#*BLACK AND WHITE LIKE THEIR CLOTHES !! THEIR CLOTHES !!

[awfullyqueerwriter]

I'm sorry, but like... that's not really true. Black was a color that was very difficult to dye, and very time consuming to look after. Dye would generally wash out pretty fast; black dye would wash out very, very fast. White is actually much easier to look after; wash it, apply stain removers, and stick it in the sun to dry. The longer you leave it in the sun, the whiter it gets! Yes, really white garments are difficult to maintain... but they're still easier than black. Like, I love Ladyhawke. It's a great movie. But the fact of the matter is that the clothing is... less than historical. They had ways to get blood out; around half the population would be expected to bleed for a week once a month.

Source: I technically do reenactment now, I guess?

Also this: https://refashioningrenaissance.eu/exploring-historical-blacks-the-burgundian-black-collaboratory/ And this: https://aneala.lochac.sca.org/arts/costume-and-sewing/14th-century-mans-costume/ (this source does point out that in artwork hose were often black. I would also however point out that this was likely at least partly artistic license, as they do point out that a not insignificant number of the hose shown are gold, which isn't likely, to say the least).

huge fan of when the good guys are themed on dark colors and spiky scrappy punk aesthetics and the bad guys are themed on light colors and angelic imagery and order. always such a banger.

[bluukive]

ᯓ Down, boy!

content - mdni, caleb x gn!reader, submissive Caleb, clothed thigh riding, humping, degredation, hair pulling, muzzled and collared Caleb, belt used as a restraint, tears, canine imagery, all consensual !!

wc - 1076 words

an - this is either a hit or miss cus it's my first time writing something like this pfft. I feel like I need to clarify that Caleb is 100% human here

“Good boys don’t get to growl at me and expect not to get punished for it,” your voice came out in a low murmur, one hand tugging his muzzle into place. Caleb couldn't be trusted without one— he became too worked up, biting and growling at you with bared teeth grazing your skin. He hovered over one of your parted thighs, and a black collar sat snug and tight around his neck. It served as a reminder, a warning, for him not to step out of line again. 

“You want to act like a dumb mutt? Then I’ll treat you like one.”

Your degrading words elicit a visceral reaction within the man. A desperately wounded noise leaves him, muffled behind the heavy leather muzzle you had strapped tight to his jaw. Behind him, his wrists were restrained with his own belt, causing his pants to sag at his hips. White knuckles remained clenched in an attempt to hold himself back, like he was fighting the urge to tear something apart. 

Caleb glared down at you through furrowed brows, eyes swirling with an angry mix of orange and purple hues. The threat within them had long gone— the only thing left being shame, hunger and arousal. 

You could feel it all in the way Caleb’s muscles twitched and tensed, as if he was waiting for permission from you. His cock was hard, leaking and forming a damp patch on his boxers. The aching bulge strained against his clothing, hips wanting to rut against you through pure instinct. 

A coo left you, tone dripping with faux sympathy as you leaned close to his ear. “Look at you. Panting over my thigh like some pathetic, perverted stray. What would people think, hm? Seeing their big, baaad Colonel reduced to nothing but a begging mess…”

Another groan, muffled and broken left the trembling man. His head hung low, metal bars of his muzzle resting against the delicate slope of your shoulder. Despite the shame, Caleb’s hips rolled forward by just an inch. It provided him the slightest bit of friction, but it wasn’t enough. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” you muttered under your breath, one hand reaching up to curl up meanly into Caleb’s hair. You gripped hard enough for him to feel the sting, to stay still. 

“You don’t get to fuck me at all, y’know. You don’t even deserve to touch me,” you drawled, followed by one tug to his dark hair. “You should be grateful I’m even letting you get yourself on my thigh like this. Hump my thigh, and maybe then I’ll let you cum. Maybe.”

His body jerked almost violently. Caleb didn’t like that. He was a greedy man, his love for you bordering on obsession— the sort that clawed his way out of his chest so that it burrowed itself into yours. He wanted to rip his muzzle off, sink his teeth into your neck and leave love bite after love bite on your willing body. Unfortunately for Caleb…

He couldn't. That wasn’t up to him. 

You watched him struggle, feeling the desperation ooze out of every pore— much like the way Caleb’s cock was oozing out precum as he humped your tense thigh in earnest. It was sloppy. It was frantic, and Caleb was nothing short of humiliatingly eager for you. You peered down through your lashes, noting the way your thigh was dampening the longer he fucked your thigh like it was the only thing keeping him together. 

Tears prickled at the corner of Caleb’s eyes as he continued to rock his hips back and forth, dragging the bulging swell of his erection over and over whilst you watched with a bored look on your face. Internally, you were anything but. It took all of your willpower not to give in to your lust and grind back with equal fervour. 

“Thaaat’s it. Grind that cock all over my leg. Fuck yourself like the pathetic mutt I know you are.” Your words were punctuated with a harsh tug at Caleb’s collar, reminding him exactly who was the one in charge. Your words were like silk to the man, but he could hear the duplicity, the venom in your voice. The way your eyes twinkled gave you away. You were enjoying this. 

An unrestrained, wanton whimper left Caleb, lips parting so shamelessly behind the tight muzzle. His voice broke, a bead of sweat forming on his temple. Again, you tugged on his hair and bared his throat to your eyes with a sneer. “What’s with the tears, Caleb? Am I being too mean?”

The man sniffled, shaking his head with another wet, clumsy thrust of his hips. “If I wanted to be mean, I would have made you sit there on the floor and hump my shoe.” To emphasise your point, you bounce the thigh Caleb was riding on, the red heel of your shoe clacking on the floor beneath you. 

The noise did something to him. The sound coupled with the sensation of your fingers stroking his hair was too much for the man. Caleb lost all rhythm in his hips. A feral, muffled sob left him. You felt it first before you saw it, your eyes flickering downwards to see a pool of white accumulate where your thigh met Caleb’s crotch. He jerked once, then twice, panting like a bitch in heat.

“Already cumming? You’ve only humped my thigh, baby,” you sighed in a condescending manner, relishing in the way you felt the warm, sticky mess beginning to gradually cool on your leg. It was messy, and the insides of Caleb’s boxers clung to his skin uncomfortably. He was flushed, mind empty—  filled only with the thoughts of the pleasure only you were able to give him.

A click. Some shuffling, paired with heavy breathing. Caleb’s muzzle hit the floor with a loud clang, your fingers gently rubbing at the red lines marring his jaw. Your touch was deceptively sweet, yet Caleb leaned into it anyway. He nuzzled his aching cheek into your palm, trying hard to ride out the aftershocks of his orgasm with bleary eyes. You gave him the fleetest ounce of comfort, but certainly not enough to calm the frantic beating of his heart.

“Pathetic. Truly pathetic, but you’d do it all again in a heartbeat if I asked you to. Wouldn’t you, Caleb?”

The ghost of a smile graced his lips. 

Then, he nodded, needy eyes meeting yours. 

[hargreeves-duncan]

⎯⎯ IT HAD TO BE YOU

visual is for vibes only, reader’s appearance is nondescript!

pairing: 1940s!Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

summary: Bucky turns into a clutz when he realises he’s not the only one with eyes for the 107th’s new nurse

warnings: mentions of minor injuries

word count: 2.4k

a/n: an absolute cliche but i finally watched thunderbolts* and have fallen back into a marvel phase!! enjoy

The first time it happened, it was an accident.

Bucky had been stationed at his post for almost four months and he always, made sure to avoid an injury.

Of course, you might say that any sane man would but everyone in the 107th knew the nurses were a total nightmare, even if your leg was hanging off.

They’re weren’t motherly, nor sweet. Just mean, worn-out old women who’d patched up more men than they could count and didn’t have an ounce of sympathy left in them.

The boys joked that you came out of the nurse’s tent worse than you came in.

So, when Bucky took a fist to the face during a scuffle with one of the guys, he went in expecting a scolding, a rag soaked in antiseptic that burnt like hell and a half-hour long guilt trip about wasting supplies.

He was dreading it.

Until he saw you.

You couldn’t have been more than twenty-three. Fresh out of nursing school and too clean for a place like this. Hell, this was probably your first posting.

Your hands were gloved and steady, but your voice was soft and crisp like a toffee apple, as you tended to one of the men in the beds.

He was missing a good portion of his leg but you were smiling and laughing as you spoke to him like all was well.

It was shocking to see you so attentive to what Bucky knew was a pretty grim sight. The other nurses wouldn’t have been so kind about it, that was sure.

Bucky blinked.

You gave a gentle squeeze to the man’s forearm, before getting up from his side.

As you walked back to your station, your eyes met Bucky and your lips parted softly, “Oh! Hello there, I didn’t see you. Are you alright?”

Bucky had been caught staring.

He cleared his throat, laughing awkwardly as he gestured to his shining bruise around his eye, “Uh, yeah, hi, sorry, I needed some help.”

You clicked your tongue softly, walking over. You cupped his face, looking it over with a small sigh, “Nothing much we can do for a black eye, but we’ll get some ice on it.”

Then, with a gentle nudge to his arm, you added, “Come sit.”

Bucky obeyed without thinking, sinking down into the nearest cot.

He watched you move around the tent with practised precision, your apron was stained from the last guy but your sleeves were still white and clean.

Your hair was pinned up and curled, like most of the girls he knew back home, and your nails were painted a beautiful baby pink.

That was a luxury.

Which meant one of two things: either you had no one waiting back home and liked to treat yourself or you had a husband somewhere footing the bill.

You were pretty, really pretty. He hoped it wasn’t the latter.

You weren’t wearing a ring - most of the other nurses wore them on string around their necks, but you didn’t have one anywhere he could see. That was a good sign.

Just then, you returned to his side, a bundle of ice wrapped in cloth in your hands.

“Close your eyes for me,” you said softly, pressing it against his cheek.

He shut his eyes, rolling his shoulders as he tried to settle himself. He was suddenly all too aware of your eyes on him.

“How’d you do this anyhow?”

He cracked one eye open to look at you, the corner of his mouth twitching, “Would you believe me if I said I tripped over a rock?”

You raised a brow, letting out an amused snort, “I would not, no.”

Bucky chuckled, “Yeah, didn’t think so.”

He let out a breath and leaned back against the cot frame. You gently adjusted the ice on his cheek as he added, “Got into it with one of the guys. Things got… not so friendly.”

“Hmm,” you hummed, reaching for some gauze to dab at the scrape above his eyebrow, “And who started it?”

He hesitated.

“…Probably him.”

You laughed and it lit him up from the inside out. Your presence had a warmth he knew better than to depend on, and yet, he could already feel himself doing so.

“Well,” you mused, cupping his face and giving the cut one last swipe, “next time, try to keep your face out of the way, would you?”

He smirked, “Can’t make any promises, doll.”

You sat back, amused, tossing the bloody cotton pad into the bin, “Why am I not surprised?”

You reached for the ice again, then pressed it lightly to his eye. With your other hand, you took his and guided it into place, “Hold this for me…”

Your eyes flicked down to the name stitched into his uniform, “Sergeant Barnes.”

His heart did something stupid at the way you said it - a giddy grin spreading over his face before he could stop it.

“Yes, ma’am. And you?” he asked hurriedly, eyebrows raised, “I mean, do I, uh… get to know your name?”

You smiled to yourself as you scribbled something down on your clipboard, “Lieutenant Y/N L/N.”

His brows shot up, “Lieutenant?”

“It’s standard rank for nurses,” you said with a small laugh, setting the clipboard down again.

“Really?” Bucky leaned back with a whistle, “I should’ve gone into nursing.”

“Mhm,” you smiled coyly, standing up again, “Alright, Sergeant. Hang tight and let me know when you’re feeling alright to head back out.”

“I will, doll,” he promised, grinning as he settled back into the cot.

You only shook your head with a faint smile before heading off to check on your other patients.

Bucky stayed that way - nursing his injury and watching you go about your business for an hour or so. And the longer he stayed, the more smitten he became.

He’d known you not even a day and he could already see what a sweet soul you were.

And when he finally stepped out of the nurse’s tent later that evening, it was clear he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed.

Camp was buzzing. Word had spread fast of a new nurse on base, kind and pretty in a way that none of the 107th’s soldiers had seen in a long time.

A strangely possessive shiver ran down Bucky’s spine.

He’d have to do something about that chatter.

Sooner, rather than later.

The next morning had started out quiet.

There were drills, same as always but something quickly caught Bucky’s attention.

Injuries. A lot of them. And they were springing up out of nowhere.

They were running laps when Miller suddenly rolled his ankle.

During push-ups, Jones, who was notorious for doing a hundred without breaking a sweat, collapsed face-first into the dirt and split his chin.

By lunch, it was Simmons’ turn.

In the middle of the dining hall, he tripped over a bench with Oscar-worthy theatrics, clutching his arm like it had been torn clean from the socket.

“Doc!” he shouted, gritting his teeth like he was about to lose the limb, “I think I’ve broken it… it’s real bad.”

Bucky looked up from his seat on a crate, narrowing his eyes.

Simmons was a lot of things: loud, clumsy, a bit of a show-off and, it turned out, a terrible actor. He hadn’t started clutching his arm until he’d spotted someone watching from the medical tent.

You.

Nonetheless, you emerged from the flap a moment later, brows furrowed with concern.

“Alright, Sergeant,” you gushed, hurrying over to meet Simmons halfway, “That looks pretty painful, let’s get you looked at. Come on.”

Bucky watched as the guy practically melted under your touch, slinging himself over your front with dramatic flair.

You didn’t flinch, just steadied him and nodded along as he rattled off a long, unruly list of symptoms that weren’t even half-true.

Bucky’s jaw tightened.

“You alright there, Buck?” Steve asked, catching his scowl, “You’re crushing that spoon.”

Bucky looked down. The handle was bent right in half between his fingers.

“Damn,” Bucky muttered, tossing it aside. Those things were useless, made of tin anyways.

Steve raised a brow, following his line of sight. Then, slowly, a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Oh,” he said, drawing the word out as he nodded, “I get it.”

Bucky didn’t answer. He just stood up, brushing the dirt from his pants.

It was time he found himself another bruise. Something small. Believable.

But enough to earn himself another few minutes in that tent, with you.

Before someone like Simmons beat him to it.

He quickly devised a plan, ruling out anything that would get him sent home. That meant minor injuries only.

After lunch, the boys were always ordered to clean up their gear. After all, taking care of your weapon was half the job and pride of being a soldier.

With bayonets on the end of their guns, it was almost too easy for him to injure himself.

