#starts coughing and sniffing and feeling faint.

[meirimerens]

Correct me, but I think I've watched somewhere that patho knows when you die, and slightly change [things?] when you reload last save. Make it even [harder?] Have you ever been in this situation? I haven't played yet and idk if it encourages me or not (I love challenge but get annoyed easily)

pathologic 2, yes :3 in patho 1/classic HD, while she gets frustrating fast you can savescum your way through her easy peasy. you can save when you want and have a quicksave system [use it. god use it].

pathologic 2 has both a new set of rules for saving (=you can only save at specific points) and a death(s) system that adds penalties to you each time you die, and applies them across saves, so even if you reload before your death the penalty will still apply to you.

i knew of this before i started my playthrough (i've mentioned it a few times but i had watched entire LPs of both games as i usually do for most games i've ever loved before decided that Oh I Need Her & played both games after that) so i was extra careful, but i still went through 3 rounds of death/penalties. while they make the game harder (because it's. already hard lol), they're... like manageable... mostly. my advice: BE A PUSSY. don't fight. hell naw. i'm not much of a #gamer so my reflex for attacks are weak so i mostly. avoided. pussying out. some mgs stealth mission going on my head at all times. also don't hesitate to fuck around with the difficulty settings lol. #pussyingout

[stararch4ngelqueen]

A Spoonful of Honey

Jason Todd/pregnant fem!reader (cause why not, I started reading the adventures comic so silly Jason is just on my mind as much as big beefy himbo acting like a baby over taking medicine. Chat I’ve been through it these past months, so this isn’t proofread)

Time Written - 11:05 p.m

The morning was cold, dreadfully cold, with a humid fog blanketing the dreary skies, blurring the atmosphere in a quiet haze. The temperature reached forty degrees at the highest around the late evening, giving those who had no business being outside a perfect excuse to remain indoors.

You basked in this opportunity to bring out your gold handle, cream colored dutch oven. Soft cardigan sleeves pushed up to your elbows to cut vegetables for a hearty dinner.

Slow, rugged feet trudged into the kitchen in the midst of you sautéing a rainbow assortment of veggies in butter and oil, dressed in his ‘plain ol’ civilian clothing’, a muted gray hoodie pulled over his head.

A sort throat was how it started; signifying the side effects to his nightly routine. Vigorous exercise could only help so much to fight off the chill, but with temperatures dropping incredibly low, sweat could nearly freeze on skin shortly after it’s been secreted.

The cold nearly nipped a permanent flush to his chiseled cheeks, kissing a sprinkle of color on his nose. He looked as exhausted as he did the previous night, when he first arrived home with a short cough and occasional clear of his throat.

Jason was sick, in the beginning stages of a cold. He’s not even bothering to hide it, yet continued to insist it wasn’t as bad as he led it on to become.

“You’re makin’ soup?” he asked. A comforting, light pressure of broad muscle against your back. Warm hands roaming from their soft placement along your hip dips roam forward, rustling along the fabric of your plush sweater, palms finally settling snug over your stomach.

“Mhm.” You nod, settling one of your hands over his interlaced fingers. “Chicken. With potato, and a ton of vegetables you like.”

“Mmm,” he hums, lightly sniffing the delectable curls of seasoned steam from your spice additions. “Smells incredible, ma.”

“Thank you. Good for the cold,” you comment, feeling satisfied at your seasoned sauté of protein and vegetables. You glance over your shoulder, smiling a little at his calm, droopy expression. “And colds.”

“Wow. Funny.” He murmurs per your amusement, taking over in reaching for the box of broth you set aside.

“You looked a little under the weather. Just wanted to help you feel a little better.” You reply after nodding in thanks for his aid, snapping open the seal to the box.

“You’re always taking care of me.” He exhales, his head tilting to kiss you on the cheek. He sounds grateful for the consideration, but he’s not very surprised by it.

You always had a tendency to spoil him. It’s just been your nature since the minute he first knew you.

“How’s the little one doing?” he asks, thumbs brushing light ovals over the soft mound of your protruding bump. Barely the size of an overripe grapefruit, or an underripe honeydew.

“Fine. No complaints,” you continue while pouring in the chicken broth. “Though, I’m sure the baby’s convinced that papa is doing a terrible job not resting up.”

Of course, he says nothing of it to confirm or deny. As if there was anything to deny, you could hear it in his slightly nasally tone. His fingers continue their gently ministrations, his eyes seemingly fixated on your actions, or unfocused as his mind trails off to space.

“Jay.”

“Hm?” His head slightly perks, leaving you to instantly assume the latter.

“It’s only been four months. You won’t feel much at four months.”

Maybe it’s faint arrogance to the doctor’s words. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but he thinks that he can feel their baby shifting and wriggling around inside. He never thought of it before until it occurred to him one day, entering his mind at first as a silly thought before turning into a strong fixation.

“What, are you expecting it to come out and give you a high five?”

“Shut up.” He grunts, earning you a smirk.

“Couch,” you instruct, your gentle squeeze of your hand on his forearm combatting your firm tone. “Dinner’s almost done. Go relax.”

“Alright.” He’s quick to agree, yet his actions say otherwise. For a man who’s known by others to sulk, in your doting presence he reverts to a state a comfortable serenity, regardless of this mild illness weighing heavy on his tired bones. Regardless of your ever so heartwarming instruction, he retaliates with gentle backlash, consisting of third grade retorts and heavy groans. All in good fun, merely poking at your funny bones to catch a glimpse of a smile.

He moves his hand in little circles against your belly, waiting for his baby to respond. While he doesn’t feel any kicks just yet, he’s excited just thinking about all the times they have to come.

As much as you loved every ounce of physical touch, the slightest pet peeve of him not doing as you requested for his own good irked your mind. “Jason. You gotta move.”

“Can’t,” he mutters, “I’m fine right where I am.”

“You can play with the baby after you eat, Jason,” you insist. “You gotta eat, take some medicine, and rest. You can’t take medicine until you’ve eaten first.”

“I bet you the baby’s hungry, too.” Such sweet words from his mouth nearly had you melting on the spot. Already a doting father in waiting, how could you not feel your heart flutter?

“Jason,” you insist once more, your spoon resting on the rim of the cooking pot.

“Don’t wanna,” he replies, sounding both annoyed and amused by such insistence. His warm body never separated from yours for a mere five to seven minutes after that, your palm reaching up and back to catch his cheek, meeting the warm skin of his flushed face.

“You ever notice that you get grouchy during a cold—“

“I’m not grouchy right now though—”

“—the baby wouldn’t want their papa to be grouchy.”

“And you’re being a little mean.”

“Me? Mean?” You sounds surprised, though you’re smiling wide the entire conversation.

“Yes, you.”

“I could never.”

He doesn’t look at you though, his voice sounding playful once more. “You’re being super mean, trying to make me eat and take medicine and everything. The audacity, ma.”

You scoff as you closes the pot, turning your full bodied attention to Jason.

You smile, adoring your sick beloved, the father of your unborn baby gazing down at you with exhausted, lovestruck teal eyes. He always looked so cute, especially sick with a cold. Especially with the mentality of thinking he can do what he wants at this moment, thinking he’s said all the right words to coerce you.

“Good. That’s called love, now gooo.”

He sighs, and he’s really not looking forward to it. The idea of eating just doesn’t sound appealing right now anymore, nor does taking the medicine. Either way, the coziness of his woman wrapped in pearl colored cashmere with a cozy smile finally allured him towards the promising comfort of the living room couch, a temporary respite.

Inevitably, He left you to finish, granting the kitchen vocal silence for the next twenty minutes, apart from the soft drum of heavenly soup coming to a boil. Only when you come to find him did you see him flopped on the couch, an arm draped over his eyes to block all means of light.

You beckon him with a bowl of warm soup settling on the coffee table, alongside the eventual promise of lemon balm tea with a spoonful of crystallized honey.

“I don’t even feel that sick,” he grunts as he sits up, his voice starting to get a little hoarse from him talking (and complaining). Let the big guy say what he wants, you knew him better than even he admitted to allow.

“Then you’ll have no problem drinking my horrible concoction,” your gentle sarcasm would never be heard as unfavorable in his ears.

Jason takes a sip of his soup, slightly wincing from the heat on his sore throat, but he doesn’t seem as pleased with it as he’d originally thought. It tastes good, everything you’ve ever concocted for meals brought comfort, but as of now. he’s not really as hungry as he anticipated.

“What is this? Chicken, right?” He’s just making small talk now, wanting the conversation to last. “It’s really good, really, ma. Just not as hungry as I thought.”

You nod, not really happy about the outcome. But again, he’s sick. You can’t blame him.

“Take a few more sips, at least. Just so the medicine dosent make your stomach hurt.”

Jason looks away when you mentions the medicine, but he nods all the same. He eats what he can from his bowl, his shoulders slumping as exhaustion decides to increase weight down on his bones, forcing him into an even drowsier state.

All he does is partially lean against you after setting his bowl back on the table, keeping his eyes closed to ease the faint throbbing pressure building at the top of his head.

“I don’t even like cold medicine… I can’t sleep when I’m drowsy.” He mutters to himself, seeming to babble to no one but himself on not being so ill.

Your hand reach up to settle along his back, easing the tension with your fingers massaging his neck, confusion conflicting your mind at first.

“What you just said made no sense,” you giggle a bit, watching him lazily shake his head with a mild scoff.

He presses his head against the curve of your shoulder, his voice growing soft like a cat’s rumble. One of his arms settles lazily around your back. his body feeling practically limp.

By now, his response came in a series of short, muffled hums. He’s not complaining, really, but he is being extremely clingy. He just wants to be wrapped up in your arms, succumbing to an incredibly long sleep in your embrace, as if he can’t support his own weight. (He really can, but chooses not to.)

“On the bright side, the medicine says it tastes like honey.” You gently suggest, putting optimism where it may have lacked.

“Can’t you take it for me?” He lightly whines, his voice rumbling with a drowsy rasp. At this point, it’s not even because of the cold. Jason’s just too exhausted to think straight.

“I don’t know if pregnant women can take this kind of cold medicine,” you whisper to him, holding his shoulder after combing through his hair.

“Pretty please?” He whispers, his body feeling a little warmer from your presence. As comforting as it may have been to him now, a few minutes longer would’ve resorted in an uncomfortable ache in his neck from this poor posture.

“C’mon baby, just one little cup of medicine and you can sleep as much as you want. I’ll even yell at Bruce or Dick if they even try to call.”

Jason gives a light chuckle, his nose brushing along your jaw before planting a minor kiss along your neck.

“Fine, guess I’ll stop giving mama a hard time about it. It’ll be your job in about five months.” He speaks in second tense towards the bump in between you, followed by an eye roll on your end.

Watching you measure out the golden, syrupy mixture of potentially foul tasting medicine left him in a weak bind. He’d graciously drink horrid syrups consisting of fear toxin and joker venom if it meant you’d spoon-feed him an antidote. Such blind devotion was rare to come by throughout his life, comfort was your name in a foreign language.

He’s blessed with your smile once he had gotten the medicine down, rewarded with a kiss on the tip of his nose and a cup of promised tea, ambrosia to combat the foul taste. Goddamn medicine bottles with their stupid, deceiving lies.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so needy.” His slurred mumbling surprised you the most as you adjusted the blankets between the two of you.

A light tongue click leaves you, shaking your head in denial from such an unnecessary apology. “Don’t be, you silly man.”

Whether from some conflicting guilt, or illness inducing dysphoria on his mind, or shame, you gently deny and accept his apology with another kiss.

The effect of the medication is quickly kicks into place after ten minutes in bed, starting to drift off into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Nothing but calm silence steals his consciousness for a few hours, warm bodies sheltered by the chilly winds batting against fogged glass throughout the long hours of the night. Despite the occasional faint echoes of neighbors next door and above, serene silence envelopes the minds of exhausted bodies.

You were snuggled up beside him with one of many pillows invading the space. Your cardigan sprawled neglected on the floor, cast aside due to the overwhelming seer of body heat.

He sighs softly, still tired, but his eyes glance over to the time on the nightstand clock.

He’s been asleep for hours, the time being … A little after eleven.

“Damn.” He whispers, drawing your closer to his body in a close hold. You feel so good like this, so safe. Spending all this time with him, doting on him, caring for him would mean the fifty percent chance you’d be afflicted next once he got better. Jason didn’t mind one bit, as much as he knew he should’ve been the one spending all his free time being attentive to your needs.

Either of you would look back on this and laugh of it, considering it practice for the baby.

For now, in the short time period of limbo between doctors appointments, checklists on supplies, criminal justice, and other impending challenges of becoming parents, everything was quiet. Calm, perfect even.

“Shh, the baby’s sleeping,” you softly retaliate, your hand cradling over his on the bump. You nudge just a little closer to the warmth radiating off him, seeking comfort with the furnace you call your beloved.

“What time is it?”

“Sleeping time,” he retorts, still sounding a little drowsy, his words coming out slow and somewhat slurred. His nose felt more stuffy than before, his head aching with a pressure that grew the longer he remained awake.

Once more, calloused fingers rustle against the fabric of his shirt on your body, potentially to be stretched during the later months to come. Here’s to hoping, he’s been secretly dying to see it.

“I love you both,” he whispers along your forehead, speaking from his heart in the sanctuary of your shared vulnerability.

You smile, tilting your head up to plant a soft, exhausted kiss on his chin. “We love you too,” you whisper, fighting back sleep to express an intimate act of love.

He closes his eyes, ready to sleep again. He’s not tired yet, stuck between the purgatory of both conscious states, but he’s not going to be able to stay awake much longer. At this point, he’s already half in the land of dreams. He’s comfortable—and happy to be with you, and with his baby.

“Never wanna let go of you two,” he mumbles, faintly catching the fragrance of your shampooed hair, the faint spice of ambery musk clinging to your skin.

You can’t help but quietly coo, burying most of your face against the crook of Jason’s neck.

“Then, don’t.”

[argreion]

Who knew your next-door neighbor was your panty thief?

Warnings: Panty sniffing, of course. Masturbation. Scent kink (?) Voyeurism from BOTH? Creepy Leon is kinda hehe, y'know? We love a little twisted fantasy.

