#big chicken. you understand my vision.

[murderbeast]

falin baba yaga

[goldensunset]

i need to. do more kh x pokémon things

[breannasfluff]

Samantha Manson,

Most of your letter remains childish insults, which I shall ignore. Observe who has more maturity in this situation (not you.)

Unlike your hurtful stereotypes of rich families, I care about the animals I encounter. I suppose it’s hard to understand for someone who likely owns a chicken they treat as a pet. 

You shall have to check the Gotham News for your answer on nail painting. If you can even access the internet in your location. If you need, I might be persuaded to post you a copy. I’m sure it would be a novelty to read about life in the big city.

Samantha, as you are so fond of reminding me, I am a child! You should not use fowl foul language in your correspondence to me.

Also, commenting on Nightwing’s visual appearance is highly insulting. Nightwing is the most adept member of the vigilantes. He was brave enough to protect an entire city on his own, rather than relying on a team who can barely capture the villain of the day. 

Truly, you are a disappointment to your sex.

Sincerely,

Damian Al-Ghul Wayne

~~~

Listen here you little FUCKER–

I’ll say whatever shit I want to you! How dare you insult my sex; that’s like saying all your failings are from being male when clearly they are a result of your awful personality. The fact that your mom isn’t in the picture sure says a lot about how much she wants to deal with you.

We might not have internet, but I read the smoke signals from the neighboring village and saw the picture of your nails. Did you do them yourself? Because it’s not very readable. Not that Robin deserves better. Oh, by the way, I’ve never seen such a bad case of resting bitch face on a boy before. You really hated that nail job, didn’t you? 

I heard Nightwing was the first Robin. I’ve seen videos–sorry, hillbilly visions–and believe it. You know what’s really messed up? He didn’t have any pants! What kind of adult takes a kid out to fight crime without pants? The messed-up kind, that’s who. Child endangerment at its finest. 

It’s too bad he added pants to the Nightwing outfit. Showing off his legs would have enhanced the ass package. 

Still Sam,

Sam

Read the rest here

[chocotonez]

skz reaction to their s/o feeling nauseous

a/n: I think this is months late so I’m so incredibly sorry and I hope you’re not still feeling nauseous anon!!

warnings/genre: mentions of throwing up, sickness, no reason stated for feeling sick, g/n reader, lmk if anything else should be tagged!

chan

-so incredibly worried immediately

-if you’re outside he’ll immediately be like “need to go home?? Should we go home?”

-calls you his “poor baby” while cradling you dramatically

-“food? water? cold?? hot??? fever??? chills?!?!?”

-strokes your hair while trying to ease it in anyway he knows possible, even looks up quick ways to help you

-he’s more of a healer and fixer, so he wouldn’t just want to distract you but fix the problem entirely

-lots of kisses until you feel better!!

lee know

-immediately has you in bed with a damp towel over your forehead and fanning you while also making chicken noodle soup and giving you the best of the best treatment

-probably the type to drop “is it because you’re on your phone all the time?” and scold you even if that’s not the reason at all 😭

-he’s devoted to taking care of you but also he hates seeing you in pain, which is why he can seem like he’s scolding u or smth like that

-babies you a bit to make you laugh, pinches your cheeks but his giggles are softer and he tries to relax so he doesn’t make you feel even more sick LOL

-“I’ll always be here to take care of you”

changbin

-notices but he doesn’t want you to feel super duper scrutinized especially if it’s something you can handle yourself

-like dizzy spells and whatnot, but once it hits that your head is spinning and your vision is getting spotty he panics

-“hey let’s get you some water? do you wanna go home? wanna go lay down?” and is dropping a lot of suggestions because you know ur body best!

-but he’ll obviously swoop into take care of you if you’re alright with it, kissing your cheek and trying to comfort you and smother u with love because love is the best medicine

-brushes your hair out of your face and lets you lay on his chest, he wants to remind you that he’s here for you always

hyunjin

-very relaxed about it, not in the way he doesn’t care but in the way he’s confident that he can take care of you !

-he makes sure to ask what you’d like to do though, he’s not really the type to be insistent on getting you to rest but he’ll gladly carry you to bed and get you some water and an advil

-cuddles you non stop and tries to take your mind off of it by telling stories about his day, tries to get you to doze off

-respects your space a lot and understands how it can get overbearing to have someone huddling you when you feel sick

-but no matter if you want him a thousand feet away or holding onto you like a koala bear he’ll be there for you with warm soup and a damp cloth

han

-has a flare for dramatics

-it’s a dizzy spell and you’re nauseous, and obviously he loves you and cares for you but unless there’s a more prominent issue he’ll just take care of you as per usual but with some theatrics to make you smile

-he’s a big distractor unlike Chan, he knows you can get over a nausea episode but he wants to help you get through it through methods other than painkillers and gallon bottles of water

-“oh woe is me, the love of my life has fallen ill to some treacherous curse! fortunately their handsome prince is here to save them with true love’s kiss…” “please just give me the Tylenol”

-pokes your cheek to make sure you’re still alive if you start dozing off because it makes him nervous

-takes funny photos to commemorate the occasion (you don’t think it’s that funny)

felix

-I think he’s much more insistent on you getting rest and taking it easy

-I think that he takes your health very seriously, as he knows personally that it’s best to take care of yourself and he just doesn’t ever want you to be hurt/in pain/uncomfortable

-he might seem a little panicky and rushed with trying to get you feel better but that’s because he really does but want to see you happy and okay again!

-you know those big water bottles that have little inspirational messages encouraging you to drink water?? he gets those for you while you rest up

-if it’s just a short dizzy spell he’ll immediately sit you down with a damp cloth and get you some food

-honestly he’s just the sweetest ever and very attentive to you no matter how minor or fleeting your nausea is

seungmin

-“I’m gonna throw up on you” “don’t you dare”

-has fun with it LOL, but not because he doesn’t care but entirely because he wants to see you smile and distract you from your head spinning

-“heeeeyyyy i brought you some noddle soup but if you throw up I’m gonna call my mom to take care of you because that’s really gross and I don’t wanna deal with that!! xoxo love you so much!”

-but that’s entirely a joke because the second you’re seriously discomforted and hurt he’s on the verge of tears and tending to you

-he’s gonna make it fun so you don’t just…feel nasty and gross and bad, because if you’re stuck with a dizzy spell then he’s gonna make you smile somehow

-sings “you make me feel…better!” to the tune of twice’s feel special while getting you some painkillers

jeongin

-takes it very seriously because he wants to be a good boyfriend for you

-I think that every time he faces a boyfriend scenario (you’re upset, nauseous, you need a ride somewhere…) he really pushes himself to be the best he can be for you

-but also it’s embarrassing if he gets all cheesy on you and he gets flustered if he has to take your temperature or if you start leaning on him because you’re still his super pretty significant other and you always make his heart beat fast

-doesnt really know how to approach on comforting you so he’ll just try to find a solution (i.e nearly calls emergency services)

-“it’s okay! everything’s a-okay!!” and he’s more worried than you are (mainly because the world is spinning and you are this close to leaning over the nearest trash can, so you don’t really have the energy to be as anxious about this as he is)

-“jeongin, babe, can we just go home?? I don’t think you need to take me to the hospital…” “but like…are you sure??”

[footballfanficwriter]

Late night cravings

Summary:where the reader is craving  and she wakes Jude up to her her food

A/n: I am well aware of the war that is happening between Israel and Palestine and I just want to say I support Palestine, but I want to let you know that before reading this there will be mentions of companies that are owed by Israel so consider this a warning when reading also the timeline of these events are before the war or the war is nonexistent and is not taking place

__________________________________________

It's 3 in the morning and I'm tossing and turning in bed, I turn to my left and find Jude is fast asleep, how can he be asleep, how can he fall asleep so easily

I sigh, giving up on finding a comfortable position and just lying on my back, my pregnancy bump just slightly peeking out in my line of vision, I stare at the ceiling for a while and think about how life is going to be in a few months, having babies and a  being mother, and in a few years being referred to as mom, the new responsibilities I'll have, I can't lie I'm terrified, I mean you see all these cases of mother's mental health decrease and how they have post partum depression after giving birth, what If I became like that and start hating my babies because of their existence, and those poor children won't understand a thing that is happening, just that their mother doesn't want them, or what if I just get depressed, and the need to do anything just disappears, I mean I can't afford to be depressed, it's going to affect the babies especially when I'll be breastfeeding and all

I sigh again and try not to look at the negative side of the situation, Jude said I should always call him or wake him up whenever I feel like this so he can reassure me and make me feel like everything is going to be ok, but I don't want to bother him, especially when it's so late, he's already got a lot on his plate, I continue staring at the ceiling just tapping on my belly for a while, and that seems to have woken my unborn children because they start kicking, it must be a party in there

"Ok guys go back to bed, it's too early for you guys to be awake" I whisper

I sigh for the 3rd time knowing it won't work

All of a sudden I feel the urge to eat like I haven't eaten in a while, I'm craving McDonald's,  KFC, and oddly enough something sweet, I don't know what but I'm craving something sweet

I try to ignore my hunger but I can't , I use my arms and hands to make me sit up and turn my head towards Jude then sigh again

"Jude"

"Babe"

"Jude wake up"

He wakes up and looks at me with tired eyes

I instantly regret waking him up the minute I see his eyes

"It's ok honey go back to bed"

"No, what is it, what do you need me to do"

"No, it's alright, it's not important anyway"

"Well, it must be if you woke me up at 3:30 in the morning"

"No it's not, go back to sleep, I'm sorry for waking you up"

"You know I'm not going back to sleep if you're not going to tell me what's wrong" he says

We sit in silence for about 5 minutes

"I'm hungry" I say

"Ok" he says getting out of bed finding his pants and putting them, then his socks followed by his shoes and a black hoodie, he then grabs his phone and opens it

"What do you need" he asks

"No, come back to bed, you don't need to do anything"

"Honey I'm already out of bed, you might aswell tell me"

"Ok, I want two big mac's from McDonald's, hot wings from KFC 24 pieces, a medium sized pizza with cheese, chicken pepperoni, apple juice, and something sweet, I don't know what but I want something sweet"

"Is that all?"

I nod and he says

"Ok, I'll be back soon"

He slightly climbs over the bed and kisses my forehead

"Don't feel bad love, I don't mind going out to get you food"

"You sure?"

"Definitely"

He leaves the room and walks downstairs, opens the front door and he's out

It's only after an hour when I hear the front door open again indicating that Jude is home, I hear him come up the stairs, walk down the passage and the door to our room opens

I see him holding take out and he walks over to me and places everything on the bed

"Ok, so I got everything you asked me for but I didn't know what type of sweet thing you wanted so I got you your favorite sweets/candy and your favorite cake, is it too much?

"No no honey it's perfect"

"You sure?"

"Mhm"

"Ok"

"Thank you"

"You're welcome"

He takes his shoes off and goes to his closet to put them away, he comes back and sits on the bed while I start eating my food in silence

I then turn to him and see him lying on his back with his eyes, I place one of the big mac's on his lap and he looks at me

"What are you doing?" He asks

"Have something to eat"

"No it's fine babe go ahead besides you're eating for 3"

"Yes but you still need to eat"

He sighs and takes the burger from his lap and we eat in silence

"You know, we still haven't come up with any baby names" I say

"Babe we'll name them when they arrive"

"We can't name them when they arrive who do you think we are kylie Jenner?"