Bucky joined in like normal, bantering with the other guys as he polished his gun. Then, with one theatrically clumsy swipe, he managed to slice open the palm of his hand.

He let out a low hiss, glancing down at it like he hadn’t just pressed his palm a little harder into the blade on purpose seconds ago.

It stung like hell, much more than he’d anticipated.

It was perfect.

Wrapping the wound in a makeshift bandage, he made a beeline for the medical tent, already rehearsing the look he’d have on his face: sheepish, stoic but brave.

The kind of look that made women swoon.

Bucky pushed through the tent’s flap, hand held up carefully, as if it were a trophy of his misfortune.

You were knelt down beside a cabinet of medicines, quietly counting stock. You would intermittently mark something down on the clipboard that seemed permanently attached to your hands, as the other nurses worked around you.

Bucky cleared his throat, rocking back on his heels to look casual.

You looked up at the sound, a dry smile tugging at your lips, “Sergeant Barnes? Back so soon?”

He held out his bleeding palm to you, “Afraid so, ma’am.”

“Looks fresh,” you hummed, tracing the edges of the cut, “How’d you do this one?”

“Bayonet slipped while I was cleanin’ her,” he admitted gruffly, running his good hand through his hair.

You tutted softly, “Come sit down, Sergeant. You’re beginning to gather quite the collection of little injuries, you ought to take better care of yourself.”

Bucky laughed, sliding into the cot, just as he had done yesterday, “No idea what you mean, Lieutenant.”

“Mhm,” you replied, clearly not convinced. Pressing a cloth into his palm, you applied a gentle pressure to stop the bleeding.

You were silent for a moment, holding the cloth firmly against his palm before giving him a knowing look, voice soft but teasing, “I have a feeling this wasn’t an accident.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

“Need me to send a welfare check on you? Make sure you’re holding up alright?” you added jokingly with a sly smile.

He chuckled, shaking his head, “No need, Lieutenant. I got it.”

“Good,” you hummed, tapping his wrist gently as you let it go. You rolled across the floor on your stool and tore open a fresh dressing.

“If you’re trying to get my attention, you’ve already done it,” you said simply, applying the dressing to his palm.

Bucky’s heart soared.

“That gift you left me this morning was more than enough to do so.”

And then it plummeted right back down.

“Gift? I didn’t leave you any gift, doll.” Bucky blinked, caught slightly off guard.

“You didn’t?” a smirk crept across your face as you smoothed the corners of the dressing on his hand.

“Huh. Well, then it seems like you have some competition, Sarge.” you nodded towards a collection of wildflowers sitting atop one of the cabinets in a thin vase.

Bucky had nearly screamed.

He didn’t, at least not out loud.

But inside? He was fuming.

Wildflowers. A whole damn bouquet of them. Where’d that idiot even find wildflowers out here? It wasn’t like they were growing beside the mess hall. Someone had gone looking. That meant planning. That meant intention.

It meant competition.

The idea that you could be smiling at someone else the way you smiled at him, come next week, lit a fire under his skin that burned well into the night.

By morning, he was running on no sleep and pure resolve. He’d fake one more injury. Nothing major. Just enough to get him back into your orbit.

So when the transport trucks rolled in with the weekly supplies at 11, Bucky seized the opportunity.

He picked up a heavy crate, made a show of wobbling under its weight and then let it drop directly onto the arch of his boot.

He dropped to the ground with a perfectly-timed curse, clutching his ankle.

“Jesus, Buck… you alright?” Steve asked, looking over him anxiously.

Despite the throbbing pain developing in his ankle, all Bucky could do was nod through gritted teeth, “Yeah, I’m all good, no problem.”

“I better head to the med tent though, just to be on the safe side of things.”

He was up before anyone could question it.

As he pulled back the tent’s curtain, you looked up from the supplies you were sorting, already smirking, “Again?”

He winced, “Crate jumped me.”

“Uh-huh,” you smiled, setting your pen down and already on your feet, “Let’s get that boot off, Sergeant.”

Bucky shuffled toward the cot like a wounded hero, groaning for good measure, “You’re starting to recognise my footsteps, huh?”

“I’m starting to wonder if you’re doing this for attention,” you teased, crouching down and unlacing his boot for him to examine his red, swollen ankle.

“Would it be a crime if I was?”

You wrapped some ice up and pressed it against the bruising skin, “That depends. Attention from me or from the other nurses?”

He didn’t even hesitate, “Just you.”

Your hands paused for a moment on his ankle.

“Alright then,” you said quietly, voice growing shy, “I think I can forgive you this once.”

A slow smile spread across Bucky’s face, “You know,” he said, sitting up straighter as he watched you work, “all jokes aside, I‘ve been wondering…”

You raised an eyebrow, watching him carefully.

“If I promised not to fake any more injuries,” he continued, “would you let me take you to dinner sometime? After the war, of course.”

You blinked, surprised, then smiled, that warm smile he was already falling for.

“I’d like that very much, Sergeant Barnes.”

He felt like he was walking on air as you carefully wrapped his ankle up, “You would?”

“Mhm,” you said, patting his calf and smiling coyly, “Just keep looking out for this country and you’ll find a date waiting for you when you come home, Sergeant.”

That was all the motivation that he needed.

[glutengoblin]

The Anatomy of Trust (Part 2)

Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Reader

Summary: Training under Gothi to become the village healer, Y/N often found herself alone on Berk. It didn't help that her icy personality (and dragon to match) seemed to chase everyone away. But, when a plea to a childhood friend is finally accepted, Y/N finds herself in for the ride of her life.

A/N: Thank you so much for all of the love for the first part of "The Anatomy of Trust". It means the world to me!! <3

I'm so sorry for the delay! I was moving this past week and had a ton going on. Hopefully updates will be a bit more frequent. I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Aged Up Characters, Canon Divergence

The next week, Y/N found herself and Snowmist standing on the very edge of Berk. They were early, but that was on purpose. Although she’d never admit it to his face, part of her didn’t trust Hiccup to actually take her. Although this was much more important, she was concerned that this would be like all of the social events he had blown off when he first started hanging out with the other Dragon Riders.

Though Y/N did complete the Trial by Fire, she had never really meshed well with the others. Though she didn’t want to admit it, part of it was likely because she didn’t really make an effort to get to know them. She viewed Gothi’s encouragement to at least try to complete the Trial by Fire as a necessary evil of residing on Berk as a teenager. As soon as she survived said trial, she was free to go back to her work.

The truth was, Y/N wasn’t a horrible warrior. She was decently quick on her feet and sharp, which gave her an advantage. But she was never the best either, and thus felt like an outsider. Especially when Hiccup made his switch.

She was certainly proud of him and the fact that one of them had managed to make it out of what was practically social exile—it just sucked that she essentially got left behind. After everything they had gone through as children, after all of the rare free time that she had spent with him in the shop, literally helping him build the apparatus that first caught Toothless, she would have thought that he’d at least have the decency to spend some time with her. But no, he left her… just like everyone else had.

The dull green grass of the Isle ruffled in the wind as Y/N and Snowmist stood making final adjustments. As she adjusted her armor, Y/N took note that the waves below them looked calm—a sign that their flight would hopefully be the same.

She had taken a page out of Hiccup’s book while making her own set of armor. For months she had been collecting the few white scales that Snowmist had shed, partly to see if there were any interesting medical properties she could discern. While that had proved a failed venture, she felt lucky she had kept them when Hiccup told her last week that she was going to Dragon’s Edge with him. She quickly got to making herself a set of armor.

It was decently simple—just an iridescent white corset and a set of shoulder pads. The sleeves of her preferred periwinkle tunic still showed, along with her typically black pants and boots. But it still provided more protection than just normal clothes. If she was going to convince Hiccup that she would be fine on her own, she needed every advantage she could get. Hopefully, making her own set of armor would nudge him towards agreeing to her goal.

Y/N had moved to adjusting the harness and packs full of supplies that Snowmist was wearing when Astrid and Stormfly appeared, closing in on their location. She was surprised when Astrid offered her a smile, before beginning to adjust her own armor.

“Hi Y/N.” She paused in a way that seemed a bit strange, hesitant in a way that wasn’t typical for her. “Hiccup told me last week you’d be joining us. I’m happy to have you on the team.”

Y/N offered her a nod, replying, “I’m happy to be joining you.” Without adding much else, Y/N turned back to her preparations.

They both worked in silence, doing any final checks as the others began to arrive. Surprisingly, Snotlout and Hookfang were next, closely followed by Ruffnut, Tuffnut, Barf, and Belch.

“Ah, Y/N!” Snotlout smirked at Y/N, leaning his elbow on Hookfang, who let out an indignant sigh. “Glad to see we’ll have some other pretty views this trip.”

Y/N nearly threw up in her mouth a bit. Clearly Astrid did too, but she beat Y/N to the punches.

“Would you give it a rest, Snotlout? You don’t need to flirt with every woman you see.” Astrid crossed her arms with a huff.

“But see, that’s where you’re wrong, Astrid. I don’t flirt with every woman I see… only the prettiest ones on the Isle… and you, my dear,” he took too many steps close to her, “are certainly deserving of that title.” He grabbed her hand, clearly leaning in to kiss it, but didn’t make it too close.

“Do that, Snotlout, and I guarantee you’ll have one less limb. And live to see tomorrow, since I’d at least have the decency to sew you up enough that I’d be able to remind you to never mess with me again,” she said with a snarl.

Snotlout quickly dropped her hand, as if it was on fire, and took a couple steps back as another voice entered.

“And I’d believe her too,” Hiccup said as he and Toothless finally closed in on the group. With a surprisingly graceful swoop, he hopped off and walked the rest of the way over. “She’s scary good with a knife—and a needle.” His helmet rested in one hand against his hip, while the other gripped onto Toothless’s saddle. “So, are we ready to go?”

“We’re still missing Fishlegs,” Astrid said after scanning the group. “Anyone know where he could be?”

The rest of them sort of shrugged, until their attention was turned back toward town, where two shapes were barreling in their direction. By the time Fishlegs and Meatlug arrived, both were out of breath.

“I—I’m so sorry we’re late,” he said in between wheezes, “I got a bit caught up reviewing the properties of Snow Wraiths.”

Snowmist and Y/N shared a look, before turning back to Fishlegs, who now had a sheepish smile on his face.

“I like to know everything I possibly can about all the dragons we have in our group… you know… in case something goes wrong.”

“Well, I appreciate your preparedness,” Y/N said with a curt nod, before turning to Hiccup for directions.

Hiccup froze for a moment, as if he forgot that he was the leader of the group. Eventually, with all eyes on him, his mind caught on to what was happening.

“Well… I guess we should head out then.”

With that, they all climbed on their dragons and took off into the indigo skies of an early morning.

The journey proved to be peaceful, and Y/N found herself enjoying the ride. She and Snowmist sometimes found themselves on islands off the coast of Berk, but rarely too far away. Thus, getting to float through the clouds like this was a rare treat.

Y/N reached her hand up to touch one and smiled at the feeling of condensation collecting on her fingertips. “It really is beautiful, isn’t it, Snowmist?” she asked, with a small happy chuckle that she typically only gave when they were alone.

But they weren’t alone, and that became very evident when Y/N felt a set of eyes on her. She turned to the left to find Hiccup grinning back at her. His expression was more carefree than she had seen in a long time.

“It’s quite something to fly, isn’t it?” he asked, motioning to the sky around them. Y/N simply nodded and offered him a smile, before turning forward again.

Hiccup had been watching her—and she couldn’t help but wonder why.

—

The trip took the better part of two days.

Night had begun to fall by the time they made it to Dragon’s Edge, but Y/N was still surprised at the sight. She knew that the riders used the location as their jumping-off point for most of their adventures, but she was still shocked at the level of development they had achieved.

Vikings and the ability to make even the most inhospitable of places feel somewhat homey, she supposed.

The staggered outcroppings of rock provided a variety of stages on which huts stood. There was a collection of them, all varying in color and shape, with a large dome in the center. Based on the conversations she had heard about this place on the ride over, it was easy to deduce that each hut belonged to a different person; the only question was, where would she be staying?

As they all set down near the stables, Y/N began to unload the bags off of Snowmist’s back. She had brought a variety with her, figuring that the generally somewhat reckless attitude of the riders likely extended toward their approach to medicine on Dragon’s Edge. If she was going to be here as long as she hoped, she figured she might as well bring a selection. Her general attitude was that it was better to be prepared than caught off guard. Being surprised never seemed to lead to great things in life.

As she finished, the sun was finally dipping down toward the ocean, as if leaning in to take one last sip of water before nodding off to bed. Hiccup approached her from the right, offering one of the small smiles that he had still retained after all these years.

“Need a hand?” he asked, moving to pick up one of the bags before she even had the opportunity to answer.

“Well, I suppose if you’re demanding, not offering… sure.” She let out a soft chuckle and grabbed on too, before looking up at Snowmist. “Good work today… I don’t envy you. Why don’t you ask Toothless where you can get some much-deserved rest?” Snowmist simply let out a huff before heading into the stables herself. Like rider, like dragon—a no-nonsense personality.

The rest of the riders were beginning to make their way toward their own huts. Y/N watched, making mental notes in her head of which place belonged to whom as she followed Hiccup.

Eventually, after a bit of a climb, they made it up to the largest building. It featured a white and green roof, topped off by wooden dragon heads.

“We can leave all your supplies in here for now. Tomorrow, we can find you a corner of the clubhouse to use and organize it better.” Hiccup let out a soft grunt as he set the largest of the bags down. Y/N followed suit, then wiped her hands on her trousers, glancing around the space and taking it in for the first time.

“That sounds good? I presume I should find somewhere to sleep in here too?” While there was no obvious place to sleep, at least there was a fireplace she could use to stay warm.

“Actually no, I’d rather you stay at my place—” Hiccup cut off mid-sentence when she spun to stare at him, eyebrows flying up in shock before he quickly added, “N-not in the same bed, of course! Heavens no… I mean like I have an extra bed. In the corner. A very, very, very far corner from mine—I mean not that I think you were assuming that I meant that w-we’d—”

Once she regained her emotional footing, Y/N slowly put a hand up, motioning for him to stop. “It’s alright, Hiccup… I know what you meant.” It was all she could do to prevent herself from laughing. The man in front of her was flushed a deep red, as if he had just gone through the most mortifying experience of his life. Perhaps it had been.

After a few more ladders, much to Y/N’s chagrin after such a long day of flying, they finally made it to Hiccup’s hut. The boy still looked utterly embarrassed as he opened the door and ushered her inside.

