with! I’ll show you my charts! There’s this excellent daily schedule I’ve planned for the guests, sin-free of course-”

“Hun,” Vaggie interrupted, “Maybe we should…help them settle first?”

Charlie gasped, “Right!”

She grabbed you by your arm with a giddy disposition, “I have just the right room for you! Let’s go!”

Vaggie and Lucifer followed her as she dragged you upstairs, watching you like a hawk.

The rest of the hotel residents stood there in silence, before Niffty spoke out excitedly, “I like them.” She then hopped away happily with her broom, searching for her next pest victims.

“I’m…. gonna go head out for a while, see ya later Angie!” Cherri said as she walked out of the hotel.

Angel Dust and Husk looked at each other, not sure what to make of the situation. A sudden and loud crackle of static alarmed the two of them.

They turned to see Alastor seething, his smile morphing into a sickly grin. They followed his line of sight to the newly arrived angel who bore a soft smile as they patiently listened to Charlie’s excited ramblings, disappearing into the long halls with Lucifer and Vaggie in tow.

A pop sounded behind them as they watched Alastor fizzle away into the shadows.

“What’s the deal with ‘im?” Angel asked Husk, who merely shrugged, too tired and drunk to care.

You looked around the room Charlie had brought you to. It was quite spacious, decked out with a comfortable queen-sized bed, a few tasteful decorations, and a balcony overlooking the Pride ring.

“The washroom’s right there and we serve 3 meals a day- the food and accommodations are all free, of course!” Charlie explained.

“The bar is open…whenever Husk feels like it, to be honest,” she admitted sheepishly, “but he’s a guest too so…”

Charlie trailed off, looking around.

“You….don’t have your luggage?” she pointed out.

“Oh! I do,” you said as you snapped your fingers twice. Your suitcases, numerous books, and everything else popped into existence, covering almost every inch of the dark red carpeted floor.

Charlie, Vaggie, and Lucifer looked dumbfounded.

“I..umm..may have packed a bit too much…” you said with an awkward smile.

Charlie regained her composure, “Don’t worry, take your time unpacking and settling in! We’ll just be out of your way!”

She dragged her father and girlfriend along with her, shutting the door behind her.

“Well that was something,” Vaggie started.

“I can’t believe an actual not fallen angel is in our hotel!” Charlie exclaimed, jumping on her hooves in the hallway.

“I still don’t know how to feel about this, Charlie,” Lucifer sighed, rubbing his temple with one hand, “Heaven, listening to us for once? Hah! As if.”

“Dad…,” Charlie placed a hand on her father’s shoulder, “If we don’t give Heaven a chance, we’d be bigger hypocrites than Heaven themselves!”

“Guess there’s no helping it,” Lucifer smiled, holding his hand over his daughter’s, “I won’t be able to be with you all the time though, still have official stuff I gotta handle from the castle.”

He turned to his daughter’s girlfriend.

“Maggie,”

“Vaggie-”

“Can I trust you to take care of my girl when I’m not in the hotel?”

“I’ll protect her even when you’re here, Your Majesty,” Vaggie stated, “I’m not gonna let an angel of all beings harm her.”

“Awww, you guysss,” Charlie beamed as she hugged the two, “I appreciate all that but I can take care of myself too!”

“No doubt about that, dear,” Lucifer smiled, reaching up to ruffle her hair.

“C’mon, let’s give them time to unpack,” Charlie giggled, gesturing to the room of the new arrival, “And let’s give ourselves time to unpack…this situation.”

As soon as they were about to take a step, you popped your head out of the room with a smile.

“All done!”

The three looked back with wide eyes.

“Already?” Vaggie exclaimed, “ It's been like what…a minute?”

“Ah well…. angelic magic can go a long way,” you said, “I took the liberty to make a few tweaks to the room if you don’t mind.”

Charlie, growing curious, walked up to the room, “Of course, as long as…”

Her voice trailed off and her jaw dropped.

The room had been completely transformed. Soft blue replaced the red hues that once decorated the walls. White drapes surrounded the bed canopy and the windows. A few potted plants were placed where it best suited them, and all your necessities were neatly arranged in their appropriate places.