He laughs at my comment

"Their names have to have Js though" he says

"No"

"Their names will be different but similar"

"Like?"

"What about Ella and Alex?"

"Or Beatrice And Brandon"

"Beatrice?"

"Yeah"

"That's an old lady's name"

"Madison and Mason"

"No, I'm not really feeling it

"What about Brian and Brianna"

"Ok we'll put that in the idea box, it's not bad"

"Really?"

"Yeah, what about Cara and Carter"

"Hmm, Cara and Carter Bellingham"

"Brian and Brianna Bellingham"

"O I like it"

"I know"

"Ok but on a serious note we need to discuss how we're going to raise these kids Jude"

"What do u mean?"

"Ways of discipline, what if they do something we won't approve of how would we react, what if they come out and they're part of the LGBTQ, what then what?"

"Ok, ways of discipline?"

"Yeah, we need to think about those"

"Simple we'll just beat them"

"I'm not hitting my children"

"Fine, then I'll do it"

"Jude"

"I'm joking, we can take away the things the love, like toys ban them from going to friends, you know all the soft stuff"

"Ok what about the age they can Start dating, and being in relationships?"

"Brian can date when he's 13 but Brianna is dating when she's 28"

"That's insane, we going to treat our kids equally, we can't discriminate because of their genders"

"Fine, both at 13 then" he says rolling his eyes at me

"Did you just roll your eyes at me?" I ask

"yeah why, you wanna pull a Christian Grey on me"

"The fact that you can make that reference"

"Yeah, I can"

"Jude we're supposed to be talking about our Future and the Future of our kids"

"Ok, ok sorry"

"Then the LGBTQ thing"

"We disown them immediately" he says in a dramatic way

"Well it won't make me happy either but I guess we'll live with it, they are our children at the end of the day"

"Yeah"

"And the involvement of our parents in their lives, what boundaries need to be set"

"They need to be present that's for sure, buy them gifts and spoil them rotten, I just want them to make a strong connection and bond"

"Yeah that's for sure"

"What about sleep schedules"

"For us or for them?"

"For us"

"We'll take turns"

"One day it's my turn to stay the night with them, then then the next it's your turn, but if it's the both of them being fussy then we can both be awake, and rotate each twin  by the hour"

"What methods should we use If they don't want to sleep?"

"Music, white noises I heard that's good and relaxation for when you're trying to sleep so we'll use that or classical music it's up to them really

"And their sleep schedules?"

"20:00, that's their bed Time, everything must be done before that"

"And sports , that they'll play"

"You already know the answer to that question, I don't even know why you're asking that"

He laughs and I smile at him

"Social media for them?"

"Well considering who their dad is we need them to use other names, and they must be private accounts"

"At what age?"

"14 is when it can happen"

"So social media and phones at 14?"

"Yeah"

"And a trust fund?"

"Most definitely having that, we never know when things go South"

"Ok"

"And I think we should go for Therapy"

"Why, our marriage is not on the rocks"

"I know but I want us to strengthen our relationship and relate to eachother better, you might have things that I do that you don't like and things you do that I don't like, we were very young when we met, and they say time changes people we aren't the same people we were when we met"

"Fine, we'll go"

"And this will strengthen our marriage as well so it's a plus"

"Ok love, anything that makes you feel comfortable"

"Thank you"

"You know I'm glad we're doing this"

"Yeah same"

"That way if any problem is thrown at us we'll be prepared for it"

"True"

He leans in for a kiss and I do the same, I'm about to attach our lips when I feel something coming up my throat

Puke

I quickly open my eyes and run to the bathroom

"Oh wow if I disgust you so much then why'd you marry me"

"Jude"

"No really answer the question"

"It's the sight of your face, it makes me sick

"Very funny"

"It's not a joke" I say brushing my teeth

"Do you wanna cuddle"

"Yeah"

"C'mon then"

I walk towards him and lay my head on his chest and he plays his hand on my belly

"We've got footballers brewing in there"

"Jude, if they choose that they don't want to be footballers then please don't force them or make them feel bad about it or even force them, I want them to make their own decisions

"Fine, but I will be disappointed though"

"Understandable"

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Drawn Together 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, obsession, intimidation, and other dark elements.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: You get a tattoo on an impulse to break your routine, but you walk away with something else as permanent as the ink.

I saw this and had to

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You are not a rebel. You are clean cut. You live within very precise boundaries. Minimizing every part of yourself to evade notice. Rules are not meant to be broken, despite that old cliche.

That is until that day. It's foolish, you know it. That voice in the back of your head repeats your foreboding. You know you can't go back. There isn't a magic eraser for this one.

Shut up.

You're over it. Over yourself. Over your boring life. You've never done one fun thing for just yourself. It's always been what has to be done. What must be done. You're thirty years old and you don't even know if you understand the concept of 'fun'.

You sit on the leather bench. Nervous and shaky as hell. There's still time to change your mind. You can take your deposit and go, with clean untainted skin.

No! You're not going to chicken out this time. You want one memory that doesn't end in you tucking tail and running.

"Do you like the sketch?" Sam, your assigned artist asks.

You glance over at him as he pulls on a pair of black gloves, his gun laid out and sterilised. You peek at the open sketchbook, the drawing of a simple red poppy outlined in black with a thick spiraled green stem. Nothing too big or extravagant, easy to hide. If your mother or father ever saw that, you would be excommunicated.

"I love it," your voice quavers and you clear your throat, "I'm sorry, I'm just a little anxious."

"That's fine. First time, right?"

"Uh, yeah, I don't even have piercings," you give a brittle chuckle, "I'm not really the adventurous type."

"I'm sure you are in your own way," he grins, a look that calms you. "So, we still set on ankle?"

"Um, yeah, I think that's good."

"As good a starting place as any. Glad I talked you off the ribs. Those are tender."

"Just an idea," you breathe, "I don't know much about these things."

"Not to worry, you're in good hands," he winks, "you can just relax," he rolls his stool to the foot of the bench, "and pop your leg up here."

"Right," you gulp down another chest full of air and follow his direction, "that's it?"

"And keep still. Tell me if you need a break. The pains a bit much at times so don't be afraid to speak up."

"Okay, sounds good," you try to settle in but your blood feels thick and your vision speckles with silver. Oh god, you're really going to do this.

"Don't hold your breath," he says, "really, I don't like my canvases passing out."

"Sorry."

"It's okay, you want something to drink before we start?"

"No, I'm good."

"Awesome," he says and grabs his gun, double checking the tip before moving back to your ankle. "Alright, I'll count down so you're not too surprised."

"Thanks," you fold your hands over your stomach as he positions your leg and bends forward.

He counts from three and you focus on not moving at the first stab of pain. Don't be a weak bitch. You grit your teeth and let out your breath as the gun buzzes loudly. The pain keeps a steady sear in your skin but you slowly get used to the sensation.

As he works, your eyes wander along the dark red walls and the artwork hanging all around. Tattoos in colour and black and white. The schematics of a tattoo gun. A falcon crest wrought in brass.

You hear the door open and the smoky voice of the other artist, Nat greets the newcomer you can't see past the pillar. The response is a deep, rocky timbre. You can only imagine the inked up brute behind it.

"Always with the notes," you hear a paper crinkle, "I'm the artist here, Rogers."

"Hey, I'm an artist too," the man counters lightly.

You peek over as the redhead woman appears on the other side of the pillar and guides her client through to her open workspace. An open curtain drapes against the wall at the other end of the shop. She sets down the page and tuts as she looks it over.

The man slides off a pair of dark sunglasses, black lenses with golden frames. He slips them into the pocket of his denim jacket and tugs at the sleeves. Their actions seem to be routine and you can see why. His arms are covered from wrist to shoulder in ink, a few smaller tattoos on his knuckles. Now you really feel out of place. 

"Sam, what's up?" The other client calls over as he hangs the denim on the coat rack.

"What's it look like, Steve?" Sam says, his eyes not leaving your ankle.

You take in the interaction silently. You're a stranger among the usuals. The poser getting their taste of artificial danger. Your ankle tweaks and you smother a grunt between your teeth. The noise catches the blue eyes of the man, Steve.

You quickly avert your eyes back to Sam and knot your fingers together. Steve's shadow moves away. The artist at your bench hardly seems bothered but gives a shake of his head.

"You want the curtain?" Natasha asks as she approaches the black drapes.

"Nah, you know I don't care."

Your eyes flick up as the man peels off his tank top. Wow. You blink rapidly and make yourself act normal. 

He lowers himself onto the leather seat as Natasha takes out her tools and starts sterilising. You once more force your attention back to Sam's careful work. It's going to take a while.

"You good?" He asks as he glances over, lifting the gun from your skin.

"Great," you murmur in an airy voice.

"Still nervous?"

"No, actually, kinda excited," you try not to speak too loud, overly mindful of the other client in the shop.

"Good," he hunches again and you suck in as he put the needle back to your skin. "So, what do you do? When you're not getting sick tats, that is?"

"Um, I, er, I teach. Music lessons."

"Music, huh? You seem like… the drummer type."

"Piano," you correct him, "I can carry a beat–" you pause to check the pain in your voice, "but I mostly teach piano."

"Classy," he remarks, "so, a poppy, any particular meaning to that?"

"Er, no, uh," you rub your neck nervously but make yourself quit moving, "it's my favourite flower."

"Pretty sombre fave but I get it," he remarks.

"Yeah, I guess…"

Your attention is drawn at the soft slap of skin and the rattle of metal. You look up as Steve retracts his hand and Natasha points at him with a sharp nail, "this is a sterile workspace."

He chuckles at her irritation and shows his palms before he sits back. He rolls his shoulders as he leans casually and twiddle his fingers against his jeans. Once more, your eyes meet and his mouth slants slightly. You gulp and look down again.

"So, any ideas for a second piece?" Sam asks.

"I think I'm gonna stick with one."

"Not gonna get a full bouquet?" He wonders.

"Not yet."

"Better get cozy, Rogers," Natasha says.

You look up as she sprays shaving foam onto his chest.

"You know this is my second home," he teases as he relaxes and she spreads the cream.

"Don't remind me," she grumbles as she takes a razor.

You tear away from your distraction once more. Gosh, it is painful. You don't know how people end up like him. Your tiny little flower will be more than enough for you.

You close your eyes and groan. Sam rests his hand on your calf. He squeezes as he pauses again.

"Need a break."

"No, keep going," you puff out.

You grip the side of the leather bench and bite down. You've always been a big baby. You bat away the gloss of tears threatening to confirm that and take another breath.

The subtle creak of leather pulls your gaze back across the room. Steve leans slightly around to see you past Nat as she shaves one side of his chest. You grimace and hide beneath your lashes.

Why is he looking at you like that? It must be amusing, someone like you in a place like that. Now you know this is definitely a mistake.

[thefearedashantis]

Buttered Noodles 

Pairing: James Potter x reader

Summary: James is understanding of your food sensitivities

Warning:  food sensitivity/sensory issue

*I personally dislike my food touching and creamy textures. Plus this is short and horribly written but what can be done.

- jermaine (シ_ _)シ

“That bush looks like a head of broccoli”

You don't say it because the bush necessarily looks like broccoli. It's simply the urge to talk nipping at you. The need to Distract yourself. Foods all that's on your mind at the moment. The bushes lining the street are the only things in your field of vision where its fixed out the car window.

Besides, what other food could a bush possible resemble but one of many tasteless greens.