In the center was a fireplace. There were a few shelves filled with various tools and a workbench he clearly left messy often. The rug on the floor, though threadbare now, was recognizable to her from his home on Berk. It had been on the floor of his childhood bedroom, where they used to play. And, as Hiccup had correctly pointed out earlier, there were two beds on opposite sides. Y/N looked to him, as if to ask which to take. He motioned to the one on the right, “All yours,” before bending down and starting a fire.

Y/N walked over, taking off her boots and setting them at her bed’s edge. She pulled her sleeping clothes from the bag of personal belongings she had brought with her. She looked around, trying to discern the best place to change.

“I… where should I change, Hiccup?” Hiccup froze in place, abandoning the blanket he had been holding, before snapping out of it and glancing around nervously.

“I guess I didn’t really think that part through… huh… well, uh, it’s cold outside so um. I’d rather you not freeze so I’ll just turn around and stare at this wall. Yeah. Does that work?” He raked his hand along the back of his neck. To this day, she still knew that it was one of his main tells that he was nervous.

Y/N wouldn’t admit it even if a blade was held to her throat, but she could feel a flush crawling up her cheeks as she considered her options. He was right- this seemed to be the best on at the moment. “Uh, yeah, sure,” she replied, her voice much more hesitant than was typical of her.

She quickly turned and begun to undress, doing her best to change quickly. While she didn’t feel the telltale itch of someone’s eyes on her as she did yesterday, part of her wished he had looked.

Taglist:

@xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @animegamerfox @echoheartza @imagines--galore @purplefluffycows @capcryooo @cupcakesnviolets @suspcious-stain-in-spain @sargentsillymittens

[echantedtoon]

OK OK!!feel free to ignore if you want but what if the cookie husbands realized we were pregnant before Yn cookie did?? What would their reaction be?:D

Ok. Imma only doing this one thing. Warnings for pregnancy mentioned.

SHADOW MILK COOKIE:

-He's LITERALLY the cookie of knowledge. Of COURSE he's going to figure it out long before you do. He notices there's something off the moment you first get a 'stomach flu' unable to keep anything down, specifically only in the mornings, and you don't have any other flu symptoms such as coughing, runny nose, etc. He knows the moment he realizes the specific conditions of your 'flu'. Don't let his childish personality fool you to how smart he actually is.

-You're literally going to be walking around the Spire and run into him humming happily and sewing together plushies, which wasn't new..but also tiny blankets and what looked like...Onesies?? No, no. They must've been outfits for his plushies but they did look.. strangely like baby dough clothes. "Darling?" He hums not looking up from the tiny jester outfit he's making matching his own. VERY invested in perfecting the poofy white collar on it. "Are you ok? What's with all the tiny blankets and clothes?" He just smiles knowingly still sewing the jester onesie.

-"Oh. Nothing really. Someone I know happens to be pregnant and I'm being so generous to make something for the baby.~" Now you honestly didn't know if that was the truth or if he was making it up again, but there being SO much baby sized stuff wasn't a coincidence. "Mystic Flour is pregnant?" "Nope.~" "Eternal Sugar Cookie??" "Not even close." "NOT CANDY APPLE COOKIE!?" "You are WAY off. Also, no. Black Sapphire Cookie can barely handle one of her." You sigh in relief but still confused. "Then who? You don't exactly know a lot of women." "Oh, you'll figure it out soon enough.~"

PURE VANILLA COOKIE:

-He probably would be like you and think it was something you ate or a bad stomach bug. Not to worry. A few days of rest and eating plenty of healthy foods would fix you right up! Except..it didn't. You were starting to get frustrated when the medicine you had been taking wasn't working. When you didn't get better by nearly three weeks he just offered to heal you and get it over with, you being tired of the nausea agreed. But both were shocked the next morning when you were back throwing up dinner from last night into the trash can with him holding your hair back.

-He's very concerned about this. Why wasn't he able to heal you? It was just a cold! He should've been able to heal a cold! Were you cursed?! Did Shadow Milk Cookie do something to you?! He's venting one day to Hollyberry Cookie whom actually gives her friend the answer- "Are you sure she's not just pregnant?" He just stops and stares at her. "Wha- Pregnant??" "It sounds like she just has morning sickness. That happens during the first month of pregnancy." "How do you know that?" "I literally have kids, Vanilla."

-His mind is blown, but it definitely makes sense. If you were pregnant then of course his healing didn't work if you weren't harmed to begin with! And Hollyberry would know being a mother herself! So you're super confused when you're woken up from your afternoon nap to him just scooping you up crying, straight up happy sobbing into your shoulder. He'll tell you later but for now just awkwardly comfort him.

ELDER FAERIE COOKIE:

-Was worried you were sick or had food poisoning but found it strange that even after changing up your diet and deep cleaning the castle wasn't enough. The royal doctor didn't find anything wrong the first time you're examined so could it be you were allergic to something instead of being sick? He visits the physician again to discuss it with him while you nap, you've seem to become more tired lately. After discussing the subject and a lot of thinking the physician changes his diagnosis from not sick to one month pregnant. This sends a shocked spike through him, but quickly it gives way to awe and a delightful happiness he wasn't used to feeling.

-You're confused about why he's suddenly having fairy servants bring him all the books on baby doughs and childcare he has in the library, and why all of a sudden the bedroom right next to yours is completely gutted, cleaned, and then paid artists are drawing nature and cute little animals on the walls. It's like he was preparing to run a daycare. "Darling, why are you acting so strangely?" He looks at you very seriously. "Dear..You may want to sit down-"

MILLENNIAL TREE COOKIE:

-His roots and vines told him. They told him the happening in Beast Yeast and told him the coming of his own children. "My own blood with go on with the beating of a different heart, and a new life shall bless the forest with their youth." As usual you had no idea what his prediction riddles meant but he seemed the most happy he'd been in a long time so you of course were happy for him, assuming the new life meant his forest would be alive with new trees or perhaps wildlife but you were WAY off mark.

-It never dawned on you until he wants to show you something. A rather particular large tree had a large hole at the base with you assumed an animal's den but instead you were surprised to see the a nursery. Not a plant nursery but a baby nursery complete with a crib made from vibes and branches, toys carved from wood, and a few plushies and blankets sewn from natural materials gifted from Wind Archer Cookie. "We will be needing it for the little ones. They'll be here in eight more months." ...Oh. That's why he was unphased by your symptoms.

[4-murasame]

Hi my name is The Red Comet Char Aznable and I have a red Zaku II (that’s how I got my name) and blonde hair that reaches my shoulders and icy blue eyes like limpid tears and a lot of people tell me I look like Zeon Zum Daikun (AN: if u don’t know who he is get da hell out of here!). I’m not related to Quattro Bajeena but I wish I was because he’s a major fucking hottie. I’m a newtype but my will is firm and unbreaking. I have pale white skin. I’m also a mobile suit pilot, and I go to a colony called Zeon in Side 3 where I’m a lieutenant-captain (I’m nineteen). I’m a soldier (in case you couldn’t tell) and I wear mostly red. I love Hot Topic and I buy all my clothes from there. For example today I was wearing a red tunic with matching trim around it and a black leather cape, red trousers and white boots. I was wearing a silver helmet, a grey eye mask, white gloves and a ceremonial sword. I was flying outside Side Seven. It was outer space so there was no gravity, which I was very happy about. A lot of oldtypes stared at me. I put up my middle finger at them.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

The New Reign of a Demon Kingdom

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤Introduction | Part 1 | Part 2🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

“I regret to inform you, Your Highness, that your mother is…gone.”

The demon messenger is missing an arm, his entire left side scorched beyond any light healing spell. The red skin, which isn’t burnt black, is irritated and brittle as it hangs on the edge of his newly exposed jawline—letting you see the pointed teeth unintentionally smiling at you. The missing eyelid lets his red eye burn, naked and quivering; contrasting its covered one whose eyelids are closed as its owner intended. All too soon does a white cloth with exquisite crystal blue shapes covers your face. It’s a sleeve and the arm it’s attached to is none other than one of your guardians, your mother’s concubine— Silk of the Silver Snow Mountains. The other concubines had told you, behind his back, about his grandiose corpse-piling exploits. Throes of the enemy froze instantly with a single puff of wind from his azure-tinged lips.

“Their Highness is still young and should not be subjected to such a sight.”

The whispers, you hadn’t realized were abound stopped as his icy statement held in the air. The temperature drops as if warping to match the hostility in his melodic voice. It was baffling to see the typically composed demon allowing his emotions to affect the atmosphere around him. But who could blame him, his queen is dead.

Your mother is dead. 

“I apologize but I wanted to deliver the Queen’s wishes exactly as they were given to me.”

The new information, would have brought a gasp to the crowd of servants and warriors gathering in the throne room. But they knew better. The increasingly dropping temperature, the typically flowing spelled cherry blossoms withering in seconds, and the violent malevolent aura creating a miasma a touch-less dangerous than the Queen’s maternal grief. Silk did the talking.

“Speak.”

“Your Queen…Your mother wanted you to know that she loves you and that you are the sole reason she was able to survive against the enemy as long as she did.”

You closed your eyes, even though your vision was covered. As if to let your imagination take hold, transforming the messenger’s words into the strong and familiar voice of your mother. 

“I want you to know that it’s with great honor I bequeath my empire to you. All of Demonkind will bow and idolize you as the gift you are. Whether you decide to follow my footsteps or to carve your own path…I will be watching on with pride. And for the last of me…this.”

A dash of darkness passed under Silks cloak, wrapping around you in a plane of existence completely out of your grasp. On instinct you looked to your shadow, or where your shadow would have been if the sun was high. Silk didn’t react and neither did the owner of the lap you’d been lounging in. Brushing it off, you’ve found your voice again. Just like she’d taught you to use.

“Messenger…tell me your name.”

“Vlideas, my Highness.”

A look to the grayish cerulean eyes of Silk had him retracting his sleeve to elegantly hide the lower half of his face. Hiding that prideful smile of his. You rose from the soft embrace behind and carefully stepped down the steps minding your dragging robes. Too absorbed in your descent you missed how so many watched with adoration as you stood tall on the fourth step down. 

“I thank you Vildeas, for your sacrifices and for bringing me this most important news.” Ever so attentive the crowd was leaning forward, all too eager to watch the fated words come from such a small mouth.

“I graciously accept the role of Emperor of the Demon Empire.” 

With a gesture towards the healers standing at the ready, you steadily retreated up the steps returning to the lap you were originally settled in. Like clockwork the body rose with you in tow, holding you up with reverence as you were carried out of the throne room.

“Their majesty will be retreating to their quarters for the time being. Organization will be left to me.”

Silk’s command, created a silent clamor as the spectators adjusted. Withholding their full on shouting until you were far from the throne room and well on your way to the bedroom you shared with your mother. Having recently been told by her just how much bigger you’d become, the dungeon was a dusty keepsake of the past. Yet you found yourself longing to return their after being placed in the middle of the large bed…meant to sleep alone.

“(Y/n),” the mention of your name from this pink puffy lips made you falter. Her closeness exemplified by the fading scent of flowers and the lack of body against yours. It made it all too real. 

All too soon her hands were on your cheeks, her filed claws barely prickling your warm skin. Her pink painted thumb wiping around your eyes.

“(Y/n) you’re crying.”

The relief in her tone meant nothing as you felt the burning of your eyes take over, demanding the saline filled liquids be released. Your hands reaching for her silken kimono as she once again envelopes you in her arms. You can feel her smile in your hair and you can feel it quiver against your head. 

It isn’t long before your both curled upon her bed, smelling the sheets your mother had slept in less than a day ago.

You couldn’t bring yourself to speak. 

Only cry. 

And Milune would stay with you until you didn’t.

_____________________________________________________________

Mordecai was on shift, holding the tiny human child in the bed of his late friend—his Queen. Bare of his usual armor he was grateful his build was of comfort for the grieving child. He didn’t realize how hard it was to lay them down, to part with them with a mere kiss on the head, and to look away as a pale hand laid a charm on them. His red and apprehensive gaze wasn’t a secret to the owner of the icy palm, watching the fellow demon scoff at him.

“It is just to help them sleep well. They do not need another restless night.”

He watched Silk strut away, reluctantly following him to the edge of the bed. There Milune was waiting nestled on the royal couch it’s back facing the grand bed. Across from her the two other chairs designated for them. Settled down they waited for the most brazen to speak.

“We cannot have them rule the empire.”

As usual Silk’s statements made them freeze up, a baffled confusion taking hold of both concubines encouraging them to defend.

“How dare you say that?!” Milune beat Mordecai to the punch. Softly shouting inspite of the charm keeping the child asleep.”It is their right and it’s her remaining  wish!”

The mention of the Queen made them all ache, the grimace shared between the three of them before they could continue. 

“I must agree,” Mordecai crossed his arms, “What is your reasoning? For it sounds as though you plan to over throw the Empire as of now.”

Silk rolled his eyes, his pale hand rising up and wistfully flicking about, “Oh please if I wanted to overthrow them I would have done it ages ago. Even now I’d much prefer to take (Y/n), cut our losses, and live in the mountains I call home.”

“What’s stopping you?” 

The unfamiliar grit in the pink demon’s throat, made the general’s heart clench. Rarely was she ever inclined to be so hostile towards anyone but with no one to keep Silk in check, she had every reason to doubt. 

“Her shadow of course.”

His nonchalant tone didn’t mellow the shock that overtook the other two concubines. It was common knowledge in the demon world that only the greatest warriors could impart their everlasting wills onto objects and people. Though it was mostly revered as a legend it was believed to be a forgotten curse, lost with the erosion of time and the watered-down power from being distant descendants of the monsters that came before.

“Not to mention,” Silk continued without a care for their shock,”this is the best situation for them.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

Milune didn’t count herself as the most intelligent but for some reason she felt particularly snubbed when she had to keep asking what apparently was so obvious to Silk. Especially considering Mordecai was already nodding in agreement.

“Think about it Milune, if (Y/n) renounced their position to return to human society, what would happen?”

“They’d…be hated, ostracized.”

“Exactly and if I took them from the heart of the demon empire?”

Milune hesitated. This was where she was lost. Knowing Silk to be a force rivaling her Queen there shouldn’t be anyone strong enough to hold a candle to him. No one except–

“The hero!”

“Precisely,” Mordecai spoke with a grim scowl,” the hero knows about them. As helpless as that creature is I wouldn’t be surprised if they are now bold enough to hunt after them.”