We be burned at the stake for being horny. ✨ Stupid horny thoughts into one! Also kill me for the ending I had one in mind so... Erm... Shitty ending🤗(I forgot I lost motivation :'D)

Cough, cough, so, you decided to move into an apartment! Good for you! It's affordable, got a great view, and the landlord isn't an ass! Life feels good, but you know it's short-lived. Especially when you start noticing your panties being stolen constantly. Next day, appearing with crust, and the faint smell of cum? It sends shivers down your spine...

Having to rely on your older neighbor, Leon, to save the day. He's charming and strong, and he knows how to sneak around. (We don't talk about how he punched the vending machine to get you what you wanted.) Besides, he's got a super cool job! There's nothing wrong with him, totally! Unless...

Your hope to catch this panty thief crumbled, watching Leon stroke himself. You just got home, you were tired, stressed... Yet your favorite pair of panties in his hand, crusted and unwashed. Disgusting. Fuckin' vile old man he was. Couldn't help but watch as his hand moved up and down. The way he looked so pathetic honestly turned you on. You shouldn't even be looking, but you did.

Leon's hips bucked into his hand, soft shlicks coming from it. His eyes shut as he stroked himself off. Oblivious to the fact, that you were just watching. Heat creeping into your core as you watch the older male get off. Hearing his voice murmur sweet, perverted words,

“Smells so good... Must've been from yesterday.”

Why did he say yesterday? Only God above knows you did 'self-loving'. Did he use this opportunity to plant cameras? Wait, does that mean you should start looking around for them? Actually, would you be able to find them? The only thing you recall Leon saying about his job is that he does physical work for the government. Followed with a smile, and a charming wink. Making you not want to pry anymore, remembering the way you giggled at his mannerisms.

This mannerism, though? You can't even giggle. Watching a middle-aged pervert get off to you was... Still so disgusting, but you liked it? Liked the way he'd sniff your panties, the way his hips bucked as he took a quick whiff, and how'd he fall back onto your bed. Drawing you in closer, peeking through the door.

Now wrapping your panties around his cock, pre-cum staining the fabric. So, that's also what he does? That's why they got crusty... And also smelled a little weird at points. Was it bad to say you were getting aroused? Free little porn show to watch and with a hot neighbor? God damn, sign you up!

If Leon had to be honest, he's only keeping this act up because you were watching. Getting off on the fact you were watching him defile your underwear, not even trying to stop him. The thought that entered his head sent him over the edge.

Fucking himself into your cunt, watching as you sing praises and his name. Man didn't believe in God anymore but for a supposed angel like you? Maybe he'd change his faith, all just for you. The groan that came from his lips said it all.

Motherfucker was in too deep.

You jumped as his hips bucked up into the air, followed by a stream of cloudy release. Saturating the fabric with his 'love'. What'd he even love about you? The fact that you're innocent compared to him? Sure, he'd dream about the day he'd be able to ruin your life. Wrapping his hand around your throat and plow into you. Might even force you to stay with him. But for now, that could wait.

The post-nut clarity hit him, his eyes widening. Staring at your panties in his hand, now icky with globs of his cum. Ugh, why'd he do this? Having to awkwardly sit there, talking to the voice in his mind.

Did I really just jerk off with a girl's panties?

Even if he was mentally scolding himself, you weren't. Enjoying every second, the stroking, the release, and watching his thumb rub over the wet patch he created. Should've made Mr. Kennedy rub his thumb over your wet patch. Manicured fingers playing with your needy clit, flicking it. Riding his face, feeling the burn from his stubble.

Oh my God, shut up! You shouldn't be thinking this!

You were raised with morals (hopefully), and this isn't exactly a virtue you were raised with. You could hear your parents screaming at you in the back of your mind.

The adrenaline rushed through your body as he finally finished putting everything away. Forcing you to retreat back into another room, covering your mouth as you heard your bedroom door open. Followed by light footsteps trailing down the hallway. At least you didn't have to hold your breath as you heard the front door click shut.

Good, he's gone. Letting you slip back into your room, rummaging through your dresser. C'mon, you can find it, you have to wash it! It's disgusting, why the fuck would he throw your dirty underwear with clean underwear? Couldn't help but say you were peeved.

Though your friend down below would say otherwise. That flame inside of you started alight as you stared at the underwear. Letting yourself be dragged to your bed and fingers moving on their own. Laying back in those very sheets that pervert just masturbated on. Fingers already rubbing yourself off.

Those cameras he placed around also liked you rubbing yourself off. Already retreating back to his 'humble' abode, bare and full of whiskey bottles. Already watching the free show you oh so graciously brought him. His reward for keeping you 'safe'. Safe from this thief, the pervert, himself. Leaning back in that worn-down couch he needed to replace a year or two ago. Fishing himself out like he didn't just cum on his neighbor's panties. Eyes squinting down at his phone as he began to stroke himself again.

Play with yourself more, baby. He's gotta ruin that pair next, and then the cycle will start over and over again. Don't worry, he has all the time in the world to watch you...

[h-harleybaby]

Collab time guys 💅💅💅

I have problems I will ADMIT but so does Lime and Fae so me and Fae are doing a collab and it’s like, my first I’m so excited

I’m posting the hcs and Fae’s posting the fic soon so make sure to check out @imm0rtalken

cough cough btw this is plus sized reader but it’s not mentioned too much rn cough cough

Pervy Butters collab

• Butters is so the type to eat you out while he’s thrusting up all cutely and like, humping the air and cumming without touching himself because he gets off on getting you off. He’s someone who’s def more focused on your pleasure than his own

• You’re gonna question me but when he’s eating you out when you’re on your back he’s gonna have a pillow under his hips that he humps while he eats you out

• He’s not only a panty sniffer but he’s a panty stealer too 💅💅💅💅 HE FR HAS A SHRINE IN HIS CLOSET WHERE HE KEEPS THE PANTIES OF YOURS THAT HE’S STOLEN!!

• He has a super small collection of your panties and shirts that you’re never gonna see like, ever again. Ofc there’s a few that he’ll return because he feels really bad about them but I can guarantee you they’ve been covered in his cum and washed before they’re returned to your dresser

• There may or may not be some mysterious and very faint stains on them but you won’t question it, it probably just got like that in the wash… it was cum stains that wouldn’t quite wash out

• Butters was soooooo nervous about stealing them too because it’s at least the 2nd thing he’s ever stolen, the first being your shirts

• Like I said before, mans is literally obsessed with you and he doesn’t exactly know how to handle it. He uses your shirts as pillowcases (tell me he don’t have a shit ton of pillows) because it smells like you and he literally loves it cough cough he buries his head into those pillows and inhales your scent like there’s no fucking tomorrow cough cough

•He may or may have not went into your room to fuck with your curtains so you can’t close them and so he has like, constant access to your room. He just wants to look at your pretty face, what can I say 🤷‍♀️

• He totally asks Kenny about it though and he’s always kinda asking him for tips on how to handle things and stuff. He’s always going on asking what to do if he’s obsessed and how to ask them out ya know? Kenny’s his wingman fr

• Butters even admits to him that he’s stolen some of your stuff and Kenny’s just like “oh yeah I’ve stolen some chicks panties before, maaaaan that was a good night” and it gives Butters the idea to start stealing your panties

• Both Cartman and Kenny have walked in on Butters with his shrine, he probs isn’t sniffing them at the time but just looking at them with this like, almost twinkle in his eyes? Bros waaaay too sloppy it’s like he wants to get caught 🙄

• Kenny’s reaction is more excited Tbh, he’s like “dude who’s are those?! WHERE’D YOU GET THEM AND I CAN HAVE-“ . He’s fr too excited for it and he’s kinda proud of his friend?

• Cartman’s kinda weirded out by it and asking honestly too many questions. He’s like “why tf are you holding panties?? ARE THEY YOURS OR SOMETHING YOU’RE A PERV LIKE THAT???”

• Anywaysssssss

• Butters literally loves eating you out and he adores having you sit on his face, he’s definitely gripping your thighs to keep you on his face while he eats you out because he doesn’t wanna stop

• Did I mention this is a plus sized reader?? PLUS SIZE READER AND HER SCRAWNY ASS BF BUTTERS WHO WANTS ALL HER WEIGHT ON HIM BECAUSE HE LOVES HOW IT FEELS!!!

• I dunno, it just feels right ya know?? Scrawny love stuck, completely obsessed Butters buried between your thighs as he grips onto them begging you to let him give you another orgasm while he’s literally been cumming completely untouched because he just loves you that much

• He overstims the absolute fuck out of you because he gets sooooooo into it and would def live under you, eating you out for hours if you let him

• Butters would totally beg you to sit on his face and for you to cum on his tongue because he loves the taste of you

• “Please darling? Just one more time on my face? I promise I’ll be good for you”

[snoreyua]

₊˚ෆ ⁀➷　come back to me // ep. 4

synopsis : you and riki were childhood best friends doing everything together. when you entered middle school, you overheard him talking shit about you to his so-called friends. out of frustration, you moved schools and cut all contact with him. now starting a new year in high school, what will you do when riki unexpectedly transfers to your school? can you rebuild your friendship or will something much deeper will bloom?

word count : 1k

warnings : reader is sick, arguing-ish?, fluff, not proofread, lowercase intended, lmk if i missed anything

yua's notes : i kinda died sorry 😭😭 i really liked writing this i think its so cute 🙁🙁 MY TURN WHEN??

previous masterlist next

story written under the cut

you groaned, pulling your pillow over your ears as the sound of your alarm blared through the room. you had barely managed to fall asleep, considering the events of yesterday lingered in your mind. as you embraced yourself in the warmth of your blankets, it was suddenly stripped off your body, a cold front spread through your body. "get up y/n you're already late!" your mother chirped, as you internally swore from how cold you felt. trying to warm yourself up, you looked at your mother, who looked slightly irritated from your reluctance to wake up. "oh my goodness, why is it so cold this morning?" you shivered, trying to find something to help you stay warm. "what are you talking about y/n? it's the middle of spring!" your mother said, before leaving you alone in your room.

as you walked down to your class, your face felt warm and stuffy, feeling like you were going to sneeze any moment. after endless nagging, you gave in to your mother who forced you to go to school. your hands rubbed your arms, attempting to generate some sort of heat for your freezing body. you sniffed loudly, slightly coughing as you slumped onto your seat next to riki. sighing, you folded your arms on the desk, resting your head on top. your head felt like it was spinning, like you were going to faint. you felt a slight tap on your shoulder. you turned, your eyes meeting riki's.

"hey are you ok?" he asked, looking concerned at your dishevelled state. "yeah i'm fine," you mumbled, not wanting to look at him any longer. you felt your heart race, thinking about him, your cheeks slightly heating. "oh my god I think I like him…" you muttered under your breath. "hm? did you say something?" riki turned to you, your words incoherent to him. as you were going to speak, you felt an uncomfortable sensation, in your nose. before you could react, you sneezed. your face turned red in embarrassment, as you felt some of your snot dangling from your nose. you quickly hid your face, turning even redder from riki's gaze on you.

"bless you! you want some tissues?" he stood up, worried for you. you stopped him. "no it's ok i'll get them," you said before quickly standing up. you shakily walked to the front of the class, grabbing some tissues from the box. your head felt like it was pounding, as you blew your nose and threw it in the bin. on your way back to your desk, you bumped into a chair causing you to fall. your face was met with the hard, cold floor. if you felt dizzy just then, you felt like you were going to pass out now. calls of your name echoed in your head were the last thing you remembered before your vision faded to black.

after a few hours, you slowly regained consciousness. you sat up from the bed, realising that you were in the school infirmary. you looked to your side, seeing riki, who was sleeping. his head hanging low as his arms were crossed. you were wrong to say that you didn't like him before. oh god you loved him like crazy, but you never had the guts to tell him. you were scared that you were going to lose him if you confessed, so you kept it to yourself. maybe that's why it killed you so much when you heard him backstab you that day.

you huffed, as you observed his face. he looked unreal, compared to before. his features matured, suiting his face even more. his moles enhanced his features. his pouty lips, his hair, his eyes, they seemed to stand out to you."i can't believe you look this handsome now…" your eyes then traced to the bracelet that you made him. you smiled to yourself, as you gently touched his hair. "i can't believe you still have that bracelet," you sighed, still looking at him. "i'm sorry for being so harsh to you ki," you mumbled before hearing footsteps approach you.

"ah y/n! you're finally awake!" the nurse smiled at you. the voice of the nurse woke riki up, who suddenly sat up straight. "unfortunately, I called your mother but she said she can't look after you because of work. however, this young gentleman has volunteered to take care of you." she said, pointing to riki. you shook your head, insisting that you could look after yourself, but the nurse said that you needed someone to look after you. you exhaled, finally agreeing with her information. she left the two of you alone.

you looked at riki, who was staring at you. "thank you riki," you murmured, bowing your head. he smiled at you, with a mischievous look. he smirked at you, as you raised your eyebrow. "why are you looking at me like that?" you furrowed your eyes at him. he crossed his arms and chuckled, shaking his head. "I heard everything you said~" he giggled as he leaned closer to your face. you felt your cheeks flare up, covering your face in embarrassment. you slapped his arm, which caused him to laugh more at you.

"ooh getting feisty are we y/n?" he teased you, making you go even redder. "well, I can't deny that I am this beautiful now," he dramatically posed, making you stifle a laugh as you rolled your eyes at him. riki showed off his bracelet to you, the charm gleaming in the faint sunlight in the room. "and why would I take this masterpiece off? your 5 year old hands really had some skill, I can't lie" he smiled as he looked at the bracelet, then at you. "oh yes the last thing…" he said, coming even closer to your face. "I forgive you y/n" he flashed you a wide grin, making you blush even more.

you pushed his head away with your finger, trying to look annoyed. "well, it still doesn't change the fact that I still hate you." you grumbled, looking away from him. "y/n, you know you really don't look that annoyed. your face is still as red as a tomato." he sighed, watching you blush even more. you hit him with your pillow, making him dramatically fall to the floor. although you were trying your best not to crack, you started laughing , which made riki laugh. you got off the bed, helping him get up. he then suddenly picked you up.

