#but it's not like anyone will bring me food

[wholockiantabs]

Things from my own experience:

Eating is better than not eating. You should always have some kind of quick and easy to make thing ready if you really can't bring yourself to make stuff. I usually have some single serving cups of mac and cheese or mashed potatoes (the ones where you just add water and heat it in a microwave), or I have some frozen stuff I can also just shove in the microwave for a few minutes. Yeah, it's not super healthy for me, but it's food. And that's more important than starving myself.

I have a lot of teeth issues from years of not having access to a dentist and because my teeth are crammed together way too tight, so I can abide by the flossing/tongue scraper suggestion if brushing seems like too much. I will probably start doing the mouthwash one if nothing else because I can incorporate that into my current schedule.

I have safe foods that I will eat for days/weeks/months straight and I will not get tired of it. If your routine works for you, then it's not anyone else's business.

It's a little pricier, depending on what kind you get, but I can also recommend those little drinkable yogurt bottles if you're in a rush but still want to get something inside of you. I also drink them in the morning because I cannot handle any kind of food when I'm up, but since it's a liquid, my brain doesn't count it as food. I drink the Chobani Greek Yogurt ones and they're perfect.

My mum rarely uses a cane even when she needs it because of how it looks (or how she perceives it to look) so we should start normalizing anyone of any age who needs any kind of mobility aid like canes and rollers.

If doing something "out of the ordinary" makes your life easier, then yes, do it!

collection of useful things tumblr has taught me:

even if you can't fall asleep, laying down with your eyes closed will still rest your body

you don't have to brush your teeth standing up

you don't have to do any chore standing up, from dishes to showering

you don't have to shower with the lights on

if you can't brush your teeth, flossing and a tongue scraper gets rid of plaque and bad breath

if you can't do that, mouthwash kills a lot of bacteria

eating "unhealthy" food is better than eating no food

you can make the same meal everyday for however long you still want it

some pills come in syrups or chewables if you can't swallow them

kids nutritional shakes can be a quick way to get fuel if you can't eat/don't have time

if walking hurts/exhausts you on a regular basis, canes and rollers are for you, no matter how young you are

we have free will—if doing something "out of the ordinary" makes life easier for you, do it

[hyunebunx]

˖˙ ᰋ ── you, clouds and rain (and the wine on your lips)

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. genre: fluff, slightly suggestive

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. a/n: my mindy requested something soft and domestic with a slice of spicy tension with hyun and who am i to say no? enjoyyy <33 and let me know your thoughts <3

When shooting your tired boyfriend a message this morning, inviting him over for lunch and a cuddle sesh by the television, the last thing you expected was a power outage. Even though it was still light outside, the sun and its bright rays were obscured by dark and angry clouds that could only mean one thing: rain.

Hyunjin was a fan of rain, loving the silence and how the whole world seemed to slow down and hurry home. He could be as silly as he wanted and nobody would judge him, too busy to remain dry to care about anything else. You, on the other hand, hated rain. It usually ruined all of your plans and kept you stuck inside, depriving you of sunlight and everything you loved. Including seeing your beloved and going on cute dates, holding hands throughout the day while exploring new and exciting places neither has seen before.

And now it ruined another one of your plans because things could never go your way, now, could they?

“I’m so sorry, Hyun.” You sigh, playing around with the food on your plate, absolutely dejected.

Hyunjin shakes his head and tries to hide the smile threatening to stretch across his features, freshly dried hair bouncing with his every move. “You’re sorry for what exactly?”

Thunder interrupts before you can even begin, souring your mood further as Hyunjin reaches for your fork, twirls it around expertly and brings it to your mouth to eat before it gets cold. You’ve worked hard on this pasta, letting it go to waste would be a shame.

“The rain.” You mumble before chewing, pouting. He waits patiently for you to finish before leaning over the table to wipe some sauce that has somehow landed on your chin.

“You can’t control the weather, baby.” He smiles, fondness spilling from his eyes as he watches you reach for your drink. Your apartment was no longer bright, engulfed in this darkness that would fool anyone into believing night was about to set at any moment. Fortunately, you managed to prepare everything before the power went out so at least your lunch date wasn’t completely ruined.

To set the mood and try to lift your spirits, Hyunjin has lit a lone candle between you on the table – a romantic till the end, you’re convinced your boyfriend would shrivel up and die if he couldn’t spoil you somehow.

“Well, I want to control it all to make you happy!” The statement is a bit childish but not far from the truth. For Hyunjin, you would do anything to see that beautiful smile of his lighten up every room. Control the weather, move mountains and even give him the moon which he embodied without even realizing. As bright as he was, Hyunjin was the moon in your eyes, illuminating every dark corner of your world with his ethereal glow that left every passerby in awe.

Breathtakingly beautiful, both from the exterior and from within. There was no other person like him in this universe.

This time, he laughs, eyes turning into two crescent moons as if to prove your previous point. “I’m the happiest as long as I’m with you, no matter the weather, time or place. I thought you knew that?”

You’re aware yet your heart still skips a beat, as it always does whenever he opens his mouth and hits you with such a line. Hyunjin wasn’t shy in the slightest when it came to you and the love that was overflowing out of him. All of it was yours, of course. He could never love another in the way he loved you for as long as he lived.

“Doesn’t matter.” You still shake your head, deciding to be stubborn. “It still ruined our plans. I was looking forward to finishing that show together and now we can’t.”

He takes a sip of his wine, the condensation on the glass proof of the warmth in the apartment. “It’s not like we can’t watch it another time, baby.”

“I guess.”

“Don’t pout.” His bigger hand settles on top of yours on the table, bringing it to his plump lips to plant a lingering kiss on the smooth skin. “I came over to see your beautiful smile and talk each other’s ears off. Don’t make me sad.”

Hyunjin makes a face, dramatizing his sadness and you finally laugh, returning to your meal with newfound vigour. He always managed to make even the gloomiest days happier, and you suspected your boyfriend might actually be an angel in disguise, sent from above to watch over you.

“So,” he starts, happiness radiating off of him at the delicious food, his hand still holding onto yours, “did you finish that new book you were telling me about the other day, yet?”

The rain was hitting your windows heavily, creating a curtain of sorts that kept you and Hyunjin separated from the outside world, protected from all evil in your little love bubble that continued to grow with every moment spent together. Excited, with your whole face lighting up, you stand abruptly and make your way over to plop yourself onto his lap without shame, just so you can snuggle while granting his wish. You were about to talk both of his ears off until he begged you to stop. And knowing Hyunjin, he might actually like that.

Time flies as you’re having fun with your other half, while he listens attentively to your every word, so drawn to you and the way your mouth moves that he can barely look away as he remembers to keep feeding you and himself until both of your plates are empty. If it were up to him, Hyunjin would glue your hands together so you’d never have to be more than a foot apart at all times. But reality is cruel, and spending all your time with your beloved was not socially acceptable – for some reason, you couldn’t make money this way. He really hated capitalism for keeping you away from him.

After a while, you both stand to wash the dishes, with him on your trail and being assigned to drying duty.

You’re laughing together as Hyunjin tells you more stories from work, something that happened the other day at the company, not leaving anything out. He was so honest and open about his feelings that nothing he said surprised you anymore.

Your back is to him as you wash the last glass when you feel strong arms pulling you to a sturdy chest, wrapping around your middle to ground the man as he leans over to hug you with all his might. You smile, genuinely, and rest your head on his shoulder just to plant multiple kisses on his cheek. He giggles, and you quickly shake the water and bubbles off your hands to turn around in his embrace and face him.

“Hi.” You smile, briefly kissing his nose. Thanks to the smaller windows, the kitchen was even darker than your dining room, creating a cosier, more intimate atmosphere one could only dream of basking in. Romantic with a pinch of tension neither could shake off - the pleasant kind.

The rain showed no sign of stopping any time soon so for the time being, you were the only two people in the world.

“Your smile is my favorite.” He’s staring deeply into your eyes, strong hands following the outline of your body downwards to rest on your hips and bring you closer, wanting to make you one. The butterflies start going crazy, flapping their colorful wings against your ribcage in a desperate attempt at being let out, longing to be touched by him just like you were.

Your arms come around his neck, and you’re nose to nose now. “You’re my favorite.”

Hyunjin breaks into a grin, one he can’t contain before closing his eyes and burying his face in the crock of your neck, hugging you close.

“You know what I really want right now?” His voice is low, the vibration against your skin sending a shiver down your spine as his hold on you tightens.

You shake your head, one of your hands moving to tangle into his hair and massage his scalp. “Tell me, so I can make it happen.”