“And if they were strong enough to take down our Queen–”

“Then they’d have no trouble besting me.”

The atmosphere was heavy and stifling. Terror wasn’t a feeling any of them had felt for so long…already the Queen is missed dearly. 

“Then there is no choice than for her legacy to continue.”

“Yes.”

“But how are we to do this? Won’t the council be against this?! Technically we’ve lost our value in court since we’re not concubines anymore.”

Silk let a smile spread on his lips, the fangs of his mounting joy forcing his mouth wide.

“Leave that to me.”

_________________________________________________________

“--that concludes the business for today. Now we must prepare for the coronation–”

A slam of stone-covered hands smashes against the obsidian finish of the long table followed by a metal scratching resounds from a chair being slid against the floor. An epilogue to the announcements Silk had made. A negative one at that.

“WE RESENT YOUR ASSUMPTION FALLEN CONCUBINE!”

“I too agree! To falsely interject yourself into our midst is preposterous!”

“DON’T think just because we mourn, we are stupid!! You and your lot should vacate this kingdom immediately.”

“Yes. Rely on us to care for the young ruler. For we will be unbiased and unburdened by the grief you concubines must be stricken with…considering your uselessness to the empire.”

Mordecai let an exasperated huff leave his nose, internally rolling his eyes at the idiocy of such an influential collection. He was used to the glares of this council behind the Queen’s back or when she was absent but without the aura of her power engulfing the room he must have seemed weak. 

Silk huffed playfully,” So I take it you refuse this decree that our new ruler will approve of later today?”

A stream of “Yes’s” and “of course’s ” fill the room. Only a select few have kept quiet, Mordecai notices. Must be their lucky day.

“I see and to that I will say one thing.”

Silk closed his eyes. His hands locked with one another hidden by the long drooping sleeves of delicately white traditional wear. His white strands flowing long past his chest and blending with the blinding reflection of his clothes. Alighting his unusual smile with a brightness too deceptive for the darkness it held. Unconsciously the council leaned in, awaiting the rebuttal they were prepared to shoot down with another round of poisoinous criticism. Enough to hopefully drive the ice demon far from royal affairs. 

“Die.”

In a flash, Silk had dashed to the opposite side of the table. No longer at the head of the table but at the opposite end. Appearing behind the council that was still turned glaring at his after-image, they were none the wiser. Barely able to turn his direction sensing his monstrous intent to kill. The first emphatic council demon to speak found his gaze snapped to the wall behind him. A painting of the late Queen and her darling child glaring down at him as if reprimanding himself. Somehow he never recalled turning his head.

“Your majest—”

The demons words were interrupted as his head was screwed off his stone ladden body. The detachment spurred a splash of black blood. His body crumpled onto the table, making the other council members scream or at least open their mouths to. In no time at all the feeling of a needle spiking through their backs and the slow agonizing feeling of it spearing past the layers of their skin, their spine, and then their hearts. The slow push of the needle took much longer to pass through their vital organ, taking it’s time to sharply enter and leave as it eventually made it’s way underneath their skin. Wails were gurgled with gallons of their own black blood, drenching their bodies and making a terrible mess. Seven corpses slumped onto and off the table, more resilient council members using their fading energy to look helplessly at Mordecai. As if calling for help, from the man they’d insulted since his first battle. It was almost enough to make the general smile.

The five council members that had decided to keep quiet were decorated with the drying remains of their peers. One demon, a younger member was the first to rise, mustering all their courage to do what must be done. “I LOOK FORWARD TO WORKING WITH YOU, ADVISOR SNOW! ROYAL COMMANDER MORDECAI!”

She bent her upper body at a deep 90 degree angle, looking intensely at the droplets staining the marble floor. She held her breath, wondering if she’d realize if her head was detached. She allowed herself to breath once she heard the frantic sounds of chairs falling around her.

“ME TOO…I mean I look forward to it as well.”

“Long live the demon empire!”

“Your guidance for the young one is most appreciated.”

“Happy to be of service Lord Snow.”

“Your actions prove your worth as the young ruler’s aides. I’m honored…to offer my support.”

If Mordecai had found the situation as comedic as it was, he would have laughed. But he couldn’t because even with willful participants the demon of the Silver Snow Mountains did not look like he was done drenching his shining clothes with black blood. Just as they planned Mordecai steps forward, grabbing the demon by his shoulders and ushering him out the room. 

“We both appreciate your cooperation and look forward to your help in guiding the young Emperor excuse us.”

Mordecai did the smallest bow, a former commoner could dream of giving a noble without losing his head. But he was officially the Royal Commander now. A title he’d been seeking since he accepted the role of concubine from his childhood friend. And now as the Royal Commander it was his job to help the force of nature freezing the castle halls.

“Care to blow off some steam in the Mountains?”

“Not the training grounds? I thought there was where you practiced.”

“It is. The mountains though are the best place to blow off steam.”

______________________________________________________________

“-thus ends my first decree. As your emperor I promise to give you my all and put the betterment of our lives before me and carry out the iron-will of our great queen!”

The kingdom’s capital erupts in a cacophonos sound of cheers while you stand on the platform built especially for you. Using the railing of the balcony for balance you take your time to step down, breathing a sigh of relief when you’re free to disappear within the dark doors of the royal castle. 

Immediately attendants come to disrobe you, relieving you the physical burdens of your new position. Gingerly grabbing the obsidian and amethyst crown weighing you down and barely fitting off your head. The long robes your mother used to wear, fashioneed from a Nightmare Dragon’s hide, are lifted from you. Finally the rings your mother used to dawn her silent declaration of her ownership across all demons are slipped easily from your smaller fingers and placed reverently back in their respective enchanted cases. 

The one thing that is left is your mother’s necklace. A simple pendant with a dull stone. To any human eyes that is all it will ever be but a mage’s eyes could see that it’s worth such a bland an unassuming disguise. Around your neck you hold the crystal imbued with the devilish miasma that all demon kings and demon queens were bestowed upon their rule. The overwhelming dread they instantly bring to all of their subjects is no illusion but an inherited gift to ensure that there is always a stepping stone to the fear they bring with their reign. 

“Is it too heavy for you (Y/n)?”

It’s Milune, pink hair braided intricately into an updo heralded by her rose gold tiara. Her clothes are silky and long as pink as the cherry blossoms she cares for in the garden. Her usual robe is slimming but today it has layers; the ruffles providing the fluffy borders of a beautiful bouquet. Her skin is glowing, olive hands kissed by the sun ready to carry you as been her duty since the day she met you. 

“No I’m fine.”

She waits her open arms dressed by the draping fabrics of her sleeves, a small fflourishment to the comfort her hugs always give. Like usual you immediately run to accept such an offer but you stop. The weight of the necklace around your neck a reminder of who you are, no matter if your ages younger than any ruler before you.

You shake your head and instead beckon her to follow behind as you make your way to the throne room. Not sparing a glance your safe from the guilt inducing tears sat on her painted lashes, who are all but ignored to fall in step behind. As you make your way to the throne, the scores of nobility and various staff fill the room.

“Prepared to begin the night, little emperor?”

Silk brings your attention to him, startling you in an instant. Never before had you seen this type of dress from the cold concubine who whispers almost too quietly. Forgon were his usual white and azure robes replaced with a rich cobalt that was garnished by white designs. The small silver band around his head housing the dangling mineral that flows in tandem with his flowing locks. For once they are not free, they’re braided; the few strands allowed to be free are tucked past his ears adorned with cobalt. 

“Do not stare. That’s rude.” 

The typical command from him makes you laugh. Reminding you of your place.

“I wasn’t staring I was admiring! You look different but still really beautiful!”

The demon smiles bring a cold hand to your chin, “Good excuse.”

“My Emperor, shall we get started?” Mordecai is dressed as well his usual obsidian armor, traded in for a purple gilded tunic with a black cape that bore a burgundy underside, his sheathed  claymore boldly hanging at his hip. His hair is uncharacteristically pulled back the scruff of his hair allowing his light beard being shown off. He was visibly smiling, a rare sight for the man you knew to always be training with a frown on his face.

You smile lifting up your robes to take your place in between them all,”We shall!”

On the hightest steps to your throne, you stand looking out at those you’d be expected to govern for the people you just decreed to. At the most basic level this would be a big job.

“All at attention, to the demon Emperor!”

Mordecai’s voice shook the hall with an authority that had all straightening their postures, all of them turning to look up at you in wait. Silk was just above him on the royal steps, forcing you to look down at him for the first time in your life. He brought his dark sleeves up his hands folded underneath he utters another instruction, ”Now go ahead just as we rehearsed.”

Very lightly nodding your head you take a deep breath. The pressure of the day regrowing as you looked at everyone’s expecting gaze. For a moment you thought you might not speak, who would hear you anyway, right?

“Just be yourself darling we all love that.” Milune encourages you behind her own folded hands and you seize the moment. Holding your confidence still as you raise your voice.

“As your Emperor I expect your obedience forthwith! Any one against me with no capacity to establish diplomacy will learn by the blood of their family on their own grave. My reign will be absolute and we will punish the ones who robbed us of our dearly departed Queen.”

The masses bowed, all of their spiritual power lessening in respect. You could barely see the outline of purple and gray smokes that made up these auras but not one showed an air of defiance. 

“Now hail me your Demon Emperor (Y/n)!”

ROAR!!!

Thus begins the Demon Queen’s Human Child’s fateful reign.

Kofi → Here Masterlist → Here Commissions → Here

🖤🖤🖤🖤

[megalony]

Russian Roulette

This is a new Robert Chase imagine, thank you all for the lovely feedback on my first Chase fic. I hope you will all like it.

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Summary: Merely hours after (Y/n) and Chase's baby is born, he develops a deadly infection, along with a few other newborns. House is observing their treatment, but Chase is scared. He doesn't want anyone guessing and risking his baby's life.

(I have a follow-up already started for this one)

Enjoy.

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"So, what'd you think? Does he look like a Robbie?"

Tilting her head to one side, (Y/n) looked down at the newborn in her arms, trying to assess him like he was a piece of art she was studying.

She didn't want to upset Chase by refuting his question and saying that all babies looked wrinkly and strange when they were born. No baby looked like they suited the name they were given and not all babies looked beautiful when they were born like all parents seemed to say.

But it wasn't really about their boy looking like the name they were trying to pick out for him. It was whether they thought the name was fitting, and Robbie was a good name.

It had to be different from Rob, if Chase really wanted to name their first baby after himself. Because (Y/n) couldn't be calling her husband and son the same nickname, and she usually called her husband by their shared last name or the odd time she would call him Rob. So Robbie would be a different variation for their boy and in (Y/n)'s mind, it sounded more childlike and sweet.

"I think so." (Y/n) looked up from their boy to see a bright grin on Chase's lips that flashed his teeth and made him look corny, but cute.

While he leant forward to whisper "Hey junior," to the bundle in her arms, (Y/n) took a moment to drink in Chase's appearance.

It was strange to see him in his normal clothes while he was here in the hospital. He wasn't wearing a button up shirt and starched black trousers or his signature white overcoat with the hospital name sewn over the breast.

Seeing Chase sat there in an old pair of faded blue jeans and a thin cotton shirt wasn't a sight (Y/n) would associate with the hospital, but then again, Chase wasn't here for work. He had been at home yesterday morning when (Y/n) went into labour, so he called up and made sure he would be put on his annual leave for the next two weeks.

His hair resembled a bird's nest, with dirty blond hair sticking out in a few places and damp against his temple, but he still managed to look striking even after forty-eight hours of no sleep. And he didn't look the least bit tired.

"Do you feel better? The shaking's finally stopped." Chase lifted his eyes from his boy to glance up at (Y/n).

He knew she had been panicked when she couldn't seem to stop herself trembling just after she gave birth. (Y/n) only calmed down when Chase reassured her that it was just the adrenaline starting to wear off and wean out of her system.

She had been shaking so badly for the first few minutes that she could barely hold Robbie against her chest. But now, as Chase sat beside her thigh with his right arm stretched over her legs and his head angled down near their boy, he noticed (Y/n) seemed a lot more settled.

"Did you call your dad?" (Y/n) kept her tone gentle and her voice quiet as she looked at Chase.

After everything seemed to settle down and the midwives left the three of them alone, Chase had stepped out into the hall. He called (Y/n)'s parents, who had practically taken him in as their own child since he and (Y/n) got together. He told them the good news, and he sent a message to Cameron who would be upstairs in the office with House and Foreman. But (Y/n) didn't know if he had called his dad or not.

She knew he didn't get along well with his dad who was back in Australia and she was quite sure that the last time Chase saw his dad was at their wedding. He called sometimes, out of the blue for a few minutes, but that was as much contact as they had.

"Yeah, he was really happy. I said we'd call soon so he can see the little guy."

That was surprising, but the grin toying on Chase's features made (Y/n) smile. She would gladly hand Robbie over to Chase so he could call his dad over video chat to show him his first grandchild. Maybe Robbie would be a factor in healing Chase's fractured relationship with his dad.

Shuffling back a little, (Y/n) slouched down against the pillows, easing Robbie down in her arms so he was resting against her tummy. Her thumb stroked up and down his side while Chase was resting hisi hand on Robbie's chest like he was listening and feeling his heartbeat.

The midwives had been quite cheerful at seeing how hard Chase tried not to intervene or get too involved. He was a doctor after all, and this was his family which he wanted to look after. The midwives had let him clean Robbie up and get him into a onesie and little hat since Chase had been looking over their shoulders the whole time. They thought they might as well let him be useful.

Her eyes lifted when Chase moved, but she stayed relaxed into the pillows when she realised he was only getting up to retrieve one of the water bottles on the side.

She turned her attention back down to the little boy in her arms, who had stopped wriggling and kicking. But the longer (Y/n) stared down at him, the more anxiety began to dwell in the pit of her stomach and rumble up towards her chest. Her head tilted to the side and she adjusted the newborn into her left arm so she could move her other hand. Her finger gently nudged against her little boy's cheek but she pressed a bit firmer when she got no reaction at all.

Not a whine, not a bat of an arm or a tilt of the head. Nothing.

"Chase…"

"Hm?" He downed half the water bottle and took a second to comb his fingers through his hair, brushing the strands back on his head so they weren't forming curtains near his eyes. But when he looked across at his wife, he found his eyes narrowing and his lip curling in confusion.

"Take a look at him, please." (Y/n) stretched her arms out in Chase's direction until he sat back down in his place beside her thigh.