"come on y/n! we're going to my house!"

taglist (open) : @viagumi @lilriswife4life @keiipopped @w0nslvr @mizomani @k25vi @bacterla @yumilovesloona @wendypopsi @ak-aaa-li @jakevascaino @iea-tsand @bbinwrld @en-happiness

[leiawritesstories]

I would love some aedion content in the chef rowan series 😁 Does he know that aelin and rowan knew each other before the date? What was he told about the cooking instructor thing—and the sex thing hehe? I need to know!!

 thanks for the prompt!! the short answer is, nothing. The long answer is...

word count: 1,458

warnings: language, 👀👀👀👀👀

Aedion POV: The Blind Date

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aedion Ashryver was extremely confident in the latest bet he’d made with his cousin. He’d gone over to her place intending to talk her into going on a blind date with his old friend Rowan Whitethorn, whom he’d met in college, but that plan had very quickly detoured when he walked into her house and started coughing on the smoke that was currently being shoved out the kitchen window. 

Gods. Aelin was chaos in the kitchen. 

It was then that an idea began to form. Why talk her into going on a blind date--something he knew full well she’d had bad experiences with--when he could just make a bet that he was sure to win and get her on the date for sure? 

So, smirking widely, he bet her that she couldn’t learn to cook in a month, and went back home feeling very proud of himself. 

One month later, Aelin texted him telling him to come over for dinner. And don’t even dream about sabotaging my cooking. Shit, would he ever do that? The upstanding, bet-winning Aedion Ashryver? 

Yeah, maybe he would. 

After greeting Aelin, who booted him out of her kitchen with a big smile, he sauntered into the living room and dropped down next to Lysandra, who was settled on Aelin’s couch reading a book. “Didn’t know she invited you, babe.” 

“Someone has to be the impartial judge,” Lys smirked. 

“I’m wounded,” Aedion pouted. 

She snorted. “No, you’re not.” 

He flopped down on the couch and laid his head in her lap. “I have fair fainted away in agony!” 

She put down her book and scoffed, but smoothed a hand through his messy hair. “Poor baby,” she crooned with absolutely no sympathy. 

“Lys,” he groaned, “You’re mean.” 

“I’m honest.” 

“Mean.” 

She rolled her eyes. “You can stop whining and let me read, or I can kick you out to the porch. Your choice?” 

“Such a demanding woman,” Aedion sighed, settling back into his girlfriend’s lap. “All right, I’ll be quiet.” 

Lysandra blew him a kiss and went back to her novel. 

~

A couple of hours later, Aelin stuck her head out of the kitchen and rapped on the doorway. “Dinner is served!” she proclaimed. 

Aedion sat up, grinned devilishly at her, and sniffed the air. “I can’t smell any smoke, Ae. You shove it all out the window?” 

She smacked him with the rubber spatula in her hand. “There wasn’t any smoke, jackass. Sit your ass down and enjoy your dinner.” 

Lys snapped her book closed and snickered, tugging on his hand. “I’m gonna start telling you that, babe.” 

As they sat down at the table, Aedion took an experimental sniff of the air. It smelled...good? No, delicious, actually. He blinked, not having expected his cousin’s cooking to ever smell palatable, much less enticing. Aelin, grinning, plated up the chicken alfredo she’d made and served everyone, then watched as Aedion took a bite. Then another. Then another. 

“Gods,” he groaned. “What kind of damn magic did your instructor teach you?” 

“Everyday Cooking,” Aelin chirped, grinning gleefully. 

Aedion cleaned his entire plate. 

And asked for seconds. 

“All right,” he mumbled as he finished up. “You win, cousin.” 

She got up and bowed elaborately. “That’ll be three hundred, dear cousin.” 

He nearly lost every bit of dinner he’s eaten. “Three hundred?! For cooking lessons?” 

“And you shut it about my hazardousness in the kitchen,” Aelin concluded smugly.  

Aedion grumbled under his breath. Then went silent, realizing that he’d told Rowan that he was definitely going to win this bet, and they’d work out details for the date later. Of course, Rowan had grumbled about it, him not liking Aedion or anyone else meddling in his love life, but he’d told Aedion he was willing to meet his cousin, and Rowan Whitethorn wasn’t a man to back out of a promise. 

Shit. 

How was this going to work? “Um, Ae?” 

She raised a brow at him. “What? You’re flushing, Aeds, is it bad?” 

“Uhh...” He cleared his throat. “I may have told my friend that I was sure to win the bet and I may have begun to work out a time for the date with him.” He pressed his lips together. “Are you still game for a blind date?” 

“Only you, Aeds,” Aelin sighed. Then she shrugged. “He’s one of your friends?” 

“Yeah.” 

“All right. I’m game.” 

“Oh, thank the gods.” Aedion slung his arm around Aelin’s shoulders. “I was never gonna live it down if I had to back out of this.” 

“Wouldn’t have been bad for your inflated ego,” she snickered. 

“Shut up,” he groaned. 

~

A few days later, Aedion met Rowan at the gym for their usual Thursday session. “My cousin said yes to the date.” 

Rowan raised his brows. “I thought she was going out with me if she lost the bet, Ashryver, but you’re implying she was allowed to turn down the date?” 

Aedion flushed. “You’re too damn sharp, Whitethorn.” He stacked weight onto the bar and adjusted it so he could comfortably heft it onto his shoulders. 

“Answer the question, blondie.” Rowan looked knowingly at him in the mirror as he spotted. “I think I’ve got an answer, I just want your confirmation.” 

“Asshole,” Aedion mumbled. “I lost the bet, okay?” 

Rowan smirked. “You really thought she couldn’t learn how to cook, huh?” 

“She’s almost burned down her house like five times,” Aedion grunted. “Forgive me for assuming one month of classes wasn’t gonna counteract that.” 

“Wonder where she took classes,” Rowan mused as he switched spots with Aedion, hefting the bar onto his shoulders. 

“Dunno.” Aedion rolled his eyes. “But she’s not letting me forget the part of our bet where I have to shut up about her kitchen skills, hell no she isn’t.” 

“As she should,” Rowan chuckled. Aedion glared. “Lighten up, blondie, you tease her about everything else, she’s probably just basking in the well-earned right to make you shut your trap.” 

“Don’t call me ‘blondie,’ tattoo boy,” Aedion grumbled. College nicknames died hard, apparently. 

He and Rowan figured out a time for the promised date as they did their gym circuit, Aedion promising to fill his cousin in on the details when he got home. And he did, calling Aelin to tell her what the plan was. She scribbled down the information and thanked him, sounding pleased enough about having a date, even one that her meddlesome cousin organized. 

~

The day after the date, Aedion showed up to the gym a little late and glanced around to see if Rowan was there already, which he usually was, even though it was a weekend. He swore the man wasn’t human for the way he could get up at the crack of dawn almost every day and still work at his restaurant until almost midnight. 

He wasn’t there. 

Aedion waited a few minutes, then shrugged and headed in. Might as well get started while he waited, Rowan was probably just held up by traffic or something. Aedion did his full warmup set before he started to wonder where the hell Rowan was, then gave in and texted him. 

Ten minutes later, he got a middle-finger emoji in response. 

Aedion was typing out a snarky reply when he froze. 

Hell. 

That emoji could only mean one thing. 

One thing that he did not want to think about. 

Stuffing down all the thoughts that raged through his mind at the realization that his old friend had brought his baby cousin home, Aedion finished his workout and drove home, half-dazed. Lysandra was making coffee when he walked in the door, and she looked up at him, her forehead scrunching. 

“You all right, babe?” 

Wordlessly, he just shook his head. 

She left the coffeepot and went to him, cupping her hands around his face. “Talk to me, babe. I’m getting worried.” 

“I honestly don’t really want to talk about it,” he mumbled. 

She raised a brow. “Wrong answer.” 

“Fuck, babe, I don’t want to even think about Rowan not showing up to the gym because Aelin stayed over!” 

Her brows shot up. “What?!” 

“Rowan wasn’t at the gym,” he repeated. “Texted him and he sent me the middle finger. There’s...uhh, there’s probably only one reason for that--”

“Aelin and Rowan,” Lysandra breathed, a huge grin spreading across her face. “Oh my god!”

“Babe,” Aedion whined, “you’re supposed to be on my side!”

She patted his cheek, absolutely unsympathetic. “Not when my best friend finally found a guy she likes.” 

“Got me to thank for it,” he muttered. Then it hit him, and he grinned almost as broadly as his girlfriend. “They’ve got me to thank for it!” 