He chuckles, thumbs drawing random shapes on your sides you could make out if concentrating on anything else other than his voice was possible. “You don’t even know what I want to ask for yet.”

“It doesn’t matter.” You respond a little too quickly, tenderly coaxing his head out of hiding just so you could see his eyes again and marvel at their beauty. “I’ll do anything for you.”

“Anything?” Hyunjin leans closer, trapping your body between him and the sink as he towers over you, few strands of his hair tickling your forehead. Your breath catches in your throat and you try shallowing, anything to get rid of this sudden lump that’s preventing the oxygen from reaching your brain.

When you nod, his eyes soften, warm hand sneaking beneath your shirt to feel skin, needing this contact to remind himself you are real and the possibility of you disappearing right before his very eyes were slim.

Then, without waiting for his next line, your hand grasps at his fluffy sweater and yanks him forward to connect your lips in a sweet kiss, one that has you both releasing a relieved breath, that acts like the lifeline you need to cling to, to survive.

His lips are soft and warm, and you can faintly taste the wine he indulged in, lingering on his skin. The hand that isn’t under your shirt finds solace at the back of your neck, gingerly deepening the kiss as thunder strikes once again. Not like you care anymore; not when he’s kissing you like he’s trying to burn to memory every nook and cranny of your physical existence.

Heads tilted, his tongue sneaks in to greet yours for the briefest moment before Hyunjin pulls away with great difficulty, chest heaving as he struggles to regain his composure.

“A blanket fort.” He almost croaks out, voice raspy and heart very much disappointed when he tears himself away from you to make some room.

You blink, confused and a little dazed, hands darting to latch themselves onto his sweatshirt so he won’t go too far. “What?”

With a laugh, he throws his head back for a moment, calming down before clarifying. “I want to build a blanket fort. Since the power isn’t back yet, I thought we could have some fun doing that.”

You’re bamboozled, almost spinning around in search of the hidden camera that will confirm this is all a prank.

“But I thought…” You trail off, arms falling to your sides as you look down in embarrassment.

Hyunjin is quick to raise your head, with a finger under your chin and another dazzling smile. “Didn’t you just say you’d do anything for me?”

What a fucking tease. How were you ever supposed to say no to that smile?

[aquaticmercy]

Waste a Moment / Part 13

Summary : Bucky had always kept his distance, but seeing you get hurt on a mission changed everything. For the first time, he has a chance to start over with you.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x avenger!reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : Mentions of food. Cursing. Memory loss. Head injury. Reader used to work in a museum.

Requested by :  @remoony

Word count : 2.7k

Note : uhhhh I might extend this to 18 parts instead of the 17 planned. Please let me know if I miss anyone on the tags! Enjoy!

Series Masterlist

“Beast to the Wild”

Sunday afternoon.

Yelena arrived as quickly as she could.

She found Sam standing outside the control room, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He looked like he wanted to punch a hole in the wall but was holding himself back, his usual calm composure cracking under the concern furrowed in his eyebrows.

“He’s in there,” Sam said, nodding toward the closed door. His voice was subdued in a way that sent a chill through her spine. “Hasn’t moved since it happened.”

Yelena frowned, glancing at the door. “How bad is it?” she asked, though the answer was already clawing at her stomach. 

“Bad,” Sam sighed, his eyes drifting down to his shoes.  “You know he gets when it’s her.”

Yelena did know. Too well. She nodded, swallowing hard and squaring her shoulders.

She paused at the door, steeling herself. She already knew what was coming—the anger, the accusations. She could already hear his voice in her mind: “Are you happy now? Are you happy that she knows? Are you happy now that she’s gone?”

But when she stepped inside, the words she braced for didn’t come. 

Bucky was hunched over the console, his shoulders bowed as though the weight of the world was on his shoulders. His hands were in his hair, fingers raking into his scalp like he could pull himself out of whatever hell he had occupied. The screens in front of him flickered with useless data: satellite feeds, news updates, and endless blank logs that told him nothing. 

Yelena’s heart twisted at the sight of the grieving supersoldier. She almost hesitated.

But she couldn’t stop— not now. Not when it was you. Not when it was her best friend.

She stepped inside, shutting the door quietly behind her. 

“Barnes,” she said, her voice fragile but steady.

He didn’t look at her. His teeth clenched, and for a moment, she thought he wasn’t going to respond. He had an emptiness in his eyes— no rage. No anger. Just all-consuming guilt.

Then he exhaled, ragged and uneven. It was like it hurt him just to breathe. 

“I fucked up,” he said, his voice low and hoarse. “She’s gone, and it’s my fault.” 

Yelena froze. She had expected yelling, had braced for misplaced blame. But this—this quiet, devastating admission—was worse. She took a slow step closer, her fist clenched at her sides. 

“What exactly happened?” she asked carefully, her stomach knotting.

He laughed, but it was a bitter, hollow sound. “What didn’t happen?” He finally looked up at her, and the disbelief in his eyes hit her like a punch to the gut. “She broke in. She ran. She disabled tracking, cloaked the jet. I can’t—” His voice broke, and he dropped his head into his hands again. “I can’t find her.”

Yelena’s chest tightened. 

You were out there somewhere, unreachable, and Bucky was destroying himself for it, piece by piece. 

“She’s strong,” Yelena said, her voice firm even as fear clawed at her insides. “Rhodey said she’s doing great on her flight training. She’ll be okay.” 

“Will she?” Bucky snapped, looking up sharply. His voice faltered, the anger draining out of him as quickly as it had flared. He slumped back in his chair, his hands trembling as they rested on the desk. He tapped a frantic rhythm on the wood. “I should have been honest with her from the start, I should’ve listened to you, I should—fuck, what if she’s in danger? What if she—” 

He couldn’t finish the sentence, couldn’t bring himself to say the words. Yelena could see it in his eyes— the fear that was eating him alive, torturing him from the inside out.

She knew how capable you were, but she also knew the risks of going rogue like this, cutting yourself off from your lifeline.

“She’ll come back,” Yelena said firmly, though not entirely convinced. 

Bucky shook his head. His blue eyes were distant, staring at the horizon as if he was imagining you coming back to him. “What if she doesn’t?”

The silence that followed was unbearable, thick with unspoken fears neither of them were eager to vocalise. Yelena bit the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to stay calm, to keep a level head. But inside, her thoughts were racing. If something had happened to you—if you didn't return—she didn’t know how Bucky would survive it. 

In all honesty, She didn’t know how she would survive it.

"That's not an option," Yelena said again, her voice quieter. "And when she comes back, you're going to fix this. We’re going to fix this."  

Bucky swallowed hard, his throat tightening around the air he needed so desperately to breathe. "That’s what we got wrong," he said, his voice trembling. "She didn’t need fixing. She never did." His muscles tensed as the realisation sank in. He’d been so consumed with trying to shield you, rearranging your life to protect you from the truth, that he couldn’t see the damage his silence was doing. And Yelena—she lacked the courage to tell you when he failed. She’d built a friendship with you, but always held herself at arm’s length, unwilling to face the thought of you shattered, bruised, or hollowed out. In their misguided attempts to fix you, Bucky had kept you blind to the truth, while Yelena had refused to acknowledge away from the parts of you that were still lost, too afraid to confront what lay beneath. "She just needed a push,” Bucky continued.

"Then we’ll give her that," Yelena said softly, her own voice crackling.

Bucky didn’t respond. His eyes were locked on the screens in front of him, scanning for something, anything, that might tell him where you were. 

But there was nothing. 

Just static and silence.

Yelena pulled up a chair and sat down beside him. They were both terrified for you, for what might have happened, for what still could. But she wasn’t going to leave him alone in this. And maybe, she needed someone who understood.

Monday.

The days that followed were nothing but an endless stretch of anxiety, a string of minutes that dragged into hours, into days. Bucky paced the compound like a caged animal that had been wounded, unable to rest, unable to let himself sleep, not while you were out there—wherever there was. 

You could be anywhere.

The first night, he’d convinced himself that you’d return before sunrise. You had to. He had barely let himself leave the command room, his eyes glued to the screen as if he could will a blip to appear on the radar. But hour after hour passed, and there was only silence. 

Tuesday.

The second day, Sam had finally pulled him aside, brow furrowed with a look of worry he had only seen on his friend’s face a few times before. “You need to sleep,” Sam had said, trying to talk some sense into him. But Bucky waved him off, his chest tight, his pulse thundering with a primal fear he didn’t know how to control.

Wednesday.

By the third day, his hands trembled. 

He hadn’t eaten, hadn’t even thought about it. His world was confined to the four walls of the control room, where every incoming call, every email, and every intel update had no real consequence, and every dead end became a reminder that you were still missing. Yelena kept coming in, putting her hand hesitantly on his shoulder from time to time.