"Come here little guy." His lips were contorting into a grin the moment his boy was in his arms and he nuzzled Robbie into the crook of his elbow, holding him up high while he pressed the back of his hand against his boy's temple. He was a bit flushed, but nothing drastic.

He traced his fingertips across his face and down his neck. When he got no response, his brows furrowed slightly and he pinched the tip of Robbie's fingers. Nothing. There was a hint of urgency in Chase's movements as he held his boy's hand and lifted his arm up but once he let go, he watched it flop back down, motionless.

Anxiety rocketed through his chest and he moved to flick his finger against the base of Robbie's foot to try and stimulate him, but again he got nothing. He felt (Y/n)'s hand slither across to grip his thigh, needing some sort of touch to stop herself from going into a panic attack.

"What's wrong with him?"

The determination in Chase's eyes was both relieving and frightening but (Y/n) didn't like how he wouldn't look at her. And she didn't like how the colour was starting to drain from his perplexed features that were hardening like stone. There was something not right with their boy, and he wasn't even a day old yet.

The question seemed to go in one ear and out the other for Chase. He fought hard not to squeeze his son too tightly to his chest while his other hand cupped his face and he carefully tried to pull up Robbie's eyelid to look at his pupils. They were blown wide and unfocused.

But just as (Y/n) sat up straight and went to lean forward, she jerked back with a gasp and watched Chase's eyes snap up to meet hers.

"Hit the emergency button." Chase seemed to tick his head up and down, clearly trying to aim his chin towards the red button behind the bed that would alert the nurse's station that they were having a problem.

The urgency in his voice was frightening but (Y/n) couldn't find it in herself to move. All she could do was stare down at their baby.

"W-what's happening?"

"Hit the button!"

The trembling was back in (Y/n)'s system with vigor as she craned to spin to the right, pushing up to whack her palm against the button which blared out a consistent beep while a red light flashed overhead.

"Chase, what's wrong?" Tears began to trickle down (Y/n)'s face and she slumped forward, curling her hands tightly around his forearm until her nails were piercing into his skin.

"He's seizing."

Their boy wasn't even one day old yet, he was barely two hours old. Chase had never seen a newborn suffer a seizure this early on before, and for no apparant reason either. He couldn't be having an allergic reaction to anything, the nurses had delivered him with latex gloves which hadn't caused a reaction when he had been born. He hadn't been given any medications or creams that could have reacted with him like this.

Terror flooded (Y/n)'s face and so many tears were pouring down her features that she could barely see Chase.

She tried to watch him and she forced herself to let go of his arm so he could try and help Robbie. Gasping breaths left her lips as she watched Robbie with an aching heart. She had never witnessed a baby having a seizure before, and it wasn't something she ever wanted to see again.

His little body convulsing and vibrating with his arms moving from side to side like he was a picture on an old video tape that had been paused. But it was the horrible gurgling sound leaving his lips that sounded like he was clicking his tongue which made (Y/n) feel worse.

"Shit!"

"What? Chase… Chase!" She was almost moaning his name in agony when he jumped up off the bed and hurried to the other side of the room just as the door burst open and two nurses rushed in.

For a second, maybe two, the nurses looked like they were expecting a false alarm. Like they thought the newborn might be coughing or hiccupping and the new parents were just overreacting and panicking over nothing.

But seeing Chase cradling his son and hurrying over to the stacker in the corner of the room which held equipment and locked medicines caused both nurses to go on red alert. Something was wrong. The man in the room was a doctor, it was clearly implied by his actions. Something was happening to the newborn.

"What's the problem?"

"His airways are blocked and he's seizing… I- I don't know why." Chase didn't like not knowing things at the best of times, but this was different.

His son was in imminent medical danger and he didn't have the slightest clue what was happening to him. He didn't know why his boy was suddenly unresponsive and seizing and unable to breathe. There were no indicators here and Chase hated it. He hated being so helpless.

He juggled to adjust Robbie into the crook of his left arm so he could rummage in the stacker and find a small pipette.

One of the nurses moved to stand beside him but she must have known Chase wasn't going to relinquish his hold and pass his son to her. For she didn't ask and she didn't try to take Robbie, she simply cradled his hand in her hands to try and keep him still enough for Chase to ease the pipette past the newborn's lips.

He tried to clear the froff and spit from Robbie's mouth and throat so he wouldn't aspirate and could take in a proper breath again.

"Find Doctor House." The fury in Chase's eyes was like none (Y/n) had ever seen before, and she never heard him speak with such a gritty tone like that. He was panicking, and he wanted answers.

House was the only person he knew who might be able to find them.

***

Deep, ragged breaths passed Chase's lips as he stormed down the familiar hall which he didn't think he would be entering for the next two to three weeks. He didn't want to be here. This wasn't a choice he wanted to make, but what else could he do?

He couldn't find his son. He didn't know whereabouts in the ICU he had been placed and no one was telling him anything. Because he was a doctor too they seemed to be avoiding him like the plague or pretending not to know anything.

Over two hours he had been waiting with (Y/n), both of them growing frantic and desperate to find out exactly what was wrong with their baby. And Chase knew House had been involved, he knew House had been overseeing this case because it was strange and curious and it interested him.

But with House not being in the maternity ward or in the ICU, his office was the only other place that Chase could think to look for him. He would run around the hospital in a craze if he had to in order to find his boss and find out what was happening.

He didn't bother knocking. Since when did he ever knock before going into the office that had become his workplace for the past two years?

He stormed through the glass door that he barged through with so much force that the glass almost shattered upon impact.

The sea of surprised faces he saw before him made his blood curdle in his veins. Why were they so surprised to see him? Was it that unrealistic that he would come to find them to get the answers he needed?

His eyes danced around the team, none of whom said anything while Chase stood just over the threshold, allowing the door to slam closed behind him. Not that it gave them much privacy with the glass windows and doors and how the blinds weren't pulled across.

When none of them tried to speak, neither to reassure him or ask how he was, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His nails punctured into the palms of his hands and his nose crinkled as he took such a deep breath that his lungs ached like they were going to explode.

"You told Cuddy to shut down the maternity ward? What's going on?" The temperament on Chase's face and the dangerous tone to his voice gave away how frightened he was.

He hadn't been pleased when he bypassed the lift and heard Cuddy herself turning an expectant couple down who were trying to check into the maternity ward. She told them they had a situation and all expectant mothers were being transferred to a different hospital.

That told Chase that it wasn't just his boy that was in peril, something was going on. More newborns or expectant mothers were experiencing symptoms and complications. And his son was one of them.

He could see the contemplation in their eyes. The unsettled expression on Foreman's face that showed he didn't want to be the one to talk to or explain to Chase what was happening. Whereas House just looked blank everywhere except for his eyes. He could never quite hide the emotions in his eyes and right now, they were dark as opposed to hard as glass and he couldn't keep eye contact with Chase. That was a bad indicator.

But it was Cameron who turned in her seat to properly face him and who took a deep breath to try and explain the situation.

"Four other newborns presented with the same symptoms as Robbie, we didn't have a choice."

They were starting to develop an outbreak. If they didn't shut down the maternity ward then they were putting other newborns and expectant mothers at risk. They had to contain what was happening here at the hospital and make sure it didn't spread and that they didn't have an impending lawsuit on their hands.

"What do they have?" Suspicion flooded Chase's voice as he turned his attention to House this time.

He didn't care how bad it was, he wanted to know what was wrong with his baby. They had to tell him. He was part of the team, he was one of them, he understood more than most parents would and he could take whatever they told him. But he didn't like the answers he was being given.

"We don't know. And until we find out, they're all in quarantine." Both House's hands moved to clench around his cane that he was pressing all his weight onto. His shoulders hunched up and he hung his head down while his teeth sank into his lower lip.

He didn't like not knowing things. House was used to being the person with all the answers or the person who could find the answers in minimal timing. Being in the dark about a diagnosis wasn't something he was used to, and it wasn't a position he liked to be in.

Chase's face fell completely and his jaw loosened, but he couldn't seem to gather the right words. He took a few deep breaths, gulped once or twice and ran his tongue across his lips as he tried to get his mind in gear.

Quarantine. That meant they couldn't be with him. That meant that neither Chase nor (Y/n) could hold their son until whatever he had was under control. They couldn't cradle him in their arms, soothe him, feed him, change him. They couldn't be close to him or give him skin contact so he knew he was with his parents and that he was safe. They were being shut out, kept away from him.

"Wh- you… we can't see him? He's not even a day old yet-"

"And he's got a fever and a dropping heartbeat. If we don't quarantine them and they catch a cold," House didn't need to finish his sentence to imply the outcome he was afraid of.

If any of the newborns were to have contact with staff or their parents without the correct PPE and precautions and they caught a cold or an infection, that could be it. Any bacteria in their systems could be too much for their small immune systems to cope with, and it could kill them.

Tears started to pool in Chase's eyes once again and one twitching hand moved to clamp down on his hip while his other hand gripped his jaw so tightly he felt like he was going to tear a chunk of skin away.

This wasn't fair. This wasn't right. How could his son have something so serious when he was only a few hours old? How could this be happening to them? Chase thought that this would be the safest place, this was the hospital where he worked with colleagues and people he saw everyday. He thought his family would be taken care of and looked after here, not put at risk like this.

"So what do we do? What tests have you done so far?"

"We did an MRI after his seizure, it came up clean."

Chase felt like someone was sitting on his chest. He felt such a heavy weight pressing down on him that it was hard to take in a proper breath. And each of his limbs and muscles felt like they were hardening to stone.

It was a change to hear Foreman's voice, who had previously been sat at the far end of the table with his hands clasped together and a blank expression on his face. He slid a piece of paper across the table towards Chase, who could barely feel his numb fingertips when he picked up the picture.

His son's MRI. A black background and such a tiny brain scan with little yellow and red imaging flares.

It took Chase a moment to blink the tears from his eyes and shake his head before he tried to look and assess the picture properly. He couldn't see any anomalies or anything wrong with it. The seizure hadn't done any permanent damage then, thankfully.

"What else?" He knew he sounded accusing rather than questioning, but he needed to know. Two hours they had all been at work trying to help these kids and find out what was wrong, Chase had to be kept up to date. One of these newborns was his son.

"We think it's an infection… we want to put them all on two different antibiotics." Cameron pushed up from her seat, almost as if she wanted to walk over to Chase and try to hug him.

Cameron was the kind of person who saw someone ailing or in need and assumed she could help. It was why she was a good doctor, she tried to help and treat anybody. But she couldn't help Chase. He didn't want her comforting him or trying to reassure him when she didn't have the answers to do that. Nothing she said was going to calm him down, not unless she gave him a diagnosis and a cure. Quickly.

Her hands clasped together in front of her as she took a daring step closer to him, but she stopped dead in her tracks when a horrid, sarcastic smile pulled on Chase's lips. He began to nod his head while his nose twitched and he sighed, shaking his head as he stared down at the MRI picture in his hands.

"Two. So- so you don't even have an idea what kind of infection it is?"

Chase wasn't stupid. He knew how the team worked, and he guessed now he was being vain and imprudent because this was his son. If he weren't so involved or related to the case, he would think differently, he would be impartial. But right now, he couldn't do that.

He could see that they wanted to pump Robbie and these other newborns with two very different antibiotics because they didn't have an estimated or a guess of what infection it was. They wanted to give both to try and cover all their bases.

But two different antibiotics would give a multitude of side effects and reactions. Giving one would be safer and come with less complications, but the team were trying to act quickly.

"We think it's bacterial-"

"You think? Guessing isn't good enough, you can't just give them every antibiotic you can find to cover all of your guesses."

"Why, because one of them is yours?"

Anger flooded Chase's blue eyes and his head snapped to the right, nostrils flaring as his gaze burned holes into House.

He would be objecting to this whether one of the babies was his son or not. Chase didn't like giving two different treatments when they knew the patient could only have one problem to treat. And his boy, and the other kids were all newborns. They had weak immune systems and they were sick, flooding them with antibiotics could cause resistance in their future or worsen their systems.

"Run a blood test to find out." Chase hissed through gritted teeth, somewhat annoyed that House wasn't six feet under with the furious glares Chase was sending his way. They had to be sure or have some rough idea before they went ahead with this.

"Robbie's heartbeat is low and unstable, and the others aren't much better. Each of them have burning fevers, we can't take bloods without a cardiac arrest impending. If we give two antibiotics it will cover a broad range of infections and can stabilise him quicker."

House wasn't entirely stupid or lacking, he had thought about bloods to confirm an infection, but it wasn't an option. These babies had low heartbeats that were barely pumping enough blood around their bodies, if the team tried to take a sample they could put them at risk or send them into cardiac arrest. It was too risky.

Making educated guesses was their best bet right now, it might be old fashioned but it was all they had.

Chase dropped the flimsy picture onto the table in favour of binding both his arms around his chest. Grunting breaths left his lips as he felt like he was going into a panic attack. They were guessing. They didn't have a choice. Something was wrong with his son and he was too sick for them to take bloods and find out exactly what the problem was.

He had barely held his son for long and now he had been snatched away and put into quarantine where the only people who could touch him were masked, gloved nurses who couldn't have skin contact with him.

Neither parent could be near him or within his sights, and Chase had no idea how he was going to tell all of this to (Y/n). She wasn't going to take this news well.

Robbie had been perfect when he had been born, and now just a few hours later, they were telling Chase that his son's heart was barely beating and he was locked up in the intensive care unit. How could things change so drastically in such a short period of time?

He had been a father for less than a day and now his son was at risk. The new, overwhelming sense of fear and protection Chase had was too much to cope with. He wanted to be sat down in the maternity ward, cradling and beaming down at his son and finding out when they could take him home. Not debating what treatment he needed to save his life that was now in peril.

"Just tell me how certain you are that this is the best treatment."

Chase needed an answer. He needed a sense of certainty and a valid reason that this was their safest option. If the team could reassure him and he had House's usual confidence that he was right, then Chase wouldn't object. He trusted his team, and he was glad they were overseeing Robbie's case.

It was all well and good for the team to sit and tell him that they had a feeling that this was right, but they all knew that if their instincts and guesses were wrong, then they wouuld pay the price. And this time, it would be Chase's son that would take the risk.

"Whatever he has, it's already damaging his system. An infection fits the symptoms and both antibiotics will give him the best chance. But we have to administer them now."

Waiting would jeopardise Robbie's health that had already taken a turn for the worst. They needed to do something and they had to do it now.