And when they got married, because he knew they were going to get married someday, he was never going to let the two of them forget it. 

~~~

TAGS: 

@charlizeed

@cretaceous-therapod

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@nerdperson524

@claralady

@fireheartwhitethorn4ever

@morganofthewildfire

@rowanaelinn

@wesupremeginger

@nicolivesinbooks

@story-scribbler

@stardelia

@shanias-world

@mybloodrunsblue

@swankii-art-teacher

@wordsafterhours

@cookiemonsterwholovesbooks

@violet-mermaid7

@holdthefrickup

@goddess-aelin

@rowaelinismyotp

@dealfea

@irondork

@elentiyawhitethorn

@live-the-fangirl-life

@darling-im-the-queen-of-hell

@chronicchthonic14

@whispers-in-the-darkest-heart

@sweet-but-stormy

@hanging-from-a-cliff

@jorjy-jo

@rowaelinrambling

@thegreyj

@silentquartz

[elrallin]

Chrumblr Whump Day 1: Blindfolding

(Character is my OC, Turtle. Some worldbuilding stuff is at play as well. Not fandom; this is for one of my projects.)

Turtle could tell that they weren’t fully in their proper mind as soon as they woke up. There was a fuzziness around the edges of their reason, every part of their body was somewhat lighter and floaty, and they couldn’t bring themself to be afraid of the faint pain threaded through their bones. They tried to open their eyes, and realized there was a thick, scratchy cloth wrapped around their face. They tried to push it off, and found that their arms were bound behind their back. “It’s awake,” a rough voice said from above them. “Get them up, and get going.” Turtle scrunched up their nose, trying to displace the cloth. They should be panicking. They tried to make themself scared as they were pulled to their feet roughly, and as a second stranger hissed in their ear, “Don’t even try to run, monster,” as they were frogmarched roughly along. Turtle wondered hazily what had happened; they must have flurred at least partly. How else would anyone know they were a monster? And why else would they feel this out of it. “Been a while,” they mumbled. “What was that?” They were shaken, roughly. Turtle coughed a little. “Hm?” Hands they couldn’t see suddenly pushed them to the ground, and held them pinned face down. They didn’t resist, and just lay there, trying to gather enough of their right mind to feel something. The ground beneath me is rough dirt. Gravel. The air is cool. It’s still dry here. There’s a rock against my left hip. I’m not tripping over roots—or my own tongue. It smells dusty here. I can see—I can feel the cloth around my head, but I can’t see. They were pulled up again shortly, and Turtle gritted their teeth against the pain in their shoulder. “Careful,” the voice taunted. “You might just trip and fall, blindfolded like that.” “I didn’t—“ they started to say, before they could think, and their legs were swept out from under them by a quick blow to the shins. They yelped as they hit the ground. “I said careful! What, did the bug get your brain as well?” That hit something. Turtle felt tears stinging at the back of their eyes as they were pulled up and walked along. They sniffed, and tried to ignore the slight huff of laughter from their captor. [tbc day 13]

[drrealityslenderverse]

Bad Break

Alex broke Masky's leg and he's not having a good time. Hoody finds and helps him despite an earlier argument.

Back to Contents || Back to One-shot Contents

The masked man hobbled through the trees, his breath panting laboriously as he pushed himself to keep going. His leg throbbed in agonizing protest from all the movement. The rough terrain didn’t make matters any easier on him. The worst part was that he was miles from home and he was alone, even his partner was gone thanks to an argument days before.

A loud grunt rumbled in his throat as his broken leg finally gave out. Another scream tore from his lips as the bone shifted further from its normal placement. If Alex was still in the area, he was sure to have heard that. He needed to keep going. 

Picking up a sturdy branch, the man pulled himself to his feet and limped onward with his injured limb dragging in the dirt. Each step caused pain to spike through it. Despite fighting back tears, eventually droplets rolled down his cheeks. Sniffing and swiping the tears with his jacket’s sleeve, he hobbled onward.

“Hoody would know how to set this properly.” Thunder rumbled in the distance as he drowned himself in the pain and misery of the situation. “Next time I see Alex…” 

It wasn’t long before his foul mood worsened. The storm made everything muddy and he slogged his way through it despite his exhaustion. In the dark, the only times he could see were between the bursts of lightning. For all he knew, he could’ve been going in circles. But he wanted to get home where it was warm and safe.

The stick he was using sank deeper into the mud, sending him off balance as he attempted to yank it free. His breath slammed out of his body as the world tumbled around him. Water submerged him for a moment at the bottom of the hill before he managed to drag himself back to land. Coughing, he spat out the water and inhaled deep ragged breaths. His body shuddered and a faint cry escaped as he resigned himself to lying helpless in the mud. If his leg hadn’t been broken before, it certainly was now—and mangled up further thanks to that fall.

“Don’t know where I am…” He tried to stay awake but his strength had ebbed away long ago and now that he was lying down he couldn’t stop his eyes from closing.

Brian followed the trail through the woods until he came to a hill. Shaking his head, the hooded man carefully made his way down the steep slope and stopped at the edge of the river. With the storm the night before, it was flooded and the current was swift. He considered himself—and his masked friend—lucky that it hadn’t swept Tim away. 

“Should’ve listened to me.” A huff of annoyance breezed out. He’d told Masky to wait. But no, he wanted to take on Alex right then and there. “Look where that got him.” 

He did genuinely feel bad for letting Masky go at it alone with a broken leg, but it wasn’t like he could’ve predicted the man would make it worse and end up falling in a river! Once the storm had gotten bad, he figured his partner would stop and seek shelter like he’d done. Brian quietly walked over and crouched down next to the mud-covered man lying face down in the dirt. 

“...Masky?” Guilt sank in further when he didn’t get a response; he should’ve caught up to him. It wouldn’t have been difficult. “Tim?” 

Reaching out a gloved hand, he shook the man as hard as he could without causing more harm to his badly broken leg. A jagged gasp told him Tim was at least still alive and the flutter of his eyelids gave him some hope he’d be alright. Brian watched as his partner sank back into unconsciousness. Looked like he’d be hauling Masky back home without the man’s help. Grunting, he hoisted the shorter but heavier man onto his back and started for the abandoned building he’d been staying in. 

It was nearly dark again by the time he laid Masky down on the admittedly filthy blankets that didn’t do much to soften against the uncomfortable floor. A growl rumbled through the man’s throat as the action jostled his leg. Hoody pushed his shoulders down firmly and tsked in disapproval at his partner when he tried getting up. Luckily for Masky, Hoody kept a small stash of first-aid supplies. It wasn’t much, certainly nothing for broken bones, but he could improvise.

“Bite.” He shoved a wad of gauze at him. 

Giving several grumbles of complaint, Masky obeyed. Hoody watched as the annoyance quickly shifted to agony as he began shoving the leg of Masky’s pants up to assess the damage. The man’s teeth clenched on the gauze like a vice grip. The hooded man shook his head and pulled out a somewhat dull pocket knife and tore at the jean fabric; rolling it up wasn’t doing much to help.

“Oh…” His eyes widened under his mask. 

The bone hadn’t broken the skin but he could clearly see the bulge of the broken end pressing out against the skin. Other cuts littered the area, some deeper than others but decidedly unconcerning so long as they were kept clean. The skin itself had morphed into a large dark bruise. Hoody was surprised Masky had even been able to stand on this, let alone tramp through the woods on it—granted the man was stubborn and had likely made it worse than it originally was. 

“I can set it. Least good enough until Tim’s back and can get to a doctor.” His eyes met Masky’s dark ones. Despite neither speaking, Masky seemed to read his mind and gave a small nod for him to continue. 

A barely muffled scream tore out of Masky’s throat and echoed through the small empty space. Ignoring it, Hoody continued to work on repositioning the bone. Taking a few sturdy sticks, he set the leg and wrapped the remaining bandages around it to keep the bone straight. Heaving breaths slowly settled back down as Masky once again relaxed, spitting out the mangled gauze he’d bit down on. 

“This time, listen when I say stay put.” He was glad he hadn’t lost the man but was still pissed Masky hadn’t listened to begin with. 

Tugging off his mask, Hoody laid down on Masky’s uninjured side and draped an arm over the man’s chest. Content with knowing he hadn’t lost the man, he allowed himself to relax and drift off.

By the next morning, Tim was back. Hoody knew the signs. With a sigh, he grudgingly put his mask back on and said a silent farewell to his partner before slipping out of the building to continue monitoring Tim out of sight.

[mimisempai]

Just a touch of love

Summary

Mycroft is sick and who better than Greg to help him get back on his feet?

Notes

Mystrade Monday  3.0  #38 - "Let’s get you fixed up.”

@mystradepromptsandscenarios

On AO3

Rating G - 1051 words

To say that Mycroft felt bad when he woke up would be an understatement.

He felt as if his heart was beating at the level of his head, he ached as if he had been hiking the day before, his nose was so congested that he could only breathe through his mouth and, to top it all off, he felt a great chill running through him, the first sign of a fever.

He was about to get up to look for medicine when he was suddenly overcome by a coughing fit that he could not suppress.

He sat down with the intention of letting it pass when he felt a soothing hand run over his back.

Greg said nothing and waited with him, just giving him that touch that, if it did not quell the cough, at least gave him some comfort. 

After the last cough, Greg said softly, "Well, it looks like the flu didn't miss you this time..." then kissed Mycroft on the forehead before pulling away a little abruptly, "Holy shit, Mycroft, you're super hot!" 

Mycroft, despite his pitiful state, couldn't help but retort, "Detective, I know I'm hot, it seems to me you've already told me that, two nights ago, several times in fact".

Greg rolled his eyes and replied, "Yeah, well, I don't like it this time. So you'll do me the pleasure of lying down now and I'll take care of the rest."

Mycroft, too weak to protest even if he wanted to, let himself fall back onto the pillows. He shivered violently and Greg noticed it immediately.

The detective immediately grabbed the blanket and wrapped Mycroft comfortably in it before kissing him once more on the forehead and saying softly, "I'll take care of everything. Let's get you fixed up. Okay?"

He hadn't finished saying those words before Mycroft started to doze off, so Greg rushed to the bathroom before returning with a glass of water in one hand and a pill in the other. He woke Mycroft, "Mycroft, love, just take this to bring the fever down and then I'll let you go back to sleep, okay?" Mycroft nodded weakly and obediently swallowed the pill and then the glass of water, handing it to Greg when he was finished, before falling heavily back onto the pillows, exhaustion at its worst. Greg watched him for a few more moments, making sure he was sleeping peacefully before heading for the kitchen.

When he awoke, Mycroft didn't know how long he'd been asleep. But apparently enough time for the fever to break and the pain in his head to subside. In the distance, he heard Greg humming softly in the kitchen. He straightened up slightly, causing another coughing fit.  That had brought Greg in, for when Mycroft finally caught his breath, he could see him sitting on the edge of the bed with a steaming mug in his hands.

Greg placed it on the bedside table before helping Mycroft to sit comfortably against the pillows he had arranged around his lover's back.

Then he picked up the mug again and handed it to Mycroft, saying quietly, "I've made you some herbal tea, it's an herbal concoction my grandmother used to make for me when I had a cold. I don't know how much of it is really effective, but at least the warmth will soothe your irritated throat."

Mycroft gripped the mug with both hands before sniffing the scent, the hot steam easing his stuffed nose a little. He didn't know if it was the faint scent of the mixed herbs or the simple idea that it was something Greg had prepared for him, but the feel of the steam was already a great source of relief.

He gently lifted the mug to his lips and slowly took a sip, the taste was pleasant and he recognized some sage and eucalyptus and realized that Greg was right. Just the warm liquid flowing down his throat soothed the irritation caused by the cough. He continued to sip the healing drink while Greg sat next to him with a book in his hand, the title of which he couldn't read or the cover of which he couldn't recognize.

He asked Greg, "Are you going to read to me?"

Greg nodded.

Mycroft took another sip and asked, "What kind of book is this?"

Greg gave him a mischievous smile before answering, "Woolwich Arsenal FC: 1893-1915 The Club That Changed Football."

Mycroft turned his head sharply towards his lover and protested, "I'm sick and you want to read me the history of your favorite football team?"

Greg ran his hand through Mycroft's hair and replied in a cheeky tone, "I'm taking advantage because you're sick and you can't stop me from educating you.

Mycroft shook his head and muttered "Idiot" in a hoarse voice. 

He was about to straighten up and place his empty mug on the bedside table, but Greg beat him to it, taking it from his hands and placing it on his own bedside table before leaning back against the headboard.

He opened his arm and Mycroft did not hesitate to rest his head against his chest. Greg closed his arm around him, planted a soft kiss on his lover's hair and reached for his book.

Mycroft sighed, "I guess I have no choice..."

"Nope. Anyway, I bet you'll be asleep by the end of the first page."

Mycroft chuckled slightly before snuggling up to Greg a little more.

Greg opened the book and started to read,

 “In October 1886, Scotsman David Danskin and fifteen fellow munitions workers in Woolwich formed Dial Square Football Club, named after a workshop at the heart of the Royal Arsenal complex. Each member contributed sixpence and Danskin also added three shillings to help form the club.  Dial Square played their first match on 11 December 1886...”

He paused, hearing a light snore against his chest, and looked down to see that Mycroft had not even made it to the end of the first paragraph. Greg had expected that, as the choice of book had been quite deliberate. After all, all he wanted was for Mycroft to recover, and for that his lover needed to sleep.

A tender smile formed on his lips and he resumed his reading. In silence this time.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Mystrade masterlist here

[perseephoneee]

i was scared for you (isaac lahey x reader)

prompt: you get hurt in a fight while helping the mccall pack and a particular wolf comes to check in on you

warnings:

note: isaac has been my longest crush since ever and i can’t stop thinking about him so here you go. 

~~

It was past midnight, and you patrolled the Beacon Hills Reserve with Scott, Chris, Derek, and Isaac. Boyd and Cora were loose after being starved from the full moon for months. Somehow you had ended up paired with Isaac as you tried to track them down before any severe damage could be done.

"Are you getting anything?" you ask, shining your flashlight as Isaac sniffed the air.

"I'm picking up their scents but I can't tell from what direction."

"That's not very helpful," you remark.

"Well, I'm not very good at this-- it's all new to me," Isaac scoffs. He sounded almost defensive, and you immediately softened. You two didn't always get along, but you didn't want to make him feel bad. In fact, you've always had a crush on Isaac, thinking he was the cutest out of the pack.

"I'm new to werewolves so I think you're doing better than me," you say, a slight grin on your lips. He smiles slightly, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets.

You resume walking through the reserves again until suddenly Isaac stops. You turn off your flashlight, shrouding you both in complete darkness. Growling could be heard from a bush off to your left, and within seconds the dark form of Boyd comes out. His shirt is torn to shreds, and his eyes are glowing a hungry yellow. Isaac pushes you behind him as his claws come out, ready to attack Boyd. Your back hits a tree as Isaac dodges a swipe from Boyd, attempting to knock him down. Unfortunately, Boyd is built like a tank, and he only stumbles. He tosses Isaac aside, and you hear a sickening crunch as one of his bones breaks. Isaac gets back up, ready to fight Boyd again. Isaac manages to get a few hits in before Boyd gets on top of the fight, hitting Isaac down blow after blow. You watch in horror and recognize that Isaac is losing this battle. Fear grips your heart, and you know that you can't just let Isaac die.

Before you can really think through what you're doing, you find yourself throwing a rock at the back of Boyd's head. He drops Isaac, turning around and growling at you. It's a sound so low it reverberates through the Earth, and suddenly you're running as fast as you can. You're only human, though, and you can already feel Boyd catching up to you.