James doesn't respond with anything other than a concerned glance. Usually on drives you'd be lounged out in the passenger seat, playlist cued up, serenading him with raspy heavy metal. But there you sit, stiff as a plank. Quiet except for the occasional mumble. Hands knotted in your lap placing wrinkles into your pretty clothes. Mouth pinned into a thin wobbling line. 

You'd met his friends before. They were kind so that wasn't the source of your stress. The trouble arose around the fact that it had been in a pub setting, where the only requirement was drinking and nodding along.

But this would be different. This was big.

A birthday dinner. Where you'd have to sit up straight at a dining table and contribute to conversation, answer and ask questions, smile. All while eating your meal in the same timely manner as everybody else. Not too slow and not too quickly. Not itty bitty spoonful's and not gaping mouthfuls. You'd have to pause between bites, swallow, have a sip of your drink and repeat. Not staring at your plate, make eye contact occasionally.

You've always been very sensitive with food. You grew up in a clean plate household. Only by the grace of the universe were you able to find someone as understanding about it as James. Exactly why you don't want to embarrass him in front of his friends with your pickiness.

You would try your best to stomach whatever was placed before you but boy would it be hard. When certain textures or smells or mixtures made your mouth watery and your palms sweaty.

Food touching. Utensils scraping. The mushy sound of chewing and the wet gulp of a swallow.

However, You'd grind your teeth and bare with the horrors if it meant making a good impression.

“I made sure to tell Moonie you have trouble with certain foods.” James is talking lowly as if afraid to startle you. 

“Huh?”

“Oh, I told Remus some of the things you don't fair well with-

Your eyes grow to twice the size in alarm "You shouldn't have put him out that way Jamie!"

The slight wobble of his head is done in apology. All you'd get, because he wasn't actually sorry. The movement sends his glasses slipping down his nose. You reach out on instinct to adjust them for him. "Its no stress mouse, he was happy to make sure you'd be accommodated"

And how would that appear. Everyone enjoying a full homemade roast dinner while James’ girlfriend poked and prodded at some frozen chicken strips and potato wedges? 

"I can eat whatever he prepares" Could and Would.

"You can. But you don't have to. Remember that." The grounding weight of his hand finds its place on your thigh and your shoulders immediately slump with a release of tension. "Take a breath for me love"

You've squeezed your fingers so tightly your nails have dug bloody crescents into your palms. They burn. Your face warms in a rapid flush. Maybe it wasn't too late to throw yourself from the car. 

"Yeah"

"If you start to feel icky we can always find you a safe food alright? It puts nobody out to make sure you’re well fed"

Icky. James' word for what was, in your head, unreasonable upset and stubbornness. There was a time when more cruel terms were hurled at you. When you sat in the kitchen until the morning doves began to coo. A plate of pasta long cold on the table. You liked pasta. Would have eaten the pasta if only the sauce hadn't been pre added for you. White and thick and slimy. Buttered noodles by themselves were delicious. But you weren't allowed to get yourself a fresh plate until you ate the one already given to you. Even if that meant going to school the next day on an empty stomach and not a wink of sleep. 

"Yes mum" You have to bite your cheek to keep from smiling at how thoughtful you actually found his actions, feigning upset by purposefully avoiding his gaze. He sees through this of course.

"There she is"

And you know by the crinkle at the corners of his eyes when he grins at you that James would gladly join in with any alternative option if it would make you feel more comfortable. Confident. All you had to do was ask and he'd do anything for you. 

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter One Two Three Four Five Six Seven

TW: NSFW, bondage, uncomfy situations

The next time you see Dr. Julian, (which isn’t at the jail, because you fucking tried to go bail him out and they just looked at you like you were crazy when you kept insisting Dr. Julian Mercer had to be in there) he has a red mark around his neck, a black eye, and a bump on his temple that’s almost the size of a chicken egg. 

“Jesus fucking Christ!” you hiss, rushing over to him. He takes your elbow and ducks the two of you into a supply closet. You think he just wants to have a private conversation, until he backs you into the shelves with a tonsil-inspecting, toe-curling kiss, his big hands digging into your waist. You grab fistfuls of his lab coat, you are so surprised it doesn’t even occur to you to fight him. When he finally pulls back you are breathless—and in shock. 

He seems to find this adorable, reaching up to caress your face. “Now all that was worth it,” he says cheekily.

You blink up at him, stupid as a lamb. “Did he hurt you?” you demand, trying to inspect the mark around his neck. 

“We reached an understanding,” Julian assures you with a dark look, taking your hands in his own. 

“But—“

“Don’t worry about it, y/n. Really.” It comes out like an order, and you don’t really like it when he talks to you that way, but you guess you understand that he doesn’t want to talk about Ludlow anymore.

“Ok.”

You are so going to worry about it. You also know there’s no way in hell that he’s going to want to see you anymore.

He looks down at you with that soft expression that warms your insides. “When’s your next day off?” 

You blink again. “Friday?”

“Can I make you dinner?”

“You want…to cook for me?”

“At my place. Around seven. I’ll text you the address.”

You’re still not sure if that was a request or an order, but you’re so dumbfounded that it doesn’t even occur to you to offer an opinion.

“But what about…?”

“I’m not scared of him, y/n.” The marks on his face indicate that maybe he should be, but the set of this man’s jaw indicates that maybe Ludlow has met his match. 

“I’m really sorry. About all of this.”

“I already told you, it’s not your fault.” There’s a flinty note in his voice, and you can tell he just wants you to drop it. Inwardly you flinch a little, but you nod. 

***

You suppose because he’s banned from being treated by you at the hospital, pulling you over in the dead of night after your shift becomes his go-to game. Maybe you should have started taking a different route home, but the highway was the fastest (and usually safest) way to go, and the thought of changing your personal day-to-day just for this asshole makes you see red. You refuse, and so you keep getting pulled over, four more times for weaker and weaker excuses. Not signaling when changing lanes. Using your phone (you weren’t). An obstruction to vision hanging from your rearview. And the cherry on top—too dim fucking blinkers? 

He even has the gall to check up on you, going so far as to inspect your wrists one evening, and turning your head from side to side with an authoritative finger hooked under your chin. “What do you think you’re doing?” you demand. 

“Just making sure Dr. Bitch is behaving himself.”

“That is none of your business.” 

“If he hurts you I’ll make it my business.” He just says it so casually. Water is wet, the sun is hot, and Tom Ludlow will fuck up Dr. Mercer’s day if he hurts you, even with consensual rough play. No one has ever stuck their neck out for you like that, and it is not helpful, what this misplaced concern does to your insides. This guy is 300% Pure Asshole. You should not be warming to him. 

Truth be told, you are nervous about your date with Julian tomorrow night. Maybe he’s being sweet and cooking for you—but it will also be on his home turf, like meeting a wolf in his den. You don’t really think Julian would hurt you. In fact, the thought seems absurd. But then again…people never cease to surprise you. You see the result of mankind’s insatiable bloodthirst every day at work. 

Despite your completely misplaced feelings for Officer Tom Ludlow, the fact stands that he is absolutely harassing you, and what he did to Julian outside the coffee shop was totally unacceptable. Maybe you don’t have any money to sue the LAPD like Julian does, but you’re not totally without a voice. The next morning you find yourself going downtown to the Police Headquarters to file a complaint. 

The place is bustling, filled with uniforms and plainclothes and people from every walk of life. It reminds you of the hospital in a way, and a wisp of a thought occurs to you that it’s interesting that you and Officer Ludlow engage in the two professions that truly hold together the fabric of society. Politicians like to think what they do is important, but the two of you do the real dirty work to help people survive through their day to day. There could have been something to that between you—if he wasn’t such a fucking creeper in his off hours. 

You follow the signs and the directions from various people behind desks to the Complaints Department. It’s a cordoned off area enclosed by glass. With your hand on the door handle you see who is sitting there behind a cheap mdf wood desk, looking unfairly handsome in his black beat uniform.

You freeze. 

How the fuck is he everywhere at once? It dawns on you that if he’s working his shift here during the day—he’s fucking with you on his own time at night. It simultaneously creeps you out and thrills you to your toes, and you know you are one sick puppy. 

You know you don’t have the guts to march in there and face him, so you decide to bounce. Of course, not before he turns his head at just the right moment. It’s like this man has a radar for your very presence, and your eyes meet through the glass. 

He knows exactly why you’re here, of course, and he smirks at you as though to say, ‘Tell me all about it.’ 

Bastard. 

You turn on your heel, and pray he doesn’t follow you. 

***

Later that night, you find yourself seated at the island with a glass of white wine in Dr. Mercer’s Spanish Revival style home in Santa Monica, watching him cook for you. He’s utterly edible, in a pressed light blue button down and khakis that should look dorky but somehow he just makes them look GQ worthy. He’s even worn a tie for you. He’s also wearing an apron, and it’s not so corny as to say Kiss The Cook but you did anyway first thing upon walking through the door. You’d asked if you could help with the meal, and he’d declined with a gracious smile. 

Now, you’re pretty sure he parked you here so you could get a view of his tight little rear end as he works at the stove. 

You take another big sip of wine. It’s really not fair in the least. 

He serves up chicken piccata with fresh vegetables out on the patio, complete with candlelight. The warm night breeze is like the breath of angels, and it’s possibly the most romantic dinner anyone has ever treated you to, and it makes you almost uncomfortable inside, how nice all this is. You know he’d said that he liked you, and he didn’t want a perfect girlfriend…but you can’t help but feel like an imposter here. 

There were no candlelit dinners with homemade Italian food and fine wine back in Kansas. There were bonfires in someone’s daddy’s back farm field, copious amounts of beer, and you were lucky if you didn’t get knocked up on the bench seat of someone’s rusty old pickup truck before the night was out. Yee fuckin’ haw.

“You alright?” he asks, reaching across the table to touch your hand. 

You realize that you have zoned out, while he was talking, again. 

“Fine,” you answer quickly, bolstering yourself with another sip of wine. You’re on your second glass now—you should probably slow down, but it’s so good. “I was just thinking…about how nice, all this is. Thank you, Julian. You’re so sweet.” 

He smiles at you from across the table, a winsome and heart-squeezing curl of lips, and he’s so handsome even with the now healing black eye. 

“I’m maybe sensing some anxiety stemming from Imposter Syndrome,” he says gently. 

“Is that your official diagnosis, Doctor?”

You can tell he likes it when you talk this way to him, even outside of the hospital. You can see it in the sparkle of his lovely mocha-brown eyes.  “Something like that.” He leans in towards you, his elbows on the little bistro-style table, pinning you with that acute stare. “I don’t know what happened to you, where you came from, y/n. Maybe you’ll trust me enough to tell me later. But I do know that it’s in the past, and it doesn’t mean you don’t deserve something nice for yourself now. Does that make sense?”

It hits way too close to home, and with a sigh you lean back in your chair, unable to meet his eyes again. 

“It sounds so easy, when you put it that way.”

He tilts his head as he examines you, and you’re afraid that attentive stare misses nothing. “I could make it easy, for you,” he offers quietly. Something about that soft but oh-so-sure tone lifts every little fine hair on your body, a wave of gooseflesh erupting across your skin. You feel like a rabbit flicking its ears at the sound of danger, not quite sure which direction it’s coming from. 

“What do you mean?” you dare ask. 

“It’s part of the appeal of submission for some people, to hand over complete control to someone you trust, to let them make you feel good. It can be an almost…therapeutic release. I think I could do that for you.” 

Your heart chooses that moment to lodge itself in your throat, and it takes an embarrassingly long few seconds for you to find your voice again. As usual when you feel wildly uncomfortable, you opt for humor.  “Wow, do you subscribe this to your patients often?”