Yelena was exhausted too, every ounce of her strength spent holding herself together. It took everything she had not to retreat to the solitude of an empty apartment and break down, the way she had the first time.

She didn’t offer empty reassurances anymore— she knew Bucky wouldn’t believe them. She gave him the updates as they were: no news, no sightings, no leads.

Every minute chipped away at his mind. You could be hurt, or worse—

He didn’t let himself finish that thought. 

Outside the window, the sky cycled through night and day. The compound, usually bustling with heroes and friends alike, felt quiet. Everyone helped  in any way they could— Rhodey going on daily flights to scan surrounding areas, Scott scouring the cyber security networks for any sign of you. They even got Bruce and Clint to search for leads.

Bucky would glance up from the monitors, hoping to catch a glimpse of you walking through the door, half-dazed, explaining how it was all a misunderstanding. But the doorway remained empty. 

He remained alone.

Somewhere between the updates, Sam tried to get him to rest again, even pulled a chair over, but Bucky barely listened to him. His mind was too noisy, a nonstop assault of what-ifs and maybes.

When Yelena reported back for the fifth time that day, her voice a desperate apology, Bucky had wanted to scream. He was so damn tired of nothing, of waiting, of feeling useless.

“Bucky,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re going to burn yourself out. You need—”

He shook his head, the words too hard to find, too tangled in the mess of vines growing like weeds in his chest. “She’s out there, and it’s my fault,” he muttered, his voice hoarse. “I can’t just… stop.”

Yelena didn’t argue.

She knew that until you were safe, Bucky would not rest. Could not rest.

Another hour. Another dead end.

And then another.

Thursday.

The fourth day was cold and grey, as if the sky itself was scolding him of his failures as a partner— as a friend. The weather disturbances had rendered the radar useless, and there was nothing he could do but wait it out. 

Bucky hadn’t left the command centre in over seventy-two hours, his bloodshot eyes glued to the monitors that had long stopped giving any useful information. He was exhausted to the bone, but the thought of you out there kept him wired, kept his muscles tense, his fists clenched. But even his supersoldier physiology was working overtime, and he knew that at some point, it would catch up with him.

Yelena was beside him, uncharacteristically still. Even Sam, who usually had a quip ready for any situation, had fallen silent, his hands folded tightly as they all waited for something they didn’t know would even come.

Then, without warning, the heavy security doors of the compound opened with a metallic creak that shattered the silence. 

Bucky’s eyes shot up, and his heart stopped for a beat. He’d imagined this moment so many times in the past few days that he couldn’t believe it at first. 

But there you were, standing in the doorway.

Except you were barely standing.

Blood smeared your arms, your knuckles so bruised and raw that he could see the whites of your bones underneath, your clothes torn in places he didn’t want to look too closely at. Your face was marked with cuts, some shallow, others deep enough to have left trails of dried blood down your cheek. 

And in your hand, glinting dully, was a golden blade encrusted in cryptic symbols, the artefact he’d decided you weren’t ready for. The one he’d postponed for your own safety, to keep you from facing too much, too soon.

Bucky felt his chest seize as he looked at you, relief and horror washing over him in equal measure.

Relief that you were here, you were alive— but gut wrenching horror at the state you were in.

No one dared to speak as you strode forward. There was no remaining a softness in your gaze, no relief in your expression. Just in unwavering, simmering anger as you approached the table in the middle of the room. Without a word, you threw the artefact down, the metal hitting the surface with a loud, echoing clink. The dagger gleamed in the dim light, almost mocking them all with its careless beauty.

Bucky’s chest tightened as he fought to breathe, to form the words that could somehow repair the chasm between you, but nothing came. Nothing except the sharpness of your stare, carving into him with the precision of a blade. 

Bucky moved toward you instinctively, his hand reaching out. Before he could speak, you took a shaky step backward. He could see it then, the way your body was barely holding itself together, the exhaustion painted in every line of your face, the pain you were trying to hide. 

Sam was the first to break the silence. "Y-you alright?" he asked softly, his voice filled with worry, his brow creased as he took in your injuries.

You didn’t answer; it was a stupid question. Sam Wilson had eyes, did he not? You pressed your lips into a thin line, and your gaze shifted from Sam to Bucky.

“You didn’t think I could do it,” you said finally, your voice rough and broken from what had to have been hours of screaming or fighting. “So I went alone. I got it alone.”

Bucky’s heart pounded. Every part of him wanted to reach out, to say something—anything—that would make you understand. 

You swayed slightly, a tremor running through your legs, but you stubbornly held yourself up, refusing to let the pain break you. “You think I’m not ready for this,” you continued, your voice trembling with anger. “You think I can’t handle it. But I got the job done, didn’t I?”

Bucky flinched at the accusation. He’d spent days trapped in the fear that he’d lost, that his choices, his need to protect you, had driven you away for good. 

“Didn’t I?!” you repeated. And now, here you were, throwing it all back in his face, reminding him of every time he had second-guessed you, every time he’d tried to make decisions for you.

He couldn’t bring himself to respond. All he could do was stare at you as he took in the damage you’d suffered. It was my fault, he thought.

“I don’t need you,” you snapped at him.

He wanted to argue, to beg, to crumble before you and tell you how wrong he’d been. But all he could do was stand there, drowning in the horror of his own failure and the unbearable truth that you might mean it.

Yelena’s breath caught in her lungs, her composure cracking for just a moment as her eyes swept over the bruises, the cuts, the blood staining your skin. She winced, the sight hitting her harder than she’d expected, but she forced herself to keep looking. You deserved that—deserved to be seen, not turned away from like some broken thing. You deserved respect, even in your battered state, even when her gut twisted at the thought of what you’d endured, your mere presence demanded that she hold your gaze and acknowledge your strength. She was no longer going to threaten people behind your back to try and save you. If she had something to say, she would have to say it to your face. “I—”

“Don’t,” you snapped, your voice barely above a whisper, but it was enough to silence the room. You didn’t need her apologies, didn’t want her pity.

But your strength had limits. And as you stood there— the adrenaline finally crashing, your body sagging in the aftermath of the exhaustion— the toll of what you’d gone through catching up with you. 

Your knees buckled, and before anyone could react, you collapsed, your body crumpling to the floor.

Bucky was at your side in an instant, his arms slipping around you, supporting you as gently as he could despite his own shaking hands. He pressed his hand against the back of your head, his fingers in your hair as he whispered your name, his voice breaking. 

You were unconscious, breathing shallow, your face finally softening in the grip of sleep.

For a moment, no one spoke. Bucky’s gaze remained on you, his thumb gently tracing the line of a bruise on your cheek, his heart breaking as he truly saw the cost of what you’d done to prove yourself.

Sam stepped forward, his hand settling on Bucky’s shoulder. He didn't say anything, didn’t need to. Yelena hovered nearby, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her eyes swimming in sadness that matched the guilt in her eyes.

As he held you, he vowed he would make it right. He didn’t know how, he knew that when you woke up—when you opened those furious eyes— he would be there. 

He wouldn’t run. He wouldn’t try to hide anything from you.

Because he’d learned, far too late, that you didn’t need protecting. You needed trust. 

And he would have to earn it back one step at a time.

-to be continued…

Taglist: @hzdhrtss @irisk12 @tayyyystan @seventeen-x 

@greatenthusiasttidalwave @avatarofthetimelords @bckynatt @winchestert101 @zemosprincesa 

@nngkay @hiireadstuff @sapphirebarnes @thatesqcrush @bethexo07 

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@blackbirdwitch22 @royalwriteroftheuniverse @ayayaeyato @btssaysstudy @unaxv

@otterlycanadian @lifeisbutadream444 @mostlymarvelgirl @ozwriterchick @m1cky-y-y

@ordelixx @jadeofspadesxp @generousmiraclebread @jeremyrennermakesmesmile@titasweetandsour 

@one-lengthiness36 @chimchoom @waitingformysandman @eanthedeadqueen13 @hi172826

@starsmoonn @notsostrangerthing @wintercrows

@lomlbuckybarnes gets a special shout out for figuring it out🫡

[reiding-writing]

could you pretty please write something where spencer visits unsub!reader and she’s incredibly beat up and only responding in slurs and spencer’s like wtf why has no one taken her to the doctor

THE GUARDS’ HEAVY HANDS

spencer & gn!unsub!reader | 1.3k | unsub!reader masterlist.

main masterlist.

a/n— unsub!reader is in remission babyyy

WARNINGS | reader has been on the receiving end of physical violence from prison guards without medical treatment.