But the most drastic change of them all was the seemingly infinitely extending ceiling enveloped in a fitting angelic aura.

“Oh, don’t worry about the ceiling, it won’t disturb the rooms above this one,” you pointed out, watching Charlie shake her head in disbelief, “I just needed some space to stretch my wings.”

Vaggie and Lucifer stood behind Charlie shortly after, their mouths gaping like the princess.

“You’ve settled in already,” Lucifer chimed.

You sheepishly shrugged in reply.

It wasn’t long before you had to bid them goodbye as they left you to your devices.

You sighed and plopped yourself down on the bed. You opened the bedside drawer and took out a jewelry box.

Opening it, you could see all the little trinkets Molly had made for you, the few golden cranes that Oliver had forged as a gift for you. You smiled, wondering what the two were up to right now in heaven.

Your emotions took a somber turn when your fingers felt the cool looped metal hidden beneath everything else. Holding it up, your eyes found the red ruby seated in the center of the ring.

The ring you’d come to heaven with. The ring, as St. Peter had described, was a parting gift from someone who loved you.

Someone….who loved you.

You wondered if you would find them someday—the person who gave you this ring. Surely they must’ve made it to heaven? Or perhaps condemned to hell?

Are they still here? Have they been thinking of you?

Do…do they still love you?

All those questions plagued your mind ever since you entered the gates of heaven. And they have never left you in peace.

Putting it back safely within the confines of the box, you slid the drawer close, turning your attention to your other prized possession.

A radio.

You’d made it so that it could play music with or without a station nearby. Although it took several attempts for you to get it right, on top of making sure you did not damage the gizmo, you knew it was worth all the hassle.

Something had drawn you to it when you first saw it sitting on the shop shelf collecting dust. Call it love at first sight, if you will.

You turned the dial, smiling when music played through. It was a song about love- a reminiscent memory of it.

Sometimes I wonder, how I spend

The lonely nights

Dreaming of a song

The melody

Haunts my reverie

You lay down on the bed, letting your wings rest on either side of you. You feel a lone feather float down towards your face. You reach out to catch hold of it, right before it landed on you.

And I am once again with you

When our love was new

And each kiss an inspiration

You twirl the feather in between your fingers as your mind wanders.

You must find them -the person who loved you.

But that was long ago

And now my consolation is in the stardust of a song.

You must.

A/N: Sorry for the late updates. Trying my best to juggle my academics with writing. I can't promise regular updates, at least not until I get into med school but I'll try my best to not keep ya'll waiting. Thank you for reading!

Taglist:

@yumiburrito , @candyladycry , @sleepykittycx,

@fairyv-ice , @sonatabee @preciousbabypeter,

@mo-0-o

@goddesslilithmoriarty, @cyannese-rose,

@readergirlstuff, @nealeart,

@dollsgate, @cherry-cola-100

@dark-mark @hey-there-you @missa-archdevilme

@diffidentphantom, @eris-norwega

#hazbin hotel #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin alastor #alastor x angel!reader #ne me quitte pas

46 notes · View notes

hungy-artist · 3 days ago

Text

Bakudeku has become so important to me. I love them so much. It’s getting embarrassingly ridiculous.

Anyways, I think I’m gonna start writing mini fics and posting them here.

—I’ll Be There—

Izuku felt the embers slip away, this feeling of emptiness settling within him in an unnerving chill. He sat up in bed, his heart feeling tight and his eyes burning. One For All was gone and he was quirkless again.

*RING RING*

His phone went off on his bedside table, and he was shocked out of his head. His eyes landed on the caller id, and he fumbled to answer it.

“Kacchan?” He whispered, not wanting to wake his mother. “What’s up? You’re not usually up this late.”

He heard a little shuffling before Katsuki’s voice filled his ear. “I don’t know… I felt like I needed to call you.”

Izuku laid back down, staring up at the ceiling and feeling distraught all over again. He did not regret his decision, but feeling his quirk dissipate had his insides churning. Now what was there for him?

