#now i feel ill over them they are just lounging in my brain with no regard for my mental state its CRAZY | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cuubism · 4 months

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@prismaluv I promised an actual eon ago that I would write something for Dream and Desire, and here it is, though I fear I haven't landed exactly where you were aiming for...

It has come to Dream’s attention that something is… wrong… in the Threshold.

It is not usually for him to take note of his siblings’ affairs. Particularly when said sibling is Desire. He would sooner let them wallow; perhaps it would teach them a lesson. But the malady, or irritation or scheme or whatever it may be is now seeping into the Dreaming, and so Dream must determine if it is intentional or not and what, depending on the answer, he must do about it.

The Threshold naturally shares a border with the Dreaming, for, to Dream’s chagrin, dreams and desires do find common or contested ground in love and ambition and other feelings besides. And those desirous dreams have been sickened. Corrupted. Dreamers see their lovers’ ravening maws and wake nauseous from what should have been visions of lovemaking; children’s songs curdle mockingly in their ears as light expands beyond joy beyond pain beyond burning. These dreams are not serving their purpose and Dream must put a stop to it.

“Sibling,” he calls, and receives no reply, but the Threshold allows him in, when he steps from the border of his realm into Desire’s.

The long pathways of Desire’s body are empty as ever. A mockery of blood vessels pumping nothing. Dream walks the known paths, alert in the silence, past the lungs with no breath, to the heart with no beating.

He steps into the curving chambers of that heart, the center of Desire’s power in the Threshold. His steps echo on the hard walls.

“Mmm,” comes Desire’s voice, slurred with malaise, echoing from deeper within, “come to gloat, have you, brother?”

“I have come to determine your purpose in poisoning my realm,” Dream says, following their voice. “I warned you not to toy with me again.”

Desire lets out a disgusted sigh. “Not everything I do is about you.”

“Recent events would suggest otherwise.” Dream finally reaches the central atrium of the Threshold’s heart. Desire is sprawled out on a chaise lounge, head pillowed on their arm. Their eyes are closed, their clothes wrinkled and ill-fitting, their hair lank. They appear to be wearing Despair’s ripped and stained jumper. Dream frowns.

“Go awayyyyy,” Desire complains. “Leave me to my misery.”

“What afflicts you?” Dream asks, standing over them. “Or are you simply experiencing remorse for your crimes, at long last?”

“‘Afflicts’,” Desire mutters, mockingly. “I am being persecuted and abused. Abandoned. Wasting away in apathy.”

Dream sits delicately on the arm of a chair by their side. If there truly is something wrong, and Desire is not just being melodramatic, or trying to annoy him, then they must take action. He will not allow the Dreaming to be harmed. “I fail to see how it could be persecution and abandonment at once.”

“Have you not seen them, Dream?” Desire complains, finally cracking one bleary golden eye open to look up at him.

“Seen whom?” Dream asks, with what he thinks is admirable patience.

“The people! Nobody wants anything. Not in a way that matters. Oh, it’s too easy. It’s too easy to take shortcuts. They don’t understand desire anymore.” Desire clutches their heart dramatically.

“I have not the faintest clue what you are talking about,” Dream says.

“I am a starving and bottomless mouth,” Desire tells him, looking up at him with both shining eyes now. “See, my teeth.” They bare their teeth at him. Their incisors are very sharp.

“I am aware of this.”

“And they think they can feed me with tiny little candies like a yapping chihuahua that’ll finally shut up. They’re poisoning me. They’re starving me. They’re glutting themselves on whatever makes the brain chemmies go weeweeweeweewoo for a second and look— look.” They drag down the hem of Despair’s jumper, peel back a layer of skin. Under it is not flesh, nor blood, but void, an expanding, hungry, agonized void. Dream stares into it, alarmed.

Desire lets their ‘skin’ snap back into place. “What does it even mean, Dream?” they ask rhetorically. “Nothing. It is all fleeting. Nothing deep about it. No one yearns, Dream. No one YEARNS!”

This is said in a despairing wail. Cautiously, Dream pets their hair.

“You crave deep and abiding wants and there is a glut of trivialities and distractions,” he summarizes, and they nod, teary. “Would it appease you if I removed all memory of mobile phones from the face of the earth?”

It doesn’t appease them, but it does make them laugh. Desire laughs, choked and teary, clutching at his hand. “God, I forgot that you’re actually funny when you’re not trying to be.”

It is strange, after all that has transpired, to have what could be considered a civil conversation. Dream still does not forgive them for anything they have done, and perhaps never will, but he sees, for a moment, a much younger year, when they were, in a fashion, friends.

“Many deep desires live in dreams now, for they have little hope of fulfillment,” he says. “But these small morsels, candies as you say, these are not dreamt of, except perhaps in nightmares of eternal wasting. It is still what dwells deepest in the heart that drives dreaming.”

“Are you trying to tell me that I matter?” Desire bites, and Dream simply says—

“Yes.”

“Oh.” Desire seems genuinely disturbed; perhaps they really did think he came to revel in their misery. Perhaps Dream did. But one of his siblings struggling in their duty can only have ill effects on his dreamers, and on their waking selves besides. Dream would be incredibly remiss in not addressing it. Or so he tells himself is his reasoning.

“I do believe there are still fierce desires in this world, though perhaps they have become buried. Usurped,” he says. “Disconnected from the body which is, as I understand it, their rightful home. Though addressing this is not something with which I can aid you.”

The body of living creatures is far outside Dream’s purview, and not something he well understands, except as it manifests in dreams—of hope of change, of twisted horror, of curling heat. And even then, it is far from him.

“I can’t believe you’re giving me advice and it’s not just telling me to go fuck myself,” Desire says faintly. Dream begins to protest, but they continue, “Not that you’d ever use those words, Your Highness.”

“It serves no one if one of our realms is in disarray,” says Dream, and if there is a sharp point to it, a reminder of exactly the damage Desire had so carelessly wrought in Dream’s realm, all the better. “I cannot assist you in managing it, only offer the perspective of dreams. If it proves good counsel, then I will be glad.”

“If it proves good counsel,” Desire mutters. “Fuck you, you superior prick.”

But it is not as sharp and cutting as it might once have been.

Dream abruptly realizes his hand is still touching their hair, and removes himself. He stands, arranging his cloak around him.

“Well,” says Desire, craning their neck back to look up at him upside down, “you must be right on one count. Lingering about here is doing no good.” They stretch, arms above their head, spine cracking. “I suppose I will go stalk the outside world and see if I can’t stoke their desires from ember to inferno.”

“I am certain you can, if you feel that will achieve your aims,” Dream says. Desire’s ability to draw out human wants and push their pursuit is not in question, their mere presence in a space accomplishes that. Whether that will turn their charges away from passing, unsatisfying trinkets and to deeper pleasures is another matter. “Meanwhile, please withdraw your malaise from the borders of my realm. The small children are being hypnotized by dreams of meaningless drivel and it displeases me.”

“Should’ve known you wouldn’t like YouTube,” Desire sighs. They maneuver themselves to sitting in a slanted, tired lean. For a moment, the silence lingers, stretched between them like syrup.

Finally, growing uncomfortable but stiffening his spine, Dream says, “If you are not going to imminently fall apart and cause havoc, then I will take my leave.”

“I love how much you care,” says Desire, sarcastically. Then, tilting their head, “You do care. Just a little bit. Don’t you?”

Dream does not respond to this.

“You could have simply disentangled all your little dreams from my realm and instead you came to check on me,” they say, with glee, and Dream glares. And Desire, apparently sensing a fight, subsides.

“Always lovely when you come around, dear brother,” they say, reclining back against their chaise lounge, eyes glittering despite the neglected state of their form. “Do come again.”

“If you remedy your affairs, then I will not have to,” says Dream curtly, and steps backwards into the Dreaming.

Desire does so love to press buttons at moments when they have almost reached an accord. Desire, once his most loved sibling. Those days are gone now, and Dream does not see them coming back.

#desire versus the plague of phone addiction #desire yelling into the void: STOP PLAYING CANDY CRUSH AND GO HAVE MESSED UP SEX YOU WORTHLESS THINGS #desire of the endless #dream of the endless #my writing

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ifidiedinadream · 1 year

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Thanks for opening your requests again 🥺💖

I would like to have a fluffy sick fic with some spice:

The reader gets sick on tour and tries their best to hide it from the boys, because they are not only part of the crew but also don't want them to worry. At some point Aleksi and Olli notice and force them to rest. Maybe one of them even "helps" the reader out and goes down on them until they are relaxed enough to fall asleep.

You are free to only write it for Aleksi or Olli but both of them would be amazing too 😌✨

Take your time with it 😘

hello anon! i did take my time with this, it took me two months and a half to get to it, sorry 😬 hope you enjoy nonetheless! 🖤

You felt it right the moment you woke up: the shivers, the throbbing head, the fatigue. You rolled your eyes; there was no worse time to fall ill. You swore to yourself you wouldn’t take your temperature, maybe that way you’d be able to forget about it and ignore it away.

However, some time later, when you’re helping move the guys’ equipment from the trailer to the venue, you feel like you could actually pass out. Everything feels heavier than usual and your legs threaten to give in at any step you take. You let out a sigh.

“Here, gimme,” Olli appears beside you at some point, trying to replace your hands with his on the big black case containing some pieces of Tommi’s drums. “You seem to be struggling.”

“I’m fine,” you say, not letting him take over. “Just a bit tired. It’s okay, I don’t need help.”

Olli steps back then and you don’t turn to look at the expression on his face.

Later, at soundcheck, you can barely focus on the task of sound engineering. You fuck up a couple of times, the music too loud for your headache, and soundcheck lasts ten minutes more than it usually does. You hope no one notices but Aleksi catches up with you before you can go back to the bus to get some other things for the show.

“Hey,” he says, “are you okay?”

You smile at him, trying to look serene. “Yeah. Why?”

“You look pale. And why are you wearing a jacket inside?”

“It’s not as warm when you aren’t under the stage lights.”

With a raised eyebrow, Aleksi reaches his hand out to your forehead. He immediately withdraws it, like it just burned him.

“Damn. You’re fucking hot.”

“Well, so are you,” you say, trying to laugh it off with a joke, but Aleksi only ever so imperceptibly smiles before turning serious.

“You need to go back to the bus and rest. Take the night off.”

Your eyes widen at his words. “No. I’m fine, I swear. I can w-,” but a coughing fit cuts you off.

“Yeah, you can work, sure.”

“I can,” you say. “Please, don’t tell the others.”

Aleksi looks at you with his lips pressed together, slightly shaking his head before walking off.

When you finally get the chance to go back to the bus to grab what you needed earlier, you find Olli and Aleksi inside. Before you can say anything, Olli is behind you, in front of the door.

“You’re gonna stay here now. You’re sick and you need to rest,” Aleksi says before you.

“Don’t be silly, we have a gig to prepare,” you make to turn to the door, but Olli is blocking your way.

“The rest of the crew will take care of it,” Olli says. “They were informed you’re taking the evening off. You shouldn’t have worked at all today.”

Being more emotionally fragile when sick, you almost start crying. You’re frustrated that your request of not letting the others know wasn’t met, despite Aleksi and Olli’s good faith.

“I’m too stressed about not being able to help to rest anyway.”

Aleksi is looking at Olli behind you, a silent conversation going on that you’re too brain-fogged to grasp.

“We’ll cuddle with you in the lounge area,” Olli says and that’s when you finally turn to him. “If you want. We’ll take care of you.”

A shiver runs down your spine, either from the fever or the implication that cuddles doesn’t really mean cuddles. Right about now, it sounds perfect; so you nod your assent, accepting once and for all that you won’t be working tonight, and a weight is lifted off your chest.

In the lounge area, Aleksi sits down on the couch and brings you down with him so that you’re sitting between his legs.

“Relax, baby,” he says in your ear when he feels how tense your back is against him. You release the tension with a deep breath. “Good girl.”

You feel the vibrations of his words in his chest, his breath against the side of your face. His warmth all around you is comforting, but it’s still not enough to unwind. Everyone but you is working their asses off, making sure today’s gig will be perfect, your help is needed and here you are just -

“Hey,” Olli says, deep voice low. He kneels on the floor across from you, sending another shiver down your spine. Aleksi must’ve perceived it, having started stroking your sides with his hands. “You aren’t present.”

Having probably mistaken the lustful shiver for a cold-related one, Aleksi pushes you off of him just slightly, unzips his hoodie and shreds it, making you wear it. You’re even more enveloped in his scent now. You sigh blissfully.

“Sorry,” you tell Olli. It’s true, you aren’t fully present yet, but you’re gradually getting there. Aleksi’s hands, roaming your body, finally set on your breasts through his hoodie. You relax your neck muscles and let your head fall against his collarbone.

“I know something that’ll ground you,” Olli looks up at you with a smirk, and as soon as you smirk back, your pants are off of you. Aleksi is faster than Olli, leaving one of your breasts to reach between your legs, teasing your clit idly, rubbing it in slow circles with three fingers. You groan and feel the vibration of a low chuckle against your back. His hand is so warm…

Suddenly another finger is poking at your hole, this time Olli’s. He puts it inside slowly but easily (given how wet you already are) and curls it upwards. The stimulation to your g-spot makes you moan and press further into Aleksi’s body. He’s hardening against your lower back.

You spread your legs further when Olli comes closer, never taking his finger from inside you. Aleksi makes room for Olli’s mouth on your clit and you send your head back in pleasure.

“Yeah baby, like this,” Aleksi whispers in your ear, hands sliding up under your shirt now so he can touch your breasts properly. Him pinching your nipples and Olli’s tongue on your clit at the same time threaten to make you come far too soon but you have no energy to fight it.

You finally let go, relaxing completely against Aleksi’s body. He’s fully hard against your back now, thrusting his hips up to get more friction when Olli moves his tongue in a way that feels particularly good and makes you moan louder. A glance down at Olli and your stomach turns, his profound blue eyes looking up at you with sultry intensity, causing you to slide downwards in your seat, closer to him. You grab his head with a hand, fingers in his soft curls, and he starts rotating his tongue like a washing machine, his finger inside you moving in and out faster. Your other hand ends up on Aleksi’s cheek, bringing him closer to your face until you’re kissing. You don’t stop your make out session even when you finally come, moaning in his mouth as your hand in Olli’s hair tightens. The pleasure washes through you intensely, leaving you with ringing ears and even more weary than before.

Aleksi carefully removes himself from behind you, guiding you to lie down on the couch. You’re already half asleep when Olli disappears and when you wake up hours later, there’s a quilt over your body keeping you warm.