Four days until the board of appeals made their decision.

Four days until you would know if you truly were going to spend the rest of your life inside a concrete box or be moved to a psychiatric facility and have your psychology picked and prodded at by doctors.

You’ve been ‘visited’ almost every day over the last week, half of your singular recreational hour spent talking to some stupid appeal board official every day for the last multiple days.

You were sick of it.

You knew that they were only bothering you in the hope you’d crack, that you’d say something that could condemn you to your solitary hell and save them the effort and money in placing you in proper psychiatric care.

But you refused to placate them. You refused to let your seething frustration manifest verbally or physically, no matter how much you wanted to.

Four days. That’s all you had to last.

They weren’t making it easy though. Of course they weren’t. Because why would anything in your life ever be easy?

No. Instead you were questioned on the same mundane topics over and over by the officials, dragged harshly from meeting to meeting by the guards, and subjected to torment whenever there was a minuscule break in the monotony.

Your most recent ‘accident’ involved one of the guards shutting the food hatch whilst you still had your hand in it.

‘Accident’, because it definitely wasn’t one, and now you were dealing with a fractured index finger on top of all of the other shit that is making you want to rip your hair out.

Although you couldn’t do that either, considering you had a sizeable bruise spreading over your left temple and onto the side of your head after you’d been pushed straight into one of the phone boxes as an encouragement for you to pick it up.

It was bordering a black eye a few days ago, a mulled purple mark that stretched through your eyebrow and mottled your eyelid, but it was slowly turning green, and it’d stopped hurting now. For the most part anyway.

No use crying over spilt milk. Or a possible concussion.

There’s a sharp bang on your cell door from the side of a fist to garner your attention, along with the grating metal on metal sound as the food hatch slides open.

“Up you get freak, you’ve got a visitor.”

Another stupid visitor.

Another half an hour spend enduring the most relentlessly idiotic questions and torment of your life that you literally had to bite your tongue to stop yourself replying to and dumping all of your progress down the drain.

“Oi!” Another sharp bang. “Didn’t you hear me? Get your ass up!”

“I’m coming—” You bite back the groan that threatens to echo in your tone, muttering a curse under your breath as you’re all but dragged from your cell and thrust down the corridor into the visitor’s room.

Every minute you spent sat at that stupid concrete table in those stupid handcuffs that were way too tight made you want to rip your own hair out, or anyone’s in a five metre radius.

Four days. Then you could forget about this damn appeal and give your ‘handlers’ a piece of your goddamn mind.

And then the door opens.

“Doctor Reid,” You almost sound surprised as you pick up the visitor’s phone. “What brings you here?”

Spencer adjusted his satchel, his gaze fixed on the table where you sat, hands cuffed, a rough bruise blooming along your cheekbone. There was a fresh cut on your lip, a bit of dried blood near the corner of your mouth. The sight made his stomach twist.

He sat down slowly, his brow knitting with concern as he took in the other injuries: your knuckles scraped raw, the angry red welts visible just beneath the collar of your prison jumpsuit.

He was used to violence, certainly, but seeing it on you, someone he considered something close to a… friend, or whatever it was, made him tense with anger.

You didn’t look at him any differently despite it all. When he met your gaze, your expression was flat. Detached, indifferent. He could still tell you’d been through hell though, and as much as he hated it, he hated it. "What happened?" he asked softly, voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, you just blinked, and then that small sliver of intrigue disappears from your irises to be replaced with distaste.

You scoffed, muttering something under your breath that he couldn’t quite make out. It sounded like you were slurring, words broken, as if the energy it took to have a full conversation was almost too much.

Spencer leaned his elbows onto the table, his heart hammering. "Did they hurt you?" he asked. "The guards… have they been—?"

You interrupted with a barely audible sneer, tossing out a curse that barely registered as coherent. A string of profanity. You spat them out, each word slower and more incoherent than the last.

"Is anyone taking care of you here? Any doctors?" Reid asked, his voice filled with disbelief.

You laughed, a hollow sound that sent chills down his spine. "Doctors," you scoffed. "Sure. Lots of those. Right after the love they give with their fists."

Spencer's jaw clenched. "Has anyone done anything about this? Filed a complaint?"

Another empty laugh. “Who’s going to report them, huh? Me?” you muttered, the words broken by gasps of pain. “And who’s gonna do anything about it?”

The part of Spencer that had learned to remain neutral, clinical, started to unravel. This was wrong. Whatever you had done in your past, this treatment wasn’t justice; it was plain cruelty.

He glanced back toward the door, contemplating the confrontation he wanted to have with the prison staff. But he knew what would happen—they’d brush it off, say you were exaggerating, a troublemaker who’d gotten what you deserved. And maybe they’d even be right… but he couldn’t ignore the bruises, the hollow look in your eyes.

Spencer reached across the table, his fingers brushing the cold plexiglass between you in what’s an almost subconscious want to wipe the blood stain from your mouth. “I’ll see what I can do. I’ll try to get someone to check on you.”

You met his eyes again, expression clouded. He could see that behind the apathy, some tiny part of you was surprised. Maybe even grateful.

“Why do you even care?”

Spencer swallowed, the weight of the question settling over him. “I don’t know,” he admitted quietly, his voice tinged with sadness. “But I do.”

You watched him in silence, as if searching his face for a reason, an answer he couldn’t give. Then, a flicker of something softened your gaze—just for a moment, like the smallest fracture in a stone wall. You’d probably deny it later, but he saw it. A spark of relief, of trust, maybe.

He didn’t know if he’d ever get through to you, not completely. But he could try. And that would be enough.

“So, uh,” Spencer fiddles with the phone cord between his fingers. “How are you feeling, about the appeal?”

And you deflate all over again.

[moonstruckme]

Hi Mae!! Congrats on 8k babe, it’s so so well deserved! If this inspires you could I request gift wrap and ‘mulled wine’ for Sirius??

Hi lovely Fawn, thanks so much <3

cw: alcohol

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 513 words

Sirius finds you curled up in a corner of the couch, nibbling on a thin slice of orange. You look rather content to be doing so, but he can never stand to see anyone sitting alone at a party, least of all you. You’ve uncovered soft spots Sirius didn’t know he had before he met you. 

“You’re making quick work of that,” he says, nodding to your full glass as he sits. 

You look down at it, a small frown denting the sweet bit of skin between your brows, not realizing Sirius’ teasing until he grins at you. 

“Careful, don’t want to get too sauced too fast.” 

“Mary brought it for me,” you say, almost as if in apology, “but I don’t really care for wine. It’s nice that it has these little oranges in it, though.” 

“You might find some raisins, too,” Sirius says smoothly. He ought to know, he’d fought James on it tooth and nail, but for some reason his friend was very attached to the inclusion of the raisins. Sirius has been paying extra attention to the bartender at the restaurant where he works, thinking about going for a job like that and brushing up on his mixology skills in the meantime, and James is of course taking full advantage of this new interest. Sirius keeps getting stuck on food and drinks at parties that aren’t even his. 

All well worth it, though, if it means a chance at impressing you. You and Sirius have only been on a few dates—not enough that he’d have brought you here tonight if you weren’t already friends with the girls—and he finds himself bending over backwards more than he’s used to in hopes of coaxing a smile or a laugh out of you. 

“It’s mulled wine,” he explains, hoping not to sound too pretentious about it (the way Remus gets after him, you’d think Sirius couldn’t help it half the time). “You might like it better than regular wine; it’s sweeter.” 

You look into your glass with new consideration, lifting your eyebrows minutely at him as you pick it up. This is the sort of look Sirius chooses to interpret as flirtation from you, though it may only be wishful thinking. You give the class a tiny swirl before bringing it to your lips. 

You don’t make a face or anything, only set it back down on your coaster and take another bite of your orange. “I think I might just stick with this,” you say gently. 

Sirius smiles in the face of defeat (it’s never looked so spectacularly beautiful). He makes a mental note not to do any more wine-based drinks for these parties. 

“Fair enough,” he says, fishing in his own glass for his orange. “Here, I’ll trade you.” 

Your lips tilt up as you accept it. “Really?” 

“Yeah.” Sirius smiles back at you, feeling his go lopsided. “Course. I can make you something else to drink, too, if you like.” 

Your eyes light with intrigue. “What can you make?” 

Sirius might just have a chance to impress you yet. 

[ameliathornromance]

“(Y/N)!” Your Orc called out into the darkness.

It had been hours since you’d left the camp. You’d said you had needed some fresh air, after spending all day running back and forth from one tent to the next.