Both Chase's hands moved up to run up and down his face until his nails were starting to scratch into his skin and he was breathing heavily through his fingers. He didn't want to be doing this, Chase didn't like making these decisions, but then again, was it really a choice? Antibiotics or risk losing Robbie. There wasn't really a choice to make here.

If the team thought this was best then Chase would have to agree, and he knew once he talked it through with (Y/n) then she would agree too. She wasn't a doctor, Chase was the one who had experience and a better idea of what was happening to their boy. (Y/n) would want him to look through everything and choose the right treatment option.

"Okay, put him on both."

***

A sigh tumbled past (Y/n)'s lips as she tilted her head back until the back of her head was touching Chase's chin.

She reached her hands down to where his arms were looped around her waist and held onto his wrists, feeling his elbows comfortingly pressing into her sides. Being this close meant she could feel each breath he took and how tense his chest was as it merged against her back. She wasn't sure how long they had been stood here for but it felt like a lifetime had passed them by.

All they could do was stand here in front of the window and peer through the glass that separated them from their boy. It didn't look right to see Robbie cuddled up in an incubator with an oxygen tube taped up his nose, a feeding tube in his tummy and a heartrate monitor clipped to his small hand. He should have been resting in the cot next to (Y/n) last night. He should be learning to feed from a bottle with his parents, not through a tube like this.

Robbie should be settling and having skin contact with both his parents instead of being isolated and sectioned off where no one but the nurses and doctors wearing extensive PPE could touch him.

Sleeping last night had been impossible. (Y/n) wanted to stay here right outside the quarantine room but spending the night in the corridor wasn't practical and it wouldn't help her or Robbie.

Chase had drifted from House's office and back to (Y/n)'s room in a repeated cycle until he felt like he had run a marathon. The couple crashed for a few meager hours in the early morning, but now they were back to try and keep an eye on their boy.

"Can't you scrub up and go in?" (Y/n) murmured so quietly she wasn't sure that Chase managed to hear her. But the feeling of his arms tightening around her waist told her he did.

She felt his lips pressing against the back of her head and he sighed into her hair as he held her closer.

"Not yet, whatever he has, he could have gotten it from either of us. It's safer if I stay on this side of the glass for now."

It killed Chase more than he could admit that he couldn't go in there. He couldn't scrub up and put on the gown and apron and face and hair masks and the thick latex gloves and he couldn't change his son's nappy or give him his feed or just do a general check on him.

Whatever infection those five babies had, any parent could have given it to them. They all had antenatal checks here at the hospital and they could have picked it up and then passed it to the babies. And Chase had been in close contact with (Y/n). It wouldn't be safe for him to go in there, whether he carried any infection or not. It was safer for him to stay here than risk going in there. He didn't want to do anything that would put Robbie at risk.

(Y/n) leaned her weight back just a little so she was resting more against Chase's chest, and he seemed to hum happily as he started peppering kisses into her hair.

They stayed in silence for a little while longer, just staring through the glass as if they thought their feelings would somehow melt through the glass and reach Robbie so he knew they were here with him.

But both their heads turned to the right when a quiet cough caught their attention.

It was Cameron.

She had her hands clasped in front of her and she was swaying from her toes to her heels, back and forth in a continuous motion that gaveaway she was slightly on edge. She tried to smile at the couple but she didn't get too close, as if afraid to step into their personal bubble.

"Can we talk?" She pointed towards the sofas near the water fountain since this area of the ICU was currently quiet and solitude. It seemed better for them all to talk and be close by Robbie rather than disappearing into one of the family rooms further away.

Cameron was smiling, but there was something behind her eyes that put (Y/n) on edge and she tightened her hands around Chase's wrists as if making sure he didn't dare let her go. She knew he sensed it, he was tense with apprehension. Seeing any of the team meant either something good or something very bad was happening with Robbie and the other babies.

"Sure."

(Y/n) eased down onto the sofa with Chase next to her and his hand on her thigh which she gripped again. Feeling comfort with him so close, but she knew that Chase's emotions were wound so tight that one wrong thing would send him flying off the handle.

"How's he doing?" (Y/n) almost dreaded asking, and seeing how hard it was for Cameron to put on a brave face and a smile made adrenaline swarm through her stomach and spark panic within her.

"The antibiotics are working, but not as fast as we hoped. The combination of the antibiotics is starting to cause kidney failure."

Chase opened his mouth to speak but he couldn't find the words he was looking for. He stared at Cameron for a few more seconds, just to make sure he had heard her correctly before he eyes darted to the right to look at (Y/n). He couldn't be hearing this correctly. The antibiotics were supposed to be helping Robbie beat this, not causing more problems that his overwrought body couldn't deal with.

But he had worried about something like this happening. He knew two high dose antibiotics being given to a newborn was going to create complications and side effects. This was a risk Chase knew was bound to happen, but he thought they might have a few more days and a little more improvement before the side effects started to become a health risk.

"They haven't completely shut down though, right?" (Y/n) had to get this straight and understand that there were still other options and things they could do. If Robbie was already in total kidney failure he would need dialysis and if that didn't work, he wouldn't have any hope left.

"No, no they haven't shut down, but we can't keep him on both any longer."

The relief (Y/n) felt was bittersweet. That was good news and bad news all mingled into one.

Tears welled up in her eyes which she tightly closed and she slumped her cheek onto Chase's shoulder, burrowing into his side. Why was this happening to them? Why to their baby? Why now? What had they done for this to happen, how did they deserve this?

Chase gently unlatched his hand from (Y/n)'s so he could loop his arm around her waist instead and keep her tucked into his side. His foot began jittering against the floor, knocking his knee up and down as each breath he took started to become shallow and starved his lungs of oxygen.

When he glanced his eyes up, he looked at Cameron who was biting her lip with such sympathy in her eyes that he thought she too might start crying. But he didn't want her sympathy. He wanted her help.

"What's House telling you to do?"

Chase wasn't stupid. He knew House sent Cameron to give them the news because she was sympathetic and better at giving bad news. They always sent Cameron to give news like this because she could connect with the patients or their families. And House would be blunt and right now, Chase couldn't handle that or he would be lashing out.

"We want to take Robbie off the Tobramycin that's probably causing the kidney problems. If we leave him on the Cephalexin, it can fight the bacterial infection. Less side effects, better outcome, hopefully."

That meant House and the rest of the team were still agreed on the cause, but their treatment plan had to change.

Robbie's heartbeat had levelled out with the antibiotics, but they couldn't risk ruining his kidneys or any of his other organs because they were overloading his system that had taken on far too much in his first day of life. If his body started to shut down, they might not be able to reverse it.

"What if you're wrong? What if the Tobramycin is actually fighting his infection?"

Again, this was just judgement calls and Chase didn't want to make those kind of decisions when it came to his son. He didn't want to guess because if they were wrong and it was actually the other antibiotic fighting his infection, then taking him off it would subject his body to the infection again and it would manifest.

"Chase… we can't take blood from any of them. They aren't getting enough oxygen and his heartbeat is still too low for a sample. We don't have proof, but you know he can't stay on both. The tobramycin is ruining his kidneys, he has to come off it. If you want Robbie off both, we'd have to find other treatment and we don't have the time to find one."

Chase swiped his eyes with the back of his hand to fight off more tears; he felt like he had cried enough to rival Niagara Falls. This wasn't fair. They weren't being given choices or judgement calls, it was try and guess or watch Robbie deteriorate and possibly die.

"A-are the other parents doing this? Taking their babies off that- that Tob-thing antibiotic." (Y/n) had already forgotten the names, she was no good with long medicine labels like that.

But she wanted to know if the other parents were having the same problem, if their babies were at risk of kidney failure. Surely if each child was on two antibiotics, then they would all need to come off the same one. They were all in the same boat here.

(Y/n) didn't bother lifting her heavy head from Chase's shoulder, but she felt him tense up beside her.

His eyes locked with Cameron and he tilted his head to one side as his eyes narrowed. She wasn't answering (Y/n). She wasn't even looking at them anymore, her eyes kept flitting from her hands to the floor like she was too anxious to do anything or say the wrong thing.

But all she had to do was glance at Chase once, and it gave him the answer he dreaded. His heart dropped down to the pit of his stomach and before he could stop himself, his hand clenched into a fist and bashed down into the table separating them from Cameron.

"No! No, he- he's not doing this to me."

"Chase-"

"Where is he?" He was up on his feet before (Y/n) could reach out for him and Cameron could try and stop him.

He knew what game House was playing, and he wouldn't be a part of it. They were going to give one antibiotic to one child, and leave another on the second one. They would test them and see which baby thrived and which one deteriorated, then they would have their diagnosis and their answers.

Chase couldn't have that. What if Robbie was the one who deteriorated? What if they couldn't save him in time or switch the meds back soon enough? Chase wouldn't lose his son just so House could get confirmation of an infection.

His eyes stung with unshed tears that he was too tired and wary to expel and his chest heaved with each ragged breath he took that came out harsher and louder than the one before.

It felt like he was moving on autopilot, barely concentrating as he weaved around the few people who dared to get in his way. He didn't bother waiting for the lift, he pelted up the stairs, his shoes echoing and thrashing against the steps like he was announcing his omnibus presence to everyone around him. Giving House a warning that he was coming.

For what felt like the hundredth time this week, Chase stormed into the office he usually worked in but this time, he was surprised to find it empty. At least, the main room was, which they used for their debates and treatment plans.

He stormed to the right and barged through the door in the corner which led into House's private office. Each blind was pulled across, but there he was. Reclined in his chair, legs propped up on his desk and a red rubber ball being tossed in his hands like he was trying to juggle with only one ball.

"Cameron talked to you." It was more of a deduction than a question and he wasn't expecting an answer.

House had been waiting for Chase to figure it out. He knew the young doctor would either go along with the treatment House had devised, or he would question it and come up here to argue. And low and behold, here he was.

"How many of the newborns are you taking off the Tobramycin, or is it just Robbie getting this treatment plan?"

Chase's hands moved to his hips and he ticked his head to one side to brush the fallen hairs from his eyes. He didn't want anything obstructing his vision of the ego maniac in front of him.

He couldn't agree to this. He couldn't have House playing games when this was innocent, newborn lives they were messing with. They couldn't pick and choose who got which treatment and see who faired and who fell to their demise. It wasn't fair.

"The ones with the worst kidney functions. The other two will get taken off Cephalexin."

The implications were clear, even if House's voice didn't have that usual playfulness or hold any enthusiasm. He seemed genuinely concerned this time, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough to calm Chase down or quash his worries when he was still playing Russian roulette with these babies.

"House you're not experimenting on my son!" His hands flexed at his sides like he was getting ready to throw fists. "Fuck, you- you have such a God complex, and we all go along with it. But you can't guess when the risk is my boy's life."

"If this was just a normal case for you, without your child being involved, would you be so opposed to it?"

"Yes."

The way House rose a brow and ticked his head to one side showed that he didn't quite believe that. But Chase would still be arguing this whether Robbie was one of the patients or not, he knew in his heart that he would because this was different. This was children they were caring for and Chase couldn't deal with that guilt weighing on his conscience if they gave two different treatments and one or more children ended up dying because of it. He couldn't be responsible for that.

"You'd really object if Robbie wasn't one of them-"

"Yes because if you end up killing one of them, then what does that say about us? You're a doctor, House. You diagnose and save them, you don't roll the dice and see what happens."

"This isn't guess work. We know it's one of two possible infections, and we tell the parents they either take their kids off the antibiotics ruining their kidneys and hope to rid the infection or they leave them as they are and watch them die of kidney failure. It's the parent's choice, we're not liable we only advise. You're Robbie's doctor. Make an informed decision."

House slammed his feet down on the floor which clearly caused some discomfort in his damaged leg, but he hid the wince well behind a cold expression of malice.

He didn't like being told he was doing wrong or that he didn't know what he was doing. He made a choice. The parents could still say no to his advice, but this was the best advice House had and the best chance those kids had of getting past one week old.

Chase was Robbie's dad and he was a doctor, he and (Y/n) would have the final say on what happened and what treatment he got. House wasn't telling him what to do, he was advising him and Chase didn't have to agree or go through with it.

It felt like Chase's heart was trying to beat out of his chest and it hurt so much he thought he might be suffering a heart attack.

It wasn't fair.

His hands moved up to cup over his mouth and nose and he took a few disgruntled breaths like he was pretending to breathe into a paper bag to calm himself down. He began to shake his head and he couldn't keep up the eye contact with House. He couldn't seem to do anything.

"What if- what if it's the wrong choice?"

How was he supposed to cope if he made the wrong decision and took Robbie off the wrong antibiotic and it worsened his health or ended up killing him? What was Chase meant to do then? How could he carry on if he knew he had failed his son in the one area where he was supposed to be an expert and supposed to look out for him and protect him.

"Then we do what we can and you know you've done what's best for him. Look, if we take him off the Tobramycin at least his kidneys have a chance, and if the other antibiotics don't work, we have the time to change them to something else and you can help us find out what's wrong with him. There's still time if you act now."

Chase nodded and he found himself muttering "Okay, okay we'll do it." but his mind was already starting to drift away without him.

He would observe the team switching the medications. He would keep an eye on Robbie and check for the moment there were any changes in his stats. Chase would watch over him and if anything went wrong, he would be there to try and find an alternative and save his son.

He couldn't fail Robbie now. He hoped he had made the right choice for him. Chase didn't know what he would do with himself if this turned out to be the wrong decision.

[hwang-inhos-fish]

Doubly Obsessive In-ho X "Resurrected"!Gi-hun AU Idea

Gi-hun falls.

In-ho feels the last of his humanity shatter in the moment he hits the ground.

But then Jun-ho arrives. Too late. Too late to save In-ho's heart, his soul. Too late.

But Jun-ho is determined. He's furious. He's relentless, and in this, In-ho's moment of absolute weakness, absolute desolation, Jun-ho is the stronger of the two.

He physically drags In-ho to the escape boat. Through the facility. Dodging soldiers. Outrunning the spreading fire. In-ho holds the daughter close to his chest. His last piece of Gi-hun.

And then there's trouble. The Hwang Bros find themselves (for whatever plot reasons) dangling literally on the end of a rope, a rope that's breaking, and In-ho mourns that Jun-ho will die with him, for him, he mourns the innocent child, but he does not mourn his own death -

And just before it snaps, someone catches the rope up top. It slips, sways, and remains taut. Firm.