“They’re gone.” He whispered.

Katsuki was silent for a while, knowing exactly what that meant and Izuku could not help the tears that slipped from his eyes. His dream was over.

He understood why Kacchan had cried in that hospital room better now. A part of him felt like it was broken, thinking about not being able to chase Katsuki the same way ever again.

“…Are you okay?” Katsuki asked quietly.

“Y-Yes…” The word may have fell from his lips but he was not sure it was true. He heard more shuffling on the other end, and then silence. “How did you know?” He asked, reaching up and wiping the tears off his face.

“I don’t know… I just did.” Katsuki answered, sounding unsure himself.

Izuku frowned, his expression crumbling as his lip wobbled. He could not help the sad sound that trembled from him, turning on his side to curl into himself.

Katsuki let out a heavy breath, wishing he could do something for Izuku. Itching to blurt out his plans just to give his friend hope.

“Kacchan?”

“Yeah, Izuku?”

Izuku sobbed quietly, pressing his face harder against the phone. “I’m sorry.”

Those words hurt Katsuki’s chest, and he felt like his own eyes were starting to burn. “Don’t say that… You don’t need to be sorry.” He muttered, hating that Izuku felt the need to apologize.

“Can I ask you for something?” Came Izuku’s trembling question.

“Yes.”

“Will you promise to not leave me behind?”

Katsuki scoffed, as if the question offended him. “Are you dumb? As if you could get rid of me.” He snapped, quickly realizing Izuku wanted a real answer after he was met with a lingering silence. “…I promise.” He whispered.

Izuku sighed, feeling small. “I feel so weird.”

Katsuki faltered, not knowing how Izuku could be feeling at all. “Do you…” He hesitated, suddenly nervous like it was not his place to offer anything. He shoved past the discomfort. “Do you want me to come over?”

It was like the question tended to the pain inside Izuku. To have the blonde next to him, telling him face to face that things would be okay, that he would not be left behind, Izuku could not resist.

“Please.”

“Okay. I’ll be over in a few.” Came Katsuki’s quick reply, and Izuku could hear as he got out of his bed. “Do you need anything?”

“Just you.” Izuku muttered, not caring how hot his face felt as the words left his lips.

Katsuki paused for only a moment, feeling as his ears grew hot at the implication. He shook his head, needing to focus and be there for Izuku. He grabbed his jacket and pulled his keys from his pocket.

“Then I’ll be there.”

#bakudeku #bakugou katsuki #my hero academia #katsudeku #decchan #dekubaku #mha deku #midoriya izuku #bakudeku fic #mini fic

26 notes · View notes

dreamscapeee222 · 21 hours ago

Text

You're feeling sad

Yoongi x reader

Masterlist

Yoongi knows something’s off before you even say a word. It’s in the way your energy feels muted, how your usual spark is replaced by something heavier. He doesn’t ask right away; instead, he watches you quietly, his eyes full of concern. When he’s sure you’re not going to speak up on your own, he makes his way over, sitting down beside you.

“Hey,” he says softly, his tone careful, like he doesn’t want to push too hard. “You okay?”

If you shake your head or try to brush it off, he doesn’t let it slide but also doesn’t press you. “It’s alright,” he murmurs, placing his hand over yours. “You don’t have to talk if you’re not ready. I just don’t want you to deal with this alone.”

His comfort comes in quiet, subtle ways. He doesn’t overwhelm you with solutions or words of advice—he knows that sometimes, the best thing is just having someone there. He stays close, offering you the warmth of his presence. If the tears come, he’s ready, his hand moving to your back, tracing slow circles. He doesn’t say much, but the way he holds you feels like he’s telling you everything will be okay without needing the words.

When you’ve cried yourself out, he gently wipes your face with the sleeve of his hoodie, chuckling softly. “You got my favorite hoodie all wet, you know that?” His teasing is light, meant to lift the weight off your chest, even if only a little.

He’s quick to shift gears if he thinks you need distraction. Maybe he’ll suggest watching something comforting—your favorite movie or a random nature documentary you’d find oddly soothing. “Let’s just sit here for a bit,” he says, grabbing a blanket and wrapping it around the two of you. “No pressure to do anything. Just be.”