This wasn’t your fault, the whole camp had been forced to stay in their tents due to a bad outbreak of food poisoning. Maybe something wasn’t cooked right, or maybe someone had brought in a diseased animal carcass unknowingly and fed it to the whole camp on accident, no one really knows how it began.

Nor did it really matter as about seventy percent of the Orcs had fallen ill, and now had to remain bed bound until they got better.

One of the lucky few who hadn’t suffered, was you.

Your boyfriend found it sweet how you so quickly jumped to help the other Orcs around the camp. “Well, it’s the least I can do,” you had told him when he voiced this to you. “It’s not like I do anything else around the camp other than help in the kitchens and prepare supplies for hunting runs.”

“That, is already a lot my love.” He’d pointed out.

“Well I can’t just sit around and watch other Orcs suffer!”

Your boyfriend had too, been unaffected by whatever had happened to the rest of the camp – given that he was a rare kind of Orc, who was a vegetarian – and thus solidified the theory that there was something wrong with the meat that had been brought in.

The remaining Orcs standing had tossed out all the remaining protein that they had hunted over the past few weeks and burned it all to prevent anyone else from consuming it.

Apart from the smell of burning meat, the other sickly smells that came along with food poisoning was suffocating.

Your Orc awed at your ability to remain so composed in the face of such gross things like vomit.

But obviously, there would come a breaking point. And today, it had.

You had stalked back into your shared tent, thrown aside your stained apron that you’d used as a guard against any unwanted bodily fluids and stalked out of the tent.

“Where are you going?!” He called out to you, watching you storm to the camp entrance.

“I’m going for a walk! It’s the third time I’ve been sick on today!”

“Ah…” As you vanished into the surrounding woods, your Orc thought that he too, would want to go on a long walk after being thrown up on that many times.

So, for the rest of the day, he took over your duties as nurse.

A lot of the sick Orcs complained about his bedside manner, saying that he wasn’t nearly as nice as you were, but he ignored them and did the best he could to tend to their needs, bring them water to drink – forced those who refused it and demanded something stronger – and do anything else that the camp needed doing in absence of hands.

But, as the day had dragged on, your Orc began to wonder where you had gone. Of course, you needed some time alone. It can’t be nice being around grumpy sick Orcs all day… but usually, after about an hour you’d come back and help out however you could.

By the time the night had settled in, your Orc decided to go out and look for you.

A few other Orcs who had tended to the main duties at camp told your boyfriend that they’d keep an eye on the others while he went to go and look for you. “Oh and look for Ruak too,” he was asked by one of the main hunting Orcs. “He went out to go and find herbs to soothe the others stomach cramps, but he hasn’t come back yet either.”

“Got it.” And so, here he was now. In the middle of the forest that surrounded the camp, looking for an Orc and a human woman.

Torch in hand, your Orc held it high above his head, squinting into the forest. “(Y/N)!? Can you hear me!?” His voice rang through the forest, with no response coming back to him. Cupping his hand around his mouth, he bellowed. “Ruak!?”

Your Orc placed a hand on his hip and sighed, annoyed. Where could you have gone? You never wandered far from the camp, you knew it wasn’t safe to do so.

A creeping dread washed over your boyfriend as he continued through the woods. There was always a possibility that a someone of a less forgiving nature had come by and done something to you, and possibly Ruak too.

He shook his head, no, there’s no way that would happen. Both of you were good at making quick escapes and-

“Ouch! That hurt!”

“Sorry, it’ll only hurt a little bit longer. You can do this (Y/N).”

Your Orc stopped in his tracks, listening out for more of an indication where your voices could be coming from.

“But it really hurts, I don’t think I can cope with it!” Your voice sounded pained, afraid.

“You’ll be fine. You’ve been tending to sick Orcs all day, you can cope with this too.” Ruak’s voice assured.

Your Orc’s heart sank. He took off in the direction where your voices were coming from. Heart thundering in his ears, he turned past some shrubbery, and there you two were.

Your ankle was propped up by Ruak, who was twisting your ankle around, like he was massaging it. Your back was pressed against a tree, where you were gripped onto it’s exposed roots.

Fury rushed through him. Dropping the torch, your Orc ran over and tackled Ruak away from you. “What the hell are you doing?!” He shouted at him.

“Hey!” You shouted, “he didn’t do anything!”

Your Orc, who had now put Ruak in a headlock, looked at you with a glare. “Oh? So, what was that just happening then, huh?!”

“I sprained my ankle.” You deadpanned. “I was worried I’d done something worse to it, when Ruak came by and offered to help me splint it before he took me back to camp.”

“What?” He released Ruak from the headlock, the other Orc collapsing to the ground and gasping for air.

Beside you, was an open leather first aid kit, a bandage laid unravelled and ready to use, a stick beside it.

“O-Oh,” heat flushed your boyfriends face as Ruak finally regained his breath and massaged his throat. “Sorry, Ruak.”

Ruak shot him a glare, but shook his head. “No, it’s fine. If I saw the same thing without context, I’d probably snap the Orc’s neck who dared lay a hand on my partner.” The other Orc rolled his head side to side, “remind me never to piss you off. Now you’re here, care to help me with this?”

Sheepishly, your boyfriend nodded. “Y-Yeah, sure.”

After carefully supporting your ankle and determining that your injury wasn’t anything worse than a sprain, Ruak went ahead to the camp to prepare a place for you to rest, while your Orc had scooped you up into a bridal carry.

“You didn’t seriously think we were going sleep together, did you?” You asked, frowning at your boyfriend.

He looked away from you, not making eye contact. “I dunno… today’s been a lot.” Between trying to make Orcs stay hydrated and having to fight them to eat and help them keep their food down, his mind was a mess.

There was a fear in the back of his mind that maybe you’d just had enough of taking care of the camp and wanted to blow off some steam and since he was busy taking care of the sick Orcs…

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to assume that.” He said, looking at you.

“You know I’d never do something to you like that, right?” You reassured him. “Ever.”

Your Orc nodded, pressing his forehead to yours. “I know, and I’d never do that to you either.”

Guilt washed over him. How could he assume you’d do that to him? You’re one of the most conscientious people he’s ever met.

After a moments silence, you spoke again, “you know this means you’re also going to have to take care of the others now, right? Since my ankles, y’know, sprained.”

Your Orc let out a groan. “Oh God, please no.”

You chuckled, “think of it as penance for thinking I’d cheat on you.”

Sighing, he nodded, “yeah, alright. I’m sorry again.”

“I know. C’mon let’s get back and see how the others are doing.”

This post came out early on my Patreon! Sign up to gain early access to all my work

Taglist <3

@sunndust @greenie-c

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Forbidden Fruit.

That’s the thing about Declan - he always gets what he wants. It might be wrong… but it feels so right.

declan o’hara x female reader

warnings - smut. cursing. use of the c word. age gap. cheating. declan’s filthy mouth needs its own warning.

word count - 2.3k

authors note - that man is a munch and I cannot be convinced otherwise. my crush on aidan turner has returned tenfold and i’m about to make it everyone’s problem. read declan’s dialogue in that gorgeous irish accent of his for the full experience.

masterlist. inbox.

You’ve fake laughed so much this afternoon that you can’t remember what your real one sounds like.

Finally breaking away from a conversation with Freddie’s wife, you swan across the garden in your sundress towards the food and drink table. You absentmindedly pick at the strawberries, hoping and praying that no one bothers you for a moment. All you need is a minute to yourself, away from all of these faux smiles and boastful exchanges.

Reaching towards a raspberry, you feel fingertips ghosting across your back quickly.

“Y’alright?”

You’d recognise that voice anywhere, of course, and not just because he’s the only Irish man in The Cotswolds.

“Bored out of my mind, actually.”

“You’d never know.”

“I’m a good actress, these days. I’ve done one too many of these stupid garden parties.”

He chuckles all genuine and honeyed, and you’d be lying if you said the sound didn’t settle warmly in your bones.

“Whatcha doing tonight?”

He’s keeping his voice low, inconspicuous. You’ve both turned so you’re looking out over the garden, backs to the table, watching the crowds of people and their gossiping. To anyone else, it looks like an innocent conversation between two acquaintances. They can’t see his hand playing with the hem of your dress behind you, or the way his fingers keep brushing the backs of your thighs, sending shivers down your spine.

“My boyfriend is coming over. You know that.”

“What time?”

You roll your eyes but answer anyway.

“Nine.”

“So what I’m hearing… is that you’re available from whenever this crap finishes until then?”

“That’s a stupid idea.”

“You usually love my stupid ideas.”

“Well maybe I’m trying to be smarter.”

He laughs with his full chest while you fight to keep the grin off your face, shaking your head.

“You’re already the smartest person here. Any smarter and we’re all doomed.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Declan.”