#answered #my writing #blind channel fanfiction #blind channel imagines #blind channel fanfic #blind channel rpf #rpf #aleksi kaunisvesi x olli matela x reader

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absinthehoney · 2 years

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ode to You who cant remember my name

you lived in shades of fucking cool like no one i’ve ever known. that’s all i’ll ever think of you. this isn’t a poem, or a love sonnet, isn’t pretty or kind enough to be one. just a letter to a ghost that haunts the dark corners of my temporal lobe. you were the first guy i knew to fly off the handle like that and shave your head into that wild shaggy mohawk when things weren’t going well. foreshadowing to my shitty park bathroom bleach job after i lost my sister, right? i wished i was brave like you, knew how to say “fuck you all” or even just have the balls to tell them to lay off you. what didn’t they make fun of man. you couldn’t seem to do anything right. you couldn’t even open your mouth without having someone yell at you to shut up. and i remember the way my face would flush scarlet and i’d have to bury my head in my arms when you raised your hand in class, because I was already burning with enough shame for both of us. not that you’d know. i didn’t like my body or the way my clothes felt on my skin. i couldn’t stand my lisp that i never managed grow out of (it stops being cute after 6th grade apparently). when words left my mouth, i wanted to crawl inside of myself and disappear. you spoke like the world was ending, tearing apart and collapsing around you and you just had to. get. your last. words. out.

and you’d smirk and lean back in your chair. arrogant prick. james dean. marlon brando. clint eastwood. i figure we can mock eachother equally in that department since you and I imitate the same men. same masculine swagger that comes off like a living, breathing love letter to old hollywood. swear i saw you in a leather jacket. unless that’s just who you are and i’ve been copying you. then this whole thing comes across like a different kind of love letter.

You tried everything. you skiied and played the flute and took karate and listened to metal and read Eragon and Harry Potter and every Tolkien book published. You ran a D&D table and I cleaned cafeteria tables because I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I don’t know how I got it in my arrogant little brain that I was better than you. I was exhausted, ignoring adolescent mental illness bubbling to the surface, had trouble connecting with anyone my age, listened to the same five sad lana del rey songs over and over.

I always liked how you lent me books. it made me feel smart. we were all pretty smart, I guess. top 1% of the school. the gifted class. cream of the crop. but your books were the only ones I read willingly. I chewed up page after page like a starving man just so I could come to you a few days later, give it back and say I was done. and you’d say “alright”, and I’d nudge my hand a little closer so we could touch and see if it made me feel something.

I always liked how you’d tuck your feet in close when I walked by. you were always lounging, feet outstretched while you were half asleep, but you still saw me. acknowledged my presence. like you wanted to make my life a little easier even when I was just a passing shadow. I think of you every time some does that for me-- moves their body to make room for mine.

I feel like such a freak, thinking of you like this even now. it’s been so long. we weren’t that close. and i don’t think anyone will ever truly get it and that tears me apart inside. But I wish I’d held you a little longer if i’d’ve known that was really the last time. first and last time i’d ever been that close to you, i think. I think I felt something for you that I can’t ever hope to understand.

and this is sorry excuse for everything i have to say

#another really personal one #no one knows about this #no one ever will #no one will ever understand or hope to understand #lmfao imagine posting your deepest darkest shit on your public tumblr #took me an embaressing amount of time to write this

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survivoirs · 21 days

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@serpcntes -✦-

brows furrowed in confusion at the need to move elsewhere, but he followed regardless, stepping into the parlour just behind the other male and closing the door behind them, giving them the privacy that they needed to have this delicate conversation. he supposed his son must be home or could return home at any moment for norman to be this cautious. what had norman told harry about all of this? whatever he’d told harry, otto doubted the younger would believe a ‘madman’ with a questionable mind. what a terrible thing it is to experience something extraordinary that no one can ever know nor can understand. the nervousness that radiated off of norman was infectious, the relief he’d experienced earlier fleeting and giving way to concern and anxiousness. he suddenly felt unsure if he should even be here, that if being here would only make things worse but… he had to try, right? they’d been good friends before. he’d like that again, to mend burnt bridges and move past their disagreements. norman spoke and confirmed an earlier thought he had ; he had tried telling harry. he can only imagine how poorly that conversation went. brows quirked up in a flicker of surprise at the mention of trying to talk to peter about it too. that was a bold move. ❝ i suppose if you had approached me any time during the last two years, i wouldn’t have known about it either. ❞ he mused, more to himself than to norman. time worked strangely, and he’d fallen from grace some time after norman’s supposed death. he shook the thought off, exhaling a weary sigh. ❝ i know now. ❞ he continued, whether that came as an reassurance to the other or not. ❝ you’re not alone in the knowledge of other worlds anymore. ❞

Somehow Otto had answered exactly in the best way he could have to quell Norman's various worries regarding this entire conversation. He confirmed one of Norman's hypotheses of if he'd reached out to Otto as soon as he'd 'gotten back'; the logical likelihood that Octavius wouldn't yet know what Norman was talking about even if he wasn't crazy. And then, to quell the main concern of confirming that Otto did remember and could prove to himself that he hadn't lost it. Norman let out a visible sigh of relief. The first moment of relief he'd felt since shortly after getting back to their universe.

you’re not alone in the knowledge of other worlds anymore.

"Thank you, Otto," he said, with the same warm familiarity as when he'd used the man's first name back when that young Parker disabled the arms' neural control over Octavius. "You cannot begin to understand how much relief I feel hearing you say those words," he exhaled, rubbing at his chest. "I think I need to sit down," he murmured, staggering a step to sink back into the nearest section of the subtly extravagant chaise lounge.

"No one has believed me. Everyone thinks I've gone insane. Everyone, Octavius," he explained urgently, feeling his heart beating rapidly beneath his palm. "I have mandated psychiatrists and everything. And I -- I started to think that -- you know maybe, maybe I am just a raving lunatic. Like you said 'the reckless fool who turned himself into a monster'. The great Norman Osborn has finally lost it ladies and gentlemen," he ranted a bit, voice growing in volume. "I started to think maybe it has all been in my head, so I took the meds they give me. I tried one mixture of meds after another, letting them try to figure out how to treat something they don't even have a name for!" He took a deep breath, realizing he'd shouted started shouting a bit towards the end.

"I'm sorry -- I shouldn't have yelled at you. And I really shouldn't wake up the staff. They'll call the doctor over. Don't want them thinking I'm getting too worked up," he laughed nervously. "I am not a fan of the side effects of the drug cocktails they've put me on," he explained vaguely but looked grim enough about it. "Amongst other ill effects is the mental sluggishness, the brain fog. I can't -- can't think. Can't think the same. Can't work," he sounded incredibly frustrated. "And really -- with men like us -- what are we even if we can't do our work?" Would Norman even recognize himself if he could never again work at the extraordinary level of his intellect? He'd based his entire purpose in life off of his scientific mind. It was a terrifying thought even if he didn't voice it to Otto.

#yeah Normans kinda broken af in this verse ngl #ooof #im sad #THREADS. [ I'm something of a scientist myself. - Norman ]#serpcntes #serpcntes: otto #rp

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writing-on-the-wahl · 2 years

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Not sure if you take asks (if you don’t ignore this) but what about hero and villain stuck in an apocalypse.

hero almost gets bit but villains henchman saves them and brings them to villains hideout which is a mall,as his last one got invaded by zombies

@vuvulia sorry this took me so long!! It’s short and not very good but I had fun with it🙈 also I wrote the first line and then had deja-vu so if I’m inadvertently quoting someone… pls lmk💛💛

A/N: Guys this disappeared from my drafts but now it’s back yay 🤗🤗

*thanks to @creweemmaeec11 for the banner☺️☺️*

“I always knew you were a villain, but I didn’t realize you were a monster.”

Villain’s eyes widened, the shock on his face a sharp contrast to the casual way he lounged on his throne, legs hooked over one arm of the massive gold monstrosity that had been placed in the open space at the bottom of a set of escalators.

Hero felt her mouth quirk up at his reaction even as she wondered how they’d manage to escape his old lair while lugging that across town.

The uncharacteristic emotion on Villain’s face was quickly replaced with his familiar, and utterly irritating, smirk. “I don’t see how saving you from the monsters makes me one.”

Hero rolled her eyes to the tall domed roof of the two-story shopping center. “First off, you didn’t save me, Henchman did.”

“At my orders.”

“But he was the one who risked his neck.”

“And his brains.” Henchman piped up.

Hero nodded towards the burly man decked out in enough weapons he could probably decimate a city block. Come to think of it, he had nearly done that much damage when he’d saved her not an hour previous. “And his brains,” she repeated.

Villain frowned. “I supplied his weapons.”

“Weapons he fired at the zombies.”

“I—”

They were getting off track.

“Second off,” Hero cut in, “that wasn’t why I was calling you a monster.”

Villain rolled his eyes. “Please, do enlighten me.”

In response, Hero simply gestured to the alcove on her left.

Villain followed the motion to the racks of weapons that lined the small space where a shop once stood. “Those weapons are what kept you from being a brain popsicle. Hardly reason to be upset.”

Hero shuddered at that mental image. “I’m not upset about the weapons!”

Villain threw his hands in the air. “Then why on earth are you so irritated!?! We saved your life, offered you sanctuary here. And you didn’t even give me a chance to make fun of your birds-nest hair or that atrocious DIY don’t-bite-me armor before calling me awful names.”

Hero jabbed a finger at the sign above the alcove, feeling completely justified in her anger.

“You destroyed Wetzel Pretzel!”

. . .

There was a long moment of silence as Hero’s words hung in the air.

Villain slowly looked at the sign, then Hero, then the racks of weapons, then back to Hero.

“Hero,” his voice was soft and more than a little concerned, as if he was wondering if she had had a bite or two taken out of her brains. “You know that all the people that worked there, the ones that actually knew how to make the pretzels, are now more concerned with eating your brains than achieving the proper crust to core ratio, right?”

Hero ducked her head as heat rushed to her cheeks. She clutched an arm around her gurgling stomach. “I’m just really hungry, ok,” she mumbled to her shoes. “And it’s been ages since I had a pretzel.”

Villain sighed and rose from his throne. “Cmon. Let’s get you something to eat. Then we can go on a quest to find ‘the last pretzel chef on earth.’”

As he led the way towards the food stash, Henchman’s low mumble sounded behind them.

“You know we can just Google a pretzel recipe right?”

Taglist

@im-a-wonderling @shieldmaiden-of-gondor @watercolorfreckles @distance-does-not-matter @onestopheroxvillain @lolafaiy @chaoticgoodandi @1becky1 @tobeornottobeateacher @himynameisorla @superherosweet @brekker-by-brekkerr @crazytwentythrees @great-day-today @sunflower1000 @ill-eat-you-if-you-cross-me @selectivegeekwithstandards @chibicelloking @trantolette @sapphiques @jinpanman @genesissane @wish1bone1 @amongtheonedaisy @distractedlydistracted @kitsunesakii @glitterythief @jinx1365 @cherrychewingbrat @in-patient-princess

Lmk if you want to be added or taken off:)

#zombie apocalypse #never written one before but here you go #didn’t really edit #guys I am obsessed with all things pretzel so enjoy me putting my soft pretzel cravings into an apocalypse 😂 🥨#I make pretzels with my sister every time I’m home 💛#not quite happy with it but here you go #heroes and villains #prompt ask #hero x villain #snippet #writeblr #hero #villain #my writing #asks #prompt fill

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freckledbeom · 3 years

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Umm 👉👈 jinyoung of got7 angsty fight leading up to make up sex oop - you don't have to of course, anyways take care hope your well x

thank you beloved, im well. sorry for taking a bit long these classes kicking my ass! hope this is what you wanted <33

fight with jinyoung / makeup sex

warnings; 19+ content, suggestive scenes

“so what now?” you questioned, almost scared to hear his response. “or do you do not care? once again.”

jinyoung sucked in a sharp breath. this was already your second quarrel this week over his alleged disregard for your feelings. this time, he stood you up after promising dinner. given his profession, you weren’t hysteric about the act of being stood up, but rather, what was done afterwards.

jinyoung would usually call say when he wouldn’t be able to make it, this time without. as if he wanted to pile things on, he came to your apartment without a word of what happened, not even bothering to apologize.

this struck you hard.

since the day you’d fallen for jinyoung, he never hesitated to put you on a pedastool and treat you with the utmost respect. even in front of the members, his love for you was on display.

but now, it was hard to see yourself come first to him, or even second. you felt like an afterthought.

“i do care. you should know that out of anyone.” jinyoung leaned against the counter, deciding to keep his distance.

“do you really or is that what you want me to hear? i know how this works.” you shot back, swallowing the lump forming in your throat. “if you cared i wouldn’t feel like this.”

jinyoung scrunched his nose. “so what do i do from there? you never let me know how you’re feeling, what could i even do?”

“i don’t know maybe act like you give a fuck for once? you treat me like im annoying, like im a problem.” you retorted, surprised at yourself for swearing at him.

“well if you feel like you’re the problem maybe you are.”

as short as that statement was, it hit you like a block of cement.

“oh?” you step back a lttile. nodding your head, you grabbed your small tote that was neatly packed by the door. “alright then.”

before he could even correct his mistake, you were hauling out of the door letting free with any tears that decided to come down.

two days later

two days felt like a week and you had found the need to pick up a hobby in an effort to clear your mind of jinyoung. you didn’t know for sure that this was a breakup. your friends had already tried to assure you that the separation should have been enough to solidify any lingering thoughts about your relationship status.

but still, you couldn’t wipe him from your brain. how he used to gently rub the back of your head, thumb grazing over your ear when you spoke. how he used to take all of you in his arms when you cried. it felt like a bucket of bricks had been thrown at you when you realized how all of this simply just stopped one day.

tears welling up, you pulled your knees to your lap, cradling them.

you sat in front of an empty canvas on the floor. it was a sorrowful attempt at painting, you’d only gotten a small sketch started. an outstretched hand stared back at you, lacking any color or life.

two knocks at the door.

that was all it took for you to suck up the stray tears that had fell from your eyes.

making your way to the door, you stilled anxious for what was waiting for you behind the door.

"y/n? you're here right?" jinyoung called out from the other side. you felt a heavy knock against the tight door, which you presumed to be his head.

“love, let’s talk.” the desperation in his throat gave life to his words and soon it was enough for you to turn the knob.

opening the door felt heavier than the space you’d given each other and your emotions flooded over until your eyes welled again. plump breast heaving up and down, you sniffed away the salty tears before they took control.

tilting your head, you stared back at the man you’d fallen in love with. although his his hair was slightly disheveled, you could only guess that was from his head hitting the door. jinyoung had looked the same as he did any day, this time a bouquet of sunflowers to show.

what would you say to him? what would he think of you now? your appearance certainly wasn’t the one he had given gentle ‘i love you’s to every night. your button up top was covered in paint, jeans to match; this was definitely not the best time.

“y/n, can i come in?” jinyoung rocked on his heels back and forth while you scanned his physique.

nodding, you turned in the opposite direction motioning him to follow you.

you hastily gathered your painting materials. you could feel jinyoung’s eyes on the back of your head, sharp enough to read your thoughts.

dusting off what remained on your lap, you took a seat far enough from jinyoung to calm your nerves but close enough to read his facial expressions.