And then, of course, there’s the music. He’ll pull out his phone or even take you to the piano if you’re up for it. He plays softly, the notes filling the room like a balm for your soul. “You always say my music helps,” he reminds you, his lips curling into the faintest smile. “So let it work its magic.”

At some point, he insists on making you something warm—tea, soup, or even just a slice of toast if it’s all you can handle. “I’m not about to let you go hungry,” he says, placing the food in front of you. “It’s nothing fancy, but you better eat.”

By the time the night winds down, he’s got you tucked in with him, his arms wrapped securely around you. He presses a soft kiss to your temple, his voice barely above a whisper as he says, “You don’t have to do this alone. Not ever. I’m here.”

Even as you drift off, his presence lingers—steady, warm, and reassuring. Yoongi may not always have the perfect words, but with him, you never feel anything less than completely cared for.

Requests may be sent through the ask box. Only SFW.

#bts fluff #bangtan fluff #bts x reader #yoongi x reader #yoongi #min yoongi #min yoongi x reader #suga x reader #suga

30 notes · View notes

fanfic-enthusiast · 2 days ago

Text

Just Try Your Best (GGG Fic)

“NO I DON'T WANNA!!”

The shriek was so loud it rustled Cobigail out a nap in her leaves with a jolt. “LEAVE ME ALONE!!!”

Before Cobigail could take a look herself a little girl came bolting into the closet where her domain resided. The girl was red in the face with her brows scrunched up and immediately sat down where she was with her arms crossed, grumbling to herself, completely oblivious to where she ran off to it seemed. A prime target for a prank. Quietly, carefully, Cobigail leaned over her and threw out her hands while making her signature scary face.

“BOO!!!” The little girl screamed and covered her eyes with her hands.

“Ahaha! Gotcha good! Well hello little thing. Hope I didn’t spook you too much?”

After realizing she was ok she carefully parted her fingers to look upon the cheeky prankster of a harvest god.

“Noooooo.”

“Heh, well aren’t you a brave one! Not many your age can say they barely jumped at a prank from me. What’s your name kiddo?” “Parri…” “Well lovely to meet you Parri. Say what brings you to my humble abode.”

“I just wanted to get away from my teacher.” the little girl, Parri, crossed her arms again and furrowed her brow.

“Oh? Why is that? I thought she was nice.”

“It’s cause she wants me to sing a stupid song with the rest of my class. And I don’t wanna.”

She stomped her foot and threw her arms in the air in a little tantrum. Cobigail cocked her head a little and put her hands where her hips would be… if she had them.

“Now wait a minute little lady. A stupid song? I know plenty of songs, but I can’t really think of a stupid one.”

Parri groaned and frowned harder, “You wouldn’t get it. I hate singing, I hate being here, and my teacher is mean to try and make me sing in some concert I don’t even want to be a part of.”

A flash of memory comes through of similar kids not wanting to take part in shows or community gatherings. A sudden change in their excitement to be on stage, glee to anger. Rarely was it a genuine loss of enjoyment for music but rather something a little more, some problem outside the classroom in their lives. The part of Cobigail that remembers teaching kids like this knew that behavior all too well.

She shrank down as much as she could and leaned over, to try and be closer to the little girl’s level.

“Hey now, I’m sure you don’t mean all of that.”

“Yeah well I do.”

“What specifically don’t you like about singing with your class?”

“Um… the… crowd, and the song is bad. Like… slow.” she fumbled around for the right words but eventually fell quiet, caught red handed in her fib.

“Parri, I promise you can tell me what’s bothering you. I won’t tell a soul. The concert’s here are for the community and are a way to bring everyone together, doesn’t that sound fun?” “...” Parri looked away from Cobigail down at her feet. “My momma can’t come to the concert tomorrow… and I don't know anyone else here. I’m gonna be all alone. I d-dont wanna perform alone.”

Cobigail’s gaze softened and she gently put a large finger on the child’s shoulder. “And you’re afraid?”

