#at least now i know how much i need to take care of my rib clients i’m so sorry for doing that to you

[lazylittledragon]

got my ribs tattooed today and i cannot stress enough please do not get them if you value your life

[peppermintquartz]

read this first

---

Bobby knocks on the door frame.

From his chair right next to the bed, Sal Deluca turns around and his eyes narrow. "Nash."

"Deluca." He nods at the other man. "Still nothing?"

"Still fighting," says Sal. He returns to stare at the unconscious and battered form on the bed. The machines hum and whirr and hiss and beep, taking readings of different functions.

With their masks on, Bobby can't read Sal's expression as well as he wants to, but the fact that Sal has been here every day during the short visiting hours for Tommy says a whole lot. Bobby takes a few steps into the ward.

"Is it okay if I talk to him for a while?" he asks.

Sal grunts assent and stands up. "I could do with a visit to the gents and maybe grab a coffee." As he passes Bobby, he asks, "How's the kid?"

"He'll make it," Bobby answers.

Once he's alone with Tommy, Bobby takes the seat Sal vacated. Almost buried under the wires and tubes and bandages, Tommy looks terrible, like he'd gone too many rounds with a prizefighter and lost all of them. His eyes and nose are bruised and there are lacerations across his face that are scabbing over. His skin is a mottled purple and yellow. His cheeks are hollow and his stubble thick; his head is wrapped in bandages after the most recent operation to drain fluids accumulating in his skull.

That's not even looking at the rest of him. By the grace of God, at least his right leg, spine and pelvis are intact; his left shin and both his arms are broken as well, and his ribs and clavicle fractured. Bobby's not willing to think just how damaged Tommy's insides are.

Turns out being swiped by a semi driven by an obsessed woman and then tumbling down a slope in a truck is bad for your health.

"You probably saved his life, Tommy," Bobby says aloud. "You pushing him out of your truck before it rolled down the hill meant he didn't have as severe injuries as you do."

Hsssst. Bip. Hssst. Bip.

"He's... he's woken up a few times now. Four times. It seems like he's lost some of his memories, but every time he wakes up, he asks, 'where's Tommy?' We haven't told him." Bobby clears his throat. "Tommy. You're a good man. You were good for him when you started dating and I know you didn't break up with him because you stopped caring for him. And knowing Buck, he was good for you too." A stray tear creeps down his cheek and Bobby swipes it aside.

Hssst. Bip. Hssst. Bip.

"Buck, he cares so much for you. So much. If you're in there, fighting to come back, fight harder. I'm not one for laying guilt trips on others, because Lord knows just how much wrong I've done. But you have to come back, okay? You must." Bobby takes a deep breath and reaches out to hold Tommy's cold, limp hand. "I don't think Buck will survive losing you. He won't. So I need you to come back to him."

Hssst. Bip. Hssst. Bip.

Standing up, Bobby prepares to leave. Sal is standing by the door, inscrutable behind his mask.

"Tell the kid that Tommy's here in ICU," Sal says.

Bobby hesitates. "Why?"

"My boy Tommy needs something to fight for. You want him to fight for Buckley? Let Buckley tell him so himself." Sal returns to his chair and settles in, ignoring Bobby and taking out his phone like he has nothing better to do than wait.

[shiny-jr]

not my world [ prologue ]

– Summary: One day you wake in a foreign world with nothing to your name except the clothes on your back. A talking cat named Grim, gives you your only lead to return home. Seek out the seven gods and pray they answer your plea.

– Warning: Yes, this series is a yandere thing, although this post really isn't. Gender-neutral reader.

– Characters: Grim.

– Note: Think of this like a test, just to see how it's received. Yes, this is based off that outlander post I made a while ago. I was thinking I could make this a long-lasting series. However, it really depends how y'all like it. There's not too much going on here, because I'm trying to set the scene and I wrote it all fairly quickly. However, it's just a small taste. So, let me know what y'all think.

– Pages: 11

“So… you’re saying that you woke up here on this beach with no explanation, but you’re from another world so you have no idea where you are? You fell asleep in your own bed, in your own home, and now you’re here, with no way to go back?” 

As far fetched as it sounded, you could only grimly nod. A dream, this should’ve just been a nightmare. But that was confirmed to be false when you pinched yourself multiple times and tried to splash yourself with the nearby ocean water. Everything felt so real, from the sand between your toes to the breeze in the air and the sunlight drying the water off the surface of your flesh. You wanted it to be nothing but a dream, especially when you found a talking cat with a forked tail and blue fire in his ears. 

This was your third attempt trying to explain things to this impish but rather harmless little furball, and each time he seemed more puzzled than the last. His little black nose twitched as he sat in front of you, his paws digging into the sand as those strange eyes of his studied you closely. His voice was grating, high-pitched, speaking with a tone of doubt. “You don’t look like you’re from any of the seven nations. No pointed ears, no beast features, not even a magestone to your name! Well, it makes sense. A nobody like you obviously wouldn’t have a magestone anyways.” 

That was probably meant to be an insult, but considering you didn’t even know what a magestone was, you didn’t really take any offense at all. Pointed ears, beast features, magestones, annoying talking cats– you really didn’t care about any of that. “Because I’m not from whatever seven nations there are. I already told you where I’m from.” 

“Yeah, well I never heard of wherever it was you said. So get lost, would you, human? I’ve claimed this beach alrea–” 

A low growl rang in the air. Swiftly you scanned your surroundings, fearful that you were about to be attacked by some mythical beast. However, when you looked back to the feline who now looked quite ashamed, you realized the noise came from his stomach. Actually, the little fellow seemed pretty scrawny, and you could just barely make out the shape of his ribs poking out of his sides. 

Standing up, you brushed off the sand clinging to the oversized t-shirt you fell asleep in. Thankfully, you at least had sandals, which was better than waking up here barefoot. With one look around, there didn’t appear to be anyone for miles, and no sign of civilization here. Leaving the cat as your only option to turn to, as jarring as it was to be speaking to a cat. “Er… Look, if you could at least help me find people, a shelter, a city, something– then I’ll see about getting you something to eat. Deal?” 

“I don’t need your help! But… I’m curious, so I’ll follow anyway.” 

“Great…” You sigh, as you decide to follow a path that leads away from the shoreline and into woodlands. At the very least, you were not completely alone. This would be much more terrifying if you had woken up and there was absolutely no one around. “So, do you have a name or are you, like, feral?” 

“I’m not feral!” It hissed as it walked in tandem beside you, keeping up with your steady pace. “Since I am so great, I will allow you to know my name. I am the all-mighty Grim! One-of-a-kind and destined to one day become strong, powerful enough to defeat even the seven gods!” 

“Seven gods…?” Was this some sort of fantasy setting? It had to be. First he mentioned pointed ears and beast-people, and you were having a conversation with a talking cat! Maybe seven gods were the least outlandish thing you’ve heard today. “Well, I’m (Y/n).” 

“You’ve never heard of The Seven? How stupid could you be?” 

You frowned at his toothy little grin as he ridiculed you for your knowledge on a place you just ended up in. “Well excuse me for not knowing anything about this place I just ended up in!” Tearing your gaze away, you saw a cabin up ahead. It appeared abandoned, so there wasn’t any hope of seeing another person yet. Still, there may be something useful inside, so you approach. 

Trying the knob, you found the lock jammed. The wood of the front door was rotting, some of it in splitters and the windows were shattered. With a few strong kicks, the door became dislodged and finally gave way beneath the pressure. 

“You’re excused– hey! Tuna!” You didn’t even bother stopping the feline when he rushed into the abandoned cabin, sprinting after the few cans of tuna he spotted on an old table. At least he would get to eat. 

You didn’t particularly care for canned fish that’s been sitting there for who knows how long. In practically a blink of the eye he had devoured three whole cans of the stuff and licked the remnants off of his whiskers. 

“Okay, okay, since I feel so bad for you, and because you found these tuna cans, I’ll be your guide. That way, I don’t owe you nothin’ after this! Maybe one day, if you’re still around, you’ll see me ascend to the ranks among the archons and you can brag like I knew him! Isn’t Grim so cool and praise worthy? I might even remember you and accept your prayers! You can thank me now.” 

At his smug expression, you squinted incredulously as he began walking down the path in the middle of the woods once more. Following hesitantly, thankful there was daylight and this seemed like a particularly nice forest, save for the very depths of it further away from the road that were dark due to the cover of leaves and branches above. However, the trees closest to you weren’t so dense, and the sunlight filtered through the thin foliage. The dirt road was wide, but slightly covered with scattered blades of grass and underbrush, as if no one had used it in a long while. Squirrel-like critters darted about in trees, strange fruits hung on low-branches, and foreign flowers sprouted alongside little ponds. 

“I’ll thank you after an explanation and a little help. So, what’s this about gods?” 

“Let’s see… I’ll put it so simple that even a baby can understand! There are seven nations, and each one has a god. These gods are super-powerful! I’m talking crazy-strong, like they can level mountains and raise the sea type of miracles!” 

As he strolled beside you, his forked-tail swished back and forth. For now it seemed like he knew where he was going, so hopefully that was a good sign. Right now, you had no idea what to do or how to get home. However, if magic existed in this realm, then surely there would be some way to get back. There had to be, for your own peace of mind. 

“Maybe if you pray to one, you’ll get an answer. But the chances of that are pretty much zero, because only idiots rely on the gods since they almost never answer. You’d have a better chance trying to actually meet one of them and try to talk to them in person, but good luck with that!” 

As the road neared a cliff, you caught a glimpse of the scenery. It was a kingdom, a whole city that began right at the edge of a vast meadow. The rolling valley ended at a river, across a wide stone bridge where the city began. Miles and miles of cobblestone roads lined with two to three-story buildings, and rising above it all was a white palace with red conical roofs that pierced the very sky. It looked fantastical, like something straight out of a peculiar little story book, especially considering how unnaturally bright the flowers were and how there was the occasional mushroom as tall as a tree. 

Never before in your entire life had you ever seen a single place like this. Some stupid naive little part of yourself had hoped that perhaps you were still in your world, but this was simply proof that tore that little shred of hope to bits. “What is this place…?” 

He paused to scratch a spot behind his ear. “That’s the capital city of Heartslabyul. You see that big palace all the way over there? That’s where the god of fire lives. One day, I’m gonna live in a place even bigger, grander, than that! My worshippers will build, brick by brick, a towering temple that reaches the very heavens! It’ll make that palace look puny in comparison!” 

Dumbfounded, you nearly get left behind in your stupor once the feline begins to walk down a rocky slope again. You follow, as Grim yammered on and on, “Fire is harsh, just like that place. Trust me, I tried staking a claim there, but I was kicked out! Can you believe it? Me! They just threw me out as if I were nothing! Anyways, I already forgot what you were looking for, but whatever it is, you’ll probably find something there––” 

“A way home?” You reminded him, a tiny bit irked that he seemed to forget so easily. For such a haughty little beast with nothing to his name, he was very conceited. 

“Ooh yeah, right. That. Gods have all this magic and wisdom from their years and stuff, so they gotta know something. But if I were a god, I wouldn’t answer you, to be honest.” 

Grumpily you point out the obvious. This cat-like creature was far from the divine that you were currently picturing. “You’re not a god.” 

Yowling in response, Grim shot back with irritation, “Yet! Not a god yet!” When he spat, a small puff of smoke and a spark of flames he tried to aim at the dirt caused his blue ear flames to flicker stronger until one stray flame popped like a hot scorching coal. It went flying directly at your face, and all you could do was react quickly enough to try and step back while your arms and hands covered your face. 

However, no pain ever came. “How are you doing that?!” 

“Doing what? And you need to watch it with––” When you began to lower your arms, you saw it. When you had shielded yourself, your knuckles had been against your cheek and so your palm was facing outward. Floating in your open palm, was that small spark that came from his ears and nearly burned you. Immediately your eyes widened, and the surprise didn’t end there. As if fluctuating with your shock, the fire became a small yet harsh monetary crackling burst that caused both you and the feline to yelp and stumble back in disbelief until your palms were normal once again. 