“so i assume you came here for a reason other than lounging on my couch?” your eyes dulled a little, waiting for a response.

even though your tone reeked of anger, he chuckled, almost as if he was happy you spoke to him that way. “im here because you’re still my girlfriend. and i-”

“you love me? we haven’t spoken in two days. what would you call that?”

jinyoung parted his lips slightly, giving you a stressed look that you hadn’t seen since early when you had started dating. “i didn’t come here to argue with you, i really wanna talk you. if you want me to leave ill go, but at least listen to me. please.”

he had a a way with words. maybe it was the way he spoke. the way he was just loud enough for you to hear and gentle enough to coax you into forgetting why you were ever mad in the first place.

and while the cold silence gave little room for speech, you could feel yourself growing needier for jinyoung. as if his heat could make the shattered halves of you feel whole again.

it was more than the way he looked at you, only a few inches taller. his perversion over your mind left you wondering if it was the way he’d grab you in moments like this, kissing you ever so softly.

breathing into him, you reached for jinyoung’s face, letting your body crumble into his arms. whereever you could put your arms, you were taking hold of.

walking backwards, your backside met the rigid wall. you let a moan fall into your throat while your tongues glided against eachother.

jinyoung’s hands were big, big enough to keep a hand teasing your waist and a hand guiding your chin. he pressed himself against your middle, earning a small moan in return.

pulling back to breathe, jinyoung took in all of you, examining features he hadn’t seen in what felt like years.

before he could dive back in, you put both palms on his chest.

“not here.” you stifled out, grabbing him and making your way into your bedroom.

jinyoung didn’t delay one bit, shifting his weight on yours, pressed against the mattress. with the way he rubbed himself on you, you were sure that if he kept going you could reach an orgasm just like that.

instead he pulled away, snatching your bottoms off rather hastily. your middle was throbbing, begging for any kind of physical touch.

despite this, you still flinched when jinyoung entered you. he had you on the edge of the bed, teasing you with his member.

slowly, he would push all the way into you, just to back completely out. this was madness, this pace he was at. not a word was spoken between the two of you except for sharp curses and shallow moans.

gripping his arms, you leaned your head back in pure bliss. before you could even look back at him, jinyoung sped his pace up, skin slapping as a mixture to the collection of sounds.

his movements coerced an even deeper moan, curling from the back of your throat.

“feels good baby?” jinyoung questioned. you nodded obidiently, your orgasm creeping close.

sucking in a sharp breath, you bit down on your bottom lip. “jinyoung, baby, im gonna come.”

“come then.”

those two words were enough for you to completely fall apart all over him.

feeling your inner sqeeze around him, jinyoung couldn’t hold out for much longer. with one hand around your throat, he used the other to pull out and paint your torso with his fluid.

your bodies were still hot and shivering when he leaned down to kiss you. this time, neither of you wanted to pull away.

thumbing the semen that lie on your belly, jinyoung stared down at you.

“why cant i let you go?”

#got7 smut #got7 au #got7 imagines #got7 reactions #got7 jinyoung #jinyoung au #jinyoung smut #kpop smut #kpop scenarios #anon ask

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lexosaurus · 3 years

Text

Eldritch Ghosts

My piece for Day 4 of DP Side Hoes Week! Initially, I was kinda wary about writing this one just because I usually don’t really do a ton of world building in my fics, but I’m actually pretty happy with how this one came out!

Character: Clockwork Theme: Origin

---

Every ghost had an origin story, the tale of how they came to be. For most, they were created from a dying body, driven to existence through a deep sense of purpose. Perhaps a dying wish they never got to fulfill, or an especially traumatic death that resulted in an overexertion of brain matter in the last moments. For most, this was their origin story.

For other ghosts, they were created in the Zone. Most of that group were born from the procreation of two other ectoplasmic creatures. Not all ghosts had the capabilities of reproduction, but some of the more sentient, more powerful ghosts could find a way if they so pleased.

But for a small group, they were born from the Zone itself. From the deepest, most ancient parts of this vast expanse of ectoplasmic energy. There were only a few ghosts who developed this way, but those few possessed powers that other ghosts could only dream of.

They were called eldritch ghosts.

“So what about you?” Phantom asked. He had taken a liking to a particular stuffed armchair in Clockwork’s haunt, lounging with his back to one arm and his legs dangling over the other. He asked the question lazily, his eyes more focused on the ice shapes he was creating in his palm than on Clockwork himself.

“How were you made?”

Clockwork shifted to his adult form. “I know you’re not a full fledged ghost, but even you should know the taboos of our culture.”

Phantom dissipated the ice crystals. “Oh come on, Clocky! You know how I got here.”

“I know how everyone got here. I am the master of—”

“Yeah, yeah.” Phantom shook his hand nonchalantly to the side. “Master of time, god of all past, present, and future, observer of all timelines and potential outcomes. I know, but even you have an origin story.”

“Not everyone has an exciting tale of origin, ghost child.”

“But you still came from somewhere.”

Clockwork turned his attention back to a portal he was watching. It was of a young ghost child learning to ride a bike for the first time. Clockwork had seen this before, and he would see it again in the future.

He sighed, shifting into his child form and wiping the portal to show a new landscape. It was dark, black. He waved his arm, zooming in further on the scene until a bright green orb of swirling ectoplasm came into view.

“Come, child.”

“Huh?” Phantom rose from the couch. “Oh, what’s that? Is that the zone?”

“Correct.”

Phantom peered closer to the scene until he was hovering just mere inches away from it. “I don’t get it. Where are all the doors?”

“There are no doors in this realm of the Ghost Zone. No portals to other lands, other timelines, or other worlds.”

“Oh. So then why are you showing me this?”

Clockwork pointed his metal staff towards the glowing green mass. “Do you see that?”

“Yeah?”

“That’s the epicenter of the Zone. We all exist around it in an ever growing mass of ectoplasm and space. Everything in this plane originated from that core.”

“Wait, the Zone has a core? Like ghosts do?”

Clockwork nodded, his purple hood bobbing at the movement. “That is correct.”

“Does that mean…” Phantom’s face scrunched up. “Does that mean the Zone is a ghost?”

“Not exactly. The Zone is not sentient, it is merely an expanse of space that emits ectoplasmic energy, the thing that creates and sustains us. Without this core, the ectoplasm in the Zone would be unable to sustain itself, and the Zone as we know it would cease to exist, along with all of us.”

Phantom’s eyes shifted warily back to the screen. “That’s sort of dangerous, isn’t it?”

“How so?”

“If the core is so important for us to stay alive, then why is it so...I don’t know, exposed? Couldn’t some insane ghost just go destroy it?”

“No,” Clockwork said. “That’s the biggest mystery of the Zone’s core. Anyone who’s ever tried to get near the core has never made it back in one piece. The core is so powerful that it incinerates any ghost who attempts to get close. Hence why there are no doors around it either.”

“What if someone just like accidentally stumbles across it? Like what if one day I’m flying, minding my own business, and I get too close to this core?”

“That wouldn’t happen. Ghosts can feel it.” He shifted to his elder form and waved his hand once more at the portal, zooming in even closer to the core until the duo could see all the individual swirling speckles of ectoplasm pulsating around the core.

Phantom was silent for a moment, staring up at the bright green core with childlike wonder. “It looks sort of like a sun.”

“It is like the sun. If we fly too close, we can feel it. But it’s not hot in the way a human sun is. It won’t burn or melt you if you get too close.”

“Then what happens?”

Clockwork took a deep breath, closing his eyes. It had been so long, an eternity even, but even he could never forget the way the Zone’s core felt. How it affected his core, how it directed the ambient ectoplasm around him, guiding him away from the ancient depths of the Zone.

Most ghosts would never get that lucky. Other ghosts would cease to exist.

But not him.

“A ghost who gets too close would feel an intense amount of pressure. At first, it’s just a slight warning, but the closer the ghost gets, the more they would feel as if gravity itself is imploding around them. But if they get close enough, the core’s radiant ectoplasm would begin to interact with the ghost’s own core, and they’ll be driven insane by the Zone’s sheer power. The ghost’s core would become parasitic, and would force the ghost’s body forward until the Zone’s core can reach them. At that point, they’d simply dissolve.”

Danny shuttered. “Seems like a bad way to go.”

“It is.”

“So…” Danny started, his tone shifting into one of cautious curiosity. “Not that this isn’t cool and all, ‘cause it is, but why are you telling me all this?”

Clockwork shifted back into his childlike form. “You wanted to know my origin story, did you not?”

“Well, yeah. But I don’t see how the Zone’s core has anything to do with you specifically. Other than, you know, us being a ghost and needing the Zone’s core to exist and all that.”

Clockwork held his gloved hand up to eye level, watching as the miniature clocks adorning his wrists ticked away at their various times. “Every couple thousand years, the Zone’s core has too much radiant ectoplasm it needs to dispel. A human star does this much more often in the form of solar flares. But the Zone’s core is made of ectoplasm, and so it dispels its energy in the form of a new ghost.”

“So...you mean...you were born from the Zone’s core?”

“Yes. Exactly.”

“And you’re still here?” Danny jumped up, swirling around Clockwork in alarm. “How? How did it not drive you insane and make you explode?”

Clockwork chuckled. “Child, I am the Zone’s child. Why would it kill its own creation so soon?”

“But you said the Zone wasn’t sentient.”

“That I did.” Clockwork hummed, shifting back into his adult form. He waved his staff once more at the portal, transforming the scene to a ghost wandering beyond where doors existed. If anything was amiss, the ghost paid no mind, traversing deeper into the empty landscape.

In a few hours, the ghost would be no more.

“I’m sure if I tried to go near it now, I would end up like this poor soul. But upon my creation, the core was expending excess energy. It wouldn’t have wanted to take back the energy it just spent so much effort getting rid of.”

Phantom eyed the portal, looking ill.

"Remember, child." Clockwork swung his staff, morphing the scene back into the child riding a bike. “The Zone is full of mysteries. Ones that I myself do not even fully understand.”

---

Thanks for reading!

#danny phantom #dp side hoes week 2021 #clockwork #my writing #phicc #worldbuilding #eldritch ghosts

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cursestothemoon · 3 years

Text

A Bench And Piece of Parchment’s Length Away

requested: yess

Cedric Diggory x Ravenclaw!Fem!reader (i just noticed you hadn't specified fem! or not in your request so you’d like me to change it please let me know ill be more than happy to do it!!)

Summary: Cedric likes Y/n, a lot. But every time he tries to talk to her the universe just seems to have other plans, maybe this time he's found a loophole...

Warnings: mentions of vomiting

Word count: 2571 (i got a tad carried away)

This one is sO cute I really love this one, thank you for requesting

✧✧✧

The first time Cedric tried asking you out didn’t go over so smoothly. It had been a month or so before the Yule Ball and he needed a date, naturally you were first to come to mind. The Hufflepuff had harbored an intense, often even painful, crush on you ever since McGonagall pulled you up in front of the transfiguration class as a ‘model student’. That was third year, now halfway into his sixth, he had to do something about his feelings.

You were sitting with Cho Chang, a housemate of yours, and he couldn’t help but think obviously the universe wanted this to happen because why else would you be sitting, practically alone, just waiting for him to come sweep you off your feet.

He had gotten a bit too cocky.

It was on his way to you, stepping with the utmost swagger, that he noticed Lee Jordan also seemed to be sauntering in your direction and he was significantly closer than Cedric was. Suddenly his walk seemed to lose all of its swagger and he picked up his pace, glaring at the Gryffindor.

Cedric still had hope when Lee reached you first, maybe he wasn’t going to ask you to the ba-

Why were you smiling?

You were being polite right? That’s it you were just polite, he still had his chance.

Not nodding, why have you started to nod your head?

Cedric knew he should’ve turned around but he just couldn’t, his feet wouldn’t let him. His was within earshot now and people had noticed him, he couldn't just turn around now.

“-love to go with you Lee.”

Oh how he wished he’d just disappear, transfigure into a leaf or something and get carried away by the wind.

And Merlin, now you're turning to look at him

Think Cedric

Thin-

“Cho!” He all but shouted, gaining the attention of not only you and Lee, but also anyone else within a five foot radius.

“Cedric, you alright?” Cho smiled up at him kindly.

That was how he ended up asking Cho Chang to the Yule Ball. He felt terrible about it, really, Cho was beautiful, and she was smart, and kind, but she just wasn’t you. Cedric had rushed away from the scene so fast, rather embarrassed, he failed to notice the way your mood had dropped and the look Cho gave you after Lee had left.

From that point on he was sure talking to you just wasn’t meant to be, now preferring to watch you from the sidelines. It was a rough week for him following the Yule Ball when Lee seemed to always be just right beside you, luckily Cedric hadn’t had to endure it long.

It was a sunny Wednesday, rather warm, when he got his bright idea. He and his group of friends had been lounging, quite ungracefully, at a bench in the courtyard. It was only when you walked over to them that he popped looking a bit disheveled, his robes a tad askew.

“Hey Y/n.” He put on his most charming smile.

You met his eyes and Cedric swore you grew more beautiful by the day.

“Hi Cedric, sorry to bother but I left my book under the bench yesterday. I just wanted to grab it and I’ll be out of your hair.”

Cedric realized what had happened immediately. They had sat on your bench, well not yours, but there was an unspoken agreement between you and your friends that this bench was the bench you’d all meet at and now he had parked his own behind on it.

“Oh, oh, right.” He was quick to reach down and grab your book scolding himself in the process. He should’ve known it was your book, let alone your bench, he had only watched you sit on it and keep your book under for picking it up on your way to class the next day (lightens the load he presumes) for months now.

He handed you the book and it seemed as if a lightbulb went off. You left your book here, in the courtyard, it was perfect.

Cedric was up, probably most of the night, writing his letter to you. His dorm mates having retired with grunted goodnights, not really caring who he was sending what seemed like a novel of a letter to.

Three broken quills, five pieces of parchment thrown in the rubbish bin, and one ink bottle spill later...he was done. He sealed it carefully and placed it under his pillow hoping he’d catch at least a few hours of sleep before lessons in the morning.

It was like clockwork really. He made sure his friends avoided the bench, watched as you strutted your way to the bench, met with your friends before your next lesson, and just before leaving, you hid your book behind one of the thick legs of the bench.

Perfect

He told his friends to go on without him, he’d dropped something and he’d be just a moment. His look around your bench with a feigned expression of curiosity and frustration was enough for his friends to believe what he was saying, or they didn’t have the heart to tell him he wasn’t that great of an actor. Either way, they let him be.

Cedric worked quickly, he pulled out the book from its hiding spot with a small smile, he’d make sure to hold your books for you when (he was certain it was destined) you fell in love with him. He tucked his letter behind the front cover and placed it back into its spot, waiting for you to come grab it in the morning on your way to History of Magic.

This morning had been rough for you, your tie did not want to cooperate and now sat crooked enough to drive you mad, and to make matters worse you were late to your History of Magic class. You had grabbed your textbook from under the bench, it was thick and you always hated carrying it hence, the bench, and grumbled your way to class. Upon arrival you were regretfully informed of your five minutes of absence, luckily Professor Binns was feeling generous and let you off with a warning.

You plopped down into your seat and threw open the cover of your book with some dramatics, but you weren’t expecting the book to retaliate and spit an envelope into your lap. Professor Binns assigned reading from the textbook and you were quick to get it done before you examined the letter further.

The front of the envelope was bare, not a scratch of ink present which only ignited your curiosity. Fumbling, you finally got it open without drawing any attention to yourself and unfolded the letter. The handwriting was neat, uniform, and without a doubt, belonging to a boy.

Dear Y/n,

I hope this letter finds you well, and Merlin I hope it doesn’t rain or else this would be a mess. If everything has worked in my favor, and I pray it does, and you are reading this then I would like you to know how incredibly captivating I find you. You’re quite the sight, I must say, but more than that you are kind and witty. You are smart and confident, in the best, most attractive way possible.