"Scott! Derek!" you yell, hoping that one of the wolves can come to your rescue as you dart zig-zag through the brush to distract Boyd. Finally, Boyd grabs your shoulder and yanks you back. Then, you fall flat and scramble on your elbows to look up at the towering werewolf. Boyd grabs you by the throat, yanking you up as his claws dig into your skin. You feel yourself losing air, gasping desperately, until suddenly the hand is gone and you're on the ground again. Coughing, you look up and see Scott chasing Boyd down to the high school where you'll lock them up.

Luckily, Boyd and Cora were captured and eventually defeated, with Derek controlling them until sunrise. You made it back home, already feeling the fight settle into your bones. Then, as you entered your room, you looked at a mirror and grimaced at sight. Deep bruises littered your neck, as well as precise cuts where Boyd's claws dug in. You would need a scarf to even attempt to cover this up for school.

Just then, a faint knock could be heard at your window. You went over cautiously, peering outside and immediately relaxing. You opened the window, and Isaac climbed inside.

"Oh good, you're okay. I was worried after the fight--" You start to say.

"You were worried? I was worried," he remarks, his tone sharp as he looks at you. "You could've gotten yourself killed."

"I was saving your life," you bite back, feeling defensive. "Sorry that I didn't want you to be turned into a werewolf kebab."

"You could've been seriously hurt, or killed. You can't defend yourself like I can."

"Well, I'm fine. I'm alive," you cross your arms, seething. "Why do you care anyway?"

"Excuse me?" Isaac says, eyes narrowing.

"You are either acting indifferent or you're being hostile, I can never figure it out with you," you scoff. "Sometimes I can't tell if you hate me or if you are just completely apathetic."

"That's not true."

"Then please tell me what the hell you're doing here," you say, poking your finger at Isaac's chest.

"I was scared for you!" he responds, grabbing your wrist. You shut up, looking him in the eyes. "I was scared for you."

You blink up at him, not sure what to say. Suddenly your mouth starts acting on its own accord.

"I like you," you confess. "I've always liked you. I like your smile and your sarcasm. I like that stupid scarf you insist on wearing. I like your eyes. I like how you talk in a baby voice to the dogs in the Animal Clinic when you think no one is watching. I like--"

Isaac kisses you, effectively shutting you up. His lips are softer than you imagined, and you almost melt into his arms. You tangle your fingers in his hair as you deepen the kiss, and his gold curls are so much softer than you imagined. He crushes you to his body, his hands touching you anywhere you can. He bites your lip, and you can't help but let out a small whimper. His lips trail down to your neck, where he leaves the softest kisses. You sigh out in contentment as he kisses every area you were hurt as if he's trying to heal the pain. Eventually, you pull him back to your lips, feeling high off the feeling.

When you do pull away, he nudges his nose against yours and plants soft kisses all over your face that leave you giggling.

"I like you too," Isaac says, one hand coming up to cup your face.

"You never let me finish what I was saying," you smile, entwining his other hand with yours.

"Sorry, I just wanted to kiss you," he said bashfully. "What were you going to say?"

"That I was scared for you too."

[coramatus]

there were no instructions or fine print (part 3)

“To restore the lost, find my form and sacrifice yours”

Or

That time Ingo got turned into a Sneasel because there were no instructions or fine print on the ancient mystical artifact

Based on ideas of the Transfer Error AU by @rosebloodcat on Tumblr

part one | two | three

drifting

Ingo sleeps.

He feels nothing. He thinks nothing.

All is dark.

But sometimes he catches glimpses of scenes.

Trees flying past. Heaving breaths. They’re running. Who is running? Everything hurts. He’s so tired…

His world fades to black once more.

Suddenly there’s bright lights. The scent of blood and harsh chemicals. Murmured words. Beeping sounds. His body feels limp and numb. He senses something happening to his side but he can’t tell what that is.

He sinks back down.

He resurfaces to the feeling of something stuck in his throat. Something is pinching at his wrist. Whooshing noises and more beeping surround him. He thinks of coughing, but his muscles have turned to jelly and won’t respond. Instead of panicking, he just accepts it.

His side is so sore.

Everything goes black again.

Faint sounds fill the air.

“…st a lot of blood… -ple ruptured organs… flail chest… intubated for a few… -ld have died if you ha… …found traces of old brain dam- …term starvation… he should survive this…”

“Oh thank god…”

Darkness.

Something rubs his head. Its touch is gentle, scratching behind his ears. He feels himself purring. The touch then vanishes. It’s quiet and he starts drifting off again. Distantly he thinks he hears a cry of “What do you mean it’s Ingo?!”

He fades.

A hand under his head. Silver-gray eyes staring, begging, wet.

“Ingo? Ingo, is that you? Please, please, tell me it’s still you.”

He whines as unconsciousness takes him once more.

Someone is crying. Another voice comforts them.

“He’s gone… He’s gone… I got him back but he— why…?”

“We don’t know that.”

“He was afraid of me!”

“I’m here,” Ingo wants to say, “I’m here, please don’t cry, Emmet.”

But instead, he simply drifts off.

Crying, but the hand is soft. So careful. Like he’ll break. He leans into it. Not a lot, but enough. It feels nice.

“I will take care of you,” a wavering voice sniffles. “No matter what. I promise you.”

He sleeps.

The next time he wakes, his head feels different. Less stuffed full of cotton, but still not quite all there.

He laboriously peels open his eyes and finds himself someplace dark and quiet. A quick sniff tells him that this is new. The invasive smell of acrid chemicals and sterility is gone. Now he’s somewhere warmer, dustier, human… and very familiar.

Ingo shifts, but stops when he feels bandages pulling over a sore spot. Looking down, he finds his midsection bound in thick wrappings. Sniffing at his side, he finds the scent of harsh ointments, telling him his body is on the mend.

A faint snore nearby makes him look up.

The giant— no… Emmet is asleep next to him. He’s sprawled upright on the couch, his head tilted back and resting on the edge as he gently snores. He’s still in his partially-unbuttoned work shirt, his coat missing, tie hanging untied, his hat removed only by virtue of it having fallen off beside him.

Emmet…

Ingo… remembers.

His brother.

His twin.

His smiling reflection in white…

“I like winning more than anything!” the man to his side proclaimed, positively beaming as he held up a Pokéball in anticipation.

Fragments of memories start to slowly unfold, trickling back out from the dark recesses of his mind. Mere tidbits, but to his starved and aching psyche it’s a feast.

Brief flashes of battling together…

The first time they pulled off an Earthquake in the Battle Subway was glorious. The levels of wild glee on his twin brother’s face as Eelektross neatly levitated over the trembling floor, their opponents stumbling and falling over each other from Haxorous’s attack, was a sight to behold.

Of working together…

His brother eagerly bounced in place as together they monitored the last of the day’s trains docking in their bays, eyes roving the screens as he watched their locomotives dutifully chugging along, calling out directions for conductors on their routes.

Of playing together…

“Hah hah! I have your hat! Now with your hat on my hat, I have twice the power! Kneel before the Supreme Subway Boss!!”

His own dark-sleeved arm swung into view, neatly smacking away his twin’s haphazardly stacked headwear. Gray eyes lit up, smile widening as he grabbed at his exposed hair in mock histrionics,

“My hats!!”

Of growing up together…

“Come on! I wanna practice posing!” his little brother exclaimed as he dragged him over to their parents’ full-length mirror. He watched their reflection as the two gray-haired boys before them straightened their postures.

“OK, now put your back on my back and then point with your right hand and I’ll point with my left! Ready? One, two, three!”

Always at each other’s sides…

“Our combination is the best!” he boasted to the defeated pair of trainers before them. “It’s perfect!”

…how did he forget for so long?

Ingo’s heart cracks.

He wants to cry.

As he drowsily rubs at his tearing eyes, he distantly realizes that something is wrong with the vision before him.

Emmet doesn't look well. Faint tear tracks mar his face. His hair is a greasy mess. Dark circles line his eyes. His cheeks are more sunken than they should be.

He looks exhausted, worn.

Broken.

Ingo moves on instinct.

With care to his injury, he gingerly crawls up on Emmet’s chest and curls up directly over his heart. Hearing its strong beat reminds him of something buried deep. Of nights of worry and fright, when he was small and sought out another body to remind him he wasn’t alone. When he would listen to the heartbeat of his twin until it finally lulled him to sleep.

“…s’ok Ingo… ‘m here…” Emmet murmurs softly.

With Emmet’s heart thrumming underneath him, Ingo drifts off into an easy slumber.

[seriouslysnape]

Under the Weather

Harry Potter x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Fluff. Sickness. 

Word Count: 1,518

“I just hate that you’re feeling bad.”

Harry felt bad. Correction: Harry felt terrible. He watched as you crawled into your bed with sunken eyes and a nasty sounding cough. He wouldn’t ever say this out loud, but you didn’t look so good at all. It was all his fault that you were sick, and he wouldn’t let himself forget it anytime soon.

He had just recovered from possibly the worst case of the flu that he had ever fallen ill with. It had knocked him on his ass for a week due to the fatigue, coughing, fever, and body aches. Pomfrey had done all she could to try to make him comfortable enough, but the strain was just a bit more than her remedies could fix this time around. He was stuck in bed with nothing to do but roll around in his sickness and complain about how bad he felt. 

In the end, Harry was able to recover swiftly and without any real problems. Before too long, he was as good as new thanks to your help. You had taken extra good care of him by keeping him cool from the fever but warm from the chills. You made sure he was eating, even if it was just chicken and soup everyday. You made sure he was hydrated and getting plenty of rest to ensure his recovery...which also included lots of snuggles and kisses.

It turned out that those snuggles and kisses were rather sickly ones, and about the time that Harry was fully feeling better, you had begun to feel crummy. Harry actually noticed it before you did. It was extremely rare for you to sleep later than him. You almost always were up and going before him, but on particular Friday morning, you were still knocked out when he woke up. Not only that, you were unusually warm and ill looking. He had pressed the back of his hand to your head, feeling a pit of guilt when he realized that you definitely were running a fever.

He had woken you up, feeling even worse when you began to cough. He had practically jumped out of your bed, wrapping you up and doing whatever he could to make you comfortable. You had all the same symptoms that he did, and you were guaranteed to be in for a long week. He had insisted that he take another week off from classes to watch over you, but he was already a week behind, and there was no chance that you were letting him fall back more on your account.

He went through all of his classes in a haze of worry. He knew that he had undoubtedly gotten you sick. There was no way that you could’ve gotten it from anyone else. He didn’t even stop in the common room after his classes, going straight back to your dorm where he had left you. When he did walk into your room, you were standing at your trunk, looking weak and drained. You would’ve thought that you had tried to mouth off to Professor Snape by the way Harry reacted.

“What are you doing?!” He shrieked, closing your door and rushing to you.

You threw your hands up in defense, sniffling more drainage out of your nasal passageway.

“What? I’m getting changed. I was in the same pajamas from last night and I felt gross,” You explained with a congested tone, not seeing the big deal, “I’m fine, Harry.”

He ruffled your hair when he noticed it was damp. His face fell into even more horror.

“Did you shower?” He asked as if it were a crime.

“Uh, yes?” You replied nonchalantly.

“But you’re sick! You could’ve...I don’t know! You could’ve fainted or sneezed so hard that you fell or-”

“Harry, I’m not dying. It’s just the flu.” You argued, giggling at his dramatic act.

That sealed the deal. He was dedicating his entire weekend to make sure you were at least on the road to recovery by Monday if you weren’t going to “take care” of yourself.

“Get in bed, you mad woman! What are you doing up?!” He shrilled again, ushering you to your bed again.

That was when you returned to bed to put HIM at ease, looking and sounding just plain awful. That was also when he REALLY started to feel guilty for your current state. He rushed around the room, setting things up the way you had in his when he had been sick. He layered blankets onto your bed, turned on some soft music, made sure the windows were closed to make sure you didn’t catch a cold draft. The only difference was that you had spoken to him in sweet, calm tones. Harry was running around like a chicken with its head cut off.

“Are you warm enough, my love?” Harry asked, adding yet another blanket on top of you, rushing to your desk on the other side of the room.

“Yes, Harry. I told you that I’m fin-”

“Do you want a book? Or maybe I can sneak into the kitchen and bring you a snack?” Harry rattled off, barely letting you get a word in.

“No, angel. I don’t want-”

“I promise I don’t mind! The castle is pretty quiet this time of night and Filch is easy to sneak around and-”

“Harry!” You finally croaked out through your already hoarse voice, “I don’t need anything. I’m fine.” 

Harry’s demeanor softened. His shoulders relaxed and his breathing slowed. He was getting himself worked up over nothing, and panicking wasn’t going to solve anything at all.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry,” He said, sitting on the edge of your bed, “I just hate that you’re feeling bad.”

You shrugged under the pile of covers, giving him a feeble grin. 

“I’m okay. I don’t feel that bad. Just a little under the weather I guess.” You brushed it off.

Harry smiled softly with an even gentler laugh. You certainly didn’t look “a little under the weather”. He had been much more difficult when he was sick. He kicked the sheets off of his body and complained that it was too hot, and then hissed that it was too cold each time he got a new chill. He whined when he had to keep changing clothes because the sweating from his fever dampened his pajamas. You, on the other hand, were perfectly content, even in your ill state. 

“If you say so. Can I squeeze in with you, darling?” He queried, wanting to hold you close in your bed.

“I don’t want you to get sick again. You’re already behind.” You shook your head.

“I don’t care about that. I just want to be with you, my pretty girl.” Harry bantered.

He knew you hated missing school, and you were sure to miss at least a week. The thought of you having to spend the next several days cooped up in your dorm made him feel awful. Worst of all, you weren’t your normal, healthy self and it was all because of him. He wanted you to be happy and at your best at all times, because seeing you happy made him happy. 

“[Y/N], baby, I’m sorry I got you sick. I shouldn’t have let you get so close to me and love up on me. If I had known it was so contagious I would’ve taken care of myself.” Harry apologized, his eyes lowering, finding your hand under all the sheets and giving it a caring caress. 

“It’s not your fault. I wanted to take care of you. I always want to...love up on you,” You remarked, laughing at his previous choice of wording, “I couldn’t let you be sick and not do anything. I care about you.”

Harry’s eyes found yours again, his lips upturning into a wide smile as he looked at your lovingly.

“You really love me that much, huh?” He questioned, bringing your clammy palm to his lips for a ginger kiss.

“That much and more,” You returned with a smirk, “Now shut up and get in bed with me. I need cuddles.”

Harry leapt up from the side of the bed, rushing to the empty, opposite side.

“Yes ma’am.” He joked, crawling in and pulling you flush to his chest.

He winced at how warm you still were, but he was sure that the fever would subside with time. Harry’s paranoia had subsided almost completely, but he still kept a hand on your back to make sure you were breathing...just in case. He’d cater to your every need to make sure you’d be better soon. You’d be back to normal in no time with Harry Potter as your caretaker.

“Thanks for taking care of me, Harry. I really appreciate it.” You sniffed, beginning to feel drowsy as your body fought off the horrid sickness.

Harry pressed a kiss to your forehead, keeping you safe and comfortable in his arms. It was something he would do until forever ran out...with or without a bad case of the flu.

“I’ll always take care of you. No matter what.”

******

Tags: @writingscape @lupinsslut @msmimimerton @thefilmcity

[red-jaebyrd]

She Made Everything Better