He pauses for a moment, pressing his side into yours and running his thumb across the soft skin of your thigh underneath your dress.

“I think we both know that’s not true, sweetheart.”

Your breath stutters as you will yourself to get it together, desperate to not repeatedly give in to his murmured promises and flirty remarks. It’s wrong. You know it is, both of you do, and yet…

“I want you gone by eight at the latest. I don’t need the two of you bumping into each other on my front step.”

He smirks like the cat that got the cream, looking down at you with lust drunk eyes.

“Good girl,” he whispers. “Promise to make it worth your while, yeah?”

“You always do,” you breathe out, so quietly that you’re surprised he hears.

He’s about to reply when you’re both startled by Rupert, striding over with the confidence of ten men and a bottle of champagne in his hand.

“Have they run out of glasses, CB?”

He slings an arm around your shoulder, laughing that rich man’s laugh right into your ear.

“Live a little, darling. Walk with me, will you? I have a story that might be worth your time, and I thought I’d bring it to my favourite journalist before anyone else.”

Rupert all but drags you across the garden, already chattering on about a scandal in the local constituency of the Conservative Party. You cast your eyes back to where Declan hasn’t moved, his gaze roving over your figure as you walk away.

He winks cheekily, dirty smirk slapped across his face.

You hate the way it sends electricity running through your veins in anticipation.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It’s six forty five when there’s a knock on your door.

The devil himself is standing on your front step, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his broad chest.

“Hi darlin’.”

His accent is like molten honey, golden and warm and laced with sweetness. There’s mischief running through it though - as there always is.

“Come on,” you urge, grabbing his tie and pulling him inside, worried that one of your neighbours will see.

He laughs as he shuts the door behind him, unphased by your urgency.

“Thought you had a meeting. CB was telling me all about it earlier.”

“Rupert would tell you anything,” he chuckles. “He’s got a soft spot for pretty girls.”

“Sounds like someone else I know,” you giggle, undoing his tie from around his neck and hanging it on your coat rack.

“No. I have a soft spot for one pretty girl.”

“Sweet talker,” you tease as you roll your eyes, undoing the first few buttons on his shirt. “How about you put your money where your mouth is, hmm? We don’t have all night.”

He clicks his tongue, hands finding your hips to pull you against him.

“Patience, sweetheart,” he murmurs, leaning in so his lips brush yours. “Good things come to those who wait.”

“Less talking,” you scold, grabbing at his biceps to kiss him desperately.

Declan pushes you up against the wall, hips pressing into yours as he slips his tongue into your mouth. He tastes like cigarettes and whiskey and those mints he keeps in a tin in his back pocket. He scatters open mouthed kisses across your neck, licking across your skin and sucking the spot underneath your ear.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he mumbles. “Ever since I saw you in this dress.”

“You like it?” you breathe, head rolling to the side to give him more access.

“I fucking love it.”

“Good. Bought it for you.”

He groans, grinding his hips into yours.

“You’re a minx,” he pants, biting at your shoulder. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

With that, Declan wraps his arms around your middle, practically dragging you into the living room to throw you onto the sofa. He pulls your dress over your head, throwing it onto the floor with reckless abandon.

He instantly gets on his knees in front of you, spreading your legs with rough hands.

“Been waitin’ for this cunt all fuckin’ day.”

Your underwear is tugged down and discarded before you can blink, leaving you naked and high on the anticipation of it all. Your lungs are heaving, hands shaking as you will him to do something.

Declan sits back on his haunches, making a show of rolling up his sleeves. He looks so broad and commanding in his blue jeans with his shirt undone. He might be the one on his knees, but he’s definitely still in charge here.

You tangle your fingers into his dark hair and tug, pulling him closer.

“Please, Dec.”

“You sound so beautiful when ya beg.”

He grips your thighs tightly, ensuring they stay apart, as he leans in and presses kisses to any skin he can find.

“Don’t tease.”

“Or what, hmm? What are ya gonna do, sweetheart?”

“Stop it,” you chastise, head dropping back onto the cushions. “Please, baby.”

He chuckles before diving forwards, licking a stripe through your core. He wastes no time, tongue flicking over your clit like he’s done so many times before.

“Yeah,” you breathe out, fingers gripping his hair tightly. “Fuck, Declan.”

You’re convinced he enjoys this just as much as you do. He’ll eat you out for hours, never once expecting something in return - happy to feel you fall apart on his tongue again and again and again.

He knows exactly which spots will have you arching your back, how much pressure to use to have you writhing on the sofa cushions, where to put his hands to push you right over the edge. He can play you like a fiddle, observant and experienced.

His nose nudges your clit as he fucks you with his tongue, messy and wet and completely committed. The grip he has on your thighs is getting tighter and tighter, fingertips bruising your skin. You pray you’ll be able to see the marks when you look in the mirror tomorrow.

You’re teetering on the edge of your release, legs shaking and abdomen tightening. Declan can read you like a book, knowing exactly where you’re at - and taking advantage of it.

Just as you’re about to come, he pulls away and sits back, grinning like a deviant.

“No,” you’re panting. “The fuck are you doing?”

He laughs, leaning down to rest his head on your leg. He looks up at you with a gaze that’s half lust and half mischief, biting at his lip as he watches your chest heave.

“What do you want, darlin’?”

You pout at him, tears welling in your eyes.

“Come on, let me hear you say it. I want you to beg me to make you come. Tell me how you’ve been waiting for it all day, sweetheart.”

“I-Declan, I just-”

“Come on smart girl, use that big brain of yours. Why don’t you tell me all about how you think about me when you touch yourself? No - why don’t you tell me how you think about me while he fucks you?”

Your hips buck up into the air, desperate for any kind of friction. Declan laughs cruelly, wrapping his arms around your thighs again to pull you to the edge of the sofa, the strength he exerts only turning you on more.

“It’s okay,” he soothes against your core. “You don’t have to tell me. Your dripping wet cunt tells me everything I need to know, darlin.”

All you can do is moan, breathing like you’ve run a marathon. All you can see, all you can hear, all you can feel is Declan O’Hara.

“If we had the time, I’d edge you some more. Eat you out until you cried. You always look so pretty when you’re crying f’me.”

He finally takes pity on you, curling his tongue inside you as his nose repeatedly bumps against your clit. He’s practically making out with your core, saliva dripping down your thighs and onto the sofa. You can’t bring yourself to care about the mess, more focused on the older man’s mouth and the skills it possesses.

You’re whining, fingernails digging into his scalp as you grasp for something to hold onto. He’s groaning too, having just as much as fun as you are.

“Come for me, pretty girl. Show me how fucking beautiful you look.”

Your back bows off the sofa as you grind against his face, riding out your climax. Your thighs tighten around his head, desperate for him to keep going for as long as possible.

“That’s it. Atta girl. There we go.”

You’re trying to catch your breath as Declan stands up, sitting down next to you and pulling you into his side. His fingers draw patterns on your hips, absentmindedly calming you down as you nestle into him, seeking out his body heat.

You lean up and kiss him, slipping your tongue into his mouth eagerly. He tastes like you, and the realisation makes you whinge.

“Let me return the favour, please,” you whisper against his lips.

“As much as I’d love that, darlin’… we can’t.”

You quirk a brow at him in confusion, his rejection more than unusual.

“It’s twenty past eight.”

“Oh, shit,” you groan, finding your underwear and pulling them up your legs.

“I wish I could stay,” he reassures as he kisses you again sweetly. “You know I do.”

You nod, running your fingers through his sweat soaked locks to move them out of his face.

“Promise I’ll repay you next time.”

“I’ll hold ya to that.”

The phone ringing startles you both, your heart jumping in your chest. You pick it up quickly, wrapping the cord around your finger.

“Hello? How are you? Ah, good. Yes, fine. Alright, I’ll see you then. Yes, see you soon. Mhmm… I can’t wait either.”

You put it down just as quickly as you picked it up, finding your dress from the floor and pulling it over your head.

“That was Patrick. He’s at the train station, about to start the drive back here. He won’t be long.”

“I best get going then,” Declan says as he buttons up his shirt. “Don’t need a family reunion in your living room now, do we?”

You shake your head, scoffing at his attempt at a joke. Walking him to the front door, you press his tie from the coat rack into his hand so he doesn’t forget it.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, won’t I? You’re coming for lunch at the house?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” you say as you lean up to kiss him, sighing at the taste of his lips. “I’ll wear that lacy white lingerie under my dress just for you.”

“Great,” he groans. “Now I have to think about my son seeing that on you when it should be me.”

“You might,” you tease, smoothing out his shirt. “There’s a lot of rooms in that house, Declan.”