I’ve watched you a lot, wait, no that sounds awfully creepy. I swear I’m not some old prat, or one of the professors. What I was meaning to say was that I’ve admired your beauty from afar for quite some time and it seems as though anytime I try to talk to you face to face things never seem to go as I’ve planned them, so I’m hoping this letter is a bit like a loophole.

Regardless, beauty, grace, and brains like yours deserve to be not only noticed, but complimented. And with the barrier of this parchment, I am not as nervous to tell you, but I’ve fallen in love with you, all of you. I do hope one day I’d be able to hear the same confession fall from your lips in my direction.

All my love,

Badger

Suddenly, your morning wasn’t so bad. Your stomach felt very airy and your face hot, you looked around to make sure no one had noticed just how flustered you became. Luckily, no one did and you were able to put the note into your bag discreetly, just before class was over.

On your way to your next class you thought about who it could be, Badger, what an awfully unique name to go by. The gears in your brain start to turn, it had to be a clue, but what did badger have anything to do-

Hufflepuff.

Your secret admirer was obviously a Hufflepuff and your heart leaped at the idea of it possibly being Cedric Diggory. You had strategically picked the bench where your friends meet you to be the one closest to where he and his friends would usually hang out. Of course you two had talked on a few occasions but he always seemed a bit reserved around you, a flirty remark or two (if you were lucky) and that was it so clearly it couldn’t be him. But oh how a girl could hope.

The next few weeks went on the same way, every Wednesday you’d get your book in the morning and you’d find a letter in it. Each one having a small clue as to who it was, the first one being the pen name Badger, next it was ‘...my family is quite small, just me and my parents…’ , then you got ‘...you’re my lucky charm, you know? If I see you in the stands during a quidditch game, I just know we’ll win…” , the last letter, however, was the reason you were so quick to get to your book today.

“...I’ve decided to just go for it Y/n, I can’t stand not being able to talk to you face to face any longer. In the next letter find my name...”

He had put his name in this letter and you were more than excited to see who it was. You had tried to pay attention, really you had, but the person was just far too sneaky.

And Cedric was proud of it. He had watched you open each letter at the bench, every Wednesday, for the last few weeks. He had gotten very good at hiding the letter in your textbook, some days he’d levitate it into the book, other times he’d bribe some first year to slip in his letter while he watched from afar.

He was tired of being so far, finally deciding to just go for it, but his stomach couldn’t handle watching you rush to today’s letter and open it far quicker than he's ever seen you open one. Cedric was nauseous with nerves as he quickly rushed to his next class, mumbling out an excuse of having to ask his professor about something.

You tore open the envelope, no time for sentiments now when the name of your secret admirer was just beneath your fingertips.

Dear y/n,

neRve wracking, isn’t It? if You happen to miraCulously harbour an ounce of the feelings i dO for you, meet me at this benCh tonight duRing dinner. if you fail to show, I complEtely understand and will hold nothinG against you, please don’t feel obliGated to do anything for me.

all my love,

baDger

Of course he wouldn’t make it easy, now forcing you to wait until you could get a piece of parchment out to write out all the letters, undoubtedly they also happen to be in the wrong order.

Professor Binns was as monotone as always, his lecture droning on so you found it an opportune time to find out who this mystery man was.

D R I Y C O C R I E G G D

You huffed, quill ready to decipher the letters that just had to be out of order.

GREG YIRDCOCD

Your hand was quick to scratch that one out.

EGGY CODDIRRC

Well that can’t be right

A quiet groan passed through your lips as you set you quill down, eyes going over the letters again. You looked around subtly before you decided to try your luck, it seemed like it would fit.

CEDRIC

You paused, there was no way it would work.

DIGGORY

It fit stupidly well, Hufflepuff, quidditch, only child, stupidly charming and boyish handwriting. The only part not making sense was that they were to you. Of all people he was writing to you. The gasp left your lips and it was far too loud to go unnoticed by the class.

“Sorry, sorry. I just… get really… into the lesson.” You said awkwardly, Professor Binns not buying it but he couldn’t find it in him to really care all that much.

You shrunk back into your seat, hands getting sweaty. You were meeting him… tonight.

The air was brisk as you made your way to the courtyard, you chewed at your bottom lip as you thought about Cedric Diggory sitting there waiting for you. The negative thoughts were being pushed away, he just wasn’t the type to play a prank this mean...was he? Or maybe it wasn’t him at all, those twins have been rather quiet lately.

The thoughts seemed to dissipate as you saw him, you were still a few pillars away and he was sitting on the bench looking at the grass so he hadn’t seen you yet. He was wringing his hands together as his knee bounced, he was nervous. The notion made your heart flutter and a small smile appear on your lips, but fueling you with confidence as you walked closer to him.

Cedric was beyond nervous, and if you didn’t show up within the next ten minutes he was sure that he was going to puke into the bushed to his right. Fortunately for him, he lifted his head to see you walking toward him, a beaming smile on your face and just like that, maybe he didn’t need to be so nervous after all.

“Y/n, you cam-” He was cut off, really glad he hadn’t gotten sick.

Once you reached him, overcome with the feeling of not wanting to be so far anymore, you pulled his head down low enough for you to kiss him. Cedric was quick to act, having been waiting for this moment for a while now, and wrapped his arms around your waist tightly. With no room left between the two of you, Cedric deepened the kiss as he felt your hands run through his hair and tug at the ends. And he for sure thought he was dreaming when he pulled away, reluctantly himself, and watched as your lips trailed after his. He couldn’t help but lean back in, capturing your lips again in another kiss before pulling away.

“I love you, Ced.” Your words were whispered with a smile and his brain went fuzzy.

He smiled big, eyes crinkling as he looked at you, lips swollen, and breathing just a tad quicker than normal.

“Well, thank Merlin for that or else you would’ve been sending very mixed signals, darling.”

His hand came up to brush some hair away from your face as you laughed.

“I am completely, irrevocably, in love with you, Y/n.”

#Cedric Diggory #cedric diggory imagine #cedric diggory x reader #cedric diggory x ravenclaw #Harry Potter imagines

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victorianoruben · 3 years

Text

{Untitled yet}

Ruvik X F!Reader

Chapter 1

Warning: none, I guess?

Written by: me and @another-bryk-in-the-wall

(thanks to my best friend for beta-reading it!)

Sometimes the hours are blurring together on nightshifts. Sometimes they are extremely stressful. Emergencies where there are only two people on a shift.

Other times you have 6 hours of complete rest and boredom.

That day it was the latter.

You haven't been working here for long and already find this hospital to be “different from others".

Many employees were emotionally cold and absolutely not interested in anyone, while just some liked to make jokes with you and treated you like a normal person. Also, the whole atmosphere here seemed very private. There weren’t too many patients who were going out of their way to socialize or make friends inside of the hospital. Hell, most didn’t even leave their rooms.

You sat bored in the lounge with your mobile phone in hand until you suddenly heard footsteps. They reverberated eerily in the long hallway and you turned to face that direction, startled. It was rare that anyone was wandering the halls this late at night. You saw a man in a tight red uniform aiming to walk past you, not even acknowledging your presence.

Only when you took a closer look at him, did you notice his burn scars. They were covering half of his face. When he noticed that you were looking at him from head to toe you decided to greet him, instead of just awkwardly staring at him. A relatively meek "Good evening, Sir" came out of you. You felt very overwhelmed by his dominant presence, which intimidated you a bit. That feeling only worsened when you let your eyes wander to the top of his head... Was that his brain surrounded by glass? No, that couldn't be. You were surely imagining things. But, what if you weren’t. Oh god damn it, what had he been through?

He emanated a unique self-confidence unlike anything you had ever seen in anyone with facial scarring. Usually patients like that were unsure and shy, afraid of being judged over something they had no control over. Human beings could be downright nasty to anyone with a scarred face. Something about facial scars disgusted people and the victims could clearly feel the contempt of others and as a result, they tended to lose all confidence.

This man, however, seemed to practically ooze confidence, which you respected and you caught yourself of being fascinated by or more like interested in his presence. You felt how your heartbeat rose from 0 to 100 when you both made eye contact, though you tried all your best to keep yourself collected and professionally polite. But that didn't work that easily.

"Good evening.", the man replied, his face completely blank and his voice monotone. He was just looking at you without a friendly gesture, without a smile. The man was simply studying your appearance as well. One of the many abilities he gained over the years was that he could read people like an open book, left open for him to peak in. Someone had longer fingernails on their right hand and short on the left? Guitar player who doesn't want to destroy the neck of said guitar. Some dog owners always carried treats with them, even if the dog wasn’t coming along. All those little clues told him enough about a person before they even spoke their first sentence.

But you. He couldn't read you yet, and this peaked his interest.

You hadn't been here for a long time, because he knew all the long-term workers and their darkest secrets.

"Are you busy right now?", the man pointedly looked at the phone in your hand, currently playing a silly cat video. Truth be told, he enjoyed that kind of content, but would he ad this? Never. Absolutely never. He would rather get the other side of his brain exposed than to admit that he liked cat videos.

"I need some help with my studies. Care to join me?", that was a big lie but he was curious -

Who were you and why did you peak his interest more than the average nurse in here? He'd find out soon enough.

Only now did you wonder what he was even doing here during these late hours. He didn’t look like a doctor. Was he a lab assistant? He certainly looked like some sort of scientist.

Pressing your lips in a thin line with a weak smile you put my phone in your pocket and nodded, slightly mortified that he had caught you watching cat videos of all things. It surely didn’t look professional.

"No, I'm not really busy. I’m just having a long boring night- I mean, not that I’m complaining... I wouldn't wish for emergencies either. So, yeah… I’d be glad to help you," You fumbled a little over your words, still slightly unsettled by his presence.

You’d do nearly anything to escape the boredom of a quiet nightshift, though. And you weren’t really worried about him being some kind of serial killer. Sure, your colleagues were weird, but they weren’t really the kind of people to chop you to pieces and bury you in the closest forest. Weird didn’t equal serial killer. Besides, you were curious about the man.

You were walking next to each other in silence that was quickly going growing awkward. Nervously you were fumbling with your hands in your smock overall, thinking of starting any conversation just to get out of this uncomfortable silence.

"I've never seen you before. I'm still pretty new here. Do you work here as a laboratory or doctor assistant? Also, with many nightshifts? Is that really that common in this mental hospital? " You had narrowed your eyes questioningly when you looked up to him. By reading his facial expressions it didn't seem like he liked to answer you. His forehead was wrinkling in silent contemplation, which made you suspicious. It was unusual to have an assistant running around here so late at night.

Maybe you weren’t so far of with the serial killer suspicions. You actually contemplated hightailing out of there.

'Quick, think of an answer. She is just a pretty and naive nurse'

But even a little slip up could cost his head. He could tell by her tensing posture that she was seconds away from fleeing the scene.

‘That could end badly’

"I mostly work nights," he tried to keep his answers short and to the point. Laying on a confidence in his answer that he didn’t actually feel. He made sure to look her in the eye shortly and casually avert his gaze back to the hallway. If he didn’t look her in the eyes at all he would look like a liar and if he stared at her too much he’d look like one too. It was a delicate balance, that he had mastered over the years "That is because the nights are quieter and I can focus on the patients better this way."

You took a glance at him, still wondering about what his actual job was. His answer was too vague for your taste. But the curiosity was still grown inside of you.

You had decided to work in a mental hospital because the human psyche had always been kind of a mystery to you. Mental illnesses were both fascinating and tragic in your eyes. The mind was even more delicate than the body, in your eyes. It was so easy to break and healing it was a true challenge. It was your goal to help people with mental illnesses like depressions, dissociative disorders and PTDS.

So, you really wanted to know what this scientist - or whatever - was working on.

You both arrived at the door to his office. You signed an NDA before, but who knew what could happened once you opened mouth. He didn't trust anyone in this damn hospital.

"Do not be surprised by the sight in front of you once I open this door. All I am asking you is to check the vitals of the patients in the bathtubs. I want to make sure they are doing well but I am not entirely sure how to do that.", he lied through his teeth, ready to push you into one of the bathtubs once the chance was there.

Or could you be useful to him in the near future?

When you entered his so-called office after his warning you had expected anything - but that!

Never in your life had you seen a machine this far developed... It looked like something directly taken out of a science-fiction movie. The construction filled the whole room. There were wires everywhere, all connecting to a weird sphere in the middle of the room. Completely gob-smacked by the strange… whatever that was you took a while to take notice of the bathtubs. When you did, though you froze up immediately. There were people - no patients - in lying in the bathtubs, connected to the cables, which were attached to the back of their necks.

Like a statue you stood there for at least 20 seconds. Staring at one patient, you slowly went to him just to check his state. Curious to see if he was aware of his surroundings or if he was unconscious – maybe asleep . What was this system?

Could that reach possibilities to help several people out of mental illnesses or was this just a machine designed from a psychopath just for his own use?

And why would he need help from just a nurse like you?

You let out a sarcastic laugh, "Looking at this huge thing… I highly doubt that you don’t know how to check vital signs ", you shook your head and crossed your arms, taking several steps back, out of his direct reach. No way would you let him put you into one of these tubs!

You really wanted to run away and never go to the hospital again.

"So, tell me. What do you really want from me? Do you expect me to go into one of the bathtubs? Gotta tell you, that’s not gonna happen. I mean... not to sound judgmental. Because technically this could be something to help our patients. But I gotta tell you, this,“ You gestured towards the patient that was laying in the tub right in front of you, “looks quite suspicious and not very save. I hope the patients volunteered for this, because if they didn’t I have to report this. Don’t get me wrong, you seem to be quite intelligent and this looks interesting, but I cannot allow something like this to continue without - "

"- You are annoying. All I want you is to check the vitals of the patients and you are throwing a whole speech at me.", he shot back, not amused with your behavior.

"I am a scientist, not one of your doctors. What I am doing here could change the world forever. It is a system which helps people with heavy trauma to forge new memories and get rid of the trauma. Do you understand me?", the scientist continued to spit out. There was a look of passion in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before. They had looked quite dull and emotionless up to this point. It was clear to you that he truly cared about that project of his.

What you weren’t aware of was that the man had a plan. He'd snow you . Make you feel comfortable. And then, he'd put you in the bathtub too. The next one on his list would be Tatjana from the reception area. And then it was your turn.

What even was your name? He chanced a quick glance of your name tag, just enough to read "(Y/N)" on it.

"Listen to me, (Y/N). This is a top-secret project. If I find out you talked about it outside of this room, I will make sure you suffer great consequences. And trust me, I have my eyes and ears everywhere. Now go and check on the rest of these people before I get angry. Then, you may leave."

Author's Note:

I'm still unsure if I keep making this as a slow-burn whole Fanfiction or just cut the whole thing I'm planing into single parts like One-Shots

#Ruvik #Ruvik X Reader #Ruben Victoriano #Ruben Victoriano X Reader #The Evil Within #TEW X Reader

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secret-rendezvous1d · 2 years

Text

I posted 1,678 times in 2021

1288 posts created (77%)

390 posts reblogged (23%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 0.3 posts.