He chuckles, and it is dark and rich as bitter chocolate. “No, though maybe I should.”

You can’t help but notice you haven’t even made it through the main course, before he is bringing this up again. It must be something he really wants from you—and a part of you still finds that so hard to believe. He’d said your defiance on that patient’s discharge triggered this need in him. You wonder if there are other things about you, that has made him zero you out. It’s happened to you before. Narcissists just seem to sniff you out like they’re fucking bloodhounds. 

Is Julian like that, underneath all the good looks, the pleasantness, the charm?

Does he think you’d be easy to control? Or does he want a challenge because your dumb ass is stubborn as a mule? 

Does he know that if things go badly, you have no one here to offer recourse?

Unless, of course, you count Officer Tom Ludlow, but dear lord that is not the backup plan you want to rely on. 

“Well…I’m still thinking about all that,” you deflect, throwing your attention into coiling pasta around your fork, trying not to appear like a complete philistine.   

He has the grace not to appear disappointed, though there is a certain sharpness in his look now, and you have a feeling Dr. Mercer is not used to not getting his way, eventually. 

***

Julian does let you help with the dishes, and pours you yet another glass of wine. “Digestivo,” he says with a perfect accent and a little smile to himself. He explains it’s the word for the “after dinner drink” in Italy. Apparently it’s usually a liquor, but it seems he doesn’t want you that drunk. 

At least, not yet.

He asks if you want to watch a movie or listen to some music? You agree, ask him to pick something out, and excuse yourself to go to the bathroom. When you return he is stretched out on the couch, looking utterly handsome, and you find yourself just staring while his head is turned towards the massive TV.

“I know you’re there,” he finally says with a little smile, turning to look at you knowingly. Cautiously you approach, glad for some reason that the tall back of the leather couch is between you. Perhaps the soft little woodland creature that will forever live inside you senses the wolf nearby, even if it’s wearing Brooks Brothers. 

“Sorry,” you say apologetically, soft-pawing further into the room. You dare to lean on the back of the couch to look down at him, not quite ready to join him on his level. He seems to understand all too well, and is completely amused by it.

“That’s ok. I can’t keep my eyes off you either. You’re so beautiful.”

You let out a long breath through your nose, never comfortable with what to say to it. You’d been assured by so many people in your early life, that you were in fact an ugly little toad worth less than nothing. Later, those that told you that you were pretty, hurt you in different ways. You wish you could just…take it at face value, and say thanks, without overanalyzing it six hundred ways from Sunday.

“You don’t think so?” He asks, looking up at you with curious eyes. Since you walked through his door tonight, you’ve felt like he’s been studying you, and you sincerely hope it’s not to find your weaknesses and exploit them but rather understand them. 

It would be so nice to be understood by a man like Julian, even if he is chaining you to a wall and whipping you while doing it. The thought makes you giggle, and this seems to perplex and amuse him. 

“Well?” He asks, reaching up to boldly smooth your cheekbone. “You don’t think you’re beautiful?” 

You try to blame your honesty on the wine when you answer truthfully: “not really.” 

Most men don’t want to hear about insecurities and flaws; they want self actualized, confident women who carry themselves in a way you’ll never be able to. It's hard to have self esteem, especially when you’ve spent the majority of your life getting told you shouldn’t have any. 

“Hmm.” His thumb rests lightly on your chin, and he parts your mouth a little like he means to kiss you, although he makes no actual move to do so. “That’s another thing I could help you with.”

You're a little lost in the white capped crash of your thoughts, of the pleasant heat in his long, skilled fingers, of the endless dark in his blown black eyes. It takes you a full thirty seconds to think about the conversation, and even then you have to stupidly ask: “what?” 

“Feeling beautiful, because you are.” Maybe you don’t mind the bossy, matter of fact tone as much when it’s demanding that you’re worthy and pretty. 

“Are you going to kiss me again?” You ask, because you can’t stop thinking about how good his mouth feels on your face. 

“Ask me nicely.” That big thumb runs a torturous line over your parted bottom lip.

“You ask me,” you challenge, giggling at your own insolence. 

Oh, he loves that, when you push back. The wicked, lazy grin says it all. “How about I make you?”

You press your tummy against the soft, worn leather of his couch to lift yourself up and over, cupping his cheeks and pecking a little kiss to his silky lips. “I’d like to see you try.”

Apparently this is the absolute wrong thing—or absolute right thing—to say to this man, to make him spring up and over the couch, lithe as a panther in his pursuit of you, a feral grin in place. You are not proud, but your first instinct is to bolt, a little scream escaping your lips.

Which is stupid, of course, because he has the body of a runner and legs that are a mile long. You have no idea where you are going, down a convenient hallway. You make it three steps before this man has you grabbed up in his long arms, and he is kissing you as though he means to inhale you. He presses you into the wall, his solid weight so delicious against you, and you know there is no escape unless he decides to let you go.

Somehow, you don’t forsee that happening any time soon. 

You surge up on tiptoe to meet him with a moan, your hands sliding over the trim muscles of his chest. He easily grasps both your wrists in his one, obscenely big paw, pinning them above your head.

He pulls back to assess what you think about this, his dark eyes blown wide with desire. You can barely breathe past your heart thundering in your chest, your thighs pressed tightly in a sad attempt to relieve some of the ache between them. You lips are kiss-swollen and moist with his saliva, and you lick them, tasting him. His gaze fixes on your mouth hungrily, before lifting to your eyes again.

When you give the barest nod, he leans in to kiss you again, slower this time, but no less claiming. His lips are soft, and clever, and wreak havoc with your ability to think coherently. And when he slips his lean thigh between your legs so that you might get some relief, you think you might just expire from the pent up desire threatening to burst you at your seams.

It’s not good, you know, when you can’t help but think about Detective Tom Ludlow, and how part of this aching madness in your loins is built up from his brash brand of torture, and you can’t help but imagine what it might be like to feel his rough hands pinning you to the wall like a butterfly. Maybe it’s just the wine, but these distracted thoughts are not good at all.

Julian half carries you, half guides you in a halting walk further down the hallway, opening a door and ushering you inside. It’s a bedroom, though if its his room, you can’t really tell at a glance. It’s nicely decorated, fairly normal, no chains hanging from the ceilings or racks on the walls, and the bed is soft as he presses you back into it with another bone-melting kiss.

He props himself on his elbows so he can look down at you with a mischievous warm smile that lights up your insides. “You really are beautiful,” he tells you gently, tracing your hairline at your temple.

God. If he keeps telling you like this, maybe you will start believing him. 

You tug on his tie to bring him back to you, craving another of his sweet kisses. He narrows his eyes at you playfully, and you watch with fascination as he reaches up to loosen the silk noose around his neck. 

“Wait.” You halt him, hand on his chest, and he stops the little show. 

“What? You okay?” It doesn’t occur to you that this man is just as needy as you are until you hear the heavy pant in his voice, the gravelly scratch of desire polluting his usual smooth pitch that reminds you way too much of someone else that you’re trying not to think about—and failing miserably at. 

“I don’t know if I’m ready for all of that,” you say honestly, opening up raw in exchange for the concern on his pretty, angled face. 

“Being tied up?” He asks, smoothing your hair off your temple. 

“No, I’ve been tied up before.” Although that’s a story for a different day, it’s not like you’re the Virgin Mary, and you don’t want to be—you don’t want him to think that you are—a prude. 

“Was it…a bad experience for you?” As he asks this he strokes your hair, petting you like soothing an animal with his light touch.

You hate to say, it’s working.

“Kind of.”

“Maybe…they didn’t stop something you didn’t like when you asked them to?”

That was the understatement of the century.

You close your eyes against the sinking feeling that overcomes you, when you even slightly crack the lockbox that is your stockpile of unpleasant memories from your youth.

“No,” you answer simply, but you know he can hear it all in the roughness of your voice in that one small word.

“What if we have a safeword? If I do anything you don’t like, you say the word, and I promise you I will stop.”

You freeze like a rabbit that's been spotted by a predator, as you mull this over. You know that’s how these things are supposed to go. But once a man has you tied up and at his mercy…he can do anything he wants with you. And men can be so awful, when they feel like they have all the power in their hands.

Is this man awful? It certainly doesn’t seem so. But dear god, you have been so wrong before.

“Maybe….” You roll your eyes up to the ceiling, searching for the right words, determined, for once, not to hide your own needs in favor of someone else’s. “Maybe if you help me understand why this is something you need so much?”

You know it’s possible you’re killing the vibe with such a demand—but maybe it wouldn’t be a bad thing to slow down and talk.

He blinks down at you, undoubtedly not used to being inquisitioned like this by anyone. “That’s…a big question.”

A surge of annoyance rises in you—as if dating isn’t dangerous enough for women as it is—he’s literally asking you to trust him with your life.

“Oh my god. Ok, get off.” You start to squirm beneath him, pushing at his chest. For a moment you panic, because he is big, and you know he’s not going anywhere, unless he wants to.

To his credit, and your great surprise–he actually does. He seems disappointed, and his breathing is heavy, his beautiful hair disheveled, but he’s not angry. At least, as far as you can tell. He shoves his hands in his pockets, maybe to keep them off of you.

It is hard not to stare at the sizeable bulge in his preppy khakis.

He blows a long breath out of his nostrils, closing his eyes. “I like to be in charge,” he tells you quietly, not opening his eyes, “Because when I was far too young, my stepmother groomed me to be her pretty plaything. I thought I was getting revenge on my father, because I was angry at him for divorcing my mother. But the joke was on me. I did…anything she asked, and she asked a lot. I didn’t even realize how fucked up it was, until I went away to college. When she sensed she was losing her hold on me, she actually tried to get me to drop out, then she tried to get me expelled. She was a fucking piece of work, and that’s why I am the way I am.” 

When at last he works up the courage to look at you, he finds you sitting on the edge of the bed in your pretty dress like a rumpled flower, with tears in your eyes for him. “I’m so sorry, Julian…” You reach for him, even though you’re unsure he even wants to be held.

“And I like to bind my partners’ hands, because sometimes being touched during what should be the most wonderful act a man can enjoy reminds me of her, and I can’t stand it. Even…when I’m with someone who I want to touch me.” He gives you a pointed look then, and you understand, and you don’t think he’s trying to manipulate you. He’s just telling you an ugly truth.

Now, it seems you’re both agitated, and what had promised to be a lovely evening is now spiraling down into the abyss. You can’t help but feel responsible for that.

Julian shakes himself, and shakes his head. You feel him drawing away from you, even before he’s moved his feet. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I promise, I don’t want to hurt you.” 

Then he does start to retreat, but you reach out to him. “Julian, wait…”

He freezes in his tracks, looking up at you through the curtain of his silky hair.

“Pineapple.” 

He lifts an eyebrow, genuinely confused. “Excuse me?”

“That’s my safe word.”

To be honest, you’re not entirely sure if you’re doing this because you want to, or because as usual, you sense someone needs a part of you for their own wellbeing, more than you think you do.

His mouth twists in a smile seemingly involuntarily. “I suppose that isn’t something one usually hears in the throes of passion.”

“Isn’t that the point?”

“Yes.” His look sharpens upon you then, and you feel a fresh gush of moisture between your legs, your bare toes curling. Suddenly, he seems taller, somehow, as though he’s taking up more space in the room than before. “Are you sure about this, y/n?”

Not really, but this won’t be the first time you jump in head first to something you don’t know if you can handle. “Yeah. I believe you, when you say you won’t hurt me.”

Maybe you’re not sure exactly where the whole punishment thing fits in he was talking about earlier, but you assume you’ll get to that later.