“You big fat liar! You do know magic! Where’s your magestone?” 

Seeing his gray fur stand on edge, you quickly answered, seemingly just as confused as he currently was. “I-I don’t, I swear! I don’t even have a wizardstone! That has never happened to me before! This, magic, stuff like that, talking cats, huge mushrooms, none of this is supposed to be real!” 

“Magestone! Not wizardstone! M-A-G-E!” 

“Same difference, what do I care?” You had to double-check your hands, wanting to trick yourself again into believing it was something that could be easily explained. Yet this didn't seem like that. This was something else entirely that didn’t make sense, it couldn't be explained. Not while you were still reeling and staring at your own two hands in utter disbelief. “What the hell was that…?” 

Sniffing the air around you, Grim paced slowly around you as his whiskers twitched with each sniff. After several rounds circling you, he plopped down in front of you and peered up at you quizzically. “I really don’t smell a magestone on you… but you used my fire! It was blue! Everyone knows you can’t use magic without one! Wait a moment… this is perfect!” Immediately brightening up, the little creature gave a toothy grin as he declared, “From now on, you will be my servant! One day when I am a god, I will make you a demi-god! Everyone knows the great gods have divine or mystic servants of some kind! So you will be my henchman! Count yourself blessed, human.” 

“What…?” For now you didn’t even want to touch anything, especially yourself. What if you just tapped something and it was set ablaze? Although you felt fine physically, you were not completely okay. Mentally your mind was scrambled with trying to comprehend everything going on and being said, and now you had the additional burden of accidentally burning everything you touched. 

“Maybe it has to do with the fact that you aren’t from here, so this world’s rules don’t even apply to you… yeah, that’s it! This is great! Does this mean you can wield other elements? We should try! If it storms tonight, we’ll stand at the highest cliff and wait for lightning to strike!” 

“Definitely not!” You screech in reply, currently trying to prevent yourself from panicking and having a destructive mental breakdown all at the same time. Keeping your arms away from your body and fingers spread apart, you tentatively try grabbing stones and sticks and blades of grass to test the ability and see if anything would be set ablaze. And yet, nothing happened, so you slowly began to relax, as much as was possible in that moment. 

Grim watched with great intrigue, hoping, wishing, to see you burn something straight with your hands. However, when he saw not a single spark or sign of smoke, he sighed, “Don’t you realize the possibilities! A small chosen few can wield magic like that, and even then, it’s only one element! This means that you might be able to do more! We’ll be legendary, beating every foe we come across!” 

“Woah, woah, woah, who said anything about beating foes?” Cutting off that idea right now before it would get out of hand. It had only been a few minutes, not even an hour, and even you could see that Grim was a handful. “I am no fighter. If I magically somehow have these weird abilities now, doesn’t mean I want to fight with them. Are you insane? The most I’ll do is like… instantly heat up my food or make a light in the dark. That’s it. Actually, that first one sounds pretty useful…” 

Angrily throwing his paws up in exasperation while falling back on some patches of grass, he groaned, “Ugh, but that’s so boringggg! Where’s your creativity? You could become a god among gods!” 

Choosing to ignore his less than enthusiastic response, you proceeded, drawing his attention back to something he recently mentioned. Awkwardly you grip your hands, twisting your wrist between your fingers, yet nothing hurts. Everything felt normal, as if you hadn’t just wielding fire a minute ago. “You said a god of fire resided over there in that city, right?” 

“Yeah, you’ll fit right in with all those hot-headed fire-breathers now that you have a bit of magic.” 

As the two of you neared the bottom of the cliff and approached a smaller section of the forest that would lead directly to the road that branched off into either a vast meadow or the gates of the kingdom, the world seemed to stop when a loud rumbling rang through the air. The birds ceased their singing songs and the squirrelish creatures paused their chittering chattering. The ground shook and in the far distance, miles and miles behind the palace where there looked to be nothing but untamed wilderness, balls of fire spewed forth from what you had thought were mountains but were actually volcanoes. Seeing the smoke pour out from the peak, you debated running right back to the beach which was in the opposite direction of the rupture in the earth. 

While initially startled, Grim quickly relaxed and began his walking again just as the sounds of nature resumed their tune. As if by some miraculous work of magic, the volcano stopped its rumbling just as quickly as it began, and the smoke receded as well. Like a pot popping on a stovetop and simmering over with water, but its vapor and contents contained by a top, that’s how rapidly it started and ended. Grim proceeded to walk in front of you to lead the way. Sensing your question before you even voiced it, he called out over his shoulder, 

“Don’t look so panicked, we’re not gonna die. That happens like once a week. It used to be more sparse but… well, like I said, all the humans in the kingdom are a buncha hotheads. Especially their king! Everyone knows the god of pyro has the worst temper of all the seven, that’s why the volcanoes go off when he’s all angry! All you gotta do is gather up the courage to ask him what you want to know, and pray that he doesn’t incinerate you where you stand.”

[moonstruckme]

Hi love, can you write a james x reader fic where james is having a bad day or smtg and went to the shower and reader follows him afterwards knowing that he needed the comfort. Just two person showering together, intimate, innocent and fluff.

Thanks for requesting!

cw: non-sexual nudity

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 659 words

Steam rushes to warm you as you pull the curtain aside, stepping into the tub behind your boyfriend. 

“Angel?” he turns around, suds already in his hair and creeping down his neck to his shoulders. He always uses too much shampoo; if it weren’t the least expensive thing in your shower, you’d give him a harder time for it. “You shouldn’t get your hair wet, you just washed it yesterday.” 

“I don’t care,” you say, though you do a bit. Just not nearly as much as you care about him.

You wrap your arms around his slippery shoulders, giving him the hug he’d rushed on his way in the door. James is good at comforting people. He’s had plenty of practice at it over his life, but not much practice being comforted. He doesn’t know how to ask for help when he’s upset. You suspect he secretly thinks that support is something he’s predestined to give but not receive. 

His hands settle on the small of your back automatically and he places his chin atop your head. “It wasn’t that bad.” 

You hum. “It was enough to make you sad.” Water runs in rivulets from his head to yours and drips off your chin. “That’s not nothing.” 

James doesn’t reply, but you can feel his ribs expand and contract in a big breath. The dull ache that had begun forming in your chest when he’d walked the door throbs in protest. 

“Want me to wash your hair?” you ask him.

There’s a brief pause, and then you can hear the barest hint of a smile in his voice. “You gonna need me to sit down for that?” 

You shy. “You don’t have to—” 

“No.” He backs up, squeezing your upper arms fondly. “That sounds nice, sweetheart, thank you.” He moves just out of the spray and folds his legs under him, a surety about his movements—even on the slippery bottom of the tub—that you envy.

“Don’t thank me yet,” you tease. “Let me know if I catch a tangle or anything, okay?” 

“Mhm.” He closes his eyes as you tunnel your fingers into his hair, one big hand reaching back to the closest thing he can reach—your foot. If he weren’t having a hard day, you’d have to shriek and shake him off, but for now you try to take it as the affectionate gesture he intends. 

You start at the nape of his neck, fanning out your fingers and pressing the tips gently into his scalp. James’ hair is deceptively soft, not fluffy but velvety, each strand thick and smooth under your touch. He’s had it cut recently, so even weighted down with the water and shampoo it curls just above his ears. You scratch your nails lightly over his scalp, and James sighs, leaning into your touch. 

“Really giving me the princess treatment, huh?” 

“You’d make a great princess,” you say, bending over him to press a light kiss between his brows. 

His eyes open, water clumping his lashes, and he smiles at you. That ache in your chest retreats slightly, warmth filling in the gaps. “M’not complaining.” 

You return his smile, though perhaps yours is a bit smaller. “Want to talk about it?” you ask lightly, your shampoo-slick hands migrating south to massage his neck and shoulders. 

James groans, rolling his big shoulders and closing his eyes again. “Not really. This is so much better.”

You grin even though he can’t see, working your thumbs into the twin muscles on either side of his neck. Bubbles spread across his tawny skin and run down his back in clusters, disappearing down the drain.

“Okay,” you promise him. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but I put some of the good hot chocolate to simmer on the stove just in case.” 

This time his smile comes like a slow sunrise, spreading across his face golden and beautiful. “Angel, you’ve read my mind.”

[scar-lie]

Omega Pt. 18 (Natasha)

Summary : you're annoyed at Natasha and took some memories with your family

Pairing : Alpha ! Natasha Romanoff x Omega ! Fem Reader

Warning : Cut, bruises I think that's all

Word count : 2,132

Series Masterlist

Cherrylemontober

{OMEGA PT. 17} {OMEGA PT. 18} {OEMGA T. 19}

NO one has permission to repost my work anywhere, if you see it please let me know.

“Does it still hurt? "You gently sat besides her while she's busy tending to her wounds. You felt bad when she was quickly sent out for a mission when she got home; her bruises and her ribs weren't fully healed when she was called out for a day mission, and now there's cuts added to her already beaten body.

Of course she talked to you first before she was sent off, reassuring you and making sure that you're fine before she leaves again.

“Not much, but it still stings a bit.” It's been 2 days since she came home from the mission, and it hurts you every time you see her cleaning her wounds that Natasha tries to avoid showing you her bruises and wounds.

“Let me help you.” You took cotton balls and rubbed alcohol to clean the area of the wound on her right waist.

“I can do it, you know.” Natasha didn't stop you but watched you closely, but you shook your head determined to help her.

“I know, but I still wanna help you,” Natasha winces when you dab the cotton with rubbing alcohol on her wound.

"Sorry,” you whisper, but still continue with her hissing at the pain of the alcohol. Once you're sure that the area of her wound is properly clean, you dab a Povidone-iodine with a cotton ball on her wound. After that, you patch her up, moving to the next wound, and do the same until she's all done.

“Thank you,” she whispers, putting on a shirt. She groans when she stretches her limbs, but a sudden frustration gets into you, making you roll your eyes at her.

“What? "Natasha asked, catching your sudden change of mood and turning to face you.

“Tell me,” she whispers, taking your hand and giving you a small smile.

“Nothing, I’m just annoyed,” she said, moving forward, sitting in front of you, and looking you in the eyes.

“Why are you annoyed? ”You close your eyes and look away, thus making Natasha chuckle at how cute you are.

“Don't look at me like that; I can't stay annoyed at you.” You cover your face with your hand.

“Then look at my face, love; I don't want you to be annoyed at me.” She slowly peels off your hands, and you pout at her with a frown.

“Tell me, why are you annoyed? ”You sigh and move to her lap, resting your head on her shoulder, and Natasha quickly wraps her arms around you.

“Cause you're reckless, you always come home with injuries—not just some injuries but serious injuries,” you whisper, scolding her, and she runs her hands through your hair.

“I’m sorry, I promise, I’ll be more careful next time,” you sigh in relief, closing your eyes and turning your head so you're smelling her scent.

“Guess who will be going to the carnival? "She whispered, and you frowned, leaning back to look at her.

“Who? "She gives you a peck and squeezes your hips.

"Us,” she smirks, but you frown, not loving the idea.

“But you're injured; we can't walk around the carnival in your state, plus who will be looking for the pups? ”You start to play with her baby hair at the back of her neck; that gives Natasha some comfort.

“Don't worry, I’m good to walk around and do some activities; Helen approved, plus the team will be with us; they offer to look after them.” You're still not convinced, so she keeps stealing a kiss until you're chuckling.

“Stop, ok, ok, but still you need to take breaks once in a while, ok? "She salutes you, and you roll your eyes at her.

“Yes, whatever my love said and commanded,” you smile and peck her.

“Ok then, jno extreme rides, even the bumper car, you also need to sit at least 10-20 minutes." Natasha quickly makes a sour face, but you ignore it and keep looking at her.

"Ok, that's fair,” she mumbles with a pout, and you smirk at her when you remember one thing you need to forbid her.

“And no haunted house,” her eyes quickly went wide and looked at you.

“No haunted house? "You hum while nodding, but she still can't believe it.

“No haunted house for you! "You bump her nose with your pointer fingers, and she sighs in disbelief.