I added 1,055 tags in 2021

#spencer reid imagines - 184 posts

#matthew gray gubler imagines - 137 posts

#spencer reid chats - 132 posts

#matthew gray gubler - 132 posts

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#matthew gray gubler chats - 46 posts

Longest Tag: 138 characters

#just realised... if you’re not so far up her arse because of the fact she gives us one direction content... you see how much of a problem-

My Top Posts in 2021

tbh all i wanna do for hours is just sit in spence's lap and make-out with him and leave lipstick marks all along his neck and feel his hands all over me

It’s perfect activity for a late-afternoon on a Sunday.

They had just ordered a takeaway, from their favourite restaurant just down the road from where they lived, and they were waiting for the forty-five minutes until it was due to arrive. There’s a science-related documentary that was playing on the television that neither of the two of them were paying attention to because the game of tonsil-tennis going on between them was much more relevant to how they were feeling.

She straddled his lap with her arms resting on his shoulders, wearing nothing on her body but a pair of loose lounge shorts and a unbuttoned button-up that she has stolen from his wardrobe so she didn’t get cold in just the bra she had on, his hands on her hips to hold her secure on his thighs. Her fingers were in the curls of his hair, pulling on the tufts and raking the knots as she dragged her fingers from his scalp to the tips, the facial hair that covered the lower half of his face tickling her soft skin. He looked rugged, pretty sexy, and she was all over his appearance.

Her mouth felt good against his, their lips moulding together so perfectly and so deliciously and he tasted like coffee and she tasted like the orange soda she’d consumed not that long before she took control of him and neither of them had the chance to take a breath... they couldn’t. They were so enamoured by each other, by the taste, the the battling of their tongues and the gentle string of quiet moans that left their throats when there was a tiny break in their movements. In no way was she prepared to stop, feeling the pleasure she was emitting through her emotions beneath her and she was sure she would see the a rather pleasant bulge in his pants that was visual proof.

She’s seconds away from taking things further, her face deep in his neck and she was close enough to inhale the lingering scent of his aftershave that he had spritzed on that morning as he got himself fresh for the day, dragging her mouth across the expanse of skin and including teeth when she felt a little bit more intimidating when the doorbell dinged and had her stopping in her tracks.

“You’re kidding-”

“That’s a bummer. I guess you can get the door since you’re on top.”

His words become accompanied with a pat on the bum.

“Nuh-uh. I’ve got smudged lipstick on my face, I look stupid.”

“Oh, and I don’t? I’ve got the most painful boner in my pants right now and I’ve smudged lipstick all around my neck and I can feel it on my cheeks, thanks to you, missy. I think I get to skip this one this time.”

“Fine but you owe me.”

“Owe you what?”

“A good fuck when this is done. You can’t just sit there like a sexy lumberjack and not go all the way with me, Spencer Reid.”

Someone please tell me why has this kind of thought has been a constant thought in my brain today? I’m not even kidding with you. It’s been in my head all damn day. xx

155 notes • Posted 2021-02-11 22:07:26 GMT

Ummm you HAVE to write the blurb of them fucking against the desk

I brought this upon myself, haha-

Read the first part here.

Thrilling.

A word that she never thought she would use when speaking about Spencer. It wasn’t that she was speaking ill of him or belittling him for living a life that was, by a margin, different to the rest of the team... it was simply because she never expected him to be as adventurous or as outgoing as he was being with her in that moment.

She was no stranger to sex; feeling the body of a man between her legs wasn’t a common occurrence in her life, and she didn’t actively go looking for a bloke to shag and send on his way to be forgotten about, but she couldn’t complain when she had a sex life to brag about... even if it wasn’t at a prime, right then and there. Her sex life was like an open book, she’d call it that herself, because she never had any limits to how and when and where it began. Car sex was on her list, sex in a plane bathroom was something she was willing to try out, sex at a time when it should have been forbidden was something she thought about a lot of the time. Maybe she was having a drought... maybe she was feeling a type of way... maybe it was newfound feelings that she probably should have thought about before she hopped up on the desk for him... whatever it was, she was glad that dry-spell was coming to an end.

YN just assumed that Spencer wasn’t necessarily the type to bring the moment to something so intimate, expecting nothing but vanilla sex and a quick orgasm, so she felt pleasantly surprised to see this side of him. A side that not everyone had the privilege of knowing but a side she wished he showed more of... the arrogant side, the side that wanted to be in constant control, the side that made him so much more dominant than was necessary but happened to be the a side that made him hotter. More attractive. Sexier, to say the least.

Their friendship could be put on hold because this was a long time coming.

“You’re so tight for me,” he grunts into her shoulder, his hot breath slipping into the cotton of her black blouse and heating up her already flushed skin, “so tight and warm.”

Her fingers found the ringlets of his hair, tugging roughly on the sensitive hairs that grew from the nape of his neck, tightening her fist and her grip with each and every thrust of his cock that he pushed into her. His balls slapping against the bare skin of her bum. A leg hooked around his waist and a heel digging into the base of his back, knickers and the denim of her jeans hanging from around her ankle, as she kept her other foot upon the ground to keep her stable. The desk rocking back and forth beneath her that matched the movements of his hips, the rattle of her pens barely being heard beneath their pants and their moans and groans, the squeak of the legs going missed and if it broke under their weight... then, well, it broke and there wasn’t much they could do about it.

“Fuck- Spencer,” she draws out his name in an elongated moan and rolls her head back on the ball of her neck, allowing his face to bury itself deep into the crook of her collarbone. Her head rolling to the left which allowed her cheek to press against the soft hairs sprouting from the top of his head, “harder.”

“Harder,” he whispers to himself to remind him not to get too carried away with what he wanted from her. He needed her and he didn’t want to be clouded by the narcism that could take over if he got too ignorant with his own needs and desires, “deeper.”

She didn’t think he could go any deeper and she could feel him where no other bloke had ever reached before, filling her up whole and making her feel full and satisfied yet not completely satisfied because she craved more from him. She needed more, she needed to feel him, she wanted to keep him where he laid because it was nothing like she’d felt before with anyone.

“Fuck, I-” he croaks, his voice dribbling out to nothing and his mouth moves to what he wants to say but his voice just doesn’t cooperate, his forehead falling to her shoulder as he slows his thrusts and focuses on filling her whole, till she begs for him to stop, “tell me you love this. Tell me I’m better than anyone else you’ve had. Tell me I fuck you good.”

“So much better,” she pants, removing a fist from his hair so she could trail her palm down between their bodies, snaking her arm around his waist and pushing her fingers into the flesh of his bum. A bum that would be bare for anyone and everyone to see if they were to walk in on them. “So good, Spence. So big, so thick, fill me up so good. Better than anyone-”

She gasps when he gives her one particular rough thrust, his cock touching her somewhere she longed and craved to be touched, and she gulps thickly. Her head rolls back again, his head lifting from her shoulder so he could revel in the state of her, his stomach tingling with the excitement.

“So good, Spence. Better than anyone ever. You feel so good.”

She says it with a gravel tone, her voice scratchy and sore and he can tell she’s almost finished, her eyes dropping and matching the volume of her voice. And, truth be told, so was he. His balls ached for a release and, even though he did not want it to come to an end, he wanted to fill her up so she leaked his orgasm in a place that left a constant reminder for her to never forget.

Her desk.

The one that she sat at every morning to drink her cup of coffee and perched upon every night before she left to go home. The one that she spent more time at as she completed paperwork and case review. The one with the drawer that had small fidget toys to use as everyone waited for a case to come through. And, now, it was one that held a memory she couldn’t forget... a memory that would bring back thoughts and feelings that would make her long for him... a memory that he wouldn’t forget when he glanced over at her to sneak a look in.

“Gon’a cum,” he murmurs lowly, “let me fuck that baby into you.”

And just at the statement, she’s clenching rhythmically around the girth of him as he twitches and lets his thrusts become sloppy and spurts out the white strings of his orgasm into her. Letting their juices mix around him. His thighs tensing and shaking as he struggles to keep his position stable as her leg went rigid and tightened, bringing him closer to her so she could really enjoy every last moment of their time together, losing her footing with the foot that stayed upon the floor.

“So-”

“Wow-”

He laughs as she giggles, neither of them finishing their sentences, and she looks around the empty bullpen from over Spencer’s shoulder. Lights still on and shining brightly from above them, the hallway still empty and leaving no trace of anyone else,

“That was incredible,” she tells him as he steps back from between her legs and brings his boxer shorts and his black trousers back up to sit around his waist, his belt undone and hanging by his hips. She situates herself before she stands up on wobbly legs, the floor feeling different as she tried to balance her clouded vision with the throb between her thighs, pulling her jeans back up and zipping up the flies beneath her button, “I didn’t know you had that in you.”

“I’m not as soft as you think I am.”

“Is that so?” She queries and he cocks an eyebrow and smirks at her, “I might have to try and find out some more about you, Reid.”

“And, I’m okay with that.” xx

161 notes • Posted 2021-04-14 18:07:02 GMT

“already? do i really have that much of an effect on you?”

hello, hi!

here is the much anticipated part three to ‘you owe me’; the first part is linked here and the second part is linked here. the second scene of this story is simply all smut and nothing more than that - i tried to make it as realistic as i could so i apologise for how shocking it may read to you. i’ve not written smut in such a long, long time that i’ve lost the knack for it. i’m not the best when it comes to writing sex scenes and all that so i did try my best.

like, reblog and send in some feedback, please. it’s greatly appreciated and it helps me work out what you want to see and what you are after. if you want something specific then do let me know! i’d love to try and write something for you.

thank you. enjoy.

“already? do i really have that much of an effect on you?” spencer reid x female reader (reader insert imagine) word count; 3.4k

summary; after days of being teased by spencer, yn can’t control her feelings as soon as they arrive home and she doesn’t care where spencer suffices those feeling.

The plane ride home had been like any other journey home after a case had come to a conclusion.

Everyone scattered themselves amongst the confined space of the jet, with their own belongings to occupy them as they busied themselves for the ride home, doing anything to pass the time quicker. The coffee-maker was turned on upon their arrival and brewing a fresh batch of decaf coffee for them to sip at and to give them a little energy after been run ragged over the last couple of days, the fridge had been stocked with water for those who didn’t quite fancy a hot beverage and peanuts and other sorts of nuts had been left, in packets, for them to snack on throughout the duration. The blinds were ready to be pulled down but it hadn’t mattered because it was close to midnight and there was no outside light that would have caused them problems when trying to nap.

Hotch had taken his seat diagonal to Morgan in the collection of four seats, a small coffee mug in his hand as he sipped slowly at the liquid that burned his throat and made him feel a little more relaxed in his seat, his mind trying to not worry over filing the reports that would come in tomorrow morning when everyone had gotten some well-deserved rest. He was worn out from work and tired from working the longest days he’d worked and all he wanted was nothing more than to be at home with Jack, having a chat with mummy and tucking him in bed and reading him his bedtime story, before he conked out for the night and woke up feeling refreshed the next morning, ready for whatever was going to hit them in the next briefing. And Morgan, well Morgan did what he did any other time they were flying home; he was occupied with the headphones over his head, which played music that helped him divulge into his own world after a stressful day, knowing that he would be home and in his own bed before he knew it and not cramped up under a table and in to a seat that restricted his movements. The flight always bored him on the way home because, what could they talk about when they were exhausted from everything they had dealt with and had no reason to throw ideas around?

JJ slept in one of the singular chairs, curled up under the thin material of her FBI jacket because the plane felt a little cooler than normal and no one actually knew why, the other singular chair occupied by Emily who had found herself drifting in and out of sleep because of the turbulence that kept jolting her from the slim chance of catching some shuteye. A dream starting behind her closed eyes and being ripped away from her when the plane bobbed in the air under the cruel winds that were in the flight-path back to Virginia. Rossi was nose-deep in the book he had brought along to do research with, his laptop open on the table with a brand-new document opened up and a pair of hands that typed and typed and typed out the newest story he was close to sharing with the world upon his new book’s release. Eyes barely leaving the screen before him, the silencing rumble of the jet engines giving him the space to work with no distractions and no interruptions because everyone could barely string a sentence together and hope to hold a conversation, and every time he glanced around for a screen-break, he saw no open eyes watching him or staring into space.

Occupying the sofa had been Spencer and YN which, at the beginning of the flight, had caused some joking taunts and jeers because the team had finally gotten wind of what had happened before they were called in for the case and had an inkling in their guts that the moment, that had been so crudely interrupted, was bound to continue whenever they had the chance to start it back up again. But it wasn’t long before the taunts came to a halt and everyone drifted into their own worlds, leaving YN and Spencer to cosy up together, arms wrapped around one another, to nap - because YN had to drive home once they landed and Spencer really didn’t want her driving on no sleep because he knew of the possibilities.

And napping is all they did until they landed back in Quantico.

They said their goodbyes on the plane, whilst gathering their things and stretching the pained kinks in their backs and shoulders and necks, which was a strange thing because they all walked back into the unit together and stepped foot in the bullpen together and left things on their desks at the same time. A second set of goodbyes being shared, this time with hugs and handshakes and subtle nods being exchanged between the group of them, before they took their chance to escape.

Home was calling for them and they certainly weren’t going to ignore that.

“Are you hungry? I haven’t eaten since this morning and I could do with grabbing something to eat. Shall we grab something on the way back?” Spencer wondered, the elevator doors closing and shutting out the waving hands coming from Emily and JJ from the distance, shrugging their coats on being the last thing YN had seen before her view was restricted. Taking them down to the ground floor where they were expected to check-out of their duties only to re-sign back in during the following morning, his fingers laced with YN’s as they stood in close proximity in the largely-spaced elevator, “we could grab a burger from the burger van opposite? I know it’s not much and it should still be open but-”

“We have food at home, Spence,” YN assured him, squeezing his hand as the elevator came to a stop on the final floor and opened, revealing the ground floor that was empty of people. The tiled floors shining under the bright lights hanging from suspensions above, almost glaring and much brighter as it contrasted against the dark skies outside, squeaking footprints echoing around the large room as they exited the elevator and let the doors close behind them. For two in the morning, YN would have been surprised if anyone was still working into the early hours. “I just fancy a grilled cheese sandwich and a cup of tea, to be honest.”

“A grilled cheese sandwich?” Spencer gawked in surprise, coming to a halt and stopping her alongside him, eyebrows furrowed on his browline, “since when have you ever eaten a grilled cheese sandwich? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you make one, let alone suggest making one.”

“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me, Spencer Reid,” she grinned up at him and giggled when he looked a little surprised at her, his feet carrying on towards the exit and enticing her to follow (well, more like dragged along to start their way back to the doors again),, “I sometimes have one before I come to work, for breakfast. Don’t look so surprised, for goodness sake. They fill me up till lunchtime because we never know when lunch will be.”

“You don’t strike me as a greasy grilled cheese sandwich kind of girl,” he admitted, pushing the door open with his palm and letting her exit the building before him, hands still laced together as the cold air hit at their exposed skin. Her car was parked in a car-park opposite, just a short walk from where they had left the revolving doors of the bureau, in a space that had her name written all over it that kept it empty for her, in case of emergencies. “You’re more of a pancakes and syrup girl with strawberries and blueberries. All sweet and sugar, all things nice and delicious.”

“Oh, Spencer,” she tutted playfully, “I thought it was obvious that there’s a bit more to me than just sweet.”