Parri nodded, her big eyes welled with tears threatening to break and pour over her little cheeks. Without warning she pulls herself around and holds onto Cobigail’s hand, thankfully missing the thorns on her arm and starts to cry. “W-w-we j-just m-m-moved. And I-I d-dont have f-f-friends here.”

How long had it been since someone cried to her like this or looked to her for comfort?

“Shhh… There there. It's alright. Let it out.” Cobigail soothed while carefully stroking her hair with another hand, she was so small, last time she did something like this she was sure the child was bigger in her grasp. Probably squeezing her waist while she stroked their hair and tried to calm them down, being a supportive presence in their lives.

What did she do back then?

A memory of holding a crying child to her came forth, they had lost a pet recently and the grief was still fresh on their mind. She held them close apologizing to them and while they cried in her arms she started humming, something slow. She didn’t remember the name.

She came back to the present as Parri hugged her finger tighter and buried her face into it. While Cobigail held her and gently hummed what bits of the song she could recall and made up the rest. Parri cried for a while, until the sobs trailed off to small snotty sniffles.

“Do you feel a little better?” Cobigail asked.

She felt the little girl nod against her finger.

“I know you said you're scared of performing alone. But you are braver than you think Parri. And you won’t be alone, this will be a good chance to get to know other people in the community… other kids like you.”

“W-what if I mess up the song and they make fun of me?”

“You wouldn’t be the first person to make a mistake, Parri.” Cobigail laughed a little, “Oh boy. One time I missed a whole line of a song when I was little you know. Some time around your age I think.”

“What happened?” “Well I sure was embarrassed but no one laughed or made fun of it. The show went on and people congratulated me on the performance.”

“Even when you messed up?”

“Yes, cause I kept singing and finished the show. They were proud of me for doing my best.” Cobigail carefully brushed a bit of hair out of Parri’s face with a smile. “And I think even if you mess up a little, people will be proud of you too, just for trying.”

“You think so?”

“I know so, I bet you will even make some friends too. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“Yeah…” Parri nodded a little. “I still dont wanna go alone though… I wish my mom could come but she works...”

After a moment of thinking Parri looked up at her, still holding onto her finger. “Can you come? Please.”

Cobigail thought for a moment, “... Parri, I will see your show. You may not see me, but I will be cheering you on, don't worry.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Pinky promise.”

“Hehe kid, my pinky is bigger than your whole body!”

“Oh. Well then, cross your heart?”

“Cross my heart, and hope to fly, stick a corn cob in my eye. Bleh!”

She made a silly face while miming poking herself in the eye and Parri giggled from where she sat in Cobigail’s hand.

“See, look at you smilin’ away! Make sure you wear one for the show ok. I’ll be watching!”

“Ok ok! I will.”

“Good, I know you're goin’ to do great. Now you should probably go back to class, the day is nearly over and I’m sure your teacher is worried.”

She carefully placed Parri back on the soft cloud floor so she could leave.

“Ok, miss. Thank you for making me feel better.”

“Of course, always happy to help whenever you need. Oh, one last thing.”

“Yeah?”

“BOO!”

“AH!!! Hehehe!!!!! Boo!” “Ha!! Great job!” and with that Parri was sent off back to her classroom through the closet door.

True to her word, it was the end of the class day and the teacher was very worried about how long Parri spent in the closet with their god. (Only a little worried about whether or not the girl was eaten though, and more so worried about what to tell her mother if she was.)

When the next day rolled around and towards the evening when the shadows were long. The kids from the small choir school in Milldread gathered in the center of town to sing a few songs, to show the community what they learned so far in the year.

As the performance went on from where Parri stood amongst her classmates scanning the crowd she could see the figure of Cobigail above her altar watched from a distance, like another member of the audience.

And when the songs were sung and the people clapped, a wind rustled the arms of the figure making it look as if she was doing the same. Congratulating this little girl for doing her very best.

#ggg #great god grove #cobigail #cobigail great god grove #sort of oc parri #she's kinda just a random name #god I love this game #cobigail is the best #fluff

24 notes · View notes