“But that's the best part and the only thing that makes me occupied since I’m not allowed in any rides except the carousel and ferris wheel,” she whines, but you shake your head.

"Then we were not going to the carnival.” You stand up and turn to walk away, but before you could turn around, she took your hips and made you stay.

“No, fine, fine, fine, I’ll do it,” she sighs in defeat, and you kiss her cheek.

“Thank you,” you softly whisper, and she smiles quickly, hugging you and resting her head on your stomach. You smile and comb her hair with your fingers.

“Anything for you, my love, anything,” she whispers. You smile, then look down at her.

You've never expected she'll be like this or your life will be like this, but all you know is that this is one step forward for the life you wanted for your family.

“I told you to get it easy! "You scold her and help her sit down on the bench, Wanda and Vision following behind you two, strolling the stroller, single stroller with Wanda and double stroller with Vis.

“You shouldn't push your body; Nat, Dr. Cho, give you permission, but still, your body isn't fully healed.” Wanda follows, then gives you a bottle of water, and you hand it to Natasha.

“No internal injuries nor stitches being ripped, just elevated breathing.” Natasha rolls her eyes on the two, and you glare at her, making her look down while calming her down.

She's been walking around for hours, trying rides when she gets the chance—when you're with pups, in the bathroom, or just her making excuse to go somewhere while you rest your feet—and as a result, her body was hurting, especially her wounds.

She hates to admit it, but she regrets not taking your words, and now you’re annoyed at her, and instead of you two having fun, your here scolding and glaring at her.

“I shouldn't have said yes earlier; you think I wouldn't know about you sneaking on rides.” You scold her while dumping the towel a little harsh to try off her sweat, then give her a painkiller that Dr. Cho prescribes.

Now Natasha is like a lost puppy, sitting besides you, head low, hands on her lap while she plays with her fingers and staying quiet, not wanting to add fuel to the fire she makes.

“I’m sorry, they are tempting,” she mumbles, for only you can hear, and you sigh.

“Were good here, Wands, Vis? Thank you, though. We'll have the pups later, for now you can go have fun,” you said to them with a smile, and they nodded at you.

“You sure, we wouldn't mind if we stayed here a little bit.” You shake your head and kiss the pup's forehead.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” With that, they bid their farewell, and once they are out of sight, you turn to Natasha.

“Stay here,” she nodded. You took your bag and went to the food stall to buy some food and brink for the both of you.

Once you get your order—burger, fries, two slices of pizza, and soda with a bottle of water—you get your tray with food to the table Natasha was sitting in.

“Here, eat it all.” You put her food in front of her, and you sat beside her and started eating your food.

“Eat now, Natasha, so you have strength,” you said when she's not touching her food and keeps looking at you.

“I’m sorry.” You look at her and sigh, then lean in, cupping her face and kissing her lips.

“It's ok, I understand, but I would appreciate it if you listen to me next time.” Natasha quickly peppers you with kisses, and you giggle.

“I promise,” she then lands the kiss on your lips with a smile.

“Now eat your food, so we can stroll around with the pups and get some pictures,” Natasha smiles, loving the idea of a family picture.

“I love that idea,” Natasha mumbles, and you smile, seeing the sparkle in her eyes that you've never seen before.

“So eat your food and rest your legs so we can walk around.” Natasha quickly finishes her food, too excited to take photos with her family, especially with her daughter.

“That's fast,” you comment, finishing your burger, then sliding your pizza and half fries to her.

“I’m full; I can't eat that anymore,” Natasha says, clicking her tongue five times, then looking at the food you push towards her.

“You shouldn't have ordered a lot if you can't finish your food; it's bad to waste food.” You pout at her, but she still took the food, but she sends you a knowing glare.

“I’ll eat this, but next time, get the only thing you can finish, ok? "You nodded while drinking your soda with a straw.

“I understand,” then you reach her face and kiss her lips with a smile.

Natasha sighed, then took a napkin, then started to wipe your face and mouth. You have some crumble around your lips with some sauce, then you have sweat on your forehead.

Once Natasha finished your food, you two quickly go around looking for Wanda, and you found them on the carousel. Wanda and Vis had the two boys, and Yelena has Natasha's princess. Then Kate and Peter are the ones in charge of guarding the strollers.

“This is a good spot to take a picture,” you point to the left of the carousel. Natasha quickly holds your hand and goes to Kate, knowing the ride will end soon.

“Kate, Peter, could you take us some photos over there?"Natasha asked, pointing to the camera on Peter's neck.

"Yeah, sure, Ma'am,” Natasha drags you to the spot, and she positions herself behind you.

“We will be having a family photo after their ride too.” You inform Peter, and he gives you two thumbs up.

“In count to three,” Peter informs, then Natasha quickly puts her arm around your neck, tilting her head to the left, then you hold to her arm and smile.

“1...2...” Peter counted, and Natasha smiled, putting her lips to your ear.

“I love you, my love,” she whispers to you, and your body quickly reacts, looking at her with a smile and adoration in your eyes, and that's when Peter presses the shutter, taking a complete, perfect picture.

“That's gorgeous.” Peter jumps with excitement when he sees how good and how you could feel the love in the photo he took.

Your eyes widen and you blush at the compliment Peter gives you, and when you look at him, he's showing Kate the photo, so you hide your face with your face.

“Don't be shy; you're really gorgeous, honey. One more picture, what do you say? "You look up at her and nod.

“But please, I want a decent one; just stand beside me; no more cheesy comment,” she chuckled and nodded at you.

"Ok, ok... Peter, could you do one more? "Peter smiled and nodded.

“Yes, whenever you're ready,” you wrap your arm around her left arm while she holds your other hand and leans in, smiling, then resting your head on her.

“That's sweet,” Katae awes; that's when the three with a pup come smiling.

“There they are,” you smile, taking one, then Natasha took the two boys.

“Come on, Peter, another one.” Peter quickly gets into position while the three pups are giggling, and he quickly snaps a photo once you two are ready.

“Is it good? "You ask, and he quickly opens the photo and goes to you.

"Yes, it is,” he shows you two, and you're mesmerized at the photo.

After many photos, the team decided that it's best to go home when the clock hits 7 p.m. They want the pups to rest peacefully, plus they are exhausted from all the rides, games, and walking. Of course every member has a picture memory; you all even took a photo in front of the carnival.

So here you are at the passenger seat, fast asleep while the pups are sleeping too in their carseat at the back, and Natasha is smiling, looking at the back, and to you, her hand is resting on your thigh, squeezing it.

She can't get rid of her smile no matter what; she just loves this day and is happy that the four of you are here.

[crossingthedreams]

medication — gregory house x f!reader

a/n: posting this late, as always, for @angstober day 06 — medication. this is inspired by a real life scenario that happened with someone I know. please, if you’re suffering through any sort of violence, reach the authorities. I am not, nor will ever be, specialized help, but I am available to listen in my dm’s should anyone need to vent. always, always, always put your safety and well being first. 

summary: you meet your former lover once more, but in the worst possible scenario. 

word count: 584

warnings: domestic violence. angst. horrible relationship dynamics. mentions of family death. abortion. mentions of past relationships. reader is injured. 

TRIGGER WARNING. Domestic violence. Abortion. Please proceed with care. 

“You should leave him”.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at the man at the door. Instead, you kept your gaze fixed on the medication falling in small drops from the transparent package into your veins. 

Hospital rooms had such a surreal vibe to them. Nothing seemed real, as if the words you uttered in there weren’t important and would have no impact on your actual day-to-day life. 

It was why you brought yourself to say, still not taking your eyes from the clear medication. “I wish I could”. 

You heard his steps approaching, hitting the floor rhythmically with his cane. 

His staff must have been so confused when he decided to be the attending doctor on your case. It was almost funny imagining the reactions, even though you never met the three young doctors working under his wing. 

You weren’t a mystery, and your case was just boring. You fell down the stairs and broke a couple of ribs, and got a black eye in the process. Nothing much, right? 

Wrong. And Gregory House saw right through you. 

He knew very well you didn’t fall, and he knew that black eye was a result of a very specific injury. 

In all the years he’d known your family, he never would have imagined you would lie for a man who was hurting you. 

The thing is, he didn’t know the whole story. The nuances, the finances. The reasons why you couldn’t just get up and leave. You didn’t deserve to leave.

You turned your face towards him. He was close enough now, so much so you could see the specks of light green in the baby blue of his eyes. He put a folder carefully on the movable table in front of you, and seemed to ponder on what to say next. 

You didn’t want to hear it. “There’s a lot of strings attached”, you simply said, hoping this would end the matter once and for all. “You knew my father and you are a smart guy, you can figure it out”.

“You’re pregnant.”

“No, I’m not.”

He tilted his head. “Sorry, who is the doctor here again?”

You shook your head, as if the motion itself could stop reality. Your eyes filled with tears, but you didn’t want to cry. Not here, not in front of him.

“You don’t have to go through with this. And I mean both the pregnancy and whatever hell you are living back home”, he said in the sweetest way he knew how. He took a small bottle from his coat and held it out in front of you. “Take one pill, and he’ll never know. Doctor-patient confidentiality”.

You smiled a little, mostly because of his tone. House never tried to be funny, but at least he was trying to lighten the mood.

“Your father was a terrible man, and I hated him almost as much as he hated me. Of course, he didn’t sleep with my daughter, so there’s that”.

You rolled your eyes, which hurt due to the bruises. But still, the small smile lingered. House brought up the torrid affair you two shared before your father passed very rarely, and never without a motive.

“You should leave him, kid”, he repeated. Your smile faded, and your face showed only pain. “If you ever need anything, you have my number, my work address and my home address. Call me”. 

He left the bottle of medication on the table before leaving. Confidently for once, you took it. 

[gguk-n]

Mission- Cheer up Logan

I've just had a sad dream with Logan in it and I told him how much I love him and how important he is after watching all the shit Williams and Vowles have been doing. I need this to heal myself. I hope it heals everyone rooting for Logan too

Summary- Literal Logan fluff.

Y/N didn't dislike many people and hate would be a strong word in her dictionary but right now James Vowles and the Williams racing team made her hate them with the tirade they had going against her poor boyfriend which was pissing her off; worst of all, it was affecting Logan. Her happy puppy of a boyfriend was lost. He would either be at work or looking lost and depressed at home. They no longer had witty conversations going on or Y/N teasing Logan any and every chance she got. He would barely smile at her at times. So, Y/N took it upon herself to make her Logan happy.

It was one of those days, the weather was bright and sunny, Logan didn't have to go to work and the previous GP may have been bad but it was slightly better. It was around 9 and they were still in bed. Y/N woke up to Logan 'asleep' at least he pretended to be. She knew him like the back of her hand and every time he acted like he was sleeping his eyes would be shut tight. This habit of his made her smile. She looked up at him while resting her palms against his chest.

Y/N POV

"Good morning, baby boy" I whispered followed by a kiss on the lip which was followed by a grunt and covering his face with the blanket. "Babe, we need to good shopping, we're out of everything." I emphasised. "You can do that alone" he said, still under the duvet. "Yes but you know I hate shopping alone and I wanna show off my super hot racer boyfriend to the world, come on." I said while pulling the covers off. His big blue eyes met mine and I pouted my lips. "I won't take long, I promise. Pinky promise." I exclaimed while holding out my pinky. "You're hurting my ribs, babe." came a strangled cry only to notice my elbow jabbing his ribs. I giggled while apologising and dragging him to the bathroom. We were dressed in 20 minutes and out the door. As Logan started the car, he looked at me and said, "The only reason you're taking me along is so that I can drive you there, right?" I was appalled at the accusation but replied with a smile, "one of the reasons, babe." I said. He laughed asking, "Couldn't you drive there yourself?" "Why would I do something when I have a pro who can do it for me." Logan shook his head. "I have the hottest formula 1 driver at my beck and call so am not even allowed to show him off; is an atrocity I say." dramatically sighing. Logan let out a big laugh, one I hadn't heard pass his lips in ages. It made my heart flutter and tears spring up in my eyes.