Summary: Dick has his first cold since moving into the Manor with Bruce. All he wants is the one person he can’t have – his mom. Bruce does his best to fill the void as well as helping an ill and still grieving boy find safety and security in his new guardian.

For @ckbookish

There are many things that Bruce wasn’t prepared for when he took in 8 year old Dick Grayson. Little things like enforcing bedtimes and daily baths; to big things like no swimming in the pool alone and making sure Dick stayed off the front foyer chandelier…or any chandelier in the Manor. The other was taking care of a sick child.

Dick had only been living in the Manor for six months and had yet to come down with any kind of illness. Considering all the stories Bruce had been told by well-meaning co-workers of their kids coming home frequently with colds; he considered himself fortunate that Dick had remained cold-free.

Until one morning when he could hear faint coughing coming from the bedroom down the hall.

“Bruce,” Dick cried, dragging out his name followed by a series of more wet coughs.

Oh no, Bruce thought to himself. Those coughs didn’t sound good at all. He followed the cry and coughs to Dick’s room and saw the boy laying down on his bed bundled in blankets and surrounded by discarded tissues. His cheeks were flushed, his nose was red, and eyes were glassy.

“Hey buddy, what’s wrong?” Bruce asked, sitting on the edge of Dick’s bed.

“My head hurts, my nose won’t stop running, and I’m coughing,” Dick answered, pulling his blankets up to his chin.

Bruce quickly went through a mental checklist of what the boy might need while dealing with a cold. By the looks of the boy’s flushed cheeks, he likely had a fever. What was that saying, ‘feed a cold, starve a fever’; that didn’t sound right to Bruce.

Dick coughed and then groaned, snapping Bruce out of his thoughts.

“Why don’t you drink some water. It’s important to stay hydrated,” Bruce suggested, walking over to Dick’s nightstand and handing him his water bottle.

“No,” Dick whined with a pout pushing the water bottle away. “Water tastes gross, and it hurts when I swallow.”

“Understood,” Bruce said, a bit bewildered by Dick’s whining. Set the water bottle back onto the nightstand. He sat on the bed in front of Dick reaching to feel Dick’s forehead with the front of his wrist. Dick shivered at the contact. “You feel warmer than usual. I’ll be right back with a thermometer.”

“No,” Dick moaned, reaching his hand out for Bruce from under his blankets. “Don’t leave me.”

“I know you’re feeling bad, Chum, but I need to get a thermometer to see if you have a fever,” Bruce soothed, sweeping Dick’s sweaty bangs from his forehead. He smiled, taking Dick’s hand in his and squeezed it gently. “I’m not leaving I’m just going to your bathroom to get the thermometer.

Bruce walked toward the en-suite bathroom in search of the thermometer but came up empty. He searched all the cabinets, and they didn’t even have any children’s medicine, just polysporin, hospital grade antiseptic and, tons of band-aids. Bruce could have sworn they had children’s Motrin, but sadly there was none.

“Hang on, I’ll be right back,” Bruce said, closing the bathroom door and making his way toward the bedroom door.

“No, don’t leave,” Dick pleaded, reaching out frantically to Bruce this time with both hands. His eyes welled up with unshed tears. Bruce shoulders slumped and he sat down one the bed again, taking Dick’s cold hand in his and rubbing soft circles with his thumb.

Bruce furrowed his brow in concern at Dick’s behavior. It was extremely unusual for Dick to be this clingy and demanding when it came to Bruce. The two did spend more time together now that Bruce had changed his schedule a few months ago. Dick did like to seek attention from his guardian in the most heart stopping ways imaginable. Bruce quickly recalled the first and last time Dick backflipped off the second landing stairs nearly giving Bruce and Alfred a heart attack.

As Bruce had gotten to know Dick, he had learned that the boy liked being with people; liked spending time with Bruce and once Dick had got his fill of ‘peopling’, he’d be off outside or in his room playing alone. The boy liked attention, but he was far from clingy.

“Dick, I’m not leaving. I’m just heading to the intercom near the door to speak to Alfred,” Bruce explained, using his free hand to gently card his fingers through Dick’s hair and resting his hand on the boy’s cheek. “I’m not leaving.”

“Okay,” Dick sniffed, letting go of Bruce’s hand to rub his face with his blanket.

Bruce wrinkled his nose and handed Dick a fresh tissue from the discarded box on his bed. He then headed to the intercom near Dick’s bedroom door and pressed the button hoping Alfred was still in the kitchen.

“Alfred, I need a thermometer. Can you bring one to Dick’s bedroom, please.”

“Right away, Sir,” Alfred answered promptly.

Bruce turned and gave Dick a small smile, but the gesture wasn’t returned. He expected as much considering how poorly the boy felt. It warmed Bruce’s heart to know that Dick found security and safety in his presence. A little hand reached out to him from under the blankets. It made Bruce chuckle, so he made his way back to the bed and sat down taking Dick’s hand. Dick slouched low against his pillows blinking tiredly at Bruce.

“I wasn’t going to leave you. I told you I wasn’t,” Bruce reassured, trying to tuck Dick’s duvet around him with one hand and failing. Dick let go so Bruce could finish with both hands. “Do you want anything to eat?”

Just as Dick was going to answer Alfred arrived with a thermometer and a fresh box of tissues. He handed the thermometer to Bruce and set the tissue box on Dick’s nightstand. He then proceeded to collect the dirty tissues and deposit them in the trash bin.

“Will that be all, Sirs?” Alfred asked, moving the bin closer to the bed so it stayed within Dick’s reach near the nightstand.

Bruce stayed sitting on the bed and gave Alfred a rundown of all the supplies that they would need while Dick blew his nose. As usual Alfred had a pen and notepad on hand and wrote down everything.

“Anything else? Master Dick, would you like something to eat before I go?” Alfred asked, tucking the notepad and pen into his front jacket pocket.

Dick didn’t answer Alfred right away. The boy looked lost in his own thoughts, but mostly he looked tired. Poor guy, Bruce thought to himself, he must be feeling so out of it.

“Dick,” Bruce whispered, gently squeezing Dick’s hand to get his attention. Once the boy’s glassy eyes met his, Bruce took that as a sign to continue, “Are you hungry?

“Oh um –“ Dick stammered, and started playing with the hem of the duvet. “Would – would it be okay to have toast with cinnamon on top, please?”

“Certainly, young sir. I’ll get to it straight away.” Alfred replied and left the room closing the door behind him.

Bruce proceeded to take Dick’s temperature and just as he suspected after the thermometer beeped; he frowned looking at the number on the screen. Dick had a fever. Bruce was trying to remember if he should call a doctor right away or if he was supposed to wait two or three days if nothing improved. He’d likely call Leslie today just to be sure.

“Is it bad?” Dick asked, bringing the blanket up to his eyes.

“Well, it’s not good, 102.2, buddy. We’ll keep an eye on it. Make sure it goes down with meds. If not, I’ll have to call Dr Thompkins,” Bruce clarified, turning the thermometer off and setting it on the nightstand. “So cinnamon toast?”

“Mom would always give it to me whenever I got sick,” Dick swallowed thickly, looking down at his blankets. “She – she said the cinnamon had healing properties that would help make me feel better.”

“I’m sure it did,” Bruce said, brushing Dick’s bangs away from his face. “Moms are good like that aren’t they?”

Bruce tried to give Dick a smile, but it felt stiff on his face as he fought against the lump forming in his throat at the memory of his mom making him chicken noodle soup whenever he got a cold. He remembered loving the noodles and the broth but like all kids his age, Bruce hated the chicken and veggies. Over the years the soup was something that Alfred had tried to replicate, but to no avail. It just wasn’t the same. It wasn’t his mom’s soup.

“My mom would –,” Bruce sniffed and then cleared his throat, but before he could finish his sentence; Dick’s face crumpled, and he started sobbing.

In the short time that Dick had been staying at the Manor, he had only cried a handful of times. Even after a nightmare, tears spilled down silently. Dick was always quick to wipe the tears away before Bruce could fully envelop him in a hug. Always pulling away from the embrace claiming he was fine as the tears continued to fall down his cheeks. Bruce had never pressed as he never felt he had the right words to say. Because ‘I know how you feel’ and ‘I’ve been there too’ didn’t really seem like great words of comfort.

But maybe they were the exact words that Dick needed to hear.

“Oh Dickie, come here,” Bruce offered, his arms outstretched and his own eyes filling with unshed tears. He gathered Dick in his arms and settled him on his lap. The boy practically melted into his embrace.

“I don’t feel good, Bruce,” Dick bawled, his breaths hitching from crying so hard. “I want – I want my mom.

The last sentence was said in a whisper in between sobs. Dick’s fingers tightened as he clung onto Bruce in a desperate hug.

“I m-miss her,” Dick mumbled, trying to catch his breath and failing. “I miss how – how she made everything better.”

Bruce’s heart sank; his own tears finally falling down his cheeks. She made everything better. It echoed in brain and he couldn’t deny that the boy was right. Of course, Dick missed his mom; it made sense that he missed her. Every child who felt ill wanted their mom to be the one holding them, taking care of them, and making their favorite comfort foods; not some stranger they’ve barely known for six months.

He hugged Dick a little tighter and sighed. They had come a long way these past six months, dealing with Dick’s anger and trust issues that had only been fueled by Bruce’s incompetence and neglect in the guise of protection. While necessary changes to his schedule were made to fit Dick into his busy life and it had changed the dynamic in how they interacted with each other; the change still didn’t do much to help Dick feel safe enough to talk to Bruce about the loss of his parents. Until now, so naturally Bruce took advantage of a missed opportunity.

“I know you do. I know you miss her so much and I’m so sorry,” Bruce empathized, resting his cheek on the Dick’s head and rubbing small circles on his back. “I know – I know how you feel, chum. I really do. I’ve been where you are and it – well it sucks.”

Dick nodded in silent agreement and continued to cry.

“I know it feels like – it feels like the pain is so much bigger than you, but one day it won’t feel so big and overwhelming,” Bruce comforted, wiping away his own tears with his free hand. “And – and while the hurt won’t go away completely. It will get better in time. For you, that I promise.”

Bruce continued to hold Dick as his body calmed from his crying jag. The boy’s breaths slowly regulating from shuddering gasps to hiccups. Bruce was happy to finally be able to provide such comfort to Dick after so many months of him pushing him away. His feelings were never hurt from the boy’s rejection, Bruce understood firsthand that type of vulnerability and transparency in grief can be scary, especially in an unknown environment.

He had hoped that their conversation today would help pave the way to more talks and further healing for Dick. Bruce was confident the boy would be alright, but these difficult conversations had to be something that Bruce initiated and participated in as well.

“Any time you want to talk ab out your mom or your dad; come find me, okay?” Bruce offered, giving Dick a reassuring smile. He wiped away Dick’s remaining tears with his thumb. “Even if it’s in the middle of night. Understand?”

Dick nodded, his breaths finally evening out.

They sat on the bed in companionable silence. Bruce hummed a tune he remembered his mom singing whenever she was knitting or just needed to fill the silence. He could slowly start to feel Dick’s body going boneless against his chest with exhaustion; his breaths gradually getting deeper with sleep.

Just as Bruce was about to close his eyes a knock on the door startled him and woke up Dick.

“Here is your toast, Master Dick,” Alfred announced, setting a tray on the other side of the bed. “I also added a few digestives and the last juice box until I can get the apple juice you requested.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” Dick sniffed, still clinging onto Bruce.

Bruce brought the tray closer to Dick so the boy wouldn’t have to move from his place of comfort.

“You are very welcome, young sir. If there is nothing else you require of me, I shall leave to retrieve the necessary items.”

An hour later, once Alfred returned with the medicine, Bruce was pleased to finally be able to give the boy some much needed relief from the headache and congestion. Dick still wouldn’t let Bruce leave, so Bruce suggested they move to the media room to watch a movie.

Bruce covered them with a blanket thin enough to make Dick comfortable, but not too thick to spike his fever. Dick settled himself right up against Bruce’s side, draping a thin arm around him and using Bruce’s chest as a pillow. Dick fell asleep ten minutes into the movie. Bruce stayed watching the rest of the movie, carding his fingers gently though Dick’s hair relishing the closeness and comfort he was finally able to provide his hurting foster son.

[worth-more-than-two-thousand]

Omega’s Observations

Request:  Congrats on starting the blog!! Pumped to have a new writer's work to read 🥰 If you need some requests, how about an echo/gn!medic reader who he develops a crush on, for a little of that sweet sweet mutual pining action✨ Dunno if you write pre-citadel or just BB echo, but I'm happy with either. Have a good weekend!! :) (@krussyfed)

Author’s Note: Whew! This took a while for me to get to a place where I felt good about posting it. Honestly, as most of my writing does, it got a bit away from me, but that’s because I love fleshing out a story, showing-not-telling, and building on events from the canon. But if I saw this through until the end, I probably wouldn’t end up posting this for months! So I hope what I have here is worth the wait, and if you want more, let me know! 

Story Notes: Unbeta’ed, no obvious warnings. 

🖑 🖑 🖑 🖑 🖑 🖑 🖑

Ask her brothers to describe her, and ‘still and quiet’ would not be two of the words any of them would use. 

Hunter would call her curious to a fault, then ruffle her hair to let her know that he meant it in the nicest way possible. 

Wrecker would boom with laughter, proclaiming her one of them (“Always ready for action and adventurin’! Let’s go get those gundarks!”). 

Tech would probably consider for a moment, then use a four-syllable word. Like effervescent.

Echo would call her young and energetic, but his brow would furrow as though this might be a bad thing. Then he would inevitably follow up with a reminder to stay within sight and keep out of trouble. She didn’t mind. She knew he just worried about her. Omega would always reassure him that she would keep close to her brothers. Of course, whether it actually happened was usually another thing. 

Crosshair, if he was with them, would probably call her troublesome. 

But really, this was a tactical advantage. Her brothers never expected her to be still and quiet, so she could settle in and be observant when it was least expected of her. 

Omega was actually quite accustomed to being taciturn, at least when she needed to be. Her time with Nala Se, after all, was mostly like this. 

Watching over like a stone guardian as Nala Se pored over the capsules containing her modified brothers…

...being as unobtrusive as possible during another endless meeting with Lama Su…

...laying noiselessly and without complaint as Nala Se inserted a needle into her arm for yet another blood sample…

 These days, Omega could be as boisterous and vivacious (two more words Tech had taught her) as she wanted to be, so long as there was no chance of enemies being around. The only time she was obediently still by choice during these times was when she was being treated by Y/N, Clone Force 99’s on-board medic. 

Again, this was mostly out of habit from her time with Nala Se, but it wasn’t as bad. For one thing, Y/N fielded all of Omega’s questions with unending patience. And their hands were less clinical, more gentle than Omega was used to. Nala Se was efficient, not a movement wasted in her examinations. Y/N, however, always offered a comforting touch on the back after a scary encounter, and would gently but firmly place their hands on Omega’s face to look her in the eye to assess emotional well-being. 

The first time Y/N had done this was on the Ordo Moon, as Y/N was finishing wrapping up Omega’s small scratches on her hands and knees from her misadventures in the underground tunnels. 

At this point, not used to such close eye contact, Omega averted her eyes and looked over Y/N’s shoulder for something to distract her from the unusual awkwardness she felt. 

Her eyes met Echo’s. 

Her awkwardness vanished as he seemed to startle, a faint flush appearing on his neck, as he coughed, crossed his arms, and turned away, suddenly much more interested in examining the ship’s ceiling than anything else. 

What an interesting reaction. Her brain filed it away, curiosity piqued.  

Then, over the course of a few weeks, Omega confirmed her suspicions. 

Echo was always watching Y/N. Echo liked Y/N. 

Omega caught him absentmindedly gazing at Y/N’s hands as they tapped thoughtfully on a datapad while Wrecker carried new medical inventory aboard the Marauder during a supply run. 

