#it was an incredible amount of tissue paper

[weird-is-life]

Here for you

Pairing: Spencer reid x fem!reader

Summary: 4 times you take care of Spencer and one time he takes care of you

Warnings: use of y/n, like one petname, swearing, mentions of injuries, bruises, blood, mentions of food, hospitals, abduction, mention of car accident

Words: 6.8k. Masterlist

A/N: English is not my first language,so please excuse any grammar/spelling mistakes

1.

It's slow day at the bau. Everybody is going through their files and reports. Or at least they are pretending to be doing that.

Your desk is next to Spencer's, so you can clearly see what he is doing. He, probably the only one, is actually working. With his incredibly fast reading, he is putting one paper down after another. Which, you have to say is pretty fascinating and entertaining to watch. Well, up until the point he accidentally cuts not one but 2 of his fingers on the paper.

You hear him hiss in pain, which causes you to break out of your thoughts. Your attention is immediately on him.

His hand starts to get a bit bloody, you don't think, you've ever seen so much blood from a paper cut. So you are up on your legs before you know it. Spencer is frantically looking for what you assume is a tissue in his drawer, when you wrap his fingers in your tissue.

"Here," you say, smiling at him, "who knew a paper cut could bleed so much, huh?"

You expect some fact about paper cuts from Spencer, but he is still looking for something in his desk, so he just hums in agreement.

"Spence," you get his attention,"what are you looking for?"

"Uhh, my antiseptic spray, but I can't find it anywhere and I don't want it to get infected or something," he responds.

"I have one!" You always carry a small first aid kit with you. You never know, when it could come in handy. "I'll get it." You are quick to retrieve it from you bag along with some patches.

"Can I?" you gesture at his hand.

"You want to do it?" he asks, a little unsure and bashful.

"Yes, so can I?" Spencer nods and you gently take his hand in yours. As you patch up his hand, you can feel his eyes studying your face. You can't help but to blush under his gaze.

Spencer's thinking of how pretty you look and that, maybe he should get the paper cuts more often, just for you to take care of him oh so softly.

"All done," you say with a smile,"hopefully i did okay."

It takes Spencer a few seconds to realise you are talking to him and stop looking at you. You clearly catch him staring at you.

He quickly tries to play it off and gives you the best smile he can, "you did, thank you y/n."

"You are very welcome," you think of teasing him about being more careful around papers, but you decide, that he looks flustered good enough.

2.

It's been a tough few days. The unsub is pretty smart and it took the team almost a week to find out who it is.

You are now standing outside the unsub's house about to go inside on Derek's cue. The team has split up in a half, you, Derek and Hotch are at the front door.

As soon as the door is opened, there's a lot of shouting and the unsub takes off to the back door. He catches Spencer off guard there and roughly slams him against the wall and runs away. Almost everybody runs after him, except you and Rossi. You two swiftly go to Spencer.

Spencer is lying on the floor, groaning in pain and your heart almost jumps out of your chest when you see him like that. It only takes you and Dave a few seconds to see that his shoulder doesn't look okay. And from closer look, it definitely isn't alright.

"Don't move," Dave instructs him," I think, you might have dislocated your shoulder." You call for a medic, as you look at Dave and then at Spencer with a worried frown.

You find Spencer's hand and squeeze it reassurance. He tries to give you the best smile he can over the pain. You don't even want to imagine to amount of pain he is in, his expression is enough for you to know it's bad.

Thankfully, the medics get to you in a short time and take Spencer to the ambulance. In the ambulance, he is told, that it's definitely dislocated and that they need to put in back in the right place. Spencer's eyes widen a little at that, but he braces himself for it and manages to survive it with only a small whimper of pain.

You stay with him the whole time, as they treat him and honestly you probably look more in pain than Spencer. You hate to see him like this.

"You shouldn't move your shoulder too much for 2 weeks," the medic starts to instruct as she puts some kind of bandage around his shoulder, "also you should ice it every couple of hours for the next couple of days. It will reduce the pain and swelling."

"It doesn't look, that anything is broken or teared, so you should just let it rest, but if it hurts too much, you should go to the hospital."

"Thank you," Spencer says and gets up slowly with your help.