He nods, his nostrils flaring as he looks you over again. You watch as his chest rises and falls with deep breaths. And then he returns to loosening that shining blue silk tie from his neck, sliding the fine fabric between his long fingers. “I picked this color tonight because I thought it would look so pretty on you,” he admits. 

“How…thoughtful?” You can’t help but tease him, even if your heart is suddenly hammering in your chest.

“Hmm. Someone always has something smart to say.” He strides across the room to you, boldly standing between your legs at the edge of the bed. 

“I think you like it?” You can’t help the squeak in your voice, and it makes him smirk down at you. It’s unnervingly similar to someone else who likes to throw around an insouciant half smile, and your fingers curl in the bedspread by your thighs.

Do not think about Tom right now.

It’s too late, of course.

“Give me your hands.” There is that authoritative tone again, that makes everyone at the hospital and out in the real world stand at attention. Everyone, but Tom Ludlow, of course. Unbidden, the image of Tom’s fist making that irreverent gesture out the window enters your head—and like the idiot you are, you smile.

It causes Julian to look at you strangely, searching you out. “What’s so funny?”

You sigh, closing your eyes against that probing stare. “I don’t know,” you deflect, master of the witty riposte as always. Hoping to distract him, you offer up your wrists. “Like this?” you ask, and golly if your ploy doesn’t work.

“That’s my good girl.” A damning warmth spreads through you from his praise, and you watch with fascination as he loops your wrists with the blue silk, tying it off with a beautiful bow that does look pretty against your skin. “We’ll start with this,” he tells you. “If you really want, you can undo it with your teeth.”

Biting your lip, you nod up at him, appreciating the gesture. 

“Tell me the safeword?” He asks, lifting your hands up above your head, looking absolutely feral, ready to eat you alive. 

“Pineapple,” you tell him, flexing your hands above your head and pushing your tits out for him. God, it’s been forever since you’ve had anything inside you besides your own boring fingers, and you’re more than ready for him to take the straining bulge out of his pants and slip it into your perpetually aching cunt. 

“Keep your hands above your head for me?” You can tell by his tone that it’s more of a demand than an ask, but at least he's trying to be sweet despite wrestling internally with some beast that wants to bind you immobile and shove a gag in your mouth. 

Every hair stands on end at just the thrill of having his silky, non committed tie around your wrists, so you wonder how you’d fair in something stricter. Apparently, your vagina likes the theory of it, because she pulses insistently for some kind of attention—Jesus, any kind of attention that’s not just from you.

You and her may argue sometimes—much more now that Ludlow has kicked the imaginary door of your life down and stormed in for a raid—but you still share the same brain, and both of you agree that Julian is very fucking hot while he takes off his upper attire to reveal toned, tight, thin muscle and perfect golden skin. 

“Is there, um, anything you want me to call you?” You ask, little toes curling and flexing on his comforter. 

“You want to properly address me?” His teeth peek out of the wayward grin, hands slipping the belt out of his pants and filling you with Tom thoughts again. 

“Yeah, I do.”

“How about Doctor? Something familiar?”

“Something tells me you’ve thought of this scenario before,” you muse, toying with the wrought iron post of his bed. You have to admit, Doctor isn’t your favorite term of endearment, but you suppose that if it makes him fuck you sooner it doesn’t really matter. 

Sans pants, his cock tents and fills his briefs, and that tiny creature living inside you comes out of her burrow to remind you that she’s very, very hungry. He really is a gorgeous specimen of a man. You could probably find his mimic in a museum statue or erotic magazine with only one huge, girthy difference. 

How the fuck is that monster not going to hurt you after years of only having your own little fingers for comparison? 

“Jesus,” you breathe, unaware that you say it out loud at first. 

He pumps his hand once or twice over the silk coated shaft, showing off that big, beautiful cock and rubbing a bead of pearly cum over the tip. “Hands above your head, y/n, and don’t make me say it a third time.” 

You bite your lip hard to keep from groaning in protest and place those conniving, sneaky limbs up above you again. “Yes, Doctor.” It would sound strange to you if you had any common sense right now—if your brain wasn’t currently leaking out of your cunt. 

A little piece of you—actually and worryingly it’s more than just a little piece—wants to challenge him to see exactly what he’ll do. 

“Do you want me to tell you what I wanted to do to you when you disobeyed my orders?” 

“Spank me?” You ask, words too bold for how you’re feeling—how your whole body is overflowing with burning, bashful blood and sinking into the cushion of his bed to hide. 

He laughs, low and wicked, and shakes his head. At least you get a little needy grumble from him, although you’re not sure if that’s because he’s stroking his cock or not. “No, not spank you. I think you’d enjoy that too much.”

“Then what?” You raise your chin a little bit, and the look he pins you with reminds you of what wild horses must see in the person’s eyes that wants to ride and break and domesticate them. A little panic alarm lights up your brain, and it gets louder the more he talks. 

“Instead of rubbing these tired, sore feet, I would have gotten a thin piece of finished wood and whipped them with it.” 

Your toes instantly curl and tuck in defense, heels digging into the bed to shy away from his mean words. “I don’t know if I’d like that,” you admit.

“That’s the point of a punishment, little girl. You’re not supposed to like it.” Julian transforms into something scary for the first time, and you think this might be that dominant side of him coming to bat again. You don’t really like it when he’s all business no play, void of jokes and grins, snarling like a rabid jaguar. 

“Julian, I don’t think I’m comfortable with that. It scares me.” 

His ferocity goes limp right along with his dick, and the sight of that makes you want to scream and cry and pound your fists on the floor like a tantrum throwing child. Your vagina, who was just minutes ago getting along with you, once again wants you dead. 

Dr. Jekyll sits beside you on the bed and puts a soothing, heating pad hand on your belly. “I’m sorry, are you alright? I shouldn’t have gone into that so fast. I got carried away. It’s been a while.” 

Although his apology is warranted, and what he says is true about going too far, that caretaker in your blood wants nothing more than to soothe him while he has a mini existential crisis about making you feel uncomfortable. You sit up and rub his shoulders with bound hands. 

“Julian, it’s okay. I get it. I’m sorry.” 

“There’s nothing for you to be sorry for,” he replies, combing a hand through his soft hair. “We should have discussed details before jumping in. I just”—he cups your cheek and kisses your head—“I’ve wanted you for a long time.” 

The thought of having to go through a detailed discussion before having sex with your partner every time has the opposite effect of Tom Ludlow’s—fuck, here he is again—spontaneity and makes your pussy dry up. 

As though he senses you’re about to take your teeth to his very nice silk tie, he turns to unbind your hands with one deft pull. You feel fine, but you can’t stop yourself from rubbing your wrists. You sit there in the quiet together for what feels like a long time, your head resting lightly on his shoulder.

“Y/n?”

“Yeah?” He takes your hand, kissing your palm. “That thing I told you? It’s not something I offer up freely to anyone. Not even my playmates.”

You nod against him. “I understand.”

“I just…wanted you to know me.”

The human need to lay yourself bare in the hopes of acceptance is something you understand all too well—and something you never do anymore, because it just always ends badly. That he wanted you that much squeezes your heart in a merciless fist, because the healer in you wants to help him, but you’re not sure you can give this man what he really needs.

“Did you…want me before I talked back to you?” Suddenly the question is burning in your brain and you have to know.

Julian smirks at that. “You’ve always talked back to me, y/n.” With that he kisses your forehead, and starts to get dressed again. 

What a goddamned shame.

It’s totally not helpful, but you can’t stop yourself from thinking that if Tom had you in this position tonight, you wouldn’t be able to walk right, and not because you’d said the wrong thing and got yourself punished with a sliver of wood or whatever the fuck Julian kept in his closet.

You wouldn’t be going home feeling even emptier than when you arrived.

Maybe, you wouldn’t be going home at all.

Julian asks you to stay with him a while longer to cuddle on the couch and watch a movie—some cheap new thriller that makes you both jump and gasp. It’s sort of funny, to watch the man that was just spouting off his desire to use ancient torture methods on you get scared at a guy with a shiny knife popping out of bushes. 

At one point, while you’re laying on his bare chest and inhaling the citrusy sweat of his skin and becoming increasingly warm to the idea of giving his discarded silky tie another try, you start tracing your fingers down the hard line of his stomach, flicking over the elastic of his thin sweatpants. 

He stalls your movement, and looks down at you apologetically. “Not tonight, honey.” 

You know he was just fiending for your bound form with his dick in his hand, so you’re not sure why he’s stopping you, but your woe-is-me brain immediately, and as usual, jumps to the conclusion that he never wanted you in the first place. 

You will not be the giving tree anymore. You will not be the obsessed, lovesick girl willing to do anything just to get that same love back. You won’t—you can’t—do it again. 

“It’s late,” you sigh, sitting up. You’ve long sobered from dinner, and you’re tired, and you kind of want to be alone so you can go home and cry. “Thank you for dinner.” You’re not so sure about the rest, and in the rueful curl of Julian’s lips you can tell he’s well aware how disappointing all this was. For both of you, you suppose. He kisses you goodnight at the door, and you get in your car to drive home.

[missbluesunflowersstuff]

Some Duke Thomas headcanon

This is my personal vision . Please respect

No one of the batkids know how Duke's power actually works, then when Duke says random thing everyone believe in him. If Duke says he can fly, then he can fly, that's that

Duke 100% believes that Cassandra and Damian are cryptids (for different reasons)

In Cass side - there was this day when he was watching a movie when he suddenly felt something sitting next to him, it was Cass. He didn't even see her come in, she didn't even make a sound, she just show up in one blink

In Damian side - there one night were only Duke and Damian in the library, Duke then saw something shiny through the window outside the house, It made him anxious, but Damian just looked at him blankly and said with a morbid calm "can you see them too? Today is a really beautiful night, they are dancing" (Damian can see ghost in canon)

After he finds out about the Cow and Goliath (he still have questions about Goliath) he made the decision not to be impressed by any strange animals in the house, assuming they all belonged to Damian. Do they have a chicken in the dining room? Damian's new pet. Is there a snake around the house? Damian's new pet. Is there an ancient squid-like being dressed as a bat walking around Gotham? Bruce should make a rule about what kind of animal Damian can adopt

Duke knows about the dead Robin club (Steph, Jason and Damian) and I die for some minutes (Tim), he made the decision of not die. Just he don't die. And somehow HE JUST CAN'T DIE.

in the future Duke (when Bruce retire and the kids just vibes) is called "Duke the Immortal" by his brothers

He actually still watches movies with Damian when the boy is in the town, Dick and Steph are the one who join them the most

One time Duke finds Jason's library (that house is HUGE), he still don't figure out who that library belong to but that place is so cozy, he really likes it

Also he and Jason are the street smarth duo

On a patrol they don't even need to use words to understand what the other wants to do, just a few slight signals and everything is solved

Even though he is in charge of patrol during the day, he may still be called "Robin" by the ghotamites (he has mixing feelings about this)

He is definitively not "the normal one", he enjoy the chaos in the same way of the others gremlins, he just never gets caught

Since he was adopted by Bruce, he has a list of heroes and celebrities he wants to meet

Like every Gotham child he admired Batman and Robin, but now that he knows them all... Duke has some regrets...