After Wrecker’s successful inhibitor chip removal on Bracca, and Tech volunteered to go next, Omega watched Y/N’s hands fly across the medical controls, fierce determination sharpening their features. Glancing up, she saw that Echo’s attention was similarly arrested, a look on his face that was bordering very close to adoration. 

He seemed most captivated by Y/N’s hands, however, whenever they were treating him personally for any ailments or injuries. Echo always sat pin straight, almost comedically robotic (it would be funnier, but his history brought a sort of cruel irony to the thought) and allowing Y/N to turn his body and maneuver his prosthetic arm however was needed without any fidgeting or complaint. 

But his eyes were another story. Darting back and forth everywhere their fingers touched, such a stoniness to his face that Omega was certain he was committing every graze, every feather-light touch, to memory. Y/N, as always, was so focused on the medical work that they never seemed to notice. 

Omega saw things, though. Echo was like Y/N’s shadow, often slipping into the same room or area Y/N was in, like a ghost. She observed with fascination how he always angled himself to face her whenever there was a conversation in the cockpit. It didn’t matter if it was just the two of them, or if the entire squad was there and discussing a mission, it was as though he had attuned himself to wherever Y/N happened to be and was drawn to them.

Like a sunflower always facing the sun. 

She saw in the field how Echo, not Hunter, was usually the one to call the Marauder to check in or alert Y/N to any injuries that would need to be treated when they returned. How the space between his brows would crease whenever they would radio in but only receive the static of communications interference. 

Or worse, no answer at all. 

Echo wouldn’t say anything, but Omega felt that her brother’s steps would quicken, just a little. And she wasn’t sure she was just imagining a sudden sense of urgency in the air as they completed the mission, with just a bit more efficiency, a bit more ruthlessness than was usual. 

Omega saw how Echo always let out a tiny breath in relief, as though he had been holding it the whole time, whenever they returned to the Marauder with its medic unharmed. 

And she would never forget that one time they had returned to the Marauder, doors blasted open, interior trashed, with no medic in sight and droplets of blood leading away from the ship. 

Omega had never been in war, had only heard about it passively from the conversations between Nala Se and Lama Su, then a bit more directly from her brothers once she was allowed out of the private lab. 

She had once asked Tech about the war, but his response clearly paled in comparison to the dark look on Echo’s face, as they battled their way through enemy after enemy to rescue Y/N.

Omega felt as though she understood war a little bit more after this. At least its motivations. 

It took longer for Omega to figure out whether her brother’s feelings were reciprocated. Y/N’s affection wasn’t as obvious, but the trick was to watch more for their actions than in body language. 

Since Y/N and Tech slept the least, they would swap bunks and so were usually on opposite sleep schedules. This meant that Y/N would stay up late into the night well after the rest of the boys had retired to their bunks, face alight in the glow of a datapad. They would concentrate fiercely, chewing on their thumbnail and pausing often to tap notes into the margins. 

Omega eventually managed to snatch and break into Y/N’s data pad, and saw that they were working their way through a series of medical journals, detailing the latest treatment for prosthetics. There were also several articles on treating post-traumatic stress disorder for former prisoners of war. 

Omega had even checked Y/N’s search history, and discovered that they had been using an encrypted channel to search for chatter on the whereabouts of the former 501st legion and its various members. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like Y/N had much luck so far, but if the number of searches were any indication, they weren’t giving up. 

Omega wondered incredulously how none of her other brothers had yet caught on to the two’s clearly mutual affection for each other. Until she realized that no, they already knew.

Once, when Omega had offered Echo some of her Mantell Mix, Echo had sniffed it, much to her amusement. Her giggles subsided immediately when Echo murmured apologetically that he sometimes had trouble digesting pretty much any food that wasn’t nutritional paste, due to half his digestive system being completely artificial. 

Of course, this meant that he must have been experiencing constant abdominal discomfort, as they hadn’t had any nutritional paste on the ship since their escape from Kamino. Hunter once mentioned to her that even the plainest of rations seemed to bother him, but he gamely never complained.

One day, Hunter was giving out rations in the cockpit, and had already given Tech and Wrecker their usual. Then he pulled out a green, unlabeled squeeze packet instead of the usual rations bar, and handed it to Echo, who took it with some confusion.

“What’s this?”

“New brand. It should be easier on your digestive systems than the usual stuff. Tastier, too.” 

Echo glanced at the packet skeptically, unscrewing the cap and sniffing at its contents. 

“It smells...fresh?” 

“Try it,” Hunter urged him, to which Echo obediently tried a small amount. 

His mouth rounded in a surprised ‘oh’. Omega wished she could have captured the look on his face with a holovid. He stared at the packet in his hands, with a look that was a bit like wonder and amazement. 

This didn’t escape Wrecker’s notice, who immediately stood up in protest. “What? Why does Echo get something new to eat?” He glanced forlornly at the slightly crumpled, stale rations bar in his hand. “I want some!” 

“They’re too expensive for your appetite, Wrecker,” Hunter replied, just a bit too quickly, though none of the others seemed to notice. “Besides, you probably wouldn’t like it.” 

“I’ll be the judge of that!” Wrecker proclaimed, swiping the packet from Echo’s hands despite Hunter’s attempt to chastise him. Wrecker took a giant slurp. 

...and immediately spat it out, some of it splattering on poor Gronk. 

“Blech! That tastes weird.” 

“Probably because it’s made of fruits and vegetables,” Tech said dryly, “Your palette likely isn’t sophisticated enough to appreciate the subtle bitterness and natural sweetness that are characteristic of those food categories.” 

Echo eyed Hunter skeptically. “And we have the money to keep buying these?” 

Hunter hummed, closing the rations box and turning away from the cockpit. “Omega’s paying for it from her holochess winnings.” She startled at the sudden mention of her name. “We have extra to spare, for now.” Hunter subtly winked at her when the others weren’t looking. 

“Oh. Thank you, Omega,” said Echo, looking at her with true gratitude. Omega flushed a bit, but mostly because it actually didn’t have anything to do with her. She played along, however, and insisted it was no problem. It did seem to make him happy, so there was no harm in a small lie like that, right? 

She cornered Hunter later, though, and insisted on him telling her the truth. After wearing him down a bit, he finally relented.

“Okay, but you can’t tell the others, all right? Believe me, I’ve already tried to talk them out of it. But Y/N has been doing some medical work on the side, working at one of the clinics near Cid’s bar. They’ve been using the money to buy these.” 

Omega’s face screwed up in confusion. “Why can’t you just tell Echo that?”

Hunter sighed. “Because they don’t want Echo to know. Figures that Echo wouldn’t like them going out on their own to work in the slums for his sake. They’re probably right, of course.” He rubbed at his forehead, a sure sign of an impending headache. 

Omega frowned, then decided to go for it.

“You know they like each other, right?” 

Hunter blinked at her, looking surprised. At her determined stare, he gave a sigh and muttered something like, ‘I’m getting too old for this’. He proceeded to explain patiently to her that perhaps Echo and Y/N liked each other, but pointed out how awkward or difficult it could be to have a romantic relationship in such close quarters, especially when they as a team also had bigger things to worry about. 

It sounded like Hunter had given this exact speech at least twice before. 

So Tech and Wrecker knew, then, but were being polite about it (or, in Wrecker’s case, had probably gotten an earful from Hunter earlier about tact and ‘minding one’s own business’). 

Well. That wouldn’t do. 

By the time Echo got up the nerve to say anything, he’d probably be old! (Omega wouldn’t, but she tried not to think too hard about that particular fact.)

So, she began to scheme. Quietly. 

She had the tactical advantage, after all. 

[harveywritings92]

BNHA vampire soulmate scenario: When you first saw them.

 The first time you saw him, he was feeding off someone.

TWs: Blood, death stalking and attempted assault.

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

Mr. Compress: {Your Quirk: Card capture: it's similar to Mr. Compress's quirk but you can entrap people and objects in cards by manifesting these clear glass like cards that slip out from your wrist, you can use them as throwing weapons too as they're very sharp, the only drawback is that you can get severely dehydrated if you overuse it.]

You were walking home late from work just hungry and physically done! today was crap show! first you missed the train then half way to work you forgot you realized you forgot your lunch!, Your boss (who's usually pretty chill) for whatever reason decided he hated your guts today and yelled at you in front of everyone! and to rub salt on the wound you spilt hot coffee all over yourself! so now you arms and chest have burns on them that were itchy as hell! you just wanted to crawl into bed, and forget about this day. 

You decided to cut through the park when you saw a odd pair, a man in a yellow trench coat and top-hat and mask which was pushed to the side kissing a woman in sundress under a streetlight. "huh, how sweet." you sighed exasperated before continuing on you way, when you noticed foot steps coming out behind you, you cautiously reached into your coat for one of your cards... you knew it wasn't the man in the top hat as you did a quick glance over your shoulder he was still  'occupied' you could smell stale alcohol in the air remembering the beware of mugger sign at the park entrance and figured out what was going on when the person was in grabbing range.

You whirled around grabbing your would be assailants arm forcing it up and pulling him towards you, you hissed  felt a sting on your cheek as your free hand slammed your card into his chest "release!" you barked as a powerful cyclone burst from the card sending the man flying off his feet *Thank-you Anko-san* you mentally cheer happy that your friend had a wind-quirk and let you capture it's effects in a card; said card then shattered as it was a one-shot use like all your offense cards. 

The man wheezed as he was thrown to ground next to the "couple". while you took off running! not seeing Top-hat pull away from his lady friend and sniff the air. 

Atsuhiro dropped the woman he was feeding on she slid limply to the ground as he readjusted his mask and followed that delicious scent and found a bloody knife on the ground *Could it be?!* his heart was beating abnormally faster as picked it up and sniffed it he lifted his mask up and licked the blood off the knife, Atsunhiro almost felt alive again as the sweet taste of his mate's blood touch his tongue... 

He was so elated his mask was blushing! (cos anime logic!) "My Darling❣~" he purred in pure ecstasy, but soon his euphoria was cut short when he heard the man who attempted to rob you on the ground cough, the vampiric ex-magician turned in his direction, he could smell this uncultured brutes scent all over the knife mixing his mates. 

Atsuhiro's primal urges were screaming at him to kill the man for harming his mate, however the ex-showman had something else in mind... The next morning you were watching the news on your laptop seeing the mugger at the park last night had been caught, and was being charged with murder for another woman. You felt your stomach churn as the photo of the woman who you saw making out with the top-hat man flashed on screen. 

Than you felt a a chill go down your back!

You nervously looked away from your screen and scanned around the nearly empty café, there's was only you, an elderly couple wearing matching tracksuits enjoying some tea and having a conversation, a tired and obviously hungover mother and her two rowdy kids having breakfast, and lastly a man with black hair and copper eyes wearing a yellow casual suit and gray news boy cap reading a book.

You squint at the title....The magicians nephew, you frowned letting out a small hum; swearing you felt someone's eyes on you, thinking you were just paranoid from last night... you unconsciously traced the healing cut on your cheek and went back to you doing your work, not seeing the copper eyes of Atsuhiro watching you from behind his book with a knowing smirk.

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

Dabi: You were walking home drunk to hell as your friends kept you out at the bars until 3am, you decided to take a detour home to get a late night snack/early breakfast at the 7/11 a few blocks from your place, as you were walking to the store you spied what looked a couple making out against the dumpster a few feet a ways, even in your drunken state you couldn't help but scrunched up your nose the sight. "at least take her to cheap motel buddy, jeez..." you muttered the man in the black hood growled back in retort as you entered the store.

While in the shop you frowned seeing you favorite snack was out of stock. "D-dammit." you huffed and looked around before spotting the clerk who was unpacking some packs of ramen. "Hey d'ya got any f/snack left?" you asked trying to keep from slurring your words. "Yeah there should be some packs over by the-" the clerk went to point but forgot they were holding a box cutter and accidentally jabbed you in the leg just under your knee. "Oh my gosh I'm so sorry!" the clerk gasped while you tried waving them off, it was just an accident, but if it made them feel better you bought some band-aids and disinfectant along with your food the clerk felt soo bad they gave you discount and with that you walked out in to the night....

When you got out your leg was still bleeding it didn't really bother you as you too tipsy to care, besides it's just a tiny cut, as you were leaving you noticed the "couple" still going at it, however now it felt kind of off... and that's when you noticed the man in the black hood stiffen... you stomach felt like it was full of rocks as you watched him slowly turn to face you.

Dabi was busy draining this dumb bimbo who followed him out of the bar after he told her to piss off, but seeing as he hadn't fed on fresh human blood in months, (he was drinking blood-packs of pig's blood.) he decided screw it, she'll know the consequences her actions that is if he doesn't suck her dry.. "at least take her to cheap motel buddy, jeez..." a drunk woman muttered as she passed them Dabi let out a frustrated growl at that jab yet another reason he hates feeding in public, about ten minutes later the vampire's attention was suddenly pulled away from his dinner when a sweet enticing scent invaded his nose. 

Dabi's eyes snapped open his senses were on fire as his inner monster snarled *mine.....mine...* his breathing became labored as he turned away from the woman's neck; her blood dripping down his chin as he turned to look over his shoulder, saw a [y/ht-wt] woman with [y/hc] and starring at him in shock, his eyes drifted down and saw the blood dribbling down her leg, he let go of the woman he was feeding on, she let out a weak wheeze as she fell limply to the ground not that he cared, Dabi took a step towards his mate reaching out to her, only for the woman to snap out of her shock and run....

Leaving the vampire standing there in an almost trance like state, before he looked inside the store could smell faint traces of her blood in the air and saw the clerk washing the bloody box cutter; A guttural growl escaped Dabi's throat as he approached the door. 

The poor oblivious clerk didn't know what was coming as the door chimed telling them a customer had entered the store... "Welcome!" they greeted cheerfully. from an outside point of view there was hot flash of blue from inside the 7/11 followed by the store fire alarms going off.

The next morning you were hiding under your blanket hugging your knees your whole body was shaking while you were watching the news... there was a fire at the 7/11, the clerk was killed their remains were so badly burnt they were carbonized...

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

Bakugou: You had just started working for his agency as a secretary and were working on late paperwork one of your coworkers pushed on you so they could go on a date, you grumbled as you made your way to the elevator to drop the files off on Bakugou's desk, and were stunned to find the top floor was pitch black! you were trying the navigate in the darkness by feeling desk, when your hand brushed up against a pair of scissors someone left out you hissed feeling them cut your palm, you could feel the blood dripping down you hand and decided screw this! you were going to leave the papers on the desk outside of the boss's office for him to find in the morning, when you noticed the door was open a crack. 