“You’re a minx.”

He kisses you once more, big hands cradling your face as he pulls you in.

“See ya tomorrow, sweetheart.”

“Yes, you will.”

You watch him go from your front step, making sure no one sees him leave. As soon as he’s out of sight, you’re shutting the door, trying to tidy the living room frantically. You open the windows, lighting a candle and picking up everything that was knocked to the floor in the lust filled frenzy. You’re covering your tracks as best you can, just like you’ve done countless times before.

You don’t need Patrick asking why the room smells like his dad’s aftershave.

You don’t need Patrick asking questions at all.

a little gift for you, as promised…

@do-it-for-kicks @whytheylosttheirminds @laverna-fanfictions @graceflorence

and of course, if you enjoyed this - throw me a little reblog if you so wish… help a girl out… <3

[sparklecryptid]

You know I wasn’t going to be a bitch about this but then people began misreading my post in a way that is quite frankly infuriating so now I’m gonna be a bitch about it.

This post was how quickly people are willing to villainize others for disagreeing with them. This post was about how those most vulnerable are most likely to be targeted for having an opinion someone doesn’t agree with. This post was about how as a disabled queer person of color I’m constantly on edge that a horde of people are gonna go after my ass because I said the wrong thing.

This post is about how quickly people are willing to believe something with no proof and proceed to go on to say that because of whatever claim they are believing that this person deserves to die brutally or having other horrific things happen to them.

This post was about how people want others dead and want to deny them the right to live based on past crimes. This post is about how people’s emotion should not dictate how justice is served.

If you wanna bring rapists and such into this conversation then hi! I am a child sexual abuse survivor! I still don’t think my abuser deserves to die! And I don’t think that he should be given free rein to do what he did to me to others! What I think should happen is he should be in jail and given counselling in order to understand why what he did was horrific and the impact it’s had on victims.

Is the justice system in my country in need of an overhaul? Yes. Do I appreciate the misconstrued idea of rehabilitative justice that you have? No! I don’t! Saying that ‘op likely means that rapists and sadistic murders should be given counselling and hug’ is completely wild given you know nothing about me, or how rehabilitative justice works in my country.

As for why people of all kinds still deserve to have access to water, life, and food it’s rather simple:

Because they’re human. Doing a horrific act doesn’t magically make them not human. They are still human and if their rights are taken away then anyone’s rights can be taken away. It’s very easy for people to go ‘well if this is a horrible crime then all we have to do is connect that to this other thing and no this group of innocent people are criminals too and we can justify doing horrific things to them!’

Human rights are not negotiable. If they are taken away from one person they can be taken away from the rest of us.

some of yall don't understand what human rights mean and it is legitimately worrying how some of you think that if a person is 'bad' enough they should have their human rights taken away

[whousestypewriters]

──── ୨ৎ THE BOOK CLUB — GRAYSON HAWTHORNE + READER ‧₊˚

a/n: pt two here we are!!! do i have any idea where this plot is going??? no. but you're along for the ride bitches so enjoy!! also if this is shit its bc im sleep deprived :)

[part one] i'm a fan

"it all happened so fast. everyone was happy... and then something happened... and now... now he's dead!" alya sobs from her spot on the couch.

"did you just spoil the book we're all reading together??" kira shrieks from her position on the mattress.

"i think the bitch actually just spoiled the entire book," pheobe rolls her eyes from underneath her blanket on the mattress next to kira's.

"oh come on you knew something like this was gonna happen!"

"yeah but i wasn't expecting it to be screamed aloud while i'm halfway through," kira says exasperated. "i mean please its not even five thirty yet, we got here an hour ago, how are you already finished?"

"alya, this is why we don't come over anymore," pheobe groans. "none of us were expecting that and now you've spoiled it."

"oh cry about it, i'm moving onto my next book anyway, does anyone want some snacks while i'm in the kitchen?" alya smiles nodding her head when kira requests some food and a bottle of water.

"so we're clearly never having a book club sleepover again guys," you say looking at the camera.

"no we're gonna have another," pheobe says shuffling over into the frame. "alya's just not invited."

────

yn.books

liked by alya.green, maxine.liu.loo, pheobethereader, kirasbooknook, graysonhawthorne and 672, 983 others

yn.books the book girlies unite!! for a sleepover a trip and a readathon (alya will not be invited back) stay tuned for the yt video!

tagged: alya.green, pheobethereader, kirasbooknook

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alya.green I AM OFFENDED

kirasbooknook good

pheobethereader had a lovely time with you girls can't wait to do it again (except for you alya)

alya.green u guys are so mean wtf

user1 im desperate to know why alya's in trouble lmaooo

user2 and im desperate to know why grayson is still in the likes

user3 THE GIRLIES ARE IN TEXAS I SAW THEN TODAY AND ASKED FOR A PHOTO!!!!

user4 they're in texas you say 😏😏

user5 divine rivals crushed me oh my goshhhh

graysonhawthorne divine rivals was a enticing read, thank you for the recommendation.

user6 ok so i died-

user7 OH OH OK SO WTF WHO WAS GONNA TELL ME GRAYSON IS HERE???

maxine.liu.loo the book girlies are together again!!! (invite me next time)

yn.books already done ;)

────

"they're mine," max's voice snips through the quiet of the room. she's staring directly at grayson and clearly referring to the book girls she watches.

"i'm not trying to steal anyone," grayson tries to reassure her.

"you're obsessed with my favorite one! why couldn't you have gone for pheobe or kira?" max huffs, you were her favorite. grayson had no right to become - rightfully - infatuated with you, and no matter how much he tries to deny it everyone can see he likes you. its painfully obvious.

"again i'm not stealing anyone, i've interacted like three times with-"

"grayson! the girl you're obsessed with posted another youtube video," jameson's extremely loud voice cuts through the room and emits a groan from grayson.

"i'm not obsessed with anyone," he says rising from his spot on the couch and picking up ruthless vows, which by the way he definitely went out and bought after he read divine rivals. what? he wanted to know what happened.

"oh my gosh they're in texas!!!" max screeches clearly watching the video. "they're in texas for a red carpet that they've been invited to!" she pauses watching for more conext. "they been invited to ask the people on the red carpet about books! oh my god- XANDER. we have to go to this event oh my gosh please?"

"sure and you can bring grayson along so he can officially join the book club, and meet his new idol," jameson smirks from the doorway

grayson responds by flipping him off.

────

graysonhawthorne

liked by thehawthorneheiress, ticking.time.bomb, yn.books, kirasbooknook and 4, 892, 647 others

graysonhawthorne a nice day out

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user1 i need him religiously

user2 NO BOOK THIS TIME???

user3 oh he is scrumptious isn't he

ticking.time.bomb i saw you obsessing over what photos to choose in case a certain someone saw this gray.....

user4 PLS TELL ME ITS WHO I THINK IT IS

thexanderhawthorne oh it is...

user4 OH MY GODDDD

user5 IN THE LIKES LOOK WHOS IN THE LIKES!!!!!!

user6 they're so into each other

alya.green we gotta catch up and talk about this whole situation buddy boy

user7 ALYA 😭💀

user8 i need him to go to the red carpet so they can meet!!!

────

maybe grayson should go to that red carpet... i mean he was invited. whats the worst that could happen?

𐔌 . ⋮ 🏷️ tags .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

@arqbella, @midiosaamor, @maybxlle @reminiscentreader, @sweetreveriee

@elysianwayy77 @tornqdowarnings, @catapparently, @zenikswaffleshop, @thelov3lybookworm

[montimer]

Deadpool x hero/villain!reader hc

(Could be antihero whatever, it does not change things)

Him annoyin u w his love

Warning: bit suggestive

When you pull him by the collar of his neck, it makes him melt.

He just loves it when you play rough!

He'll make so many flirty comments and get real close to your ears to whisper into them

He giggles at your reactions

He'll grab you by the waist and pull you close

He'll keep referring to you as 'his one and only' and many other nicknames

When you look at him so angry/mad, he loves it. You love him deep down don't you?

He'll caress your chest with his finger, drawing circles over while talking nonsense.

He puts his head on ur shoulder n sometimes stares at you from the corner of his eyes.

Hes such a distraction when your in a middle of a fight.

If you save him he'll be all over the place. Hugging you, not letting go, while kissin ya all over sayin "ohh my hero!"

If anyone ever dares to hurt you too badly, well, they'll wish they were never born.

He shows off with his muscles, flexin em for u. Fishing for compliments.

He'll also tell you millions of jokes and will be actually surprised if you laugh at any of em. He'll keep going wanting to hear you more

He'll give you kisses trough his mask.