he realized from day one that neither Jason nor Damian has a warm body, but he never said it out loud for fear of pushing a button

Duke and Dick are the most emotionally intelligent in the house, Duke just don't bring this often

he has a sketchbook and likes to draw about his day, random doodles about the villian, some batshit thing and random things he saw on patrol

He is also, after Dick, who can take care of a kid with no problem

If he has some questions about some vigilant stuff (like the pit, owl people and others crazy stuff) he asked Alfred or Babs. The motive is: he doesn't trust that the others will give him the complete answer (after the "they're big evil" or "the things made boom near them" Duke was tired of asking and decided to go to Alfred to know the correct information)

He doesn't see Bruce as a father, more like a weird uncle, but he really bonds with the kids, he still doesn't know how to label this yet but he enjoys their company

Some batkid headcanon: Damian || Duke || Cassandra || Stephanie || Tim || Jason || Dick

[goodolddumbbanana]

(Molten/Sun platonic) A little nightmare [TW: Violence, blood, maybe bugs]

Summary: I like angsty and fluff. i have problem man.

The Thing Creator install still inside Sun's head. It still totured Sun but it made him forget everything after he woke up.

They say there are three things that separate machines from humans.

The first is that humans feel pain, machines don't.

The second is that humans can dream, machines don't.

And the last is that humans have emotions, machines can only fake them.

So when all three conditions are met, can machines call themselves human?

***

Someone's heavy breathing. The hallway is dyed red with blood, seeing the fleeing figure struggling in the swamp of flesh and bone that is dragging them down. They are like trapped in the stomach of a monster, with the walls vibrating in a steady rhythm as if breathing and the flickering eyes that watch their misery like something to behold.

Sun tries to pull himself out of the swamp. His limbs thrash in panic, as his mouth opens, hoping to get some oxygen. A sweet, fishy taste rushed into Sun’s mouth, making him make pitiful gurgling noises as he was about to choke.

‘It’s not real.’

‘It’s all in your head, Sun.’

‘Be patient, Moon will come to save you.’

But no matter how many times he repeated the mantra, Sun himself couldn’t believe it.

Every night. Every damn freaking night. Sun would be stuck here, reliving the endless pain his dear old father had left him the day that wretched old hag hacked into his head.

First was the broken leg .

Pain that made him hard to breathe. Pain that felt like his lungs were being squeezed and submerged in water. Pain worse than anything Eclipse and Moon had ever put him through before, pain that left him unable to scream. His nails dug into the metal, bending it and creating ugly scratches and dents as an unhealthy defense mechanism to ease the pain. 

If Sun had a tongue, he would have bitten it off by now.

Then came the loss of vision .

The mist was so thick it was hard to breathe, surrounding Sun like a heavy, wet blanket. It clung to Sun’s throat, sharp as if it contained tiny metal fragments, invading Sun’s circuit boards and fans like termites, feasting on the wires inside Sun’s body. It felt like thousands of worms were eating him from the inside out, with buzzing sounds mixed with screams that almost reached the limits of Sun’s madness.

‘Tear it out… Tear it out… Take it all out! PLEASE!!!’

Sun cried out for help, but nobody came. His pearly eyes were still red, the smell of burning flesh lingering in his nose like sap on the hottest day. The electric explosions were whistling inside him, the system kept popping out golden triangles, even now, it was replaced by plump white legless creatures crawling across his inner screen.

Hearing was the last thing.

In that eerie silence, Sun's screams were swallowed into nothingness. He had a mouth, but he couldn't scream.

***

"Frog dissection experiments are really inhumane, right Mr.Sun?"

Sun blinked, and suddenly, he was in the daycare. The room music was whispering in his ears, and the brilliant colors of light kissed Sun's skin.

'Wha–?!'

A small hand grabbed Sun's ribbon and shook it. The little boy with the superhero cape had eyes shining like stars, looking at him with anticipation and excitement.

"What did you say? I don't understand..." Sun stuttered. "Well... It's educational to some extent... I guess?"

"Sunny!!..." The kid huffed. The other kids looked at each other with amusement.

"See, Huey, you're wrong!" Another kid, wearing big glasses and blond hair, shouted.

"Shut up Jackie! My mom says it's not nice to hurt animals!" Huey waved his arms wildly, for some reason the red of the cape wrapped around this kid reminded him of blood.

"Pfft!! You are chicken!! Chicken Huey!" Jackie stuck out his tongue.

The twins behind him squealed with laughter, matching the rhyme: "Huey's a chicken! Huey's a chicken!"

"Come on James, Jamie. You can't tease Huey like that." Sun cut off the teasing when he noticed Huey was starting to tear up. “That’s not good, okay?”

“I’m not a chicken.” Huey’s eyes were red, his voice starting to crack. Sun pulled Huey into his arms, patting the child’s back. A sick feeling came over him as the child lay snugly in his arms.

“No one said Huey was a chicken. You’re the bravest person I know. Those kids were just teasing…”

“But what do you think, Sunny?”

A whisper rang out in Sun’s heart. The music had stopped at some point, and something was dripping behind Sun.

“What–!?”

“Do you think that because a frog’s life is worth less than a human’s, it deserves to be tortured like that, Sun?”

Something slipped out of Sun’s arms, falling to the ground. A human body, the body of a child. In Sun’s arms was only Huey’s head. Two empty eye sockets stared at him, the boy’s mouth still open, smiling at him.

In the blink of an eye, what had once been the daycare was gone. Bodies were strewn everywhere, and blood was in Sun's hands. But right now, Sun was too small, too weak. A laugh rang out, a laugh that Sun was sure was his own, but it didn’t escape his mouth.

His clone, another Sun, stood before Sun with a look of satisfaction. There was blood on the other’s sunbeam, and his intestines and brains were still neatly placed on the monster’s shoulders.

“Brother, look. We have a winner~~~”

“Oh~~~Why don’t we give the winner a prize?”

Sun didn’t even have time to react.‌ The other’s claws shot out, grabbed Sun’s head, and slammed it hard against the ground. He couldn’t move, couldn’t scream, couldn’t do anything but watch as his brains were splattered and his limbs were torn to pieces like rag dolls.

***

“Doctor, look at this specimen.” Sun suddenly found himself trapped in some kind of operating room, with his real body. Surrounded by anatomical images of fish, frogs, and even worms. Opposite his sight was a fish tank. The goldfish swam silently inside, circling around a moon doll whose head was torn off by someone. “Even though it’s dead, it can still move~~~”

Bloodmoon appeared before Sun’s eyes, the red moon model grinning at him with delight, the monster wearing a pure white nurse’s uniform, not a single blemish in contrast to their bloody hands.

The other person was also Bloodmoon, but it was the one who had been destroyed by Puppet. Over their red and blue coats was a surgical gown that specialized doctors often wore.

Sun felt the inside of his chest split open, these two gremlins's hands rudely stirring up the wires and circuit boards inside.

“ Hmm, you’re right, my nurse. Let’s say, I think if we increase the current, I feel like we can make some progress��.” Blood nodded, as they ruthlessly tore the fan off Sun’s body.

“ Aren’t you afraid it will die again? ” The other chuckled, but his hand was already ready to plug the power cord into Sun’s charger.

“ Isn't It just a useless thing, my nurse? We can easily replace it with something else .”

And the pain tore everything white, accompanied by Bloodmoon’s cruel chuckle.

***

Sun felt like he was going crazy.

Maybe he was already crazy.

In a blink of an eye, he was back in hell. His whole body was shaking, choking on the air filled with mist and smoke, with a heavy feeling like someone’s hand was dragging him down into the mud. Sun could only limp to the ground, even moving an inch was enough to hurt him so much that he couldn’t breathe.

A black figure stood staring at him, an almost octopus-like body with tendrils shooting out all around, pitch black with irises staring back at him.

“What more do you want!!?” Sun spat. He glared at the person in front of him. His torturer. His prisoner. His newest roommate for over a dozen days.

The Thing.

And as always, the bastard said nothing. A virus, whose sole purpose was to torture him, that didn’t even have a sentient yet.

It moved closer to Sun, the seemingly delicate yet sturdy metal wires pulling Sun up despite Sun’s feeble struggles. The wires clung to the joints and shafts of the frame, tight enough to make him walk like a puppet.

“What?!‌! Say something!!!”

There was only silence in response. There was the sound of dripping water, and the rattling of plastic balls in Sun’s ears. The pain suddenly disappeared, as did the unreadable look on ‘The Thing ’s’ face, always shrouded in red mist.

Sun felt no pain. He felt nothing. He felt empty, so empty and peaceful that it was scary.

Suddenly, a loud, harsh noise, the sound of metal breaking.

What could it be? Sun wondered absentmindedly, suddenly finding his vision lowered.

Oh… The thing that broke turned out to be him.

Piece by piece… Piece by piece the metal that had once shaped Sun fell, crumbling to dust. His face fell off, sinking into the water.

The darkness was cold and too suffocating.

Sun prayed that this would be his final destination.

***

“Sun? Sun, wake up.”

A strange, monotonous, mechanical sound rang out in Sun’s ears.‌ The saffron-colored animatronic jerked awake in confusion, its mouth opening in a jumble of questions.

A soft icy blue light caught Sun’s eyes. A Freddy model with white fur and orange spots, looked at him curiously.

“Oh? Molten? What’s wrong?”

“Oh, no. I saw you fall asleep. Are you tired, Sun?”

Sun looked around in confusion. He was sitting in front of the movie screen. It was strange, when did he fall asleep? He and Molten were watching a movie. Something from Marvel… Then maybe he fell asleep because he was bored? Sun checked his internal system, and found that his battery was only below 30%.

“Oh… It’s okay Molten, I just forgot to plug it in. I guess practicing magic somehow drained my energy more than usual.”

“Can I help? I want to help.” Molten’s ears twitched as if he was excited. It was strange because Sun had never seen Freddy or any Freddy model like Molten.

It was… quite cute to some extent.

“Oh, no need.” Sun stood up and stretched. His whole body was sore, probably from lying in the wrong position. Right now, all he wanted to do was lie in bed, but the thought of going back to sleep or standing up to charge somehow made him feel discouraged .

Never mind, he could charge himself standing up with the solar power anyway.

“Are you used to everything here, Molten?”

“Yes! Everyone here is really nice!!” Sun could feel stars twinkling in Molten's eye as they rambled on about Moon, about Solar, about Daycare…

“And you haven’t met Jack and Dazzle yet. They’re all pretty cool, trust me.” Sun chuckled, his eyes wandering to the chair where the popcorn crumbs were scattered. It was dirty , bugs, bugs, he hated bugs… Why does he feel like he wants to hit something right now?

“Oh, new friends? I like having new friends. We can play games, and watch movies…” Molten nodded. Their hands were bent, but the sharp, smooth wire still made a rustling sound along the way. Something made Sun feel uneasy, but Sun didn't know what it was.

Maybe he should ask Moon to run the system again, it had been a long time since he had upgraded anyway.

But maybe later. Moon was quite busy, and Solar too. The Computer got broke, which caused them a lot of trouble. Too much work to do and too little time to spend.

"But you're fine, Sun." The words sounded so gentle in Sun's ears that he was startled. Sun looked up, Motlen's face still looked the same, a look of innocent joy that made Sun a mixture of guilt and relaxation.

Why are you so nice to me? I don't deserve it, I really don't deserve it at all. I'm not as smart as Moon or as reliable as Solar. Even Monty is more responsible than me.

I will destroy you.

I will be the venom that will burn you from the inside.

I will turn the best part of you into something ugly, like Rocksan, like Nexus, all because I dare to think about caring.

Eclipse is right, I'm an ungrateful idiot who only knows how to cling to others.

As if reading his mind, Molten smiled. "I love to hang out with you because I know you are a good and caring person. But I know it is hard for you to believe it. So I will keep saying these words until you believe the words I say are true."