The car ride was filled with singing along to songs playing on the radio which we hadn't done in so long. It felt nice to be able to have my Logan back. The trip to the grocery store was uneventful. Once back, I made quick work of putting every thing away. I went back to Logan sat on the couch in the living room and made myself comfortable on his lap, "darling, what would you like for dinner?" He was pulled back from whatever thought he had as I sat on his lap, "Pizza and Pasta" He said. I looked him in the eyes and asked, "What about we go on a date?" Logan looked at me quizzically. "It could be a home date, like the good old days. We could cook together and then dress up to have dinner together. I even bought a few dresses I didn't get to show you." I elaborated.

Logan's POV

In all honesty I couldn't care what we did. I didn't really wanna go out and getting dressed just to eat at home was such a waste of time. But I couldn't say no, when her face was literally hoping for me to say yes. She kept looking at me expectantly and I didn't wanna let another person down, so I agreed. The way her face lit was better than winning any GP. She leaned in and gave me the sloppiest kiss and pulled me to the kitchen to help her cook. I would never say I could cook when Y/N did all the heavy lifting. "Baby boy, you look lost in thought. Is there another woman that is occupying your thoughts?" she said in a southern accent while placing both her arms around my shoulder and wrapping them around my neck. It made my breathe hitch; the effect this woman had on me even after so many years was shocking to say the least. I placed my hands on her waist and replied in an equally fake southern accent, "Darling, there ain't no woman worth my time when you're standing in front of me." "You better." she said while leaving multiple kissed on my face making me laugh. The cooking ended quiet quickly for two people; where one of them couldn't cook and the other kept violating ever health and safety protocol by kissing and touching the person next to them.

Y/N POV

We were almost done with dinner and I asked Logan to go dress up. I would get dressed just before plating the food in the guest room because I didn't want Logan to see the outfit I had planed for him. About 15 minutes later, Logan was back at the table and I left to get dressed. It took me only 20 minutes which was a record. I wore a black lacy mini-dress which barely covered my ass and tits at the same time but it made me look hot and that's all that mattered. I stepped out of the room to an eagerly waiting Logan.

Logan's POV

My mouth was on the floor when I saw what she was wearing. "You don't plan on wearing this out, do you?" I said and then quickly added, "If you did, I don't mind. I can fight but I need this image burnt into my retinas." I ogled. She giggled and walked towards me, "You can take it off, once dinner is over." She whispered in my ear. Dinner was done in record time. We headed to the bedroom so that I could hold her to her words.

While cuddling, Y/N said, "You know, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me." I cut her off because she was the best thing that has ever happened to me. Y/N shushed me, "Right now, I'm talking and you're gonna listen. I love you Logan Sargeant more than there are words that I can use to express myself. I'm so happy every day to wake up next to you and support you in achieving your dreams and aspirations. I hope you remember how good you are and deserve everything you've worked towards. A couple fuck ups don't undermine the talent and hard work that is Logan Sargeant. No matter what anyone says, you are the most handsome and talented driver that deserves to be in F1. Those assholes are blind to not be able to see your pure raw unfiltered talent. I love you baby boy." She finished her speech. There were tears in my eyes that had started flowing which Y/N wiped away with a kiss. I pulled her closer and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I'm so lucky to have you. Thank you for sticking with me. I promise I won't let you down or let anyone make me feel like crap again." She smiled while drawing a heart on my back. We fell asleep wrapped in each others arms.

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

In Love and War Pt II

Summary: Warlord!Rhys takes his mate back to his mountain camp and Tamlin's!sister!Reader has to decide the best way to try and escape

Content Warnings: Morally Grey!Rhys, talks of violence

Part I

--------------------

We ride for hours. The first two riders I’d seen join us after the first; they too have wings, tucked tight against their backs. Under different circumstances, I might be tempted to ask why they bothered with horses at all when they can simply fly, but thought better of it. The less I learn about them the better. All the easier to keep them in my mind as some faceless evil so I feel a little less guilty about putting an arrow in their eye when I escape. Rhysand has foolishly left me with my weapons, I'll put that mistake to good use when the time is right. 

By the third hour, we’ve left the bog and the forest behind, riding through what was once a sprawling plain but is now nothing but weeds. There is no magic left to keep this place fertile and thriving. Hybern’s Cauldron backed powers have stripped most of the land of its power, leaving ruin and famine behind in its wake. Little has managed to grow since, he’s been using the Cauldron to make sure a majority of the crops grow in his fields, where his slaves can tend them and ensure he gets the bulk of the harvest. There's nowhere to run out here.

Especially not when the rest of the riders regroup. There are twelve of them in total, all falling behind my captor as his great, midnight black stead takes the lead. 

I haven’t ridden a horse in a long time, could not afford to keep one, but the ones that I had, back in my youth, had never been this graceful. Even with my added weight the horse gallops like it has wings, swift as the wind, its blue-black mane trailing gracefully behind it. I almost don’t mind the ride, minus the circumstance and company, as the sun begins to set ahead of us, the sky a symphony of purple, orange and pink.

Eventually, we come to a river, flowing with large chunks of ice from a not yet frozen ice flow further upstream, where they stop to water their mounts. 

My captor dismounts first, large, gloved hands gripping my waist to help me down. By the Mother, his hands are so large against my hips! I’m suddenly very aware of my own size. 

“Don’t try and run,” he warns.

I glance around to my lack of escape routes and roll my eyes. “Darn, I was planning on throwing myself into the river.”

One of the others, the male I’d spotted first I think, snorts beneath his hood. 

Rhysand grunts out a warning before leading his horse to drink and filling a canteen he had tucked in his saddle bag. His back is, foolishly to me, I could easily draw my knife and stab him right here, but a quick glance around tells me that really would end with me taking a trip down the river. All his men carry swords and knives and there’s one with a wicked looking dagger strapped to his thigh; I barely reach the chin of the shortest among them, and that doesn’t account for at least a hundred pounds of muscle difference between us. I know that I have thinned, my ribs poking out beneath the heavy, hole ridden sweater. Some days I feel… brittle. Today especially. I’m not winning any fights against one of them, let alone twelve.

No, I just need to be smart. Wait for an opening, steal a horse, and run as far away as possible. So far, whatever this monster thinks I’m supposed to be to him has saved me from harm, I don’t plan on sticking around to see how long that protects me. Even if I did believe in mates-- as if the Mother ever cared enough about me to give me a soul tie to anyone--I’ve seen the worst in people enough to know it didn’t mean much in the end. What’s a mate but someone obligated to be a breeding mare? What’s a bond if not a magically induced aphrodisiac? I have little doubt that I’m actually safe here; just alive and conscious because it’s too much of a hassle to try and drag my limp body around.

My scheming comes to a grinding halt as Rhysand returns with the canteen, water sloshing the edge as he holds it out for me. It hasn’t occurred to me just how dry my mouth is until I see that water. 

Of course, I’m not going to let him know that. “No thanks.”

“I’m not going to poison you,” he returns.

“Poison's the least of my concerns,” I retort.

He grabs my hand and pushes the canteen into it. “Drink.”

“Bite me,” I snarl.

His men chuckle at that, which must upset him because his wings twitch behind him. He draws a deep breath before saying, “Ask nicely, mate.”

I should dump the water directly on his head, and my hand twitches around the canteen as I debate it, but in the end I decide against it. This male murdered half my family in cold blood, whatever thin amount of protection I might have remains only as long as he doesn’t think I’m a threat. To escape, I need to be smart.

On that subject, does he even know who I am? Does he remember riding into our camp that night, sword drawn, slaughtering my people as they jumped from their mats? Or were we just another blurred face in the mass of lives he’s taken in the name of conquest? He’s as bad as Hybern. Even if he has forgotten, I won’t.

I twist the lid back on without drinking anything, ignoring the way my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth.

“Don’t say I didn’t try,” he growls as he takes it back and slides it into his saddle bag. There’s a rolled up sleep mat, a blanket, and another sword all tied neatly to that bag. Nothing too heavy, meaning their encampment can’t be far. I need to find a way to get away before they reach it; there will be too many eyes there.

“Your bow,” he says, holding out his hand. 

My hand tightens instinctively around the belt across my chest, the leather worn and cracked from years of use. “No.”

“You can’t ride into camp with them.”

“Great, then you can just leave me here.”

It takes him two steps to be back beside me, and I’m embarrassed to admit how easy it is for him to snag the strap and yank it over my head, despite my best efforts to keep that from happening. 

“Give that back!” 

“The knife can stay, as long as you don’t do anything stupid,” he says like I’m a misbehaving child. 

He keeps his back to me as he ties my bow and quiver up next to his second sword, my stomach rolling at the sight of my things next to his. 

Rhysand orders his men to mount up as he turns back to me, and I get the impression he’s looking me over for more weapons beneath the hood. I still have no idea what he looks like. Ugly and scarred, like most warlords are, I imagine. I’d never gotten a good look at him that night, had only seen those three stars on his hood and that giant sword between his wings, dripping blood. 

“You won’t need any weapons,” he says, in what sounds like it’s an attempt to be gentle, but falls flat. “You’re safe with me.”

I’d have been safer with the kelpie. But I don’t say it, I don’t say anything at all as those large hands lift me back onto the horse, or when he swings into the saddle behind me. I don’t say anything when we cross the river, icy water biting through my thin pants, making my teeth chatter, or when the wind whips relentlessly at us as we leave the grassy plains and head into the mountains. The chill feels like a thousand needles being jammed into my skin, but I will bear it silently. He will not get the satisfaction of seeing me weak; will not be gratified by any sort of conversation for the duration of our journey.

Or at least, that was the plan. 

“You’re shaking,” he says, one hand gripping the reins as he uses the other to slide his cloak off his shoulders and over mine.

The material is thick, lined with fur inside, so startlingly warm between his own body heat and the fur that when it settles over me I give a little sigh of relief. The sleeves are too big, swallowing my hands as I try to pull it more fully over my body. “Thanks.” It slips out of me before I can stop myself.

“You still haven’t told me your name,” he replies as he settles around me again.

The smell of him, jasmine and citrus and the sea invades all my senses. I want, more than anything, to get it out of my nose, to keep the knowledge of him far, far away from me, but yet, despite my mind’s protests, my body burrows deeper into it. 

There’s still no encampment or settlement on the horizon, the horses moving deeper and deeper into the mountains as night falls around us. As long as we’re not stopping to make camp, I think I’ll survive. 

“And you haven’t told me yours.” If there must be a conversation, best I can do to buy myself time is steer all conversation away from me.

“I’ve had many names, but most call me Rhys.”

Most called him Death Incarnate amidst a number of things that would make a sailor blush, but I don’t think I’d ever heard anyone call him Rhys. That was entirely too normal. 

“Ok, Rhys,” it tastes like bile on my tongue, acknowledging him as anything other than the monster he has always been called back home. “Where are we going?”

The moon shines bright above us, illuminating the slender path we take through the mountains, a steep drop off on one side of us, nothing but sheer rock wall on the other. 

“Home,” he replies. 

I can’t help the scowl that escapes me, but at least he can’t see it. “And where is home exactly?”

“You’ll see soon,” he replies as he expertly guides his mount up a rocky path. There is no hesitation in his movements; he’s ridden this path many times.

I run a hand over my forehead. “I don’t remember coming this far out.” It slips out of me. If he knows this path then we’re close to the Illyrian borderlines, where his warband can make a semi-permanent encampment. These are grounds I’m not supposed to be anywhere near, nor did I think I was. 

“Where were you headed?” 

My brother’s made his claim through the Grasslands, the ground barely fertile to feed the livestock in the summer. With winter coming fast, he’d tried pushing his boundary lines into the forests near what had once been the Human Lands. I meant to go through the woods, skirting around Hybern’s slave camps and slip into the Uncharted Territories to find some game. I must have skirted too far past the slave camps when I’d lost my map running from those Highway Men.

“The Uncharted Lands,” I say because I honestly can’t come up with a lie that doesn’t make it look like I belong to Hybern or Amarantha. The boundaries between the warbands shift too often, encroaching too close. Sometimes I can barely tell who’s who and this is the only world I’ve ever known.