When In-ho drags himself up, for the child, for Gi-hun's daughter, he finds a hunched, half-skeletal figure at the top. Dressed in black and white and red. Bloody all over. Both shoes braced against the lip of the ledge and the rope wound so tightly around both arms, both hands, that his fingers are purple-black.

A player. A finalist. Or someone in their clothes.

And then that figure raises his head, and In-ho feels his heart restart in his chest like the sky itself blasted a lightning bolt straight to his chest as a defibrillator.

Because the eyes that fix on his from between shaking, braced legs, wet with pained tears and alive with feeling, with emotion, with anguish, the all-consuming pain of existing after a fall like that, the agony of holding two grown men's weight with a broken leg and broken shoulder and ribs (plus probably a cracked skull) -

It's Seong Fucking Gi-hun.

He's alive.

He's alive and he followed his baby. Followed In-ho.

And In-ho, already at the crumbling edge of rationality and sanity, immediately and irrevocably goes a little crazy.

Sweeping choral music rings in his head. Gi-hun is ringed by light. A vision of exquisite agony worthy of the old artists, the masters. A paragon of goodness, kindness, light - resurrected from the dead. His heart. His fixation. The father of The Daughter.

At least, that's how it seems to In-ho's brain - now and forever more.

And if In-ho was obsessed before?

Oh...

It's not obsession anymore.

It's fucking religion.

From that moment on, In-ho worships Seong Gi-hun - literally, passionately, without hesitation or scruple.

If Gi-hun tells In-ho to go get coffee, he goes and gets coffee. If Gi-hun tells In-ho to fuck him, he does. If Gi-hun were to tell In-ho to jump off the top of the Pink Motel, he'd do that too. Without one single moment of hesitation.

Gi-hun, In-ho, and Jun-ho hunker down in the Pink Motel, hiding from the various people coming after them, all chipping in to raise The Daughter.

And Jun-ho worries about In-ho's rapt, devoted obsession with Gi-hun, his intensity, but Gi-hun isn't exactly whole now, either - and honestly, they're a good match for each other.

Gi-hun is changed. Broken. His body is shattered. It takes a long, long time to recover.

In-ho is an exceptionally attentive personal nurse.

[shostposting]

did shostakovich have a favourite colour. important question

[wandasaura]

sick nights with maria

warnings — sir kink, domestic dominance, sickfic, cuddling, praise kink, spanish pet names, implied bratty reader, military/combat background, men/minors dni

“How are you feeling?” Maria creeps into the bedroom; voice soft, appearance hard. Her uniform has changed over the years. Camouflage and full-body tactical suits now denim and leather. She hasn’t changed though. Not much, at least.

You crane your head to peek at her — tall, easily commanding, warm. Maria radiates warmth, even when coolness clings to black leather in the hottest summer months. You don’t need words to express how you’re feeling. Maria sees it in your shoulders, and your complexion, and your fevered blank stare.

Maria frowns, earnestly and truly. The crows feet beside her eyes wrinkle with the display of affection. She’s heard all about your ailments, but the last three hours on the tarmac had been busy and engaging; she’d only been able to hope you’d magically healed since her last text. “Still no good, querida?”

“No, sir.” Your voice is hoarse, scratchy. You’re undeniably far away from here — this moment in your quiet cozy bedroom with her, and instead somewhere half-conscious and hazy.

It’s a fleeting thought in Maria’s mind that even in your sickly state, her title still rolls off of your lips obediently. You’re good for her; to her. So good.

“Your head still hurts?” Control comes naturally, easily. Maria takes it by the dick like it’s second nature to be the body everybody looks to in crisis and confusion. She says it’s different like this. With you. You’ll never really understand it. She likes that you don’t.

“Yes.” You whisper, hands clenched around the blankets, knuckles white. You’re tired. Exhausted even, beyond just ready for a couple hours of uninterrupted rest, ready for eternal darkness or her warmth, whichever comes first.

“Anything else?” She hums thoughtfully, patiently. There’s never a question in your mind if Maria cares. She doesn’t just tell you she does, she shows you.

It takes you a minute to find a response. Her eyes look so sharp with the backlight from the kitchen framing her features. They’re so blue. Almost cerulean. She’s an image of fine, meticulous beauty crafted gently not to please the public eye, but the careless version of herself that is buried so deep beneath trauma and scar tissue. You see her. All of her.

“My head. My eyes.” A swallow interrupts you. It’s dry, harsh — involuntarily albeit simultaneously forced. Maria winces in sympathy from the threshold. “My belly doesn’t feel too great either.” It’s a weak admission, layered with defeat, exhaustion.

“You’ve had to make so many choices today, huh, querida?” It’s a simple act of deflection, a mastered task not from Shield, or any kind of connection with Nicholas J. Fury, but her time in the army instead. The first seven years that shaped her passion for combat and full, all-powerful, control.

“Yes, sir.” Breathy, light. If Maria didn’t know you, all of you, every imperfectly colored-in inch of skin and spirituality, she would’ve called your appearance angelic. Maria knows you though, she sees you. You’re a little devil. Even now; even sick.

“Yeah? I know, sweetheart. You don’t have to think anymore. Let me do that for you.” Maria’s clean, too clean. Her fingernails are pale, olive-toned, but even. Her cheeks are pink and dusted with freckles. She’s been in the field a lot lately. Never quite ready to give up her position as right hand man. You’d never ask her to, but you know what too clean means. She showered on base, threw the same dirty clothes on with a grimace, and trudged home to you. “Okay?”

“You took a shower.” The words leave you, escape your mind and then your mouth, and they shower Maria in the reminder that you pay attention to her; that you know her too, just as well as she knows you. “Why?” The whine in your tone is accidental, petulant. Maria can’t help but smile warmly.

One step closer, and the sterling silver zipper keeping leather tightly touching gets unzipped. Three seconds closer and she’s halfway out of her pants, revealing navy blue panties the color of a uniform she hasn’t worn in almost a decade.

“Because all I want to do right now is get changed, and take care of my girl.” There’s no ounce of coldness, nor hostility, in Maria’s pointed deliverance of unnecessary explanation, but there’s an edge of finality that has your bones feeling fuzzy beneath your skin. Your lips pull downwards, your shoulders sag. “Sit up.”

“Why?” It’s a tiny moan. A small act of rebellion. It’s squandered by your quick movements to adjust your body against the pillows, the thick comforter falling around your waist to reveal a spaghetti strap tank top that fit better when it was purchased. Maria smiles. She thinks it’s cute.

“Because I know you haven’t had nearly enough water today, and I need to keep you busy while I change.” So nonchalantly does she make you feel small, tiny — not beneath her, never beneath her, but, it’s not entirely dissimilar either. It’s a comforting feeling. One that blooms from rays of pure sunshine in your core. “Okay?” Clarity. Maria likes clarity.

“Okay.” A forced breathy response, paired with the outstretching of your right arm. Your hand, polished with rings you unintentionally stack throughout the day both anxiously and restlessly, wraps around the glass of water she’d sat there for you last night. You’re not fooling anyone with the quick sips you take to hopefully distract from the fact you haven’t even refilled it since her endearing efforts, but she lets you believe that you are. If only because you’re quiet for the three minutes it takes her to fully undress and find a pair of soft pajamas.

“All done. Good girl.” She coaxes when her knee presses into the mattress, droplets of room temperature dribbling down your chin in an uncoordinated race. Her fingers sweep them away dutifully before you even register the wet sensation, but heat flames in the apples of your gauntly cheeks when it all catches up to you — the praise, the endearing care, the way she smells like cinnamon and vanilla even after gunpowder and antiseptics. “You were so braze today, bebé. You did it all on your own while I was with Fury, even when you didn’t feel good. And you were so patient. Let me take care of you now. Let me do the thinking.”

“Okay.” You whisper, letting her guide you into her chest, your back slowly reclining until it just feels right to close your eyes and surround yourself with her liveliness beneath your touch. The faint pulse of her heart, the static rushing of blood in her veins, the meticulous coordination of her breaths. It consumes you.

“Okay?” Maria questions, because she knows what that does to you. She knows how it does your head in to be overwhelmed with confirmation and unwavering attention. You nod, slow and dazedly with your eyes still closed, and Maria grins at you like the moon has done something spectacular in your hidden smile lines. “What’s my name, baby girl?” Simple. Easy. Claiming. Reminding.

With a hitch in your voice you find an answer in your quiet mind heavy from pain and a long day alone. “Sir.”

“That’s right, baby! You’re so smart, even when that head’s hurting you! My perfect girl, it’s okay. You can sleep now. I’ve got you.” Maria presses a long kiss into your crown and that’s enough to end your night, to surrender to darkness all around you until sunlight washes over the hardwood again and hopefully brings reprieve from the crushing pressure and chills.

[milkdudsss]

Sold to JJK?!

Y/N isn’t like other girls. She likes to read books and wear jeans. But what happens when the most popular boy band ever buys her right out of her own house?

pt.1, pt.2,

The sound of loud crashing downstairs woke me. I got up and sighed, another terrible day in this terrible house. Sometimes I wish I could just leave this place, but I have too many books to carry, and I doubt my converse could keep my feet dry in this rainy weather. 

“Y/N GET DOWN HERE NOW!” My mom yells, breaking me out of my daydream. 

I quickly throw on some leggings and an old sweater, then I throw my hair into a messy bun and head downstairs. 

When I get to the living room I expect my mom to be there, ready to give me a list of chores to do, but instead my blue orbs fall onto a group of men surrounding the coffee table. 

“Woah, she’s such a babe!” A tall, white haired man said, tipping his glasses down his nose to get a better look. However, he was quickly reprimanded by a blonde man who looked like he was late to his third conference meeting of the day. “Satoru, be more polite. It’s rude to ogle at others.”

“I mean he’s not wrong, she does have a nice piece of ass on her.” Another man spoke up. This one had dark hair and a deep scar on his lip. He smells like a midlife crisis.

The blonde man just pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. 

“Y/N, these men will be your new owners, once you pack your things they’ll take you to your new home… wherever that is.” My mom said, not even bothering to look at me through the briefcase she had her head buried in.

Owners? Do they thing I’m some sort of dog? I thought to myself, wrapping my arms around my miniscule frame in discomfort. “W-w-what do you mean owners? What exactly is going on?” 

A man covered with pink hair and tattoos answered in a voice that definitely confirmed he had at least twenty felonies. “We bought ya, simple as that. You’re gonna be the newest toy of Two Misdirection.”

“Two Misdirection? What is that, some sort of dnd club?” I asked. 

One of the men on the couch got up and looked at me in confusion. “Wait, you seriously don’t know who we are?” He asked, tossing his long black hair over his shoulder, successfully hitting the pink haired man in the face with it. 

I rolled my orbs at him. “No… Am I supposed to?” 

They all stared at me in shock until the white haired boy with glasses spoke up. “I mean, yeah, kind of. We’re like the biggest boy band in the world, have you been living under a rock or something?”

“N-no, I just find my books more interesting than pretty boys like you.” I scoff. 

He swings his legs excitedly off the edge of the couch and blushes. “Aww you think I’m pretty?” 

His swooning is interrupted however, when the man with long dark hair abruptly pushes him off the couch. 

“T-t-t-t-hat’s not what I meant-” 

“That’s enough! You promised this would be a quick transaction, so take her and leave already!” My mom shouted, standing up to usher us out of the living room.

The man with pink hair threw me over his beefy shoulder and began walking out of the house. “Say no more, I’m dying to get out of here and take this one to someplace more… comfortable.”

I tried to squirm out of his grasp, but I was just too tiny and weak. “L-let me go you perv! I haven’t even gotten to pack all of my books-”

“No need to worry about your things, we’ll have them delivered to the estate shortly.” Said the blonde man from earlier. 

Before I could respond, I was tossed into a limo, and was surrounded by all the members from this so-called “Boy Band”. 

“W-where are you taking me?” I asked.

“To our mansion, obviously.” The white haired man said.

The man with the long dark hair elbowed him in the ribs. “Quit being rude Satoru, she’s probably confused about everything that’s going on, aren’t you Angel?” I blush at the nickname and hide my face in my ginormous sweater. I guess the good thing about being so petite is that all of my clothes can double as tents at least… 

“Aww come here sweet thing, no need to be shy, I don’t bite.” He says, spreading his legs and patting his thigh as an invitation for me to come sit on his lap. 

Before I can make my way over to him, A set of large, tattooed hands wrap around my waist and pull me against a pair of juicy man pecks. “Yeah, well I do. So stop trying to hog her all to yourself and let us introduce ourselves too.” 

I let out a squeak as he pulls me in tighter. This was going to be a long ride…

[nqrancia]

Hii! Do you write one shots? if that's the case, could you do a one shot where Abbacchio and the reader had just been intimate and he's struggling with aftercare but he's willing to give it a shot? thnxs!!

𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢’𝐥𝐥 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 : leone abbacchio

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 : though abbacchio appears to be cold, his feelings for you are ever warm

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : mild suggestive themes, tooth rotting fluff

𝐚/𝐧 : pushing the high ponytail abbacchio and sweet abbacchio agenda. please enjoy :)

Alone. That was how Leone Abbacchio would describe his mornings, completely and utterly alone. He would lie in bed, staring at his ceiling wondering how he got there in the first place. What had gone wrong, what had gone right, and what was there to come? The bottle of Pinot Grigio on his bedside table was sure to tell him, as any good friend would. His friend, however, was secretive. It never told him the secret to having a good life or how to exist happily; those complicated questions held complicated answers. Answers no bottle of wine could manage to explain.

But, this morning, these mornings, were different. Without aimlessly feeling for his friend on his bedside, he had found the answer. These days, he would aimlessly feel for you beside him, yearning to feel the warmth of your body against his. He no longer needed the bottle, he needed you.

As his eyes adjusted to the sliver of light permeating through his curtains, a strong arm tightened around your waist, keeping you as close as possible to his chest. He absentmindedly nuzzled his head into your shoulder, pressing a soft peck to your neck as his long white hair cascaded down his back. Though it had been brushed up into a high ponytail before, the little hair tie was now long gone after last night's activities. He slowly removed his hand from your waist, using it to trace the curves of your body once again.

Lavender lipstick marks trailed along your naked skin as images from the night before ran through his mind. The loving look in your eyes as you pressed gentle kisses to his pale skin, the elation he felt as he imbued each action with passion, the gleam of trust in your eyes as he rested against one of your thighs. You made him feel whole, like there was still a part of his heart that dripped sweet honey; and he would only offer the purest of it to you.