He will jump into yer arms w out any warning. Also very clingy and will cling into you or your arm.

He'll also want you to carry him, he'll be rocking his legs back n fort if you pick him up.

He can feel his heart about to beat out of his chest,, he just hopes you can't hear it.

You can actually have these sweet moments with him. Like him bringing you food just cuz you looked hungry to him (it doesnt last long before he says smt like "But if ya wanna ya can get a bite of me too ;)" )

He can become rather emotional, talking to you at night.

He loves when its just the two of you.

Hes so obvious about how much he loves you.

[vienna-fiore]

I’m putting on a smile, but inside, I feel like I’m unraveling. I can’t sleep, not really. Every time I try, my mind races with every “what if” imaginable. What if Sunny’s blanket shifts? What if she stops breathing and I don’t notice? So instead of sleeping, I watch her. I sit by her bassinet in the dead of night, straining to hear every little sound she makes, barely blinking just to make sure her tiny chest keeps rising and falling.

It’s like I’ve forgotten how to eat, too. Food feels pointless when all I can think about is Sunny — when she’s awake, when she’s asleep, if she’s okay, if I’m doing enough. I nibble here and there, but nothing feels appetizing. It’s like my body is in a constant state of tension, like I’m holding my breath all day long.

I haven’t left the house since her newborn check-up, and even that felt like stepping into a minefield. Every cough, every stranger who got too close — it all felt like a threat. The idea of taking her out again is unbearable. What if something happens? What if someone touches her, or if the world outside is just too much for her tiny, fragile body?

My roots are growing in, and I can’t bring myself to care. I used to take such pride in how I looked, in keeping myself together. Now, I barely recognize myself when I catch a glimpse in the mirror. My hair’s a mess, my skin looks dull, and I’m still in the same sweats I’ve been wearing for days. I know I should care—I know this isn’t me—but the thought of doing anything for myself feels impossible.

And yet, I can’t let anyone see this. What would they think of me? A bad mom? Weak? Ungrateful? Lorenzo’s been so good, so supportive, and I smile and tell him I’m just tired, but the truth is, I feel like I’m going insane. I can’t tell Nicola or Gemma or Chiara. I can’t tell anyone. They’d say I need help, but all I need is to get through this.

I just have to survive the newborn stage, right? It’ll get better. She’ll get bigger, and I’ll sleep again, and I’ll remember how to be me. It has to get better. Until then, I’ll just keep watching her, making sure she’s okay. If I can keep her safe, then I can handle this. I have to.

[umbracirrus]

WIP Wednesday!! 💛

Hello, everyone! It's Wednesday already, and I come with some political machinations that Balgruuf is having to deal with :3 Not much else to say other than that-!!! Under a read more due to length.

Tagged by @hircines-hunter, @skyrim-forever, and @thequeenofthewinter -!

Tagging anyone who wishes to share a WIP <3

------

“Winterhold sounds as though it is struggling,” Balgruuf muttered as he entered his study, letter in hand with Proventus following not far behind him. The doors fell shut with a light click, before he placed the letter down on his desk and began to light the candles and sconces in order to give them both light to work with. “My first correspondence from Korir in months, and things sound to be bleak.”

“Bleak, my lord? How bleak?”

The jarl was silent as he took his seat, propped his elbow up on the arm of the chair and brought his hand up to his chin, before loudly exhaling through his nose. “Food shortages, insufficient building materials to repair damage to buildings that can withstand the weather, medical supplies running low, and I quote,” he took hold of the letter with his free hand, and sighed. “‘magical anomalies which continue to plague the remaining citizens of Winterhold which the College ignore, and instead tell me to discuss the matter with the Psijic Order and the Thalmor.’”

Proventus frowned. “It sounds to be... Very tense. Precarious.”

“Hm. I can think of another few words to describe the situation too,” Balgruuf muttered under his breath. In particular, ‘difficult’ came to mind – both describing what the people of Winterhold were having to go through, and the behaviour of his fellow jarl. Korir had always been a bit... Prickly. Not dissimilar to how his father before him had been in the few years he had known his predecessor.

He did have to wonder though... Korir hadn’t originally been his father’s heir. He had an older sister who simply disappeared... he had to say almost thirty years ago, by that point? A few years give or take. Perhaps things would have been different if Ingja had taken up the mantle of Jarl instead.

“Jarl? Septim for your thoughts?”

Balgruuf glanced at his steward for a moment, then shook his head. “It is nothing,” he stated as his brow furrowed. “I believe that we should take this as an opportunity. Whiterun and Winterhold have never had the strongest of relations, this may be a chance to improve things.” He brought his hand to his chin, and quietly hummed as he thought through his options. “Perhaps we could gauge what the situation is across Whiterun, then from there discuss with Korir about establishing some sort of trade between the holds. It has been something we have discussed on numerous occasions yet have never actioned, so this may be the ideal time to start putting things into place. Winterhold no doubt has resources which could be valuable for Whiterun in return for supplies...”

“Ah... Yes, that sounds reasonable enough, my lord,” Proventus stated, nodding along as he began to flick through some papers which he had with him. He then stopped on one sheet, and ran the tip of his quill partway down the page. “However, we do not have an up-to-date assessment of Whiterun’s own resources...”

“So we bring in the people who are more informed on the state of things. My Thanes as a starting point, as they cover not just the city, but the hold’s towns and villages too. Their opinions on the matter will be useful too. From there, we can see about reaching out to other people who may be able to provide supplies…” Balgruuf trailed off as his brow furrowed.  “Though we will have to make it clear to Korir that we are not giving him something for nothing. If he intends to take advantage of Whiterun’s current willingness to help, then he can ask his neighbouring holds for support. If the likes of Skald or Ulfric even care to listen to him in the first place. The two of them have had a greater focus on political advances as of late from my recent correspondences…”

The room was silent beyond the scratching of Proventus’ quill against paper, before the steward quietly and repetitively tapped the nib. “And when shall we convene this meeting with your Thanes? Would sooner be better?”

Balgruuf began to think it through, then folded his arms over as he closed his eyes. “Three weeks. Korir’s letter says that with the recent change in seasons, routes in and out of Winterhold are opening up and the conditions are no longer as harsh – he believes the city has enough for another two to three months. It gives us a bit of time to figure things out before contacting him with our offer of support, and time for him to make alternative arrangements if he wishes for Whiterun to carry both its own burdens and his own.”

Proventus nodded, and made a quick note, before frowning. “The Dragonborn will be leaving for Riften imminently.”

He had forgotten about that.

He rose from his seat and took a deep breath. “I will leave it to you to arrange letters to the other Thanes. I will try to catch Elyse before she leaves.”

[springrls]

I'm all depressed and crap, I wanna leave the house to start the steps to feeling better but my migraines have been so shit this week -3-

[theshadowrealmitself]

I like to think that Vulcans who come to understand that Humans just can’t try to process emotions the same way as them, it’s just healthiest to let it out in harmless ways, decide that venting and stuff should be taken just as seriously as Vulcan’s meditation time, and will encourage the Humans around them to complain about what’s upsetting them

People who are used to aloof Vulcans who avoid Humans at all cost running into one comforting a Human

“-and then they said my cheesecake was subpar, and they didn’t even bring a dish!!!”

“The purpose of this event was that every participant brings a food item of sorts, correct?”

“Yeah!!”

“And they did not follow this rule while insulting dishes that were brought?”

“Mostly just my dish but yeah >:(“

“How illogical”

“That’s what I’m saying!!!”

[giantkillerjack]

Me: hm, I want something to put on the TV as background noise... Huh. Looks like YouTube is recommending something called The Last Unicorn. That's perfect, it's probably some old shitty animation that has aged poorly! I can watch it ironically!

Me, 2 hours later as the credits roll: *crying, cheering, buying the book, composing the songs*

Me, 2 weeks later: So I have compiled all of the quotes from the book that I think could make good tattoos, and also, HOW HAVE I NEVER LEARNED ABOUT HOW THE LAST UNICORN FUCKING SLAPS??? This gay-ass little fairytale fed my soul! Watered my crops! Transed my gender! Can't believe I heard of this story from youtube recommendations, of all places!!

[marc--chilton]

(mgv) house and wilson display courting behaviors and don't even realize it. granted, courting in that sense is out of style and traditionalist so even if they did believe they were doing it, they'd wrinkle their noses (house especially). but like.... house buying them expensive tickets to a thing is an opportunity to grow closer, wilson letting his food get stolen isn't just a show of patience but proof he can be a good provider, etc etc. the amount of times they get mistaken for a couple in omegaverse is, in turn, much greater than it already is in canon