“Why?” He asks as we crest an incline and lead the men over a long, smooth plateau on the mountain’s western face. The wind is worse here, snapping at us like whips and before I can even burrow into my borrowed cloak, he’s drawing the hood of it over my head.

His arm tightens around my waist as he barks at his men to start riding single file. 

“Was looking for food.”

The horse’s hooves echo between the valley of rock beneath us as we press forward, the precariousness of our situation buying me time to figure out my lie. If I’m not hunting for my brother, what am I doing out here? It’s been a long day; a long week honestly. The rumbling of my stomach and the wind at my face and the warlord at my back seem to occupy the limited space in my quickly tiring mind. The hood of the cloak doesn’t help. It is embedded with some sort of magic, because even though it makes everything dark and warm, I can somehow see right through the fabric, right where that cluster of stars are, as if they’re eye slits. Magic items are rare these days, and expensive, I could probably buy out the Grassland’s market of deer jerky for this item alone.

Eventually the plateau dips, taking us down the other side of the mountain, into the misty canyon below. If I didn’t know where I was before, I really don’t now. Mountains are Illyrian territory, as forbidden and unwelcoming as the Imperial City Hybern had erected in The Middle centuries ago. I need to be paying attention so I know the way back; my eyes are sharp, sharper than most, I should be able to make out a deer path or trail easily, even in the dark, but my eyes are so heavy.

I give myself a little shake. Gotta be paying attention.

The swaying, even gate of the horse reminds me of being a small child, sitting in my mother’s rocking chair as she reads me to sleep. She and my father had always loved telling us stories, my father his made up theories and tales from the road, my mother her books and poems. I try to sit up and adjust my position in the saddle so I’m not slouching forward.

“You do not ride often,” Rhys says, his grip pulling me back more solidly against his chest, so I can feel all the hard planes of him. He’s got to be freezing without his cloak, even if he is still wearing long sleeves and gloves.

“No,” I bite back the rest of the story; how my people had suffered with the loss of my father. How Tam hadn’t been able to organize our survivors in the aftermath, how he’d been unable to store enough food for us that first winter and many of our rider’s had deserted. How he’d had to decide if keeping our stables full was worth the price of the lives hunger was stealing from us; how we’d been forced to eat and sell a few of them, my father’s prized war horse included. 

“We’ll change that,” he says, half to me, half to himself. “I think I like having my mate ride with me.”

I bite the inside of my cheek until it bleeds. At least I’m awake now. 

“You still haven’t told me your name.”

The mist settles around us as we step into the valley, even as the path ahead becomes nearly invisible, he doesn’t slow or get down to walk the horse. He knows where he’s going, has done this so many times he could do it blind. A rare gift many of our traveling cities don’t receive. Envy swells in my chest. I have never had  a place secure enough to set up a permanent camp. The Grasslands are our borders sure, but we move through them daily in fear of an attack, keeping ourselves vigilant for whenever Hybern or Amarantha decide they want more than they’ve already taken from us. Always changing our paths, our camp layout, always moving. How come this monster gets this luxury and my people don’t? 

“You are so hesitant to give it,” he muses, drawing me out of my thoughts. “Do I know it already?”

Shit.

“No, that can’t be right. Our bond is too obvious, I would have remembered.”

He’s as clever as he is quick on his feet, unfortunately.

“So I will know you by association, is that it?”

I should just fling myself off the horse and try to lose myself in the mist. If I’m lucky, maybe one of his men will trample me by accident and this horrible nightmare will be over. At least, if I’m dead I will not have to explain my failure to Tam, or face the alternative of being this male’s breeding mare. Neither is a future I wish to meet.

It is only then that an alternative solution occurs to me.

Tam said I couldn’t come back without food; I’d made a nuisance of myself back home and had swiftly suffered the consequences of it, and with winter coming in fast, my brother has to know he sent me on a fool’s errand. Perhaps intending to keep me out of his way for a while; or to finally get me to bend the knee and submit to his authority as warlord. I hadn’t been of age to take father’s mark, and my allegiance had fallen through the cracks in the years after. Until I was integrated, Tam couldn’t marry me off, as I suspected he wanted to do often, and was probably using this opportunity to try and make me see reason. A future I also loathed to picture. Perhaps, if I played my cards right here, then I could find something more useful than a deer to bring back. If I played along with this little mates concept, what could Rhysand show me? Couldn’t I use any knowledge he gave to my advantage? Surely Tam would find other uses for me than marrying me off with this sort of leverage. My brother was known for his grudges, if I found a way to offer up his enemy on a silver platter, perhaps I’d never have to worry about being married off again.

My stomach twists as the plot plays out before my eyes: This fool taking me into the lands my people had never been able to access before, convincing him to let his guard down, to show me where his people were vulnerable. I could get my hands on camp movements or their supply lines; I could count the fighting men or the horses, make list after list to take back in the place of a few meals I know deep down I’d never be able to find before winter. 

My parents faces flash before my eyes. My mother, so gentle and…sad. She had been sad long before my birth, always missing a home she couldn’t go back to because of Hybern. But she had always tried to be there for me. To sing to me and hold me. She had been good and kind and if she knew where I sat now… what I thought I might do…

And my father. He was cruel and cold and I’d spent a long time wondering if he’d ever loved me at all, but he had been a good leader. He had inspired the men, even on days that had been bleak. He’d been willing to shed whatever blood was necessary to ensure the survival of my people. If this opportunity had been presented while he was alive, he would have tossed a collar around my neck and dragged me to Rhysand’s doorstep himself. 

As for Tamlin, well if he so much as saw Rhysand’s arm around my waist as it was now he would have torn him to shreds. He would hate it, but I think my brother was as calculating and ruthless as my father had been. His protective nature could be overruled by what he deemed necessary to keep us alive. 

I’d need to play my cards right, if I was to make this work. “Yes,” and I force my voice to a whisper, my shoulders hunching in feign defeat. I will have to find ways not to look so utterly revolted about this male touching me; will have to bury all my base instincts to run and claw and fight every time he calls me his mate. But I can do it.

I will do it. For vengeance. For my angel of a mother. For the survival my father died for. I’d damn myself a hundred times over for a chance Tam had never found. 

He rests his chin on my shoulder, thinking and it takes every inch of willpower I possess to not shrug him off. A few hours together and this prick thinks he can just touch me so casually? As if I have no say in the matter because he is my mate and therefore owed whatever affection he sees fit to grant me?

“You can tell me, I promise I won’t hold it against you,” his voice is… gentle. Far more gentle than a man in his position should be and I have no idea how to respond to it. 

“My name is Y/N,” I saw softly, like I’m scared the wind will hear me. “Tamlin is my older brother.”

He stiffens behind me and I find myself holding my breath. This is it.

“He never mentioned he had a sister,” he says more to himself than me.

I almost audibly let loose a massive sigh of relief. “Yeah, well he isn’t too fond of me at the moment.” Never mind I didn’t know that he and Tamlin had ever talked on a mutual basis. Sometimes, usually over a mutually beneficial wedding ceremony, did rival camps come together and exchange weapons, food and sometimes training. If I remember correctly, I think there might have been times when we’d done so with the Illyrians, but never did Tam mention that he knew Rhysand personally. Rhysand was always a name whispered like a curse, as if saying it too loud would bring death and destruction upon us. 

“He sent you out here? Alone?” That last bit comes out like a growl.

“Banished, is more of the term he used,” I say under my breath, hoping the tone conveys embarrassment. 

“For what?” He hisses, his tone promising violence. It makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

Now what would convince Death Incarnate that I was something meek and fragile and in need of protection from my big, bad brother? If we really were mates, it would be in his nature to want to protect me, from both physical and emotional harm, but I needed to be careful. Too extreme a lie and I was likely to restart the war between our camps that had cost me my parents. I needed something to pack enough punch to convince him he needed to keep me close, to be looked after, but not so bad that it sparked a fight.

Perhaps my best bet was to appeal to the bond. “He wants me to take his mark,” I twist the sleeves of the cloak between my fingers as I speak. “So he can reap the benefits of marrying me off to one of Autumn’s commanders.”

Rhysand has gone still as death itself behind me and every nerve ending in my body feels like it’s on fire as whatever dark power lives within his skin comes to life. All my instincts scream at me to run, hide.

“But Eris is… cruel and I told Tam I couldn’t do it.” Eris was probably too old for Tam to try, but there had been talks, even when I was a girl, about how my father had wanted an alliance with Autumn, and Eris had his own history with the Illyrians. “He told me I needed to sort out my priorities and when I didn’t, he threw me out.”

“That’s just like him,” Rhysand snarls.

I bite down on my tongue to keep from snarling all the things I’d rather say in my brother’s defense. 

“How long have you been out here on your own?”

“About a week, I think,” I could say longer, but on the off-chance he has spies that could check that sort of thing--and I’m fairly certain the stories about Illyrians and their shadow agents are not far off--I’d rather play it safe. 

He brings his mount to a brief halt as two, looming carvings in the mountain’s face appear through the fog. The touring statues sporting the same great, talon tipped wings as Rhysand, stand guard over the pass ahead of us, their hewn sword held aloft. Sleeping wyverns lay at the base of each statue, their carefully carved eyes at eye level with us as the men fall in line behind us. The air is tinged with magic--overly sweet and oppressive-- as we approach, some sort of shield.

“From here,” he says softly in my ear, the mask still shielding the lower half of his face from the wind rough against my cheek. “You’ll never have to worry about being alone again.”

I’m going to be sick!  Play it safe. Play the game. For Tam. For Mom and Dad. I will myself to picture their faces again, to keep reminding myself what is at stake. 

Rhysand kicks the horse into motion again, passing through the shield with a flick of his gloved hand, soft ripples of magic parting for us like someone had pulled back a curtain. I’ve never seen anyone use magic so casually, so fluidly. Once all the riders have passed through, I feel the shield fall back into place behind us. No turning back now.

Ahead, the path begins to widen. At the far end of the path, still shrouded on either side by the mountains, sit two torches, the light guiding the way. When we reach them, the path dips dangerously into a valley, all filled with large, midnight black tents. More torches and bonfires light the cloth city, the sounds of drum beats and revelry beckoning from beneath us.

“I see the party started without us,” one of the men says from behind us.

“Devlon must have had a good run,” Rhysand muses as he takes us down into the valley. 

As the lights draw closer, I can start to make out the tribal markings and depictions sewn into the sides of the tents. There’s singing to go with the drum beats, all in a language that makes no sense to me, just like the markings. Something from the Mountains none of my people had ever been privy to. 

When we reach the outskirts of the city, we are greeted by two towering males, wearing little other than loose, dark paints and a smattering of blood red paint along their bare chests and faces. Each holds a spear, a dagger strapped to their muscled thighs. 

One barks something at Rhysand in Illyrian, his slate colored gaze fixed on me, still wearing the lord’s cloak. I’m grateful they cannot see my face, the fear I know will be clear in my eyes. It is hard enough to hide the trembling in my hands.

Rhysand dismounts to greet them, still speaking in Illyrian until they retreat into the maze of tents beyond. Despite the raucous laughter and music coming from the center, the rows of tents are organized into clear streets and sectors, some dancing bodies visible in between the rows, though most of the camp seems to be in its heart at the moment. 

He runs a gloved hand over the horses neck as he turns to face the men, their mounts dancing beneath them. “We will strategize in the morning.”

That is apparently dismissal enough, as his men bow their heads and kick their steads into motion around the outskirts of camp, soon disappearing into the darkness. My stomach drops as I realize I’m alone with my enemy for the first time all night. My anxiety only heightens as he takes the reins and guides the horse forward without a word of where we’re going.

I’m too scared to ask either.

Staying on the edge of camp means I cannot see any of what is happening within, though I glimpse bonfires and revelry often enough to guess. It is not unlike our own celebrations, even if the music is different.

Rhysand still doesn’t speak as we pass another group of sentries and head up a well worn path in the heart of the valley. The grass is lush here, would be up to his knees were it not for the cleared stretch lined by torches. It is quieter here, the music distant.