He placed one last kiss on your shoulder as he eased his other arm out from underneath you, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Clothes were strewn all over the floor, yet no sight of a clean pair of pants or a shirt could be found. With a frustrated huff, he pushed himself off the bed to search through his closet, only to find a single white dress shirt and a pair of black slacks. They would have to do, he thought. As he slipped out of the bedroom, he threw a glance your way to check on your state. You were still fast asleep, good.

The bathroom was a straight shot from his bedroom, allowing for the man to stay as quiet as a mouse so as to not wake you up. He quietly set his clothes on the counter before he slinked over to grab your bathing essentials; your shampoo, conditioner, face wash, and whatever he thought you’d like best for a bath. Then, he placed them on the edge of the tub.

He was no expert in this area of aftercare. Before you, the individuals he would hook up with left before he could even awake, leaving him absolutely shitfaced and alone. He didn’t bother to care what essential oils were or what epsom salt scent was best for helping with aches and soreness, now it was something he wished he had understood long ago.

With a quick flick, the faucet began spewing lukewarm water into the bowl of the sink. He didn’t immediately stick his hands underneath the flow, instead he caught a glimpse of a shocking display. Littered across his chest were love bites of a wide range of sizes, some smaller while others revealed to be tough to cover up. He carefully ran a hand over each one as he looked in the mirror, almost as if he were admiring a Baroque painting hanging in a museum. A tiny smirk crept onto his face as he then spun around to eye the scratches you had left on his back, you must’ve enjoyed last night as much as he did.

A few moments went by before he entered the shower, simply admiring the artwork you had created on his skin. Soon, he was scrubbing off the smell of sex that was present on his body, helping alleviate the redness of the love bites that littered his pale skin. Then, he combed through his white hair, being careful to not pull too hard. Perhaps, he would put it up again. He then exited the shower, blow dried his hair, and washed his face. Finally, as he slipped on his plain shirt and slacks, he heard a voice behind him.

“You’re awake early…”, you mumbled, wiping the sleep from your eyes as you leaned on the door frame. Leone glanced at you from the mirror as he applied his lavender lip product, “Shh, amore. Go take your bath.”

An eyebrow was raised towards him, “You won’t be joining me this morning?”

As he finished applying his makeup, he pulled it into a high pony once again, letting two pieces fall freely against his cheeks. “I have something planned for you.”

Your mouth formed into an ‘oh’ shape, then into a soft smile as you passed by him. He meant business. “Hm, then I’ll be sure to take my time.”

He soon exited the room to leave you to your devices, then made his way to the kitchen. From the fridge, he took out several ingredients and placed them on the counter next to the stove top. He then grabbed a decent sized pan, placing it on the stove top before turning on the burner. As he waited for it to heat up, he reached up into the cabinet above to take out a small cookbook, one you had bought for him.

His eyes glanced over the pages as he searched for the recipe he desired, settling on a recipe for pancakes. He haphazardly measured each ingredient, pouring them into a large bowl. As he mixed, he noticed the batter had become lumpy, too lumpy. In anger, he gritted his teeth as he slammed a fist into the counter. This was supposed to be an easy breakfast, something quick he could enjoy with you. Lady Fate apparently had other ideas.

Then, a pair of arms wrapped around him from behind, a head then relaxing itself on his back. His eyes widened for a split second before he released a sigh, which was answered with a small whisper, “Leone..”

His eyes glazed over the sorry excuse for a meal he made; the eggs were slightly burnt, the bacon looked mutilated from being thrown around too much, and the pancakes didn’t even look edible. He wouldn’t even let a street rat eat this. “This looks like absolute shit…”

A kiss was then pressed against his cheek, “Thank you, Leone.”

God, there was that saccharine voice of yours again. Your arms tightened around him, “We can try again together, if you’d like.”

He only nodded, then began to clean up the pancake batter he had gotten on the counter. As he did so, you took over the stove. A small smile spread across your face as you glanced up at him, “These eggs don’t even look half bad, we can still eat them.”

Leone huffed, “Good.”

Loving you was like experiencing life all over again, this time with the puzzle pieces he had been missing. It made him feel like he was doing something right for once, that he had achieved the ultimate feat.

His heart yearned for every morning to be just like this one.

@𝐧𝐪𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐚 ݁₊˚⊹☆ - please do not translate or plagiarize my works.

[sanotymanjiro]

hiiii can I pretty please request for hyper feminine reader with izana and he's shopping with her but she's basically just pulling him around and making him see all the pretty and cute clothes she's trying on while also making him buy everything and carry her bags pretty pretty please with a cherry on top 🥺

𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐬 🛒⊹ ࣪ ˖⟡

𝙞𝙯𝙖𝙣𝙖 𝙠𝙪𝙧𝙤𝙠𝙖𝙬𝙖

𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙩

hope this is what you wanted!! @driedrosessys

kisses, fluff, hyperfem!reader x izana, stable relationship, tenjiku izana

💳ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

y/n: c'mon zanaaaaa~!

izana: i'm coming i'm coming..

the poor boy was just having a snack but on one of your shopping spree days, there wasn't time even for that. one bag after another found themselves piling up along his wrist but you were too cute whenever you got so absorbed in your shopping that izana couldn't even find it in himself to complain. he wasn't like the other men you both encountered in the fitting rooms, eyes glued to their phone as they mumbled a few words of appreciation to their girlfriend's outfits, izana was attentative. his eyes would trail over each and every one, fingers finding his chin as he hummed in thought. he had to agree to all the ones you were extra hyped about because he would just hate to see you get upset but rejecting one or two outfits was worth watching the cute little pout form on your pink lips, the highlight of his day.

𝐲/𝐧 𝐩𝐨𝐯:

you didn't stop to count the amount of bags you had throws at your boyfriend already or the hours you had spent walking around. it was infuriating how you couldn't find the right shoes for your party this weekend despite the multiple stores lined up claiming to have just the right products. never mind that, you had to choose nails next but they were all so cute that you couldn't decide between the black and pink french tips or the neon pink and white ones. after an agonising five minutes you sighed, turning to your boyfriend with a frustrated pout.

y/n: 'zanaaa...

izana, smiling patiently: the black and pink are nicer.

you beamed at his helpful insight and finally made your decision, slinging your arm into his own and skipping out of the store happily, unaware of his gentle gaze and the small fond smile painting his lips as his gaze remained fixated on you. the next challenge was finding a cute dress that was actually cute and not just pretty. it had to be white, that was the first rule you had set as you strolled into the store, eyes scanning every dress in sight hungrily. you didn't even check the tag as you hauled your favourite into the fitting rooms to try on, your boyfriend would buy it for you either way, as long as you like it. you took a while styling it and checking it out in the mirror and weren't too sure so you drew the curtain open, peeking your head out to call izana inside.

y/n: so..what about this one..?

his head tilted, eyes trailing from the top of the dress right to the lacy bottom before landing on your face again, a sweet smile finding his lips again.

izana: what's wrong with it?

y/n: that's not the pointttt. is it cute?

you did a little twirl to try drawing out his opinion but when you faced him again his hands were already latched onto your waist, fingers rubbing gentle circles as those purple eyes searched yours. you felt a little embarassed since you were the only one blushing but your hand landed on his chest. izana's heart was pounding, maybe a little harder than yours even.

izana: mm...you're cute no matter what you wear.

y/n: ...'zanaaaa im seriouss..

his lips brushed yours gently, hands pulling you closer to him and when he finally broke the kiss his eyes flickered over your face, loving gaze drenched in sincerity.

izana: i mean it baby.

and you knew he did.

2025 @sanotymanjiro

tags (for everyone who enjoyed ice king and my other fics): @dolledupformanjiro | @tetsuyuuuuuuu | @artsjiwoo | @mikeysgf1 | @natsumis-stuff | @katsukisat0 | @dancingnewcat | @whyme287 | @destinyfleur | @banana-revenge | @bebacebe | @mikeys-therapy | @peensas | @afterunigoths | @skr1mps | @beetusbritt | @dollrndo | @yourbabydolllll | @cherry-blossom5 | @idk-what-myurl-shouldbe and anyone else!

[eggcompany]

Geraskier Except

Jaskier, 36, made an app with some friends when they were barely out of highschool, something to make producing music easier for amateurs, which became one of the most downloaded apps on the market. So as a thirty year old man, producing his own music and living in a nice house in the suburbs, was comfortable.

He went drinking on occasion, he did the farmers markets and brunch with mimosas and watching his carbs. He walked and did a few charity runs. He wore age appropriate clothing. Mostly cardiagns. Lots of- He dressed like an old woman but that was fine to him.

However he felt like there was one thing missing. Something the media loved to remind him of. He had no steady man. He had flings, one night stands, and many a much too young man wanting his money and willing so suck him off for it. He craved it, to know someone, to really be loved. The bluebirds that lived in the backyard could only do so much.

He didn't have anyone to blame when he started hanging around the coffee shop, sipping his sugar free super sweet barely coffee. Or when he stopped reading at home and started staying in the library in the reading area. Or sitting in the park instead of at his desk at home, scribbling in his notebook.

But of course he never had much luck.

That was until he was being dragged around to promote his new music. He didn't do many concerts anymore but he liked to go promote, meet people, play his guitar in little venues.

He was in the middle of nowhere, sitting on the counter of a music store, signing records and chatting with the few people there who recognized him, and the grumpy old man who ran the place. He was happy, getting away for a while. And the fresh air was nice, not tainted by a city or the noise of a million people. The stop was mostly just to fix a flat tire and get some sleep but Jaskier couldn't stay away, he found some amazing vintage records, things from his own teenship.

That's when the owner said he'd be leaving, his son coming in to relieve him. Jaskier paid it no mind until Tall, Hunky, and Wet walked through the door. He'd not even notice the rain that had started to pour. But this- this artwork on legs, it made Jaskier want to weep with gratefulness for the heavens. The man's shirt, a black short sleeve, was stuck down to his beautiful buff chest, clinging to his massive arms, his trim waist. And his jeans, they were worn to perfection, hugging the orbital grace that was his ass.

"Who's the fly trap?" Oh and his voice was amazingly gravely, rolling down Jaskier's spine. The older man patted Jaskier's shoulder, making him shut his mouth.

"This is that Dandelion fellow. He's here for the night, just wanted to come spend time with us. Be nice." The older man said, finger pointed at the beauty. Jaskier wondered how old Mister Grey hair that was curling into dripping ringlets was. The guy grumbled a mumbling "cokolwiek" before going behind the counter.

Jaskier turned, nearly breaking his neck to watch the man. Nealry passing out as he watched the guy pull his soaked shirt up over his head, revealing a beutifully haired torso, carved by gods. Jaskier would need to send the old man a fruit basket, a car, a house, Jaskier didn't even notice the spit pooling in his mouth till the guy looked at him, pulling on a store shirt.

"You sing?" The guy asked, coming up to Jaskier who nodded, dumbly staring at his golden eyes, how did he get his eyelashes so long and his lips so pink. What kinda lipbalm did he wear. The guy nodded and sat down by the old computer that was the register. Jaskier stared, he typed so fast-

"Are you single?" Jaskier said, the words rushing out before he could stop them. He watched in horror as the guy looked him up and down, he was wearing a pink cardigan and an old white shirt with little birds on it. He looked so dumb, why did he-

"What are you? 26?" The guy asked, making a grossed out face. Jaskier could have cleared the counter but instead he picked his feet up and sat facing the guy because that was the hottest thing he'd heard in a long time.

"I'll marry you right now."

Jaskier stayed just a day longer, just to make sure the bus was in perfect condition and not because Geralt invited him to come have a picnic on "the docks" which was apparently a boat ramp with a picnic table nearby. Jaskier didn't care, he did his hair, put together a nice outfit, wore his best perfume he had with him, and made sure he had mints in his pocket.

He didn't know that an older man could be so exhilarating. Geralt was quiet and listened and told Jaskier about the fish in the river they looked over and Jaskier was delighted to be invited back when Geralt walked him back to the motel in town.

"You gonna come back?" Geralt asked, looking away as Jaskier stood in his motel room doorway. Jaskier smiled at him, hand pushing playfully at his arm.

"Are you asking for a second date." Jaskier teased, so hopeful. Geralt rolled his eyes and leaned down to him, close.

"I don't kiss on the first." Geralt whispered and stood back up, Jaskier leaning forward to following him before stumbling back to his feet. He watched as Geralt walked away, silver hair glimmering in the sunlight, looking so incredible.

It took him squealing and kicking around his bed to notice the little note tucked into the pocket of his button up. 'Geralt Rivii- xxxx-xxx-xxx I don't text.'

Jaskier couldn't help the skip in his step the rest of the promo tour, couldn't help when he gushed to Triss about this guy who just totally swept him up off his feet.

They all told him to be careful but... well Jaskier never listened. He rented a house before he arrived in the little river town. One with a nice big bedroom.

His fans were delighted at all the new music he started to release. Love songs. Spicier songs that were sensual and passionate. Even the rerelease of one of his first songs, one about leaving everything behind, family troubles, money issues, and chasing happiness, all song by him alone by a river, just him and his guitar.

It wasn't until he was doing another round of signing and meet ups that people started noticing something. Who was the guy that was always watching Jaskier? He wasn't in a bodyguard uniform, and he was a little too touchy with him when the singer was out and about.

Jaskier read Geralt the comments, "A Stalker? A secret Lover? A father? Geralt! We can put it out that you're my daddy~" "That two year difference goes to your head."

[mademoiselle-cookie]

Headcanon that the fans think that everything that happened as the end of the movie was just a commercial stunt/reveal of Rumi's skin condition(?) for Huntr/x and the Saja Boys kpop retirement (it's a hard world and having a nice ending is better than explosion and mediocrity).

Think about it, from their perspective:

Huntr/x wrote a song about the boys being demons

they seem close

during the Award, Saja Boys couldn't compete and Huntr/x had an awful break-up on scene

the same night, Saja Boys organise a concert where they're disguided as demons and there's a MASSIVE FIRE

after their song, Huntr/x came and sing their reconciliation, they spawn weapons, fight hundreds of creatures that apparear and disappear just like that, and make a lot of light when they hug each other.

then the Saja Boys attack them but they just dissapear when the girls kill them, the fire THROW A KAMEHAMEHA to Rumi that she stop with her sword, then Jinu appears to block the fire with his BODY and he DISAPEAR while giving Rumi a luminous ball that transform her weapon

RUMI USES HER NEW WEAPON TO CUT FKING FIRE

and the girls end their song flotting in the air, all in white when their clothes had black before

oh, and all this time, Rumi had new markings on her body, and it's permant apparently