Something stirred in Sun's chest, so quickly that he immediately suppressed the feeling.

Can he really have a friend? Someone wouldn't suddenly break like Rocksan, someone wouldn’t be so spiral like Nexus.

Is it okay for him to have someone other than Moon?

“Hahahaha… yeah sure, Molten.”

Sun laughed, but inside he had no answer to that confusion.

Please leave me.Please stay with me.

***

“Hope is a terrible thing, Sun. It keeps you from giving up no matter how hard things get, but it can also make your situation worse without you even knowing it. Why is the sinner clings to a spider’s thread, even though he knows it will break, he still tries to climb up countless times?

That is because of hope, or desperation?

A song that is danced to many times will become boring too, don’t you think it is true, son? Are you ready to give up?”

Creator asked his creation affectionately, who was forcefully sitting on a throne that was stacked high with human bones.

Exhausted, bloody, bruised, and stained with a clean brown and yellow, the son of the most self-absorbed bastard on the planet, who could only move his head right now, gritting out the words.

“Go to hell, old man.”

“Oh well, and I thought I am making some progress.  It's a shame this talk didn’t work out. Let's try again, my boy. See you next time, Sun.”

The brain chuckled, and once again the hands grabbed Sun and pulled him into the water, making gurgling, gurgling sounds.

“Maybe I should switch the target to Molten.”

[iwaoiness]

Foolbirds

"Are you talking to Iwaizumi?" Matsukawa asks quietly, pretending to pay attention to the physics problem the teacher is explaining on the board.

Sitting next to him, in the back row, Oikawa stiffens, raising his head toward Issei, and blinking. His lips are curved into a soft smile that he hasn't given him time to disguise.

"What?"

Mattsun smiles, peeling his eyes away from the board to direct them towards Tooru's phone on the table. It’s tucked under the thick physics book, screen on and brightness at minimum.

“You’re not subtle at all.”

Oikawa’s cheeks quickly turn red and he frowns, narrowing his big eyes.

“I’m not talking to Iwa-chan, it’s just… mom”

“Do you smile like a fool in love with your mom?”

"Actually, I didn't say it's my mom, maybe I'm talking to yours" He smiles proudly, but Issei arches an eyebrow, maintaining eye contact, amused watching Oikawa's ears also turn red and his lips quiver.

"Nice try, but you're not convincing at all."

Tooru's expression turns into a pout and he snorts, averting his gaze.

"... It’s Iwa-chan" He mumbles.

"Mmh" He hums, expanding his lazy smile as he turns his vision back towards the board. "Lovebirds"

"We're not!" He babbles too loudly, grabbing the attention of the class and halting the teacher's explanation.

Matsukawa has to make a titanic effort not to laugh as Oikawa (who curses him under his breath) quickly turns away, sketching his best innocent smile, the one that says I’m the best and more reliable student.

"Is there something you'd like to share with the class, Oikawa-kun?" The sensei arches an eyebrow, one hand on her waist and the other holding the chalk.

"Just how well you teach the class, sensei" He broadens his smile, cocking his head slightly in a gesture he knows no one can resist.

The sensei blinks slightly in surprise, letting out an oh, thank you before smiling back at him and continuing with the explanation.

Oikawa sighs and, frowning again, pinches Matsukawa's thigh under the table when he hears him cough to hide the laughter.

"This is your fault" He sticks his tongue out at him, slouching back over his book (his phone, actually).

Matsukawa rolls his eyes in enjoyment, again pretending to be understanding Coulomb's law. It's only a matter of seconds until Tooru is visibly more relaxed and when Issei glances sideways at him, he finds him again grinning dumbly at his phone, typing subtly.

Instead of lovebirds, fool-birds, he thinks, making sure the sensei is still engrossed in her explanation before lifting the cover of his own book where he has hidden his phone and glancing at the latest messages he has received from Hanamaki.

chicken teri-maki 🦩

bro i cant handle this anymore tf are they waiting for this happens in EVERY FUCKING english class and i cant pay attention to the damn lessons bc this mf is so in love and im too gossipy to ignore it

And there is an accompanying image, somewhat blurry and from a low angle, but it is enough to see Iwaizumi's profile, with his cheek resting on his hand, eyes set on his phone hidden in his case and a small smile that he tries to conceal by gently biting his lip.

btw u know in japan we say machine to the sewing machines only but apparently in english it refers to anything from alarm clock to a piece of construction??

Then, there is another image, this time, a selfie of Makki from below, with a disgusted expression directed at the camera.

Issei snorts and, with agility, types on his phone with one hand.

welcome to the false friends's world do u know consent sounds like konsento the word we use to power outlet but consent in english its asking for permission to do something? and what do u thing our two stupids boys are talking about?

fr?? i hate the false friends sm why are we studying this shit idk dude but i swear one day ill get these two together

for my mental health and academic achievement

...

u can find me on my ao3 🌻🍉

[moonstrider9904]

Hii, this this love letter thing looks fun. So I’m going to throw my two cents in.

Character: Wolffe

Relationship details: I imagine that he was helping civilian evacuation efforts on my home planet, and he rescued me. I was relocated to Coruscant. He started checking in on me every time he was on leave. He convinced himself that it was out of an obligation to make sure I was safe and cared for, but really it was cause he was down bad for me. I think in terms of relationship dynamics I would be the sunshine to his grumpy. But something that’s interesting about me is that I am visually impaired, so I think that would also evoke his protective instincts and need to care for me. Not in an overbearing way, because I am an independent woman, but in an I’m always thinking ahead and I’m here to take care of you and make your life easier kind of way. Never doubting my abilities but intuitively knowing when I need help or when he needs to intervene.

About me: my name is Shayla. I’ve got medium length blonde hair and blue eyes, though my right one has the appearance of looking clouded over because I’ve got no vision left in it. I’m around 4‘11“, so pretty tiny, especially in comparison to the clones, and I am white. I am a little bit on the quiet/introverted side, but I’ve got a guide dog who is usually the icebreaker for people who meet me, because when she’s not working, she’s very sociable. 

Pronouns: she/her. 

Suggestive themes: your choice. Whatever strikes your fancy, i’ll be happy with whatever you come up with.

Sorry this was long. 

@ireadwithmyears Hello, there! Thank you for stopping by and celebrating with me. It's wonderful to meet you! Thanks for giving me the chance to write something for Wolffe again. He's one of my favorites and it's been so long since I've written for him. I hope you enjoy this letter from him to you!

Moon's 1300 follower celebration - a love letter from your man

My dear Shayla,

I don't think I recall a time when I was more at ease except whenever I've been there at your side. I just got word from the General that I'll be returning to Coruscant, and this shore leave couldn't have come soon enough. Knowing I'll be there with you soon is enough for the time being.

Just wait to hear all the stories I've got from this load of missions. Nothing too terrible happened, don't worry, though it's possible you'll feel a couple of new scars since the last time we slept together. I'm taking care of myself though, or at least as much as I can. I hope you're taking care too. I hate that I'm not there with you more often, I can't help myself. And I know you're alright, I just really want to be there. And the boys sure get a laugh whenever they see me with you, but they mean well. And it's not as if I don't get why they feel that way - sometimes, not even I understand how someone as joyful as you could be with an old grump such as myself.

Guess I've gotten lucky in more than one way, huh, sweetheart? 😉

Forgive me for being so forward. I'll try to be more of a gentleman when I'm with you, unless you wish for me to do otherwise.

I'd love to hear more about your life on Coruscant. Are you having any trouble adjusting? The point of this move is for you to have a good life, so please, tell me if anything isn't to your liking, big or small. I could probably ask General Plo to improve anything for you if you need it, and if not, there's always General Skywalker. He's got pull in the Senate, so if there's anything you may want, just ask.

And say hello to your dog for me. Before you ask, yes, I have some of that roasted chicken she liked last time I was around. I just hope the next few times I come and visit, she actually gets excited to see me, not the chicken I have for her.

I'm signing off now, dear. If I keep writing now, I'll finish writing this by the time I actually get to Coruscant. Can't wait to see you. Can't wait to be with you again.

Yours,

Wolffe

[chaoticgremlinwholikescheese]

Seismic Waves

AO3 LINK

"I just need to water my plants, then we'll head home, okay?"

Chris nods, seemingly unperturbed by the short detour. He was just happy to be hanging out with his Buck. What he doesn't understand is why Buck doesn't just move his plants to the Diaz house. Buck basically lives there anyway. Most of his clothes, books, and even cooking materials are at the Diaz house. Plus, Chris can't remember the last time he woke up and Buck wasn't there making breakfast.

Buck quickly waters his plants. They're pretty much the only reason he comes to his loft anymore. When he's not at work, he's at Eddie's. In all honesty, the price he's paying for the loft is far from equal to the time he spends here. It would probably be a more sound financial decision to sell the place, but he's not about to ask Eddie if he can move in. Even if he basically lives there anyway.

"Can we get ice cream on the way home?"

"It's almost dinner time. After dinner we can grab some, and we can bring your dad, yeah?"

"Are you making chicken for dinner?"

"Yup! And I'll need my sous chef to help," Buck smiles. 

He's about to water the last plant when it happens. He feels the faint vibrations through the floorboards before the actual quake hits. Everything seems to slow down, seconds stretching into eons. Buck sees cracks spiderweb up the wall. The ground starts to give way. He yells Chris' name, lunges towards him, bundles the boy into his arms just as the floor falls out from beneath them. He curls his body around Chris, angling them so that he'll take the brunt of the impact when they land. 

When he hits the ground, it takes him a second to register it. Then the pain sets in. All the air is knocked from his lungs, and he can feel a rib or two snap. There's a sharp ache in his left side, and he can feel wetness slowly soaking through his shirt. He's definitely bleeding. His vision won't clear and he can't seem to get his head to stop pounding. He hears someone calling his name. 

"Buck! Buck!"

Chris' voice breaks through the fog in his brain. Chris, he needs to check on Chris-

Buck sits up, which turns out to be a mistake. The pain that shoots through him makes the ringing in his ears return. He gasps, but gets himself upright. Chris is on his knees in front of Buck, looking terrified. Buck quickly scans him for injuries. Besides a small cut on his forehead, the boy seems to be unharmed. 

"You okay?"

"I'm fine. But you're bleeding."

Chris points at the wound on Buck's side. It's steadily leaking blood, red overcoming the blue of his shirt. He clamps a hand down on it. He can feel the pulse of blood beneath his fingers. They seem to have fallen into the basement below. Dust hangs thick in the air. There's concrete and rubble all around them. The whole building must have collapsed on top of them. They're completely trapped down here. 

Buck pulls out his phone. The screen is cracked, the device mangled beyond recognition. It's useless. If Chris wasn't here, Buck would be cursing up a storm. The two of them are stuck under an entire building with no way to get in touch with the outside world. This quake was a big one. The 118 is probably going to be running from scene to scene. And of course, this is the day when Eddie is on shift and Buck isn't. 

"It's dark in here," Chris says quietly.

"I know. Someone will find us soon. We're going to be alright."

Chris curls himself into Buck's good side. Buck uses his free hand to pull the boy closer. 

"Hey, you remember that documentary we watched about sharks? It got me think about megalodons," Buck starts, trying to distract Chris from their current situation.

"I asked Dad if we could go see the new Meg movie. He said it was too scary and violent."

"Mm, I'll have to agree with him on that one. The two of us watched the first one. I was jumping the whole time."

What Buck doesn't mention is that Eddie ended up holding Buck because he was so scared. It wasn't something out of the ordinary for the two of them to do. Buck had loved it though, the feeling of being held by Eddie. As if they were a proper couple. He knows that it's wrong to think of your best friend like that. But he can't help it. His heart belongs to Eddie. It was his from the first day they met. 