Overhead, the stars glitter like a million little diamonds, all the constellations I have memorized a stark contrast to the dark shadows of this hidden mountain world. We’re surrounded on all sides by mountains, shielded from view and harm by stone. It is so different to the rolling hills I am used to, it is nice to know that the stars, at least, have not changed.

The path leads to a secluded circle of larger tents, still black but stitched with stars not unlike the ones on the cloak I’m still wearing.

We pass yet another group of sentries as we approach, and only once we’re face to face with the largest tent in the circle does Rhysand finally stop.

I swallow the lump in my throat.

I should have run. Should have thrown myself into the river. Should have risked a quick death trying to fight my way out of this than subjecting myself to this.

Rhysand grabs my waist again and lifts me off the horse as if I weigh nothing. Compared to his size, I’m sure I do. In the torchlight, this is the first time I’ve managed to glimpse his face. I’d been drastically wrong about his appearance. The monster that haunted my nightmares was not some old, scarred thing as I had pictured, I wasn’t sure he was even older than Tam. A young lord, his features sharp, but clean cut. Some of his raven black hair fell loose around his sun kissed face, framing a set of violet eyes so bright they practically glittered like stars in his head, the rest was braided with strands of blue and purple thread. By far the most beautiful male I’d ever seen in my life and I think I hate him a little more for it. 

“You must be tired,” he says finally.

I don’t know what to do or say, so I just nod, which I think might be a mistake because now we’re heading inside the tent and all I can hear is the pounding of my heart in my ears because I have made a terrible mistake!

By some magic trick, torches flair to life as we enter, the soft orange glow cast in eerie patterns against the sleek black leather walls. On one side of the tent is a bed large enough to accommodate someone with such massive wings, piled with furs and pelts of various animals. On the other end, a table with some chairs and various weapons and books and trinkets scattered about the top of it. There’s chests piled in the corner, locked and dusty like they haven’t been opened since they’d been moved in. The floor is covered in a dozen different rugs, all overlapping in an attempt to make the place feel cozier but the patterns and colors are all so different that it looks like a whacky patchwork quilt. Clearly a layout chosen by a male.

“I apologize for the mess,” he begins as he takes off the scarf tied around the lower half of his face and places it over the back of a chair. “I… was not expecting to come across anybody out there, let alone bringing anyone back.”

“What were you doing out there?” My voice shakes too much for my liking and I’m convinced I asked that far too quickly to not be totally obvious, but it’s too late to take it back now.

“Scouting,” he says with no further explanation as he tosses his gloves onto a heap of more gloves on the edge of the table. 

My muscles stiffen as I watch him warily. If he starts undressing I might really change my mind and try to run for it.

I am prepared to do what is necessary for my people, but that is a line I cannot cross yet. Not tonight.  

He steps closer to where I stand dumbly in the center of the room, drowning in his cloak, and he nudges the hood off my face with his knuckles. 

I have to remind myself to stop biting my lip as the fabric slides off my head. Even fully clothed, standing this close to him, with those violet eyes drinking me in like that, I feel very exposed and vulnerable. 

“You’re shaking,” he says softly, his hand drifting down the side of my cheek.

I hate that I shiver under his touch. Hate that my eyes go to his full lips and how soft they look in this torchlight. I hate that I find him beautiful, hate that I do not pull away as he cups my cheek. I hate myself for putting myself in this position in the first place. 

“I…” this is not an act, I really don’t know what to do or say here. My chest aches with the way he’s looking at me, like maybe there really is some strange, mystical thread linking us together and it’s coming awake the more he has his hands on me. Yet my mind balks and screams all the same and I cannot tell which of them is supposed to help me do this. “This is a lot.”

“There’s no need to be afraid,” he assures, his voice low and husky, a tone I think might be better suited to the bedroom. “You are safe with me.”

Safe.

As if he could ever make me feel safe.

His thumb rubs circles in my cheek, the calluses along his palm from years of sword play scratching pleasantly across my skin. Violet eyes rove over me, studying the plains of my face like he’s cataloging every detail. “I’ll get you something to eat.”

I let loose a breath as he heads back to the tent flap, where his horse is still waiting.

“For now, it would be best if you stay here. Don’t go anywhere without me. At least, not until you take my mark.”

And then he’s gone, finally leaving me alone for the first time in hours, but even if I wanted to do some snooping, I can’t. All I can do is stand there as my stomach rises in my throat. 

His mark.

How the hell was I supposed to go home bearing Rhysand’s mark? 

I rub my temples with my fingertips. I need to find something useful to take back to Tamlin and get out of here fast, because if I don’t, I may never be allowed to go home again.

---------------------------

Tag List: @judig92, @randomperson1234sblog, @nyxbranwenn, @lilah-asteria, @barb00235, @landofpetrichor

Let me know if you would also like to be added to the Tag List! I have a good couple of chapters planned :)

[octuscle]

Hotel room: filthy chav tf

It was an imposition. An absolute imposition. Having to spend the night in a youth hostel was unbelievable. But in a triple room? Without your own bathroom? Using a communal shower room? That had to be a joke. Yes, his company had to cut costs. There was a new travel policy that banned five-star hotels and business class flights. All well and good. But a youth hostel?!?!?!?!! He called the travel agency and insulted his colleague in the worst possible way. She just replied dryly that everything else was fully booked because of the trade fair and that she had even written Alexander an e-mail asking if the booking was okay. And he had replied with a curt "yes". Unfortunately, there was nothing more she could do, he was still on the waiting list for two hotels. But if there was no answer by now…

Alexander moved into his room. It smelled like a lad's changing room in a community school on a council estate. Of course, he had no idea what it smelled like. But that's how he imagined the stench. Without greeting or acknowledging the teenager lying on the bed playing with his cell phone, Alexander went to the window and pulled it open. "Oi, did someone crap in yer head, mate? Shut that window, innit?" the chav yelled at him. "I don't understand a word you're saying," Alexander replied and began to unpack his suitcase. I don't know how the chav could live like this, he thought to himself. He needed order. He then changed into his bedding, which he saw as a further humiliation, and lay down on the bed. The chav was listening to music so loud that Alexander could clearly hear the bass. He found it more than annoying. But he tried to ignore it. He put on his headset and called his fiancée. Alexander assumed that the chav lying in the bed above him couldn't hear anything, as loud as he was listening to music. So he complained without a care in the world and blasphemed about the young man with the disturbed relationship to personal hygiene and the impossible haircut. "Honey, I have to stop, I have to get out of here and have lunch somewhere civilized." Alexander ended his phone call. He looked up. And he was looking at a dirty white sock.

"Oi, I'm Callum, but me mates call me Cal. So you call me Callum. Did ya just say my smell's botherin' ya? I thought posh gits like you love the scent of real man's feet." Alexander almost threw up. Without saying anything, he jumped up, grabbed his coat and left the room. He had a lunch date with an old school friend at a trendy steak restaurant. It was supposed to distract him and save the evening as much as possible. As he stood in the subway, he wondered what the devil had possessed him not to take a cab. It smelled almost as bad here as in his hotel room. Suddenly he realized that the smell was coming from his armpits. Damn, had he forgotten the deodorant this morning? The journey seemed like an eternity. People wrinkled their noses. My God, that was embarrassing. In the restaurant, he went to the toilet first, wet a towel, took off his shirt and jacket and wiped his armpits. In the stress, he didn't even notice that instead of a white microfiber undershirt with a V-neck, he was wearing a worn-out, yellowed fine rib undershirt. The waiter eyed him a little disparagingly as he brought him to his table. His friend was already sitting there and stood up to greet him. Alexander gave him a fist bump. His friend looked irritated and returned the greeting. "My best man, what kind of ghetto attitudes are these? At least it goes with your casual footwear." Alexander looked at the floor. He was wearing rather expensive-looking sneakers. And white socks. He stammered something about a suitcase that had gone missing and that he'd been a bit stressed. His friend grinned a little disparagingly and poured Alexander a glass of red wine.

The conversation was somehow wooden. Marcus told stories from their school days. But Alexander couldn't remember any of them. The wine was quite tasty, the steak was too rare for him, but he didn't dare complain. With lots of ketchup, it was fine. When the waiter asked if he should pour more wine, Alexander replied with his mouth full "Oi mate, gimme a big beer, yeah? And some mayo with them chips." The rest of the meal passed in silence. All you could hear was Alexander smacking his lips. And after he had finished, a loud and passionate burp. Marcus looked horrified at first. Then he laughed uproariously and burped at least as loudly. "Blimey, mate! That was a good one. Now off for a fag and a fart outside?" "You can proper bet on it, mate. Got a spare cig for us?".

Marcus and Alexander had to put their last few pounds together to pay. The waiter looked disgustedly at the stale bills. "You got a problem, mate? Our money not good enough for ya? What's it gonna take for a blowie, eh? Would ya prefer that?" Alexander could barely stop Marcus from starting a fight with the waiter. He waved for security. A few minutes later, the two chavs were thrown out the back exit.

The evening was still young. Alex called Cal to see if he would like to have a beer in the pub at the youth hostel and watch the game. Cal replied that he had just taken a punter up to the room and had to fuck him first. Blimey, Cal was always lucky. Mack suggested he stand by the mess hall exit. Maybe you could pick up a customer there too. Alex looked in his wallet. He was broke again. He could do with a few pounds. They had at least managed to scrounge two fags from a passer-by. The evening was off to a good start. And at some point it would end with a hot threesome in their room.

Pics found @maennersneakersockenfuesseskins and @belgiquecuir

[dh1k]

Morning w Hisoka

Summary: morning with your clingy boyfriend.

Note: my english not so good. May be some mistakes.

cw: fluff, clingy!Hisoka, cuddling.

Word count: 654

You wake up because you can’t breathe. You opened your eyes and discovered Hisoka literally lying on top of you. He half sprawled on top of you, throwing his leg over yours and his head resting on your chest.

“Hisoka” you said and shoving him a little bit.

No reaction. But you know very well that big, sneaky fox is faking it. It was every time when Hisoka got bored in the morning, he'd pounce on you with his whole body to wake you up.

“Hisoka... I know you're awake. Get off me" you once again hoped it would help.

The red-haired fox is overly tactile, especially in the morning. He never misses an opportunity to take you into his arms while the two of you are snuggling in bed. But sometimes there are days like this one, when he unceremoniously lies on top of you with no plans to get up.

At your voice and the rustling of the sheets, your little cat came running in. He sat down on the bedside table and watched you.

Looking at this little ball of fur, you thought about the fact that you have two cats living at home. Both of them always need attention and care.

Still, even though Hisoka's nature is more like a fox. In the morning, he's like a cat looking for affection.

You shifted your gaze back to him. You ran your hand through his hair and gently ran it over his scalp, massaging it lightly, knowing how much he liked it.

“Hisoka, you're awake. Get off me, or at least move over a little. You're heavy" the third attempt this morning was successful.

He got off you and lay down next to you with his arm resting on his head. His golden eyes stared into yours, and he had his usual smirk on his face. He looked at the cat sitting on the table for a second, and as soon as cat saw Hisoka looking at him, he ran to him.

You always wondered if he was more fond of Hisoka, though he's a little prankster, more like his master than his mistress. Sometimes the two of them look at you with their golden eyes with the same squint, and it's annoying.

“Good morning" you said, while Hisoka looked at you and stroked the cat’s ear.

“Morning" Hisoka said sweetly, as usual, but with a hint of resentment.

You knew he was going to act offended now, because he doesn't like it when you ask him to get off your back. While you looked at each other, the redhead had managed to settle at the end of the bed and fall asleep. Your silence was interrupted by a sigh from Hisoka, who turned away from you. It was a trivial action of his in the morning when you didn't want to cuddle with him.

With a sniffle, you moved closer to him, running your fingers along his broad back, crossing over his ribs and tickling him lightly. All you got from Hisoka was a hum. You both know it's just a little mockery of each other, but it feels different every time. This time, there's more tenderness in your touch and more playfulness in his sighs.