She winked as she clambered into the car, seating herself comfortably in the driver's seat and swinging her go-bag into the footwell of the passenger side, starting the ignition to get the heating going as soon as possible so they could have a warm fifteen minute drive back to their apartment. She shrugged out of her coat and folded it in half, chucking it upon the back seats with her handbag following in suit, joining an opened and half-drunk water bottle that sat had been leaning upon the seat behind her for days. Spencer slipped his seatbelt on, clipping it in the clip beside his hip, setting his leather bag beside her go-bag (which had a couple of his folded shirts and a waistcoat in that she promised she would keep in good condition), feet squished up but he could deal with that until they got home.

“Let’s go,” she hummed, slipping the car into gear and pulling off in the direction their apartment was located, “I’m feeling rather hungry.”

“I thought you were hungry?” Spencer questioned in a state of disorientation, “we’re both hungry, baby. Come on.”

Her sudden actions of pushing him against the front door as soon as he had closed it behind him, of dropping their bags in haste so she could drag her hands down his clothed chest, of her lips barely leaving the skin of his neck had him taken aback. Really shocking, really out of the blue, yet he had no reason to push her away or move into the room like she hadn’t just playfully attacked him - he knew what she wanted, it was impossible not to know what she wanted, but this wasn’t exactly how he had planned on giving it to her.

“I mean, I am hungry but never said I was hungry for food, per se,” she admitted slowly, “I’m a little hungry for something else right now Spence and I’m hoping you can suffice that feeling. I know you can.”

“Is that so?”

See the full post

169 notes • Posted 2021-02-03 14:55:14 GMT

the episode where henry dressed as spencer for halloween literally makes me so soft 🥺

i’ve spent the last however long thinking about y/n surprising spence by dressing baby genius up as him for halloween🥺

Please... his bond with Henry makes me weak-

She promises to keep it a secret.

Their little boy told her with trust and confidence, when she took him to school one morning, that he wanted his halloween outfit idea to stay as a secret so that he could surprise his father. And, as his mother and the one he trusted with his idea, she promised him that she wouldn’t dare say anything to keep it a secret.

It’s hard for her find an outfit that would match similar to Spencer’s usual attire - because where would she be able to find a sweatshirt or a sweater vest that was almost identical to his and where would she find trousers that were almost perfectly matching? Where did she find a pair of child-sized socks to match his superstitious behaviour? - and it was hard for her to keep it a secret when he was eager to find out what their little boy wanted to dress up as that year.

“I said we should dress us as the doctor from Doctor Who. From a couple of the different eras,” he explains after she tells him a lie about their son not being so sure on what he wanted to be for the annual holiday, “but he just shook his head. Can you believe that?”

She tries not to give the secret away when he keeps begging to find out, when he keeps asking what he wants to be, when he keeps asking what clothes are in the shopping bags when she walks through the front door of their home. It’s hard because it’s so cute of their little boy wanting to dress up as his father and all she wants to do is tell Spencer so he could feel how warm her heart made her feel inside.

“You can’t look.”

“I’m not looking,” he states, his hands over his face and his fingers clenched together so he had no chance of looking at what he was being surprised with; halloween had finally come around and he was so close to seeing what his son was dressing up as after weeks of not knowing. “I promise, I’m not looking.”

He can hear the shuffles of their feet as they stood before him, gentle whispers coming from his wife as she speaks to their little boy, and he wants to peel his hands from his face so he could look.

“Okay, ready?”

“I’m ready.”

He has no idea what to expect after they finish their countdown from three; his wife was a clever one when it came to the holiday and she was always creating outfits for the two of them to wear when it came to going trick-or-treating. At the end of the countdown, with a rather enthusiastic exclamation coming from their little boy, he takes his hands from his a face and opens his eyes and it’s the that he feels the same warmth that YN had been feeling all these weeks.

His little boy, standing as tall as he could stand beside his mother, with his hair parted down the middle and fake glasses resting on his nose and a sweater vest, that looked very similar to the one he used to wear all the time when he was a youngster at the BAU, paired with a tiny button-down that was almost identical to the one he had chosen to wear that day. A leather satchel hanging off his shoulder with fake files peeking out from under the flap.

Him.

Their little boy was him.

The spitting image, almost.

“What do you think?” His wife asks and he really is speechless. When he heard his son talk about how he was excited to dress up as his favourite superhero for halloween, he hadn’t expected him and the thought brought a tear to his eye. Working such long hours, working every day and struggling to be home when he promised made him doubt himself as a father because he missed milestones and huge moments in their life as a family... but seeing his little boy dressed as him, he was the happiest. “Do you like it?”

“I’m you, daddy.”

“I can see that, buddy,” he smiles widely and drops to his knees in front of his little boy, sorting out the collar of the shirt that had gotten stuck underneath the strap of the leather bag. The socks on his feet being completely mismatched, one in a pattern that was striped and one in a pattern that was spotted, and the shoes on his feet were shiny and brand-new (and he only thought YN saw it as a win-win because they worked well as school shoes, too). “You look great. Very handsome, little man.”

“I should hope, he’s exactly you,” YN smiles, running her fingers through her husband’s hair, “it’s like looking in a mirror, huh?”

Spencer nods and cups his son’s face in his hands, pressing his lips against his forehead, “ready to go trick-or-treating?” xx

206 notes • Posted 2021-03-01 15:34:07 GMT

spence seeing you with kids and he’s just 🥺🥺🥺🥺 need to put a baby inside her asap!!!

Oh, god... just him being so informal towards the whole ‘I want a baby with you’ conversation has me reeling-

It’s inappropriate.

Not the fact that he wants to have children with one of his fellow agents, one of his friends who he had a lot of time and space for, and not because his thought process always ended up along the lines of wanting her squirming beneath him as he fucked into her real hard and real deep. Of course, really, it wasn’t ideal in their situation but what she didn’t know wouldn’t kill her. In retrospect, it would kill him before it killed her. But he knew it was incredibly inappropriate to have a specific thought, that involved the intimate nature, during a murder case that involved a child in the middle...

But she handled it so well. The case that was usually hard-hitting and the crime that was so disgusting and the unsub but she took a bite of the bullet and put all her vulgar thoughts, simply about what her kind of punishment would be to a suspect who thought kidnap was the best option to suffice their emotional loss and murder to aid the jealousy, to one side so she could care for and look after and hold the small child who had been through hell until they arrived.

It always surprised him how she wasn’t a mother yet.

Let alone, a wife to a man who he would deem as the luckiest man to walk the planet.

There was nothing sweeter, nothing more heartwarming, than seeing her be so gentle with a crying child who needed someone to give comfort. YN was always that person; the person children seemed to confide in, the person that children seemed to content with, the only person that could break through and truly dig deep until the truth came out because she was so nurturing.

She worried for him sometimes.

He was her best friend, and she was his, and they new each other like the back of their hands. They knew what triggered the other and they knew the signs of their upset, they knew each others expressions, they knew when they needed time to themselves and they knew when they needed time away from work to gather whatever sense of sanity they still had after a tough day.

So when he sat by himself on the journey home, picking at his fingers and biting his nails and barely looking up from his lap, it made YN’s mind query and worry because it had been a tough case and if he needed to talk then he could do so without being judged. Not that any other member of the team would judge him for feeling down... she knew, because he never fell short in telling her, he felt safe when talking to her than he ever did talking to Hotch or Rossi.

“Are you feeling okay?”

Spencer’s torn from his thoughts by the sweet sound of YN’s voice and all he can do is smile at her and nod.

He was feeling okay; the case never bothered him, it wasn’t one that failed and it wasn’t one that resulted in something for him to feel guilty over. His sickness wasn’t back, his migraines were long forgotten about, and he truly felt like he was at his prime for health. His mind was fuzzy, full of her, and it wasn’t fair to her if he told her, just what he’d been thinking about for the first half of their flight back to Virginia, in the quiet and rather tightly confined cabin of the jet where their conversation would have been amplified for all to hear.

“Spence, you can tell me.”

“I’m fine,” he says with a smile, his dimples peeking out upon his cheeks and his eyes crinkle as his mouth curves up into the sweetest grin he could muster up and give to her, “I promise, I’m fine.”

She stops with the conversation when she gets the hint that he just didn’t want the conversation to progress any further. She could feel the eyes of Derek that bored into the side of her head, her gut was telling her that JJ and Emily were whispering about the two of them and it didn’t take long for Hotch to pick up on the atmosphere and join in with the glances and the gentle smirks that everyone had upon their faces.

“I’m okay,” he whispers, squeezing her hand softly and turning his head so he could look at her with sincerity in his features, “thank you for worrying.”

Goodbyes.

YN always thought it was a pointless conversation to have, after they touched down and arrived back at the unit, because it was less than twelve hours before they would be seeing one another again. But, even though it wasn’t protocol, it felt like it was compulsory to bid adieu to one another with a hug or a shake of the hand or a kiss on the cheek with someone making a promise to bring coffee and bagels back to the office in the morning. It was a lovely conversation but it only really needed a ‘see you later’ because they really did see one another later in the day.

As she said goodbye to Garcia and watched the elevator doors close, and she turned on her feet to walk back into the bullpen, nerves clung to her insides in a way that made her feel sick. Which she though was strange. She never felt like that whenever she and Spencer were left alone because she loved the extra minutes she got with him. Personal minutes that allowed them to be themselves and not worry about being told off or bringing HR into the office because they did something they shouldn’t have.

But she needed to ask him. She’d go home and sleep better knowing the truth rather than believing him and questioning whether he was truly fine.

“We’re alone now,” she points out and he looks up from the paperwork sitting on his desk to take a look around the room, “do you want to tell me what was bothering you on the jet? Because something had you picking at your nails.”

He gulps thickly.

“Spence? You can tell me.”

He stands to his feet and makes his way down the aisle of the bullpen, desks on either side of him and desk chairs untucked and left in their positions from where the occupant had left it upon their exit for the night, computers turned off and pens left on the desktops because no one was as organised as Spencer was when it came to tidying up at the end of a long day. And YN watches him as he walks and she wants to follow him to wherever he was going. His bag was still tucked under his desk and the paperwork was half-finished and his desk was still disorganised so she guessed he was only going for a coffee.

That was until he came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the room.

“Spencer? Are you-”

See the full post

303 notes • Posted 2021-04-14 14:06:50 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#i couldn’t agree more #the spencer era started this year #simping for tall and brown hair and skinny men is now a thing #ahahaha #my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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wren-ravenheart · 3 years

Text

You Tried So Loud To Love Me

@witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

Prompt: Hanahaki Disease Relationships: Jaskier/Valdo Marx Rating: T Content Warnings: Minor blood Summary: Jaskier absolutely could not stand Valdo Marx for even a second. He was pretentious, too pretty for his own good, and had a terrible habit of writing sonnets and songs about the color of Jaskier's eyes and the swoop of his hair that he was absolutely certain were some sort of masterfully crafted insult to his person and reputation.

Tucked under a cut again for Length, though this one is over just over 2k words.

Cross-posted to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31171259

There were exactly three things in life that Jaskier was absolutely certain of. Things that he could continue to count on even when the rest of his life was attempting to fall to pieces around him.

That Belleteyn is the best holiday.

That Toussaint is Hot and Pretentious.

And that Valdo Marx is an asshole.

Even when his pockets were empty, his lute strings snapped, or he suddenly found himself caught up in a mild court scandal that he assuredly had no part in, he could always rely on those few things. It was easy to keep moving forward when one was propelled by Pettiness and Lust. Even if he could never give an exact answer as to why he hated Valdo so much when pressed. Really now, you wouldn’t ask why the grass was green or the sun warm, so why would anyone ask Jaskier why he couldn’t stand that fluffy little upstart?

It was assuredly not because the rival bard did indeed stand two inches taller than him and was criminally handsome. Nor was it because he had a perpetual perfect smile on his face that refused to budge even when Jaskier threw his best insults at him. And it most assuredly was not because the thrice-damned bastard had written not one but Two Sonnets entirely about Jaskier’s eyes and hair and he absolutely could read the undertones of mocking that clearly lay within. No, it was clearly none of those things that irked Jaskier to his very core.

What kept his petty hate-fueled animosity going was the absolutely nonsensical crush he had on the bastard. A crush he had worked hard to snuff out with wine, women, and a few other bards who weren’t nearly as annoying as Valdo. A crush that clearly had not gone away with time. A crush that was currently trying to hurtle it’s slimy little self all the way into actual, ugh… Love.

Which made it even more frustrating than usual that Valdo was suddenly not his normal bubbly self, greeting Jaskier warmly and loudly as he strode into their mutually favorite tavern in the middle of Oxenfurt. He looked tired, and quiet, and barely glanced at Jaskier before shifting his gaze back into the pint of ale in front of him. Not wine? By Melitele, what was wrong with him?

“Well, well, look who the alley cat dragged in. Ale will go straight to your gut, Valdo. I’ll steal back the title of prettiest bard before you know it.” He sniped as he leaned against the table’s edge and smiled with too many teeth.

Valdo cut his eyes up and then back down. “Good day, Jaskier.”

The smile dropped from Jaskier’s face and he narrowed his eyes. “Good day? That’s it? Valdo, are you ill? I did take the title back already, didn’t I? That must be it! I’ve never seen you like this. Ah, it must be such a burn to know you’ve finally been bested by a true bard and exposed for the talentless hack that you are.” As he spoke, he gestured grandly with his hands. Valdo only winced once at the mention of being ill and firmly kept his gaze on his mug.

“Everyone already knew you’re the attractive one between us, Jaskier. No need to rub it in.”

Jaskier ceased his obnoxious flailing and took an actual seat at the table with him. He crossed his arms on the table in front of him and leaned in, lowering his voice to avoid being overheard. “Okay now you’re actually worrying me. I was expecting snide sonnets on my unruly mop and ‘lustful gaze’. Jabs, put-downs...anything but this. You are actually sick, aren’t you?”

Valdo slammed back the rest of his ale and stood up abruptly. Jaskier’s mouth dropped open in shock as he was glared openly at by his once-rival turned unnatural crush. “Leave off, Jaskier. Go bother the brothel workers.” And with that final gritted out jab, he stomped out of the tavern.

Jaskier was still staring in shock at the empty spot before him when the barmaid strolled by.

“You’ll catch flies, you leave your mouth open like that, boy.”

He clicked his mouth shut and quickly made his own way out and back to his lodgings.

This just wouldn’t do. What was Valdo’s game? Was he finally making good on all of Jaskier’s assholish attempts to make them public nemeses? Maybe Valdo could read minds; realized the strange feelings the bard had begun to have towards him and decided he was thoroughly disgusted by him.

Jaskier let himself slink into the beginnings of a depression and decided he’d just have to try and shake that off and find out what was going on with his Fri… Rival.

He followed Valdo whenever he could, ambushing him after lectures and hunting him down in pubs. He startled him so fiercely one of these times that the other bard broke down into what sounded like a very painful coughing fit, enough that caused him to pull out a handkerchief to cough into until his lungs settled from the surprise. He found this odd, and then odder still when as he went to ask after his well-being, Valdo abruptly shoved the handkerchief away and growled at him. Growled! Like some angry dog! And left Jaskier once again staring after him as he stomped away, agog.

A month later, Jaskier’s persistence had turned into straight up concern. Valdo was less angry with his antics and instead seemed constantly tired. There were bags under his lovely brown eyes and his hair had turned greasy and less kempt. He consulted these odd symptoms with a friend studying medicine and she mentioned it sounded like some sort of wasting disease. Jaskier was only familiar with a few of them, but none of them sounded like a pleasant time.