You could hear deep breathing, a woman gasping and grunts, your cheeks felt hot as you though Bakugou was getting frisky with one of his fans. *I never took him for that sort...* you were just going to pretend you didn't hear anything and walk away, but curiosity got the best of you, and with careful steps you crept toward the door and peeked in, and felt you stomach drop when you realized what was going on was not a wham-bam thank you ma'am situation, you threw your hand over your mouth when you saw Bakugou eyes glowing red had his fangs sunk into this woman's neck draining her of blood! Scared you were about to quietly back away from the door when you saw the blond blink pull away from the unconscious woman, sniff the air and... you ran before he could even turn his in the direction of the door, and made it on to the elevator just as a shock of blond hair rounded the corner.

The next morning Bakugou was on edge as he recalled the events last night, one minute he's feeding off some pushy fan-girl and the next, his senses were taken over by this amazing smell it was so enticing he forgot about his hunger and overwhelmed by the insistent need of find it's source... as Katsuki turned his attention to the door he saw someone dash and and he gave chase just in time to get a split second glimpse of a woman with {y/hc} before the elevator doors closed.  

{later after he sent that fan home via cab) 

Bakugou inspected his office and found a blood trail leading from random sidekick's towards his office the couple hurried drops towards the elevator, he curiously swiped his finger threw the blood on the desk where the trail began, licked it a content rumble left his throat, his inner monster purred. *Mate...mine* however that euphoric feeling he felt had soon soon worn off into frustration as the next morning rolled around he had been in the agency all day, and no one who came in today had that scent on them! 

The blond was pissed and ready to rip someone's head off, when he overheard two of his employees talking. "Hey where’s Y/n? I have to thank her for staying back and doing my extra work last night." the other employee shrugged. "She said she hurt her hand last night and was staying home." Neither had noticed the explosive blond who immediately went to his office and pulled your file out for your address, and he here was standing on your front porch, sniffing the air as a cocky smirk graced Katsuki's lips breathing in that sweet scent from last night. "Found you..." he purred. 

[jadelynlace]

The Dark Eats Everything⎮Modern Vikings AU [Ivar x F!Reader], Act III

☞ catch up here.

☞ read the previous chapter here.

author’s note: Keep your mouths closed on the concept of a new WIP while I’m on vacation. Zip it. I don’t want to hear it. Yes there are instances that are related to the tropes also found throughout Into The Spider’s Web since I’m an absolute slut for Best Friends to Lovers. The header is by @firefly-graphics​

content warnings: Smut, and angst. Drug use, mentions of addiction, and detoxing. Mentions of vomit, breakdowns. More angst, and feelings. This whole series is going to be a tad ~angstier~ than I’m known for, if I can keep it together.

word count: 2600+ words

pairing: Modern Ivar x F!Reader

What wakes you first isn’t the sudden rush of cold air hitting you or the sunlight that passes the curtains. It’s not the noise of quick motions or slamming doors, but the first sound of a dry heave when Ivar meets the tile in the bathroom. 

You spring up quickly, another disgruntled noise and you wince at the force, the eerie sound, and then you hear him finally spill the bile. Your search for your pants ends quickly, pulling a clean pair on from your bag as you move, grabbing a washcloth from the linen closet, and running it under the faucet before you’re knocking on the door as the toilet flushes.

“Can I come in?” You ask.

“I don’t want you to see me like this,” Ivar croaks with a voice that’s too hoarse and you frown. 

“Ivar,” You say back and he finally mumbles something close to an agreement as you peel the vessel back. He’s against the far wall, whitewashed and clammy and your heart sinks. “Put this on your neck,” You tell him, handing him the cool cloth and he sighs as he follows suit, shivering not much later. “I’ll be right out there,” You then add, and with eyes closed, he nods. 

*

It occurs to Ivar, as his cheek is against the cold tile, that he needs another fix. The pain of the thought causes another round of tears to slide across his skin, sniffing the snot back up as the hammer in his skull starts once more. The hammer becomes a sledge, crushing his temples as he sits up to again spill his stomach into the toilet. 

It has been like this for four hours and you’re thirty more seconds away from calling for an ambulance. There’s nothing left for Ivar to vomit, there’s nothing left for him to cry, every droplet of fluid from everywhere in his body has gone to those two sources and you fear the worst. You finally skip out for a matter of five minutes, just to pray the pharmacy has something.

When you walk back through the apartment, you can hear him crying, from twenty feet away, tucked around corners and through his room, under his bed, and into the tiled oasis. You can hear him. Screaming like a wounded animal that quiets down briefly before he coughs, sputtering his saliva into the toilet. But at the faint wheeze that follows it, you know there’s nothing left in his stomach to come forth. 

He’s curled up on the bathroom floor, having taken his sweatshirt off but with a towel around his shoulders. What hair isn’t tied back is plastered across his temples with sweat. You hear him sigh briefly as his cheek meets the cold tile again, something leaving his mouth in a mumble. He can’t hear you call his name over the coughing fit he suddenly launches himself into, curling his biceps around the rim of the toilet as he rises to hack something that isn’t there to come up. Behind him with your hands on his shoulders, Ivar flinches madly, trying to push you off of him but his clumsy attempts are just that.

“It’s just me,” You tell him softly. “It’s just me,” Pulling his hair back further as nothing but pale liquid leaves his lips. Pressing into his back, you help him move his head away from the rim of the toilet so he doesn’t smack his cranium on it when he crumples back down. “Do you think you can make it to your bed?”

“I need a fix,” Ivar cries.

“No, you don’t Ivar, we’re going to get through this,” You say back.

“Just a small one,” He pleads. 

“Come on, we just have to get to your bed,”

Another cough tears through his chest, wiping his nose on the back of his hand, fresh snot collecting along what had already dried there. But your stubborn man won’t move, and you tell yourself you have no complaints of spending the night on the bathroom floor. 

You manage to make him get to his bed, nearly catching all of his weight twice as he doubles over in exhaustion. Moving dead weight across his mattress in attempts to at least get some of him up for if Ivar were to vomit again, but you don’t care if you’ll be the landing pad for it.

He’s asleep in the better part of a minute, pupils dancing behind closed eyelids in their own dreams that you pray are better, happier than this one. You pull his hair from the tie and comb fingers through it more than a hundred times by the hour Hvitserk comes. You can see the weight lift from his shoulders as he sees Ivar resting, setting the bag of supplies on the dresser, and closing the door. 

Come dawn, Ivar adorns eight small braids in half of his hair, the same film playing on his television again. You fear that if you fall asleep you’ll wake somewhere else, locked in a cell of imagination, watching the world float away.

Ivar stays asleep well into the late morning, finally moving a stiffened body but waking himself up as he feels a coarse pain shoot through him. A low wail leaves his lips not seconds after, sounding like a wounded animal.

“I’m right here Ivar,” You whisper, helping him as much as you can to move his body to the other side of the bed. “Bath?” You then say softly. “You smell like vomit,” And Ivar nods, pushing himself up.

“The room is spinning,” He whispers mostly to himself while rubbing the heel of his palms into his eyes. 

Ivar slumps against the rim of the tub as you start it, plugging the drain before you let the scalding liquid collect inside. Bringing a damped cloth up to his temple, you wipe what fluid has dried along his hairline, then against his chapped nose as he grimaces in pain for the tenderness of his skin. 

“Did you put soap in it?” Ivar all but slurs when he opens his eyes again as you help him to stand once you’ve pulled the clothes from his lower half. You nod as he slowly steps in, sinking down into the velvet of the hot water with a sigh. “Can you come in too?” He whispers with his head against the shower’s wall.

Nodding slowly, your fingers crawl to pull the garments from your skin, shedding the second layer before you’re gingerly stepping past the hot liquid. Wigging in attempts to find comfort with the large man in the ill-proportionate tub before your back meets his chest but Ivar still sags. His arms are in no hurry to cover you, floating freely in the water as if he’s lost at sea, and you hear the slow in his breathing before you’re reaching for the cloth. 

The bubbles cover him gently, washing away as you cup water to rinse his skin, over the taut muscles and your fingers trace the ancestral tattoos with the curve of your nail. Ivar only hums softly while you work, tipping his head in your favor as you dampen his hair, softly running the soap to cover his chestnut locks before you use the same hand to rinse them.

“How are you feeling?” You ask softly, dropping the cloth back into the water as your hands move to gather his head. He rests his weight on your palms slowly, sighing, and when his eyes start to close you’re stuck wondering if he’s fallen back asleep.

“Everything hurts,” Ivar whispers after a heavy few seconds. 

“I know, Ivar,” You sigh back, moving your hands and his head drops slightly. You move slowly to wrap yourself against him, crawling into his lap as your thighs spread to either side of him and the man wastes no time to drop his head once more. A forceful moment of his forehead landing on your shoulder and you feel his arms encompass you. “One day at a time,” You say against his skin, lips moving over the droplets and Ivar squeezes you.

“I wish I never did it,” Ivar then says.

“I know Ivar, but we’re going to get you off of it,” You say, pulling back slightly as you try to catch his eyes.

“That’s not what I mean,” 

“What do you mean, Ivar?” You ask as you take your thumb to his bottom lip.

“Freydis,” 

“I thought you were high?” You then ask, hand dropping from his face and your heart sinks back into the bathwater. You tell your mind to slow for a moment, trying to gauge to see how he’s going to answer before you’re off into too many different directions, scenarios, and then anxiety takes to your body. As if you drew the lines in the sand for fun, making boundaries with him even while you know you still love him. Even as you hate yourself for such a feat.

“I was,” Ivar mumbles and you can’t tell if he’s lying or if the truth hurts him this much. “She came on to me and I didn’t try to stop her, and I should have but my body wouldn’t move,” He whimpers. “My legs felt broken and then it was over and I don’t know why she—and then you—”

“Because you got with her Ivar before you got with me. And when you chose me over here, she wanted payback,” You tell him. “Cunning women are like that. And she knew I’d leave if that happened, so she could have you, but you kept using and she went on to someone else,”

“How do you always make sense of what goes on in my head?” Ivar asks and you can only offer him a smile, somber to its nature but you’re not sure if he catches the true tone.

“Sometimes I think you forget how long I’ve known you,” You say back softly and there’s a small smile on his face. “You’ve done the same for me,”

“Threatening someone is not the same,” Ivar teases and you can’t help but giggle. “Do you remember doing this in college?” Ivar asks softly. “I came to visit you after you were dumped and we sat in the bathtub at the hotel for ages,” He adds as his hands trail your spine. 

“You’re conveniently leaving out the detail where we had sex in the bed afterward,” You mumble as your forehead moves to rest on his shoulder. The water droplets stick against your skin, still warm from the tub and Ivar’s body heat as you roll your head until your lips meet his neck; saltiness on your lips with the floral hint from the soap you washed him with.

“That was my next question,” Ivar teases. 

“And then you asked me out after you came,” You mumble and it makes Ivar laugh—the first real laugh you’ve heard from him in ages.

“I know, I had my priorities straight,” He grins.

“The first time you told me that you loved me was during sex,” Your lips say against him. “There’s a pattern, Lothbrok,” You then say as you pull away.

“I love you,” Ivar tells you quickly, far before you’re able to truly look at him.

“We’re still naked, doesn’t count,” You tease, and Ivar wrinkles his face, scrunching his nose before his eyes roll skyward. “And we’re not having sex in the tub—” 

“If I wasn’t useless, I would have already been hard by now,” He mumbles back, pitifully and you realize he’s right, there’s no change to how his middle rests under yours and you frown. 

“You’re not useless Ivar,” You peep, nails turning his jaw so he’s looking back at you. 

“My hands still work,” He jokes and you laugh, tipping your forehead forwards.

“You’re a tool,” Is all you groan.

You’re climbing over Ivar in the bed as night time take to the sky, while he moves the sheets for you quickly, hardening cock slapping his stomach and you scramble. Like he has a time limit as you push weight up through your knees to stay elevated, and Ivar’s eyes widen as he takes in your figure. Slipping down the curves as he graces your hips, back up to wrap your chest and when he taps your ass once more, you rise. Pressing his cock towards you until you feel him enter, sinking down against his shaft and Ivar moans as his head falls back against the pillow.

When your chin drops, Ivar’s eyes watch as your face contorts, pleasure taking through your features and your thighs shake when he nudges the golden spot inside of you. Pressing against the spongy walls and you don’t have the energy yet to move.

“Feels so different this way,” You peep as your hands stay glued to his stomach. “Fuck—Ivar…” You moan and your noises make his cock twitch inside of you. 

His hands start a slow roll, pulling you closer and you hardly move along his shaft. Watching his jaw clench before his eyes shut and after a few agonizing seconds, they finally peel apart. Your hips churn, lifting yourself slightly, and Ivar watches you ride him, but he’s pushing himself up and keeping you two connected. 

As his lips tangle with yours you can’t help but gasp, his hands at the end of your hair before they spread along your back. Your walls pulse around his cock as he tries to stay still tries to savor how you’re holding him and it’s a losing battle of wanting to stay composed. Ivar finally takes his hands much more tightly, lifting you and you get the message to drop from his grasp back onto his hips. A guttural sound leaves Ivar’s chest as you slam back against him, as your wetness marks his cock, his abdomen, and Ivar moves one arm back to keep himself upright.

His head finally drops as you watch him, as you study the features on his face; the dimple he’s always had and the scar he’s been gifted from falling in the brush behind his house. The subtle traces of sideburns that are growing back and you find yourself moving quickly, flicking your hips as his mouth drops.

“Slow—fuck slow down,” Ivar pleads but you focus on the burn in your thighs, how the pain melts into pleasure, and Ivar has to move his opposite arm back along the mattress to keep himself upright. “Baby—I’m gonna—” Ivar warns and you dig your nails into his shoulders as you support yourself. Ivar’s hips jut suddenly and you’re bounced as he falls back to his elbows before you’re pushing him down again. 

His eyes fly open at the force from your fingertips as he watches you, eyes on his and his hands finally take to your chest. Holding your breasts as they bounce before you toss your head back as Ivar’s thighs shake under you.

“Fuck!” Ivar curses, head falling back and you feel him stutter below you, hips snapping as his release rolls through him, coating your walls. While you only hum as you milk him, trying to spread the pleasure as long as possible.

You watch his biceps drop back against the mattress, heavy breathing making his chest rise as you move slowly, leveling your lips along his jaw and he hums momentarily.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Ivar mumbles, voice falling away, and you giggle. When you roll your hips slightly again, Ivar groans, sensitivity in his cock and you bite your bottom lip before you lift yourself. Flagging length slipping back out but you stay put, resting against him as his arms encompass you. “But what a beautiful way to go,” 

The Dark Eats Everything Tags:

@smileysam13579​​ @dreamtherapy​​ @kathryn-jane​​ @readsalot73​​ @queen-sarang​​ @anastasiaskarsgard​​ @andmyannabellee​​  @peachyboneless​​ @heavenly1927​​ @istorkyou @quantumlocked310​​ @xbellaxcarolinax​​ @mighty-ragnarssons​​ @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom​​ @queen-of-upshur​​ @nanahachikyuu​​ @fandomlifeandeverythingelse​​ @ivarhoegh​​ @a5hl3y5ibley​​ @pixluru @ivarisms​​ @nordicshieldmadien @ironynoticony​​ @peakywitch​​ @hashimily​​ @youbloodymadgenius​​ @love-all-things-writing​​ @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog​​

☞ full masterlist can be found here.

☞ please message me to be added, or removed from the tag list.

☞ remember that requests are open [with limitations]