“Hisoka, turn to me" you asked, knowing he wouldn't.

You climbed over him and lay down beside him. He looked at you, pretending he was still hurt.

“Fine, I know how you want to cuddle and" you weren't allowed to finish your sentence. Hisoka rolled over to the other side along with you in a hug.

“Okay, shh. Stop talking”.

You rolled your eyes. And accepted your fate of being almost strangled in man's arms.

Your sessions of affection can go on into the evening, until you slap Hisoka's ass and tell him it's time to get up. And as usual, you'll get an unwilling face that will follow you to the kitchen anyway.

[unluckilyimnot]

Hello^^can I please ask for headcannons with izana, mikey, baji and ran with reader who has eating disorder (like cassie from skins:( ) please don't do this if you're not comfortable

S/o with ed

Characters : Izana, Mikey, Ran

Type : angst, hurt to comfort

Words count : 0.8

It’s fine, I can write about it, it’s just the same as an old one I did : I speak as a girl who experienced it in a certain way (which is not as “hard” as Cassie) so I’ll do my best and I don’t mean any hurt it can cause. If you’re struggling with ed we can talk about it if you feel like it, but at least don’t hesitate to talk about it. You can get through it even if it’s hard (I did but I’m not cured at all)

I love you, take care of yourself and people around you ♡

Izana noticed quickly how you start to eat less and less. He cooks for you both the most and he can’t help but notice how a picky eater you’ve slowly become until eating barely enough to go on. As a small eater himself, he gets more and more worried when you start eating less than him. He knows you’ve never really been comfortable with your body and so, losing weight isn’t a bad idea if you feel like it’s what you need.

Yet, it got out of hand when he finally noticed your showing ribs even when you’re not stretching or breathing out. He sees them a little too much to his liking.

“You can’t go on like this.” he pointed out one day, during a meal. You haven’t touched your plate and you gulped at his words. “It’s not too much,” he added, pointing to your plate, “you’ll have to learn to eat again now.” he paused, waiting for your answer that is never coming. “It’s ok to be a small eater, but not to not eat at all.”

You clenched your jaw. As if you don’t know it well enough. As if you could just eat like that after all this time. His words hurt you more than anything, you thought he would understand.

“I know it’s hard, you don’t have to go through this alone.”

“You don’t know anything.”

“Darling what do you think ? Have you seen me ? Isn’t it obvious enough ?” You looked at him, thinking about his habits a bit more and the way he looks before it hit you. Your eyes water, you were too focused on yourself to notice him, to even realize.

“We’re in this together.” he said with a smile.

Mikey doesn’t notice. All he noticed is that you’re not eating with him anymore. You go out with him but don’t ask for a bit anymore, nor do you take something for yourself. He doesn’t understand and sadly doesn’t know either how to handle it.

“Why aren’t you taking anything ?” he pouted, almost refusing to eat if you don’t.

“I’m simply not hungry Mikey, it’s fine, eat!”

“You’re never hungry lately !” It sounds more like a tantrum than anything else honestly and you can’t help but lie about it.

“I eat well enough at home, don’t worry. I’m just trying to lose weight lately.”

“What ? No !” you can hear him pouted. “I like you the way you are, I’ll be sad if you lose weight. It wouldn’t feel the same when I’ll hold you. I hate to think about it.”

He was so pure in his words, you didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth.

“I’ll try not to lose too much then.” So you lied again, but seeing his smile was more than enough.

Ran is more than aware of what this is. You sleep too much. He does too, he knows that, but you always seem exhausted. Your skin is dry and almost gray. At first he checked your temperature for a few days, on those when it hit hard. Then he started to look at your activities, you still have to go to uni and stuff, maybe that’s what makes you this irritated. You don’t laugh much these days.

Finally, he started to look out for what you eat and he was met with the terrible truth that you’re not, and that’s probably what’s causing all of that. He has rough memories with that, and he wishes to not live them one more time.

“My love,” he purred into your ear, holding you from behind while you’re cutting some fruits.

“Yeah ?”

“Are you gonna eat more than that ?” You froze in his arms, not knowing what to say. “Would you share some ramen with me ? You don’t have to eat much, just something else other than an apple.”

“Ran I –”

“You know, it happened to my mom,” he cut you. He understands your side, but he wants you to understand his as well. “She was really sick because of this. And well, you know the end,” he snuggles his nose in your neck. “I don’t want this to happen to you.”

You don’t know what to say. It’s easier said than done and you don’t even wanna get better, not now, not now that it’s working and you’re close to your goal. Not now that –

“So, would you ?” but you can’t say no to him. And it’s not too much right. It’s just this time.

“Yeah, ok but just a few bites.”

“Right, I don’t want you to be sick.” he smiled against your skin. “Thank you. I love you”

I skipped baji sorry I hope it’s not your fav, I didn’t have an idea sniff. Mikey’s one is a little simple but young mikey is pure and rather simple minded at first.

[honeygrahambitch]

"What the hell is that?" Will asked as he almost dropped his phone. He forgot about scrolling and got up from the bed. Hannibal froze. He was just about to put on his shirt.

"What exactly?" He asked as if he didn't know what Will was referring to.

Will pulled the shirt off his arms and his eyes remained stuck to the huge bruise on his right ribs. It looked as if it was painted in all the shades of purple.

Hannibal didn't say anything, just like a child who is waiting to get scolded.

"How are you even able to...do anything while having this?"

"It's nothing. Ouch." He gasped as Will poked him with his index finger.

"I assume you have some broken ribs."

"You are not a doctor, you cannot make this kind of assumptions."

"Where is this from?"

"I might have fallen off my motor last week. It was not my fault."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Is this some kind of interrogation?"

"No, this is some kind of me caring about what happened to you. Half of your body is fucking purple."

"You can't fix it, now can you?"

"No but I can definitely make it worse."

"Dirty talk?"

"Shut up, isn't it bad enough that you will be a pillow princess for the next weeks?"

"That's not necessary. The bruise doesn't stop me from doing anything."

"You can't even kneel."

"Probably not but you can."

"I'm leaving for work. Don't text me."

"The silent treatment? Very original. And for what? Because I didn't report this to you?"

"The silent treatment bothers you? Let's see how healthy communication makes you feel. I am very upset, Hannibal, because I feel like we should share this kind of things in a relationship. This is a big deal. To me, at least."

"The healthy communication is appreciated however if it was you in my place, you wouldn't have mentioned it either. Correct?"

Will didn't know what to say. "This is not about me. Take some responsibility."

"Alright."

"That meaning what?" Will asked and crossed his arms, waiting for some kind of resolution.

"I did not think you would make a big deal out of it. I thought you would just roll your eyes and tell me that that is what I deserve for using a motorbike."

"Don't get me wrong, I hate it even more now and I will still roll my eyes but not because I don't care but because you thought I wouldn't care."

Hannibal raised an eyebrow.

"I don't need you to feel like you have to put on a strong facade. I like you vulnerable just as much as I like you arrogant."

Hannibal softened to that. Even the pain ceased to exist after hearing those words coming from Will's mouth.

"Then you should know I have taken so many painkillers in the last days that I feel like I am constantly drunk."

"You're an idiot. That's why you didn't let me join you in the shower two nights ago. I would have seen..."

"Yes. And when Jack Crawford patted my back yesterday I thought I would snap his neck like a twig."

"I can't believe I haven't noticed it myself. This is on me too."

"I am very good at pretending everything is alright, darling, don't blame yourself."

"Yeah, well, be good at not pretending because next time that happens I will break your ribs and I am not even kidding."

"I know. Even if it sounds tempting, I will sit that one out."

"Weirdo." Will commented under his breath. "I'm seriously leaving for work. Don't get too drunk on painkillers and call me if anything. I mean it."

"Absolutely."

"When I'm back we'll see if you can kneel."

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can you write something about Smoke taking care of their s/o who tried to hide their injury from a mission they just got back from?

Tomas’ trained eye noticed that something was wrong the moment you came back from your most recent mission. He was for certain that you were injured in some shape or form with the way you’d put extreme caution and thought into almost everything you did to throw him off your trail. But unfortunately your body tended to give away what was wrong with you with how your muscles would flinch or twitch in pain, or how your hand would immediately fly to your injured side after a fit of pained laughter.

Tomas wasn’t oblivious to the efforts you put into withholding your winces and groans of pain, thinking he was none the wiser but her was very much aware of the situation, seeing how you indirectly let on more then you probably thought. So getting you to sit down and allow him to take care of your wounds didn’t take Tomas long as he now finds himself stood in between your legs, one hand holding your head in place whilst the other worked in clearing the gashes you had scattered across your face with an look of intensity on his face.

‘Why didn’t you say anything before, why couldn’t you come to me when you’re hurt instead of having me to hunt you down and patch you up myself?’ Tomas broke the silence, only to hear your scoff.

‘You could tell that I was injured the moment I walked through that door Tomas. You saw through my bullshit attempt to not make you worry about my condition. I genuinely thought I could handle it myself because you’ve already go so much on your plate that I didn’t want to add onto it with some minor scratches and possible bruised ribs.’ You replied, wincing slightly as Tomas sighed at your reasoning.

He wanted you to rely on him when it mattered most, to know that you could go to him no matter what because what he wanted to be to you was a safe haven where you could be vulnerable without fear of judgment or shame. He wanted to be a place for you to rest your weary head upon and allow him to take of you, but you were about as stubborn as an old mule and tended to make things a lot more difficult for yourself. Almost as though you were trying to prove something when you didn’t need to, at least Tomas doesn’t think you need to prove anything to anyone.

‘Just because I can read you better than anyone else doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t tell me when you’re hurting.’ Tomas said, sighing. ‘I’d like to think that after awhile you’d trust me enough to talk to me about these kinds of things. And besides you shouldn’t have to feel bad about bothering me because you know that I’d drop everything for you, no matter the scolding that i will be on the receiving end of.’ He adds with a little laugh, finishing clearing up one of your wounds, covering it up before moving onto the next wound at your cheek, all whilst remembering to keep a steady hand.

‘I do trust you.’ You defended yourself and Tomas looked into your eyes with brows raised in skepticism and you couldn’t help but double down. ‘Don’t give me that look, I do trust you Tomas it’s just-‘

‘You wanted to deal with it yourself?’ He finished for you and you sighed.

‘Yeah. I wanted to deal with it myself, they’re my wounds to lick, not yours Tomas but that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate everything you’ve done for me thus far.’ You told him, wincing again as he patched up another gash that was on your chin, but managed to smile through the brief moment of pain. ‘Sometimes I think that I take advantage of your kindness sometimes.’ You admitted as Tomas scoffs as he gently rests his forehead to yours as to not irritate the healing wounds.

‘That’s a bunch of lies and we both know it.’ He says as he presses a tiny kiss to your nose. ‘Now will you please let your personal doctor work.’ He adds teasingly as you let out a little chuckle and allowed him to continue patching you up for the rest of the evening.

[ghostlysoaps]

Creature/monster AU

Soft warning for mature language and themes

Soap is staring at him. This, in and of itself, isn't unusual. It's like their very own game of cat-and-mouse. Watching and waiting to get caught in the act, diverting their attention only after the other catches their gaze to keep. The switch occurs, and then it's up to each of them to decide how much blatant attention is enough.

Ghost grits his teeth under the relative safety of his mask but doesn't take his eyes off the road. He can't afford to with the headlights off even if he sees better in the dark than most – not with the loops and curves and potential threat hunting them.

"Are we going to talk about it?" Soap eventually asks, an hour and some into their mad dash to safety.

Ghost wishes he could parrot the question back at him while replacing the last word with "what.” It wouldn't work, he knows that. Playing the fool isn't Ghost’s strong suit and Soap wouldn't care to indulge him anyway. Not with the way his leg is bouncing, ears flicking, gaze as piercing as a knife between the ribs. A bloodhound who's caught a whiff of wounded prey. 

"No," is what he says instead, short, concise and brokering no room for argument.

"I think we should."

But then, Soap would argue with a brick wall on the off-chance he could win.