"Do you think there are really megalodons in the ocean?"

"Honestly, I don't know. But I wouldn't be surprised if there were."

"I want to learn how to scuba dive one day. It would be cool to explore the oceans."

"Scuba diving is fun. I used to do it before I came to LA."

"Did you ever see Atlantis?"

"Nope. But I saw some pretty cool fish. I even saw an octopus once."

Chris continues to ask him questions about his experiences scuba diving. Buck had gotten trained when he thought about becoming a SEAL. Even though he didn't go through with the enlistment, the skills he learned came in handy. He used to love scuba diving, loved the ocean. But after the Tsunami he can't see the ocean the same way. Instead of filling him with a sense of calm it fills him with dread. He almost lost Chris that day. And here they are again, in danger, all because of Buck.

Logically Buck knows he couldn't have predicted this. But he never should have brought Chris to his loft, just like he never should have brought Chris to the pier. He just wanted to water his fucking plants.

"Since we won't have time to make the chicken tonight, can we order in pizza?"

"Sure. And maybe we can convince your dad to let us watch the Meg."

"If both of us ask, he won't stand a chance," Chris says confidently. 

Read the rest on AO3

[crackedpumpkin]

“Chicken and croffles” I had flashbacks at that man. There’s this person I watch and they were telling their story of trying to rizz someone through food, and by rizz I mean they tried to impress an attractive waiter, but fumbled a bit and ordered chicken and waffles. He got so nervous they ordered the first thing he saw, which was chicken and waffles. How attractive was this waiter? So attractive that his friends literally had to warn them and also tried to clean him up a bit to look more presentable LMAO

Really liked this chapter!!! Love the sceneries and how Miles and “Ray Paynt” interacted!!!! Something about how you write feels real, like even in the little things with Miles’ “It’s a choice.” And when dragging him along to the cafe at an unexpected notice. Stop writing food so deliciously it’s nearly 8am for me and I’m wanting some nice fruit-ade or something!!! 😭/pos

From one Michael to another, MICHAEL STAHP WITH THE TOUCHING YOU’RE GONNA GET YOUR WILLYIAM CHOPPED OFF FR

omfg i felt that fr im not even kidding. what i would give to be on the receiving end of that starstruckness.... okay in all honesty I'd probably be that very dude dropping my utensils.

WAIT OKAY STORY TIME BECAUSE IVE GOT ONE OF MY OWN:

So i recently went to korea in june and i went with 2 other friends who went to queue up at the NIKE store in the morning for their customization stuff right? So I wake up later and i go grab a coffee first at this store my friend recommended because it's cheap + rly good.

As such, I casually stroll along the street with my earbuds in bc im cool and swag and feeling myself right? I finally find this coffee shop and step up to the counter to order, except what do i see?

A GORGEOUS, STUNNING GIRL MANNING THE CASHIER.

At this point i am in full blown panic. I have never met anyone so pretty in my life. Her hair was silky smooth and dyed a light platinum-ish shade, and her makeup was flawless. her skin? dewy like a morning glory in bloom. Her entire figure and being? goddesslike.

at this point i am sweating buckets just from the thought of talking to her. but it's fine, right? its just a cup of coffee. i can do this.

i then proceed to ABSOLUTELY FUMBLE MY WORDS.

I just wanted this pretty drink called a franobe guys. thats all i wanted. but i got so shy and she couldnt hear me saying franobe so she kept going 'ah, latte?' and guys. i almost died on the spot.

I repeated it like 2x before she got what i was trying to say. Quick PSA that i am not fluent in korean at all, and understand more than i can speak. she asks me something in korean and i just go 'ne?' with wideass eyes like id just seen my newborn child or some shit.

anyway i finally manage to pay and get my drink and i walk away with my head practically in my hands. up till this day i am paranoid she thinks im an idiot. this is my chicken and croffles story for all you guys out there.

also im straight but this is one of the rare exceptions i lost my composure fr. what can i say? im w e ak.

im really glad you liked this chapter !! if it's one trait i could've given my characters or reader oc its the endless funds to go cafe hopping. cafe hopping is so, so fun, but so, so expensive like goddamn let me live my main character life in peace fr....

it's euphoric to hear that you liked the little moments !! i enjoyed thinking through those and just going like ah yes, he would say this! i really love writing or thinking about the small moments that lead up to the big picture. (also @buthowboutno-spamming gave me such great advice regarding this, and i wouldnt have been able to flesh out my fic and vision if not for his advice)

michael deserves to get his dick chopped off fr. but it's okay!! I plan for all my characters to go through developmental arcs lmfao, ive gotten too attached to the two idiots to let go of their potential now :)

Go get some fruit-ade or make some yourself bro it's super easy super good. lmk if you want a recipe and im more than happy to provide~

[silvereternitywrites]

Red Rooster

Prompt: It turns out, chickens will hatch any eggs in their nests. This hen is a little concerned about her newest child, but she's going to teach him how to be a good chicken, no matter how much like a dragon he looks. Prompt Source: user nobodysgeese; subreddit “Writing Prompts”

"My son," the oldest of the hens in the yard (the one the rest of the flock gave the highest respect, calling her 'Roostmother' and accepting chastisement no matter how much they felt it undeserved) crooned lovingly to the largest of the current chick-flock, "you are strong, and you are tall, and you are beautiful. And you are still my son."

Henry, the chick's name, ducked his head respectfully the way he'd learned from the hen who'd hatched him, sitting next to the Roostmother with his tail in the dirt and never looking her in the eye.

"Of course, Roostmother. All the chicks are yours, as all the hens are your sisters and daughters. Have I done something to make you think I do not know this?"

"No, my son," she croaked, throat fluttering as she watched the current cock-in-favor strut at the edges of the yard, keeping watch for hawks and other hunters. "But it is important for you to remember, before I tell you this tale, that no matter what, you are my son, and I am your Roostmother, and this flock is your family."

Henry settled in, fluffing his wings (which didn't quite work; his wings still hadn't grown in any feathers, primary, secondary, or down, but they did have skin stretched between long bones and his back, with a glimmer just starting to bud along his skin that the Roostmother hoped were his under-feathers coming in, even if they seemed oddly shiny) and giving her all his attention just like any other chick at story-time in the evenings when the hens gathered around in the warmth of the coop and the roosters took turns sporting and guarding the door until sunrise heralded the time of rest was over.

"It is a tale from the long-ago, long before my mother's mother's mother was even a thought in her own mother's head," she clucked, softly, a cadence she had known since she was a chick much smaller than he and listening attentively to her Roostmother telling this same tale.

"In the long-ago, we were bigger than we are in the now. Three, perhaps four times- as tall as a swan, and as big as the wild turkeys our cocks sometimes drive off. The stories say that we could smell like the fox and the wolf, and our talons were fit to rival the great eagle, vision sharp as hunting hawks, and like the now, we were smart enough to live in flocks, led by the strength of our Roostmothers and guarded by our cocks so that we could circle together and form up to destroy the threats that came for us, just as we do now. The strongest of us always, always show some traits from the long-ago. Future Roostmothers- or the cocks that sire them- have one or more of those things we lost then. We ruled then, and rule now. Our servants that protect and guard us, and rid us of the dud eggs so that we are not troubled with the effort, and bring their tributes in appreciation for our majesty, are the ones we tamed in the long-ago. If you grow to become a chicken with many of the traits of the long-ago, the time may be now to gather more such servants. And as Roostmother it is my duty to ensure you are raised a good chicken, knowing Flock and protection, knowing love and fury, knowing that turning against the Flock will get you Culled by us or our servants before you could do worse damage."

Henry bobbed his head, tail swishing back and forth as his wings fluffed again.

"I understand, Roostmother. I will mind my elders and my lessons so I do not need to be Culled. But, respectfully...for right now..."

"Yes, yes, go play with your friend. Has she earned her name from her Queen yet?"

Henry's head ducked in the embarrassment gesture this time. "So far, her kitten-name is 'Tail-Puller'. She wins more often than I do at our gaming."

Loudly clucking with laughter, she sent her son off to play, and returned to the very serious business of running the yard with an iron talon.

Almost 200 years later, a red dragon who was convinced he was descended from dinosaurs demanded chickens be allowed to roam free in all his lands, and every family who served him had at least one chicken.

Other dragons wondered why on earth his humans had such shiny hair and healthily glowing skin, but the constant crowing of chickens made for conversations with their neighbor difficult, so they never did find out.

[hopefulstarfire]

Today is day 7 of my February ship prompts! And, oddly enough, uh,

Prompt 7: Movie.

I don't know how I managed that one but the number generator has spoken so 😂 apologies that this one's a bit of a shorter one but life's been a tad bit hectic but I so offer up some protectshipping in these trying times.

Previous Prompts

Day One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six

Hope you enjoy!

Being sick was the worst.

It was day 3 of whatever exactly he had come down with and it had by far been the worst of it. The last couple of days had mostly been sniffles and the occasional cough, a migraine. Today's bout came with shivers, a pressure building all across his face, fatigue, coughing fits, the works. He felt even worse that he'd had to cancel the groups game session for the week, right as they'd gotten to a really big and dramatic moment with Tomoyas character; everyone had been left on the edge of their seat with the cliffhanger they ended the last session on and he'd been so excited to get to the result this week.

They'd all been understanding, and Kat offered to see if her aunt could whip up her Memaws apparently famous chicken soup that could "cure anything in 8 hours guaranteed" (She would do it, but, respectfully, she wasn't as skilled in cooking as she was with baking). He hadn't wanted to inconvenience Chelsea when they'd apparently been busy with work, but as he laid in bed, the top half of his face being the only thing exposed by the cocoon of blankets he'd swaddled himself in, he blearily stared at his phone and debated if he should or not.

The ring of the doorbell echoed throughout the quiet apartment and he let out a weak groan. The thought to just ignore it and try to roll over and go to sleep crossed his mind. But, he (begrudgingly) argued it could be important. He kept the blankets curled around him as he rose to his feet, slowly shuffling across the floor until he got the front door.

He blinked, his vision taking a moment to focus and for him to process who it was. "Tristan?"

The other teen stood there with a backpack slung over one shoulder, one hand clutching a brown paper bag, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "At your service."

A wave of guilt washed over Ryous heart. Tristan had been the most excited for this week; he'd convinced his friend (sort of boyfriend? They'd kissed twice now; they weren't sure where they were at. Tristan was trying to get things figured out in himself and Ryou was willing to wait) to join them for this campaign and he'd initially been nervous trying to figure out stats, classes, etc, but he'd taken to it quickly and he'd been so proud of his half-orc fighter and he'd helped been an inciting cause in Tomoyas tiefling artificers big moment.

"I'm sorry, did you not see the text?" He asked softly. "I'm afraid we can't--"

"Oh, yeah, no, I saw it, it's no biggie," Tristan assured him, holding up his free hand. He then lifted the brown bag to gesture out to it. "I brought soup and some stuff to help. And I grabbed a ton of movies; I figured if you couldn't get to DM, I could bring some DND to you with some of those fantasy movies you guys told me to check out."

He blinked; and he couldn't be sure that the heat in his cheeks was from him blushing or from the potential fever. "Really?"

The other teen softened, and reached out to straighten the blankets around the white haired boys shoulders. "Really." He hesitated for a moment, seemingly debating if he should, before he dropped a kiss on top of Ryous head and wrapped an arm around him. "Come on. Let's get you to the couch and I'll get everything set up."

Ryou leaned against him, welcoming the thought of his company full heartedly.