"Does it hurt a lot?" you ask on the way to the car.

"Yeah, so fucking much, I'd literally die for some painkillers right now," he groans.

"Wish I had any, but I left everything at the hotel. I'll try to get there as fast as I can," you say, as you open the door for him and help him inside. He hisses in pain, while doing so and you murmur a sympathetic sorry to him.

On the ride to the hotel, he closes his eyes, willing the pain to go away and you try to drive as best as you can, considering that every bump sends a jolt of pain to his shoulder.

At the hotel, you quickly pack up your things and head to Spencer's room with the painkillers in your hand. You find him struggling to even fold his clothes, so you help him.

"Got everything you need?" you ask as you look around the room, seeing if you've packed everything.

"I think so, thank you" he smiles at you. You return the smile, "of course, Spence. We should probably go, everyone is already in the car."

As soon as you get on the plane, Spencer lays down on the couch and you can't blame him, he looks so tired and the painkillers dulled the pain, but made him exhausted.

He is out in a matter of seconds, even before the plane manages to take off. It's quite chilly on the plane and you realise Spencer doesn't even have a sweater on. So of course, you get up and softly put a blanket over him.

You know, you are in for a hell, when you see Derek's big smirk.

"What?" you frown at him.

"Nothing, nothing. It's just that pretty boy is being well taken care of," he says smugly," wonder if I'd get the same treatment."

"Oh, shut up," you roll your eyes at him," of course, I'd take care of you, too."

"Okay, yeah. But I wouldn't receive that kind of a look with the care," he smirks again, clearly amused by your furrowed brows.

"What do you mean? What look?"

"I'm talking about you looking at Spencer like he is a literal sunshine," Derek says as it is some kind of well - known fact.

"I'm...-I'm not!" You lie, but it's such a bad lie, that even you don't believe it.

"You're the worst liar ever," he scoffs, "everybody can see, that you and Spencer like each other. Well everybody, except for you."

"Spencer doesn't like me." Nobody has to make this situation worse for you, you do it yourself.

"Are you kidding me? That boy is absolutely whipped for you. I'm surprised, that he can even function when near you," he chuckles.

"W-what?"

"It's all true, ask anyone, they'll say the same thing." You don't say anything back anymore, you think about what he said. Does Spencer really like you back? There's no way.

You overthink it for a good while, until the tiredness from the day catches up to you too and you fall asleep.

You go from the airport straight to Spencer's apartment. Obviously, he can't drive and you live not so far from him, so you drive the two of you through the empty night streets.

You don't talk much during the drive, because his eyelids keep closing every few seconds and you don't feel like breaking the comfortable silence. So you drive with the radio put on low volume, quietly humming a song to yourself.

When you finally park in his driveway, you jump out of the car and take out his travel bags out of the trunk, while he slowly gets out.

"Thank you for driving me home, you don't have to go up with me. I can take my bags, I don't want to keep you up anymore late," Spencer says and reaches out with his unharmed arm for the bag, but you put it out of his reach.

"You literally can't even put your hand up and you expect me to let you carry this heavy ass bag up the stairs?" you look with a disbelief at him, "there's no way, I'm doing that. So come on, start walking Spence, before I'll make you."

Your serious tone lifts Spencer's corners of the mouth up into a smile. You leave no space for Spencer to argue with you, because you are already walking towards his door with a tight grip on the bag.

You've been at Spencer's apartment many times before, but it always feels like being at a library or somewhere very quiet, I mean like in a good way. It gives off the vibes of comfort, peace and home. Even now, you feel slightly jealous, that your place doesn't feel like that. As you look around, Spencer flops (carefully) on his couch and sighs.

"Spence, do you have ice?" you wonder.

"Umm ice? Yeah, I think so..." He doesn't ask, why do you want to know that, too tired to care about it. Only when you emerge with a smaller pack of ice, wrapped in a dishtowel, he understands.

"Here," you cautiously put it on his hurt shoulder," you should ice it for a bit, so it reduces the pain ."

"Thank you, y/n" he says with a warm smile.

"Don't mention it-"

"No, really. Thank you for helping me today. It means a lot," Spencer does something really brave, he takes your hand into his and gives you a little squeeze. He doesn't know if it's the medicine or if he's going crazy by doing this, but he settles that he doesn't actually mind, because your hand fits perfectly into his and he doesn't feel like letting go off it ever again.