"Drop it, Sergeant."

Soap's face twists, canines flashing as he gives himself to irritation, eyes flashing gold.

"It was wearing my face while trying to coax ye into dicking it down, Ah'd say there's plenty to discuss."

"It was trying to get me close enough to wring my neck."

"Och, aye. Strange way t'go about it." The glower he levels Ghost with burns against the side of his face. "Sure there's nothing you wanna tell me? Might've helped dislodge that stick up yer arse if you'd let it–"

Ghost swerves abruptly, takes them off the main road to rest beneath a canopy of trees, on a path too overgrown to count as one, cutting Soap's questioning in half as the man yelps and slams a hand against the window to steady himself. The car slows to a stop and then one of Ghost's claw-tipped hands are on Johnny’s face, digging deep divots into the fat and muscle around his chin and jaw. He uses it to shake Soap's head from side-to-side. Not scruffing, but a show of displeasure nonetheless. One familiar to wolves. 

When Soap opens his mouth to protest, Ghost gives in to the urge to slot his thumb inside the warm cavern and draws a shallow line across it that quickly wells with blood.

"One more word," he snarls, "and I'll cut your tongue right out of your fucking mouth."

Soap stares at him, all wide-eyed and stricken, for a moment, just the one, before his lips stretch into a smirk around the digit in his mouth. He seals his lips over it, hollows his cheeks on a mean suckle, and then nips it with too-sharp teeth the moment Ghost pulls it out as if burnt, causing that lopsided smirk to broaden. 

"Shouldn't threaten me with a good time, sir."

"You're off your head." 

"I can smell arousal, y'know," Soap says, redirecting the conversation with all the gracefulness Ghost shows in his driving. "But not on you, can't ever smell anything on you. Drives me up the fuckin' wall." Soap shakes his head with a laugh, glances at Ghost from under his lashes. He's still smiling. "Sirens... now they don't need pheromones to get in yer head and root out yer darkest desires, an' they don't resort to shape-shifting into a specific guise unless there's a chance it'll work on their target."

"It didn't."

"I could tell by the bullet ye put through its heid. Dinnae even hesitate for a second."

Ghost's fingers flex at the reminder and Soap's eyes flit to them momentarily.

"You've a cold heart, Lt."

"Told you that already," Ghost rasps.

"Why me?"

And it sounds like begging, those two words, spoken in a beckoning call of their own, pleading for a truth Ghost is refusing to admit to anyone, least of all himself.

"You're attractive, Soap, that's all there is to it."

Soap deflates, sinking back into his seat with his face turning towards the window. Shoulders slumped, ears pinned back, as if he were a puppy expecting praise and finding a boot hurtling towards his side instead. It's jarring. Not wholly unexpected, but hell if it doesn't drive a blade straight through Ghost's aforementioned heart – something serrated and hooked sawing through his sternum to tear at raw nerves.

He should leave them there, within the rapidly growing chasm of distance he'd longed to create since Soap first bumped a fist against his shoulder.

"I knew it wasn't you."

It's the thinnest sliver of an olive branch, incapable of flowering with how slight and insignificant it is.

Soap takes it nonetheless.

"How's that?"

"Because your attempts at flirting are as bad as your jokes."

Johnny, incandescent with rage, comes back alive as if electrocuted and with slew of profanity to boot. He rants at Ghost for a solid half-hour, all ire and with no regard for propriety or rank, dressing him down as thoroughly as any drill sergeant back at basic. Anger is a good look on him. Joy is too. Emotions of any kind as long as they're far from the empty vessel Ghost had glimpsed before.

He lets out a breath he can't remember holding as Johnny’s voice steadily washes away the memory of blood in the sand and dimmed, unseeing eyes, blue as the summer's sky, staring unblinking ahead.

[honey-minded-hivemind]

X Men Animated Yandere Sabertooth and Wolverine meeting a child who was created using both of their DNA

Ohoho, yes! I love those two! I write them as brothers, so I'll be careful in how the DNA thing works. That being said, we'll go with this:

Trying to knock sense into his brother was like trying to knock sense into a boulder.

Hard, rough, full of broken bones, and painful.

The b*stards at Weapon X had erased anything, everything, all of their past together, everything that had ever mattered from his runt's mind, and then had the audacity to use him as a weapon. Use BOTH of them as weapons. Forcing them to kill, to tear apart, to sabotage-

All because they were mutants.

And humans hated mutants, no matter what.

He killed them, the ones who did this to them. That still didn't fix things, though. He did fix quite a few of them up, though. Fixed them right into dinner. Into trophies. Into minced meat and bloodied bones.

That being done and over with-

He didn't expect to find a kid who was more or less a mixed clone- sibling- something, of the two of them...

Logan had done what he could throughout the years, trying to find his identity, his past, his lost loves...

Sadly, that past was full of hurting, hurting of him, hurting of others, and somehow, someway, Sabretooth always seemed to be nearby. Watching. Waiting. Pouncing. One of the few people anything like him, and the guy's a full-on nut-case.

Just peachy.

But he at least did his best to do good. Creed, he couldn't say that, could he?

But apparently this new bad wasn't his fault.

It wasn't his, either.

Who woulda thought the sickos who ran Weapon X would have made a kid?

Who would have thought that kid would have had parts of both their DNA, making them a clone of sorts, if not their own sibling.

The two can't stand knowing they have a mini other running about, one who has every flaw and nature that they have. Who is only a cub, a pup, nothing more than a kit trying to survive in a world too hateful to love 'em...

Course, they plan to fix that.

If they could just keep the kid away from the other feral-

"Back off, Creed!" Wolverine growls, unsheathing his claws as he faces off against the larger feral, who only growls back.

"Stay outta the way, runt. They're just as much my sibling as yours," he purr-growls, slowly moving in.

The two of them know Reader is watching them from their hiding place in the trees, eyeing them carefully.

This battle isn't about lost brotherhood or vengeance. This is about custody rights to the newest feral, THEIR own flesh and blood.

The moment their claws cross, the kit is scrambling through the high-up branches, looking for a way to avoid them as they tussle across the icy dirt, rocks and pine needles scattering in their wake. Sabretooth winds up on top, his knee pressed into his younger brother's ribs, the weight causing them to creak.

"Get off!" Logan hisses, struggling under the force, only to be met with a tut.

"Now now, Jimmy... That's no way ta talk ta yer older brother... Now, calm down. 'M not gonna keep the cub away from ya. But... I think ya might need ta take a small nap. Yer as grouchy as a pup without their milk," purrs Victor, and in a quick motion, stabs a large dart into Wolverine's neck, waiting until the smaller mutant falls unconscious.

"'Kay, kit, it's yer turn! Now, ya can come out and take it easy... Or ya can play hard, and take a long nap like the runt over here..." he calls out, slowly pulling himself up and dusting off the snow that's covered him.

When they don't respond, he huffs lightly, then lunges onto the nearest tree, clawing his way up, until he finds where Reader hid themself. He grins, glad to know they didn't leave while he and their brother fought...

"Time ta come home, kit..."

[dearharriet]

hello love! congrats on 150 followers, your writing is very lovely, you deserve this so much more 🩷❗

i was wondering if i could get a 🍸send me a character + one of the following songs to write a drabble for with sirius black + lover's rock tv girl. (perhaps a tattoo artist au? only if you're comfortable though!)

feel free to ignore if you don't feel like writing it :) hope you have a nice day/night ahead! 🩷

hi, lovey! thank you for being so sweet, i hope this is something like what you had in mind 🩷 (wc: 874) (cw: pg mentions of nudity, mentions of smoking)

The whirring buzz of the tattoo gun does little to calm your shoddy nerves, though it at least pads the long standing silence. You’re not really sure if it’s customary to chat with your tattoo artist or not, but it certainly feels tense between you two. Luckily you only have…

You pick up your phone as casually as you can, careful not to twist your torso somehow.

3:17. Two hours left. How is that possible?

“Getting sick of me?”

Tucking your phone away, you glance down at the man inking your sternum. He’s lifted from you momentarily to dab at the area he’s working on, the sterile towel coming away black and red. You’re not sure if it’s proximity or some kind of psychological pain response, but he’s probably the hottest man you’ve ever seen. And he thinks you’re sick of him.

“No, not at all. How’s it coming?”

The man—his name is Sirius—smiles like he knows exactly what you’re doing, but he allows you to divert the conversation anyways.

“S’fucking badass. You’re a brave one for getting something so big for your first piece.” He’s completely genuine, which sends a lovely shock of pride through you. You’re not the daredevil type, but you aim to impress.

“It’s not so bad as I thought it’d be.”

Wincing, Sirius tilts his head like he’s about to burst your bubble.

“Well, I’ve only done your sternum.” As he says so, he places a gloved hand just under the place he’s mentioning, and you try hard not to suck in a breath. “Once I get to your ribs it’s gonna hurt a lot more.”

Right. He doesn’t demonstrate where he’s talking about for that, considering the rib area you have mapped out is essentially your underboob. You’re not sure how to feel about that, especially now that you’ve met who’s inking it, but you figure you’ll manage when the moment arises.

“Right, yeah, I keep forgetting,” you say truthfully.

Sirius sits back.

“Do you wanna break? Have a snack, maybe?”

Twisting your lips, you avoid his expectant gaze. A break admittedly sounds really nice, but for some reason it feels shameful to say. You’d sort of planned to tough it out the full three hours, no matter what.

“I’ll be fine, I think. I ate beforehand like you told me.”

At this, Sirius grins, though he’s also peeling his latex gloves off.

“Good lass,” he praises. “I’m gonna step out shortly for a smoke, though, if you don’t mind.”

You blink. “Not at all.”

Tossing his gloves, Sirius stands and exits without a word, leaving you sprawled on the tattoo chair. Finally out of his sight, you feel you can breathe again, but it’s all for naught; Sirius comes strolling back in moments later with a juice pouch and several snacks, taking your breath away again.

“Alright, killer, take your pick.”

You glance over the options he assembled—cookies and crackers and crisps—and hesitantly decide on one, slightly off-kilter. Sirius is like a whirlwind, or a cyclone. He dumps the remaining snacks on the counter behind him, and then he’s on you, putting his big hands under your shoulders to help you sit up.

“Let’s get you sat in my chair, it’s a bit more comfortable.” He does exactly that, setting you up for an intermission that you sorely need, and then he just…lingers. You’re certainly not complaining—his aptly ink-black hair and exposed tattooed forearms are really doing it for you. Still, it’s odd that the smoke break he planned never seems to happen.

When you’re back in the chair, satiated and far less jittery, you finally realize what he’s done.

“You tricked me.”

Sirius glances up from the ink palette he’s re-prepping, raising a dubious brow.

“Did I?”

“You did. You said you were taking a smoke break.”

Shrugging, he saddles up close to you, easing back into his work. A little jolt goes through you at the first contact.

“Relax,” Sirius says under his breath, and you make a conscious effort to unclench your muscles. “I changed my mind.”

“What?”

“Smoke break,” he reminds you. “I changed my mind.”

“Oh,” you breathe, waving him off. “Right. No you didn’t.”

Sirius pulls back to laugh at that, his shoulders shaking gently.

“Really, I did. I wanted to take my smoke break later, say—“ he bobs his head in an indecisive motion, “—another hour from now.”

Really, you're not sure this tattoo will ever get done if you keep making each other laugh. Sirius has to wait for your chest to stop lifting to continue.

“I’ve changed my mind, too,” you say as he finally ducks back in.

“Oh, yeah?” Sirius shoots an indulgent grin up at you. “‘Bout what?”

“I’m completely sick of you.” Another long pause in his work, and this time you’re both laughing. “You're incorrigible.”

As Sirius laughs, you watch his lips pull back over his teeth, canines flashing. Everything about the look of him is sharp, but his laugh is warm and round. Boyish.

“Pardon me for looking after you. It won’t happen again.”

Glaring at him with an exasperation you don’t really feel, you say, “yes it will.”

Sirius licks over his teeth now, an image of feigned guilt.

“Yes,” he agrees, “it will.”

+

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