So, while still firmly trying to convince his brain that Valdo was still an absolute Arse and absolutely did not deserve his time or affection, Jaskier made soup. Warm pot nestled in the crook of his arm, he marched up to Valdo’s residence and knocked firmly on the door. No one answered. He knocked again. Deep coughs followed by the sounds of mild choking came from within and Jaskier decided basic decorum was right out the window. He pried open the door and rushed inside, looking for the source of the distress.

And there was Valdo; laid out on a lounge chair looking even worse than usual and slowly lowering a cloth from his mouth. There were flecks of blood on his lips and it appeared as if he couldn’t draw a full breath. Jaskier plunked the soup pot right on the floor and went directly to Valdo’s side.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were so ill?” He asked softly, dropping all the pretense of being a rampant jerk.

Valdo just looked at him sadly, too tired to muster up his recent attempts at dismissal. “I did not want you to know, Jaskier. You’re like the sun. So warm and happy. I could not bring myself to have you worry so I pushed you away.”

Jaskier’s eyes went a little wide and he reached out to take Valdo’s hand. It was so cold in his own, and he could make out the fine bones in his fingers. A wasting disease indeed. He rubbed his thumb over the other’s knuckles and shook his head slightly in dismay.

“I’ve been a right arse to you for years. Look at us. Idiots to the bitter end.” He murmured wistfully. “Is… is there anything I can do to help? To ease anything at all? I, uh… I made you soup. I thought it might be… nice?”

Now it was Valdo’s turn to look surprised. He squeezed the hand in his and looked over at the pot on the floor. “You made me soup? You’ve never made me anything.”

“Okay yes. Fine. That is true. I’m a complete and total jerk. My feet should not be gracing your illustrious doorstep, my knees not fit for your carpet. I’m sorry, okay? You’re talented. So talented. I’m at a loss without your poetry to bounce my own works off of.”

At this confession, Valdo cracked a little smile. “Maybe there is hope for you and I after all, dear Jaskier… You see, I ha-” A painful coughing fit cut him off abruptly, the force of it causing Valdo to nearly curl in on himself, clutching the cloth to his mouth as his body attempted to forcefully remove whatever was clearly killing him. Jaskier kept his hand firmly in Valdo’s as he tried to rub the other’s back in comfort. The touch seemed to help in some small way, and the hacking died off. Valdo slumped backwards panting, the hand with the cloth falling into his lap.

There, amidst the spattering of blood, lay small bright yellow flowers. Jaskier gasped loudly and shook his head.

“No, it’s a myth. It’s not real.”

Valdo attempted to clear his throat as he bunched the cloth with the flowers up and tried to hide it from view. “You of.. Of all people… .should know the… power of a story… where they come from...the truths hidden in the tales….We’re storytellers.. It’s.. poetic in it’s own way…”

“It’s a tragedy born of the old stories, is what it is. Wasting away from unrequited love? It’s madness. No one actually dies of a broken heart.”

“I’m not heartbroken, Jaskier. I’m simply in love with someone who is my sun and sky… and who absolutely cannot stand me. It will make the most glorious tragedy. I have already begun to write it.” Valdo smiled brightly as he caught his breath better and shifted to sit more comfortably. He squeezed his hand once more before letting it drop. “With any luck, I will finish it before I can no longer write.”

Jaskier stared into the middle distance over Valdo’s shoulder, taking it all in. It all seemed too outlandish to be real. Things that happened in tragedies and stories never actually happened in real life. Soulmates weren’t real. Kisses didn’t break curses. And people didn’t suffocate slowly on flowers for being rejected. But as he slowly shifted his gaze back to the pale, but still softly smiling, face of the absolute nuisance that was Valdo Marx, at lot of things clicked into place for him.

He had never hidden pithy put-downs into his sonnets. He had never crafted masterful insults through his songs. He had honestly and truly sung from the heart and he had called him his Sun. Valdo had been unashamedly, unabashedly, in love with him from the start. He was coughing up small yellow flowers… Buttercups...and had slipped back into waxing poetic over it all. Lord, the fool was fully gone on him. And he had been nothing but the most righteous arse over it all, so very full of himself and sure that the other was somehow mocking him and jealous of his talent.

Turns out it was Jaskier himself who was the pompous wastrul and talentless hack. He shuffled forward on his knees until he was flush against the lounge. Valdo looked over at him and lifted an eyebrow in question. A beautiful eyebrow set in a beautiful face that Jaskier was tired of pretending he wasn’t also long gone on as well. What was it that the storybooks always said saved the day, woke the princess, broke the curse? Ah… yes…

Jaskier set both hands on the cushion of the lounge and angled himself just right to gently lean forward and press his lips right against Valdo’s own. The man below him went very very still. His lips were soft, but the lack of any response twisted something uncomfortable in his gut and he slowly broke the kiss and moved away, eyes cast downwards.

“I’m sorry, I-”

“Jaskier, what-?”

They spoke at once. Jaskier looked up and noticed color on Valdo’s cheeks, his mouth slightly open and his eyes nearly comically wide in shock. He swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat.

“I’ve been a right arse to you, but I love you, Valdo Marx. And I do not wish to see you suffer a moment longer. It will kill me too.”

Valdo’s eyes fluttered shut and he let out a deep exhale. Jaskier panicked for a brief second, wondering if he had actually killed him, before he sucked in a very long and full breath and opened his eyes again. They shined with unshed tears and Jaskier had a moment to admire the sight and the warm feeling at finally giving in before he was being tackled to the ground in a crushing hug and warm tiny kisses were being pressed to whatever skin the other could find.

A laugh erupted from them, and Valdo’s kisses shifted from surprised, affectionate pecks, to soft and tender kisses meant to explore the other’s skin. Jaskier shifted slightly under him and set a hand to his chin, drawing him back to his own lips to continue the kissing. Valdo hummed happily and nearly melted into what he hoped was now his new Beau. The university community was going to have a field day with this.

Jaskier rolled them over and slowly moved his head away. Valdo attempted to chase after one more kiss, making him chuckle. “As much as I am enjoying making out on the floor like we’re back in year one… are you sure? Are you alright? You were coughing up most of your lung a minute ago.”

Valdo smiled up at him and reached up to run his fingers through Jaskier’s hair. “Yes, my love, I am quite well now. You’ve restored me and I suffer no longer. Now the story I write shall have a happy ending. A proper fairy tale after all.”

“Well, if you insist. Though I would be grateful to continue this discussion somewhere that is not the floor.”

Valdo’s laugh was bright and filled him with warmth as they both got to their feet and he began to tug Jaskier in the direction of a more private space. “Anything for the prettiest bard in Oxenfurt.”

And wasn’t Jaskier pleasantly surprised when Valdo took it upon himself to demonstrate just how much better he now felt, repeatedly and with vigor. As it turned out, stories always had more truth to them than he had ever expected, for this cursed ailment was most assuredly soothed with a Kiss.

~End~

#jaskier/valdo #jaskier #valdo marx #hanahaki disease #witcher rarepair summer bingo #prompt fill

48 notes · View notes

bestiesenpai · 3 years

Text

Gojo lyric challenge

I found this cute lil challenge on Pinterest! A picker wheel chose Gojo, I excluded repeating lines or else I would have gone mad, and the song I chose was medicine by shawn wasabi :)

“I’m so- so sick!” Sniffling like a toddler with a wicked cold on a Friday night wasn’t what you had in mind when you imagined how your weekend would go. Wrapped tightly in a blanket, you shivered on your couch as sweat began to form on your brow.

“How bad is it, (Y/N)?” Satoru asked over the phone, running a worried hand through his hair. You sounded awful, much worse than when he talked to you the day before. Your voice was shoddy and he could hear you breathing through your mouth.

“I’m cold sweating and I love it.” Rolling your eyes, you crumpled into the couch cushions with a groan. “One moment I’m hotter than ever, the next I’m colder than ice! I feel high, not sober.” Deflating even more, just being awake was a struggle for you right now.

“Want me to come over and bring you medicine?” His heart ached for you, and even though he was at the school it was the weekend, surely he could disappear for a few days with no issue?

“No, I don’t want you catching this.” Throwing the blanket over your eyes, you fought back the urge to sneeze. Satoru had begun speaking again but you were too busy scrunching up your nose to listen, head pounding from the effort.

“(Y/N), babe? You listeni-”

“Achoo!” Fumbling with your phone, the force of your sneeze - and the two that came after the first - was enough to push you further into the couch and fumble your phone, effectively hanging up on Satoru and dropping it between the couch cushions.

Ripping the blanket off your face, you blindly grabbed the box of tissues you left near you. There was snot pouring out of your nose, making your face irritated from all the rubbing you were doing.

Too numb to do anything else, you grabbed your phone and trudged to the bedroom, shivering with every pass of air against your face. Once in the dark room, the dull headache you had subsided slightly and you collapsed under the covers after taking a shot of cold medicine.

Tossing and turning in the night, your sickness felt like a fever dream that would never be over. With the medicine it was easy to fall asleep, but through the course of the night you woke up in a feverish fog, not fully conscious but enough to toss the blankets off your sweat covered body and then grab them again.

Waking up in the morning was a struggle, sleep still having a tight grip on you as your body tried to fight the illness. Your blankets were up to your chin, but there was sweat pooling in the ditches of your body.

Just as you were about to throw the blankets off your body and cool off, your phone began to ring, it’s incessant vibrating making the mattress shake.

“H-hello?” Fishing through your blankets, you grabbed it on the last ring.

“(Y/N)! Baby, how are you? I tried to call you back last night but you didn’t answer!” Satoru’s slightly scared voice spewed out over the phone. Taking a few deep breaths, you finally freed your body from the blankets.

“I’m wide awake in bed with my clothes on the floor.” You grumbled, looking to your side to see every article of clothing you went to sleep with in a pile. Satoru chuckled at your answer, relieved that you had survived the night without him.

“Let me come over today, please? I’ll bring some medicine and make some soup for you?”

“I don’t have anything to make soup.” Shivering as all the sweat evaporated away, you burrowed under the blankets again.

“I’ll go to the store.” Satoru answered immediately. There was a heavy pause as you thought over his answer, brain sluggish on forming words. “C’mon (Y/N), don’t leave me hanging. At least gimme a no.”

“I’m thinking.” You said with a whine, making Satoru laugh again.

“You really know how to test my patience.”

“If you come over you have to wear a mask, I don’t want you to get sick.” Now it was Satoru’s turn to whine. You could almost imagine him stamping his feet on the ground like a child and pouting.

“Fine, I’ll wear a mask. Now what kind of soup do you want, I’ll go to the store before I stop by.”

“Surprise me.” Ending the call with a curt grunt, you relaxed back into bed. There was no energy in your body, not even enough to grab the medicine off the bedside table or get a glass of water for your parched throat.

Falling back into a restless slumber, you slept through Satoru calling you once he was at the store and when he was outside your apartment. Luckily for him, he had a key to your place and was able to let himself in, tiptoeing quietly through your house.

“(Y/N)?” He called out for you, taking off his mask once he saw you weren’t in the lounge room or the kitchen. “Are you sleeping?” Walking to your bedroom, he grinned when he saw you passed out and drooling on your pillow.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Satoru fixed your blankets and moved your body into a more optimal sleeping position, one where your neck wasn’t being strained in a weird way and your head was elevated to help you breathe.

“Satoru?” All your twisting and turning had left you tongue tied, mouth feeling incredibly dry as you said his name.

“Hey sleepyhead.” Leaning a little closer to you, he grinned widely at your confused face, his eyes searching you from behind the glasses he had on.

“P-put your mask on, dummy.” Fumbling to push him away, you grabbed the mask that rested on his chin and pulled it over his face. “You’ll get sick.”

“(Y/N), I already am sick.” Fixing the mask on his face, Satoru laughed. “You got me feeling lovesick.”

“Lovesick?” Rolling your eyes at the cheesy line, you couldn’t help the smile that spread on your face.

“Mhmm, and ooh baby do I love it!” Gripping his heart dramatically, Satoru delighted in the fact he got you to laugh. Even behind his mask you could tell he was smiling like a fool as he looked at you.

“So what did-” Your question was cut off by a gross, wet cough. There was sticky phlegm coating the back of your throat, and the force of your actions had snot running down your nose a little as well.

“Here, here.” Grabbing you a few tissues, Satoru sprang up from the bed. “I’m going to make you some tea.” Nodding as he left the room, you coughed into the tissues and blew your nose loudly.

With a spinning head and wobbly legs, you pulled yourself from bed and threw the tissues away, walking blindly to the bathroom to take care of the needs that you’d been ignoring in favor of sleeping.

“What’re you doing out of bed?” Standing at your empty bedside with his arms crossed, Satoru tapped his foot impatiently as you reentered the room.

“Pee.” You said with a sniffle and Satoru immediately dropped his arms, pulling back the covers to help you lay back down.

“I bought some really strong herbal tea from the store, an old lady told me it works really well for sickness.” Picking up the mug he left on the bedside table, Satoru blew away the steam billowing from the top.

“It smells horrible.” Even with your nose blocked you could smell how strong the tea was and your lip curled in disgust.

“I know, but it’ll make you feel better.”

“I don’t want it, Toru.” Your lip formed a heavy pout and you turned away from him, turning your back on the tea that you could smell even with your face pressed into a pillow.

“Just have a little bit, I promise you’ll feel better!” Tugging on your shoulder, Satoru eventually wore you down enough to make you turn over. With watery eyes and a soft glare you took the mug and took a drink of the tea.

“Oh I love how it tastes!” Nearly gagging on the strong taste, you swallowed down a big gulp to appease Satoru. Falling back down into bed, you rubbed a hand down your face. “Happy now?”

“Very. I’ll go start on the soup.”

“Did you get a recipe from that old lady?”

“No, the internet.” Flicking your arm, he left the room. You could hear him digging through a few shopping bags and banging pots and pans in the kitchen. The longer the tea sat in your stomach, the more it warmed you up and soothed your throat. Taking another sip, you slowly got up from bed.

“Hey, what’re you doing up?” Satoru peeked at you from the kitchen, his sharp blue eyes watching you trudge to the couch with a blanket wrapped around you.

“I’m bored just laying in bed sick.” Propping yourself up on cushions, you sank into the couch with a labored sigh. “So why not be sick out here?” Satoru chuckled, mumbling an agreement before returning to the kitchen.

Twenty minutes later, the soup was done. It was a simple recipe, one that Satoru didn’t need to fuss over too much in terms of prep. Carrying another steaming cup of tea in his other hand, he sat next to you on the couch.

“Here’s the soup, and more tea.” Sitting up slightly, you attempted to take the bowl from him. “Are you sure you’re feeling well enough to feed yourself?”

“Yes.” Right as you said it, a sneeze pushed your head back, leaving your temples throbbing.

“Mmm, I’ll help.”

“Whatever.” Sitting up more so he could feed you, you tried not to look at Satoru’s cheesy grin as you ate.

“Ya know, I don’t know if I’m supposed to like it this much, you being sick and all.” He cooed, setting the bowl down to give you some tea.