You squeeze his hand back, but before any of you can do or say something stupid, that you'd later regret, you tell him, " I don't know if you have any painkillers, so I left you some in the kitchen. If you need anything and i mean anything, even something small, call me, yeah? I'll come."

"Get some rest, Spence. I'll check up on you in the morning, goodnight." You give him one more smile, which he returns and leave.

The memory of his hand on yours invades your mind for a good while making it hard for you to even fall asleep. Spencer's only saved from this overthinking by the exhaustion and painkillers affect.

3.

Since the morning, you think there is something off about Spencer. His eyes are glossy, he looks very pale and every now and then he shivers. You've asked him multiple times since you've arrived, if he feels okay and he's said yes everytime.

But there's just no way you believe him and by every hour that goes by you don't think, that even Spencer or anyone around believes it. He is for sure coming down with something.

Your prediction is confirmed, when Hotch walks out of his office and on his way to get coffee, he passes Spencer's desk. He instantly stops next to his desk, takes one look at Spencer and knows, he should not be working.

"Reid, go home, before you make anybody else sick, too," Hotch orders him and before Spencer can open his mouth to protest, Aaron adds," and don't come back until you don't look like you might pass out any second." He also orders Anderson to drive him home, so Spencer doesn't have any choice but to go.You give him a small smile and mouth, that he should get some rest.

For the rest of the time you are at work, you are a little bored. Your deskmate, Spencer, is always up to chat or something, but without him the clock on the wall seems to go slower. Finally, you get to leave and your first stop on the way home is pharmacy and a soup shop.

You want to make sure Spencer is okay and alive, that's what good friends do, right? They check up on you when you have a flu or not?

You quickly get to his place, before you can think too much of it. You knock ones and then second time, when Spencer opens the door, looking even worse the he had before. There's a sweat running down his face, his skin is even paler and he can barely keep his eyes open.

"Y/N?" he squints at you in confusion.

"Hi Spence. Did I wake you up? I just came to drop of these," you lift the bags in your hand higher, " i got you your favourite soup and some medicine."

"Oh, you shouldn't have worried," he groggily says, his voice sounding sick and gestures for you to come inside.

"I know, but I wanted to. I also wanted to make sure, you were alright." You reassure him as you set the bags down in his kitchen.

"How are you feeling?" you quizz, "and don't say okay."

"Bad. One minute I'm burning and the next I'm freezing. My head hurts like a hell and honestly I feel like dying," he responds and you try not to laugh at how dramatic his last 5 words are.

"Did you take any medicine?"

"Not really, I could only find some painkillers and I feel too sick to go buy anything else."

"Well, good thing I'm here then," you smile big at him," I got all sort of medicine, so we'll have you healthy in no time."

You start to set everything out of the bags on the table and as you do, you look at Spencer, who is barely even standing looking at you. "How about you go lay down, Spence and I'll bring everything to you, yeah?"

You encourage him and he knows, that that's probably the smartest idea right now. He slowly nods and goes to lay down on the couch, which you realise, he's been laying on since he got home.

You go to him after a few minutes with the medicine and a glass of water. You find him asleep, he looks so peaceful, that you almost don't have the heart to wake him up. But you have to, he needs the medicine if he wants to get better.

You gently shake him awake and it takes him a good minute to realise, that you are in front of him.

"Hi," you giggle at him, " I'm sorry I woke you up again, Spence. I got you these," you hand him the water and the pills. He obediently swallows them and drains the whole glass of water down.

"Thank you," he yawns.

"Do you also want the soup ?" you ask and he shakes his head with a no. "Okay, but you should try to eat something later, yeah? I'll go get you some more water for now."

Before you have the chance to get far away from him, he catches your arm, "Will you stay, please?"

His question catches you off guard, you think that maybe the combination of the high temperature and the medicine kicking in make him a little delirious, because you are pretty sure he wouldn't ask you to stay otherwise. It's Spencer and he doesn't like to ask for help very often. But there's only one correct answer for you.

"Of course, I'll stay." You tell him fondly and he visibly relaxes after that and closes his eyes .