“If it was up to you, I’d never be getting better.” Taking a sip from the tea, it burned your tongue and made you wince. “I want more, more of the soup.”

“Of course, my love.” Bowing his head, Satoru picked up the bowl again. “Now here comes the airplane!”

Once all the tea and soup was gone, you curled into the side of the couch. Wrapped up tightly in blankets, you weren’t really paying attention to what was on the television. There were slow or sudden conversations that you couldn’t follow, words being spoken that went right over your head.

“How could you sleep with both my father and brother?!” The soap opera character on screen shouted angrily, getting ready to throw a drink at another.

“Toru, what am I watching?” Lifting up your heavy head, you looked to the other side of the couch, where the man in question was watching the show intently.

“Hell if I know but it’s pretty interesting.” He answered with a shrug, taking a glance at you. “Hey, why’re you so far away?”

“Because I’m sick.”

“I’m lonely.” He pouted behind the mask you insisted he keep on. “I want to hug you, you’re not feeling well.”

“Don’t touch me!” You shouted to the best of your ability with a painfully scratchy throat, but it was too late. Satoru was already leaning over to your side of the couch, encroaching on your space and manhandling you to the middle to lay on him.

“It’s always worth the wait, each time we touch.” Snuggling into your blanket clad body, Satoru let out a hum.

“Satoru Gojo, let go of me!” Attempting to wiggle out of his embrace was impossible, he had too tight a hold and your body wasn’t exactly at its strongest.

Your struggling made the blanket you’d wrapped around your head fall off, exposing your face and head to the cold air. Seeing the opportunity present itself, Satoru leaned down and kissed your forehead.

“Satoru! Why’d you kiss me you’re gonna get sick!” You watched in horror as he threw his mask onto the coffee table.

“You should know by now babe, all the rules are always bending, but only for us.” With a smug grin, he gave you another kiss before you could dodge him.

“The principal will be mad if you get sick because of me.”

“Eh, let ‘im. Who cares?” Leaning back, Satoru took you with him, moving more of you into his lap. “I’ll kiss you every day and every night, no matter the circumstance.”

“You’re so annoying.” Mumbling under your breath, you cozied up into his embrace more, no longer having the energy to fight it. Rubbing a hand up and down the full length of your back, Satoru let out a hum. It was quiet between you two for a few minutes, until a tickle in the back of your throat forced your body to convulse in a strong cough.

“Oh baby.” Satoru frowned slightly, giving you a few hard pats on the back. “Have a tissue.” He stuffed a couple in your hand, watching behind his glasses with concern in his eyes. “Hey, how often should you have medicine? I don’t think you’ve had any today.”

“Gi-ve me m-medicine twice a day. That’s what the label s-said.” You answered between coughs, fighting to catch your breath.

“Okay, one sec.” Shifting you off his lap, Satoru dashed to your bedroom to grab the bottle of medicine. When he came back, your coughing had subsided, but you were mentally drained from the ordeal.

“You’re too good to me, Toru, I’ve taken up your whole day being sick.” Dabbing at your watery eyes, you noticed the distinct lack of direct sunlight coming into the room. The sun was setting behind the buildings surrounding you, casting long shadows into your home.

“(Y/N), I don’t care. I won’t leave until you get better, I’ll stay forever if you let me.”

“Forever’s a long time.” You grinned, taking the tiny cup full of medicine that he poured for you and drinking it quickly.

“You make time feel never ending.” Satoru replied, getting comfortable on the couch with you again and cuddling you in his lap.

“You’re so cheesy.” Giggling at the line, you wrapped him in a hug. “Don’t be mad at me if I keep you up at night with my coughing.”

“Keep me up, I don’t mind.” Giving you a kiss on the cheek, Satoru hugged you back even tighter. “Just gives me more time to watch these stories.” He pointed to the TV right as two characters got into a fight.

“What a wonderful doctor I have.” Rolling your eyes, you lay your head in the crook of his neck, letting the dialogue from the TV become white noise and lull you to sleep.

#jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen scenarios

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just-a-poor-boy-queen · 3 years

Note

Jim was startled awake by the buzzing of the intercom and could barely keep back a yawn as he dragged himself off the sofa and sloped towards the front door, his “quick kip” having turned into an hour-long nap. He wondered who would be visiting this time of the day. Freddie was away doing a photoshoot and Khaleel was at school, so he hadn’t been expecting any visitors.

‘Who is it?’ He mumbled sleepily into the intercom.

‘It’s me.’ A familiar voice replied.

Mary had started making a habit of popping around in the afternoon, even if she knew Freddie wasn’t there. Jim would make her a cup of tea and they would sit in the kitchen or the garden, chatting for a couple of hours. It seemed to be her way of extending an olive branch, and as odd as he sometimes found her, Jim was happy enough to oblige; having Mary as a friend was preferable to the hostility that once existed between them.

But when Mary stepped through the front door, Jim immediately sensed that something was amiss. The woman looked nervous, clutching a large carrier bag in her hands as her eyes darted around the hallway with uncertainty, like she was expecting a tiger to spring out of nowhere.

‘It’s lovely to see you.’ Jim took one of her hands in his own and pressed a kiss against her cheek, which seemed to pacify her, if only slightly. ‘Is everything alright?’

Mary hesitated, before giving him a rather forced smile. ‘Yes, everything’s fine.’ She glanced around again. ‘Freddie’s not here, is he?’

‘He has a photoshoot today.’

‘Oh, yes. Of course he does.’

Jim frowned, his thumb extending to gently stroke her knuckles reassuringly. ‘Are you sure you’re alright?’

She seemed tempted to lie again but must have realised that doing so would be pointless. She sighed and gave Jim’s hand a squeeze. ‘I need to talk to you about something.’

Jim took her through to the lounge, calling for Phoebe to put the kettle on for them all. He sat on one of the sofas beside Mary, noting how she fiddled with the carrier bag before setting it at her feet. Whatever was in it seemed to be the source of her discomfort.

‘Freddie’s parents have been in contact with me.’ She finally announced, taking Jim by surprise.

‘Ah.’ The Irishman now understood why she had been so wary about Freddie being present. ‘I see.’

‘I didn’t say anything because I knew Freddie would hit the roof if he found out I’ve been speaking to them. But they were desperate for my help and I didn’t know what else to do.’

‘You could have said no.’ Jim muttered, though he immediately felt like an ass when he saw Mary cringe with guilt. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. But he’s cut them off for a reason, Mary. They almost cost us our son.’

‘I know, I know. I’m so sorry, Jim.’ Her cheeks went pink and for a moment Jim was worried she might cry. ‘What they did to you and Freddie was unforgiveable. But they really regret their actions. They just want to talk to Freddie, tell him they’re sorry, explain.’

‘I don’t want to hear their explanations and neither does Freddie.’ Jim replied firmly. ‘There’s nothing to discuss. They did what they did, and there’s nothing they can say or do to redeem themselves. I know you’re just trying to help, Mary, but they’ve hurt Freddie enough. I won’t stand by and let them do it again. You tell them that if they truly care about Freddie, they’ll stay away.’

Mary nodded sadly. ‘I had a feeling you’d say that. I can’t say I blame you. Jer and Bomi have always been good to me but sometimes I think they blame me for not keeping Freddie “in check” so to say. Honestly, at times it felt as though they expected me to wave a bloody magic wand and just stop their son from being gay.’

‘They’re products of their time.’ Replied Jim with a sigh. ‘They’re good people, but if they can’t accept Freddie for who he is, then they can’t be a part of his life. Freddie’s tired of leading a double life, having to pretend he’s something he’s not for their comfort. His illness made him realise that life is too short to live by other people’s standards. I had hoped his parents would understand that but clearly they don’t.’

Silence overcame the pair, only interrupted when Phoebe walked in with a tray of tea and biscuits. The three of them fell into pleasant conversation for the next few hours, though Jim could tell that Mary had been upset by the whole ordeal and he made a point of holding her hand to comfort her. After Phoebe cleared away the dishes and retired to the conservatory, Jim escorted Mary to the front door, his eye falling upon the plastic carrier bag that she was still clinging to like a lifeline.

‘What’s in the bag?’ He enquired, ignoring his mother’s voice at the back of his mind reprimanding him for being nosy.

With great hesitation, Mary reached into the bag and pulled out a large baby blue quilt, holding it up so Jim could see. It appeared to be hand-knitted, embroidered with floral patterns and tiny white birds. In the middle, the word BIJOU had been sewn in thick, calligraphed letters.

‘Khaleel’s blanket.’ Jim observed, feeling his heart sink to the bottom of his ribcage.

‘She wants him to have it.’ Mary said softly, her eyes slightly moist. ‘In case she never gets to see him again.’

Jim knew that he should turn it down. He wasn’t going to be manipulated into feeling sorry for his in-laws, especially after everything that had happened. But he remembered the look of excitement on Khaleel’s face whenever he came back from Dādī and Dādā’s house and gleefully updated him on the progress of his new blanket. The child would sit and watch Jer knit for hours, following every rise and dip of the needle as if he was in a trance. Even two years later, he still asked about the blanket, confused as to why Dādī hadn’t finished it yet, why they never went around to Jer and Bomi’s for tea at the weekend anymore. Denying his poor boy the last remaining tie to his beloved grandparents seemed unacceptably cruel.

‘Thank you, Mary.’ Jim took the blanket, folding it up with the greatest of care. ‘I appreciate you telling me. I wish this could have turned out differently.’

‘Me too.’ Mary replied. ‘I’m sorry, Jim. Please, tell Freddie I’m sorry too.’

Jim had just sent Khaleel up to brush his teeth when he heard keys turning in the front door and the familiar sound of his husband’s voice calling, ‘darling, I’m home!’

He sighed, pulling out the blanket from where he had hidden it in the drinks cabinet and smoothed it out on the sofa, preparing himself for the row that was inevitably coming his way.

‘You won’t believe the day I’ve had.’ Freddie drawled as he glided into the lounge. ‘Roger came in with a raging hangover, so we all had to wait until he’d drank a litre of coffee before we-’

He cut off as soon as he noticed the blanket, the smile immediately disappearing from his face. Jim expected him to start screaming and shouting right then and there but he didn’t say a word. He seemed frozen, so shocked he couldn’t utter a syllable.

When he finally did speak, his voice was low and dangerous. ‘What the hell is that doing here?’

‘Mary brought it over.’ Jim said calmly. ‘Your mother gave it to her to give to Khaleel. She wants him to have it.’

More silence. Freddie wasn’t often left speechless, but right now he seemed genuinely lost for words. Jim could only imagine what was going through his head; all the suppressed memories that were suddenly resurfacing, coiling around his brain like a venomous snake.

‘Get rid of it.’ Freddie whispered.

‘We can’t keep this from him.’ Jim replied, being mindful not to raise his voice. ‘You know how much this blanket means to Khaleel. If he ever finds out we kept it from him, he’ll never forgive us.’

‘I want it gone!’ Freddie snapped, hands balling into fists like a stubborn child. ‘Why the fuck did you accept it? Why the fuck did Mary bring it? Who the hell does she think she is?’

He abruptly turned and started marching towards the phone, grabbing the handset, and stabbing at the buttons furiously.

‘Freddie, what are you doing?’

‘What does it look like I’m doing?’ Freddie growled, ‘I’m going to give that backstabber a piece of my mind! Hello, Piers? Put Mary on the phone. I don’t care if she’s asleep, put her on the phone right now-!’

‘Freddie!’ Jim snatched the handset and slammed it back on the receiver, startling the Persian man. ‘Don’t blame Mary for this. Your parents put her in an awkward position, and she did what she thought was right. I understand why you’re upset, and you have every right to be! But don’t take it out on her.’

Freddie scoffed. ‘Since when are you two the best of friends? She knows what my parents did to us, yet she’s willing to do their dirty work for them.’

‘She was just trying to help. She thought this might help you reconcile with them if you saw how much they care.’

‘If they really cared about me, they would have come themselves; instead, they’re using my ex-girlfriend as a fucking middleman!’

‘You know I resent them as much as you do, but we can’t go on lying to Khaleel forever. He hasn’t seen his grandparents in two years, Freddie. He’s always asking when we’re going to see Dādī and Dādā again, and I can barely look him in the eye when I use the old “they’re busy” excuse. One day, he’s going to find out what really happened, and he’ll resent us for not telling him the truth.’

‘And how the hell do you explain to a seven-year-old that his own grandparents don’t value him as much as his cousins because he’s adopted, and his parents are poofs? Please tell me Jim because I’d love to know! You don’t think I want to tell him the truth? Do you think I enjoy lying to his face whenever he asks about them? I’m so glad you have such a high opinion of me, darling!’

Freddie’s dark eyes swivelled to the blanket, sparkling with tears, and filled with hate; he suddenly grabbed it, making a beeline for the fireplace only to be intercepted by Jim.

‘Freddie, don’t.’ Jim begged, his grip firm on the blanket, though he made sure not to pull it in fear that it might tear. ‘Don’t do it. You’ll never forgive yourself.’

‘Fuck off!’ Freddie spat, tugging in an effort to get it out of Jim’s hands. ‘I don’t want any trace of those people in my house! If you truly loved me, you’d understand!’

Jim froze, his hold on the blanket loosening. Then he released it altogether.

‘Fine.’ He said coldly, in a voice that made Freddie feel like a ghost had passed through him. ‘Go ahead. Burn the damn thing. But when Khaleel asks me when his blanket is coming, I’m not going to lie to him anymore. You can explain to him that you tossed it into the fire. So, go ahead. Do it.’

Freddie stared at the flames determinedly, Jim’s words doing somersaults in his head. His fingers itched to just throw the quilt and watch it burn but picturing the look of heartbreak on Khaleel’s face deterred him from doing so.

‘Fuck.’ He hissed, tearing away from the fireplace, and fleeing the lounge.

Fucking Jim, he thought as he tore up the staircase, swearing under his breath as he made it to the landing and stormed towards the airing cupboard, fucking fucking Jim.

He threw open the cupboard door and was about to bundle the blanket behind the towels when he noticed the words that had been sewn into it.

BIJOU

Tears pooled into Freddie’s eyes. Almost instinctively, he brought the blanket close to his face and softly inhaled. It smelled of lavender and the spices Mama used for cooking. It smelled like home.

Freddie furiously wiped his eyes and shoved the blanket right into the far end of the cupboard.

Part 34 of the Jimercury kid series

Oof, you weren't lying when you said that angst was on its way for our favourite family. Firstly, Freddie's parents reaching out to Mary and trying to make her act like a pacifier, instead of say, Kash, is very plausible, especially after Kash's indirect involvement in the entire fiasco.

This is honestly such a tough decision for Freddie, and Jim too. No matter how big an olive branch his parents extend, the shadow of their actions will always loom over their relationship. I really feel for our two dads. And it's definitely not an easy thing to explain to Khaleel, either. But should they give it a shot? Or is it better to keep from their son the fact that his grandparents were the cause of his trauma?

I just love how well you're able to convey the emotions of your characters in such few words. I could not only see, but also feel their pain, and oof... hats off to you for being so evocative with your words.

I really cannot wait to see what happens next💙

(More drabbles by writer anon)

(All the parts of this series can also be found under the tag #freddie and jim and their baby on this blog)

#ask response #jim hutton #freddie mercury #anon writing #freddie and jim and their baby

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