By the time you are back with another glass of water and a cold compress to lower the temperature, he is sleeping again.

Thankfully, this time you don't need to wake him up, you just put the cold washcloth on his forehead and set the glass down on the coffee table. You browse his bookshelves, looking for a good book to read. You know, that Spencer won't mind one bit you borrowing his book. So you take one that catches your eye and sit comfortably in his armchair to read it.

You read for a while and when Spencer wakes up again, he is happy to listen to you about the book (which, of course, he's read multiple times and tries hard not to give you any spoilers about it) while he sluggishly eats the soup.

He is all snuggled up in his blankets and he looks so adorable, that it's making unknown feelings bubble up in your chest. It's not just now, you've been having this kind of weird and new feelings around Spencer more and more often than you'd like to admit. You know what they mean, but you don't really want to acknowledge them. So you don't. Although, in situations like this it's hard. And it's been harder since Derek pointed these feelings out.

Before you can spiral any deeper into these thoughts, you get up to cold the washcloth again.

"Are you feeling any better, Spence?" It's been a few hours you've been with him and he appears to be a bit better.

"A little, yeah. It's only thanks to you, tho" he says and good thing you aren't near him, because you blush madly at that.

"Yeah? I'm glad," you put the washcloth under a very cold water, judging by your white fingers and the loss of feeling of them, you think it's cold enough.

You go back to Spencer and to your surprise he is not yet asleep.

"Can you lay down?" you gesture to the washcloth with a chuckle, you can't really put it on his head, when he is sitting.

"Oh, yes," he slides down the couch, 'till he is laying and you put it on his head.

"Not too cold?" you ask.

"No no, it's great thank you y/n," he sighs happily, the cold is very soothing. His eyelids close right away and even though you are having a small talk about how was work today, he manages to fall asleep. Your heart swells, you haven't seen him this tired like ever. You are glad he is resting though, he has deserved the rest for quite some time now.

You notice the clock on the wall and realise how late it is. Almost an hour after midnight, so you quietly scramble to your feet and take all of your stuff to leave. Before you do, you write him a little note, telling him where everything he needs is and that he should call you in the morning. You leave it in front of him on the coffee table, but before you go home, you do one extremely bold thing. You caringly kiss him on the top of his head, it's in a way a goodbye since you can't say anything to him. And then you dissappear out of there like a ghost.

The next morning, you oversleep and on your hurry to get to work, you almost knock over a huge bouquet of flowers that is at your door. You are a bit baffled, who is it from, but when you find the card, you know it's Spencer.

He send you the flowers as a thank you for taking care of him, saying that he hasn't been taken care of like this in a while and at that moment, you realise that you can't ignore these feelings anymore. Because he is making it impossible.

4.

It's the middle of the night, when your phone rings. You half expect it to be work, even though you are on a vacation for the week. The team has been working on a case near Quantico, so you told Hotch to call you if you were needed.

What you don't expect is the call to be from a hospital not from Hotch. In your half-asleep stage, you catch the words "Reid", "hurt", "okay" and "an emergency contact". You are up on your feet, messily throwing some clothes on you and jumping in your car, before the nurse can even hang up.

You drive to the hospital in a record time. It's a big plus, that it's the middle of the night and there are barely any cars on the road. You basically run out of the car and the nurse at the reception definitely thinks you look a bit mad. You can't blame her, youu think it too, I mean you haven't even brushed your hair or anything, so you must look like a nightmare. You ask her about Spencer and after a few seconds, she tells you where to go.

You speed-walk there and find almost the whole team there.

"Y/N? What are you doing here?" Penelope questions, surprised to see you there and goes to squeeze the life out of you.

"I-I got a call from the hospital. Spencer.....I-is he okay?" you queried anxiously.

"He is okay, he is quite bruised and beaten up, but he should be fine."

"What happened and where is JJ?" you puzzle, you can't see her here.

"He was following a lead on the unsub with JJ, which resulted in them chasing him in a car and unfortunately they got hit while doing so. Thankfully, both of them are okay, just some bruises and scratches, nothing too serious," Hotch explains, " JJ is already home with Will and Henry, she was farther from the impact . They wanted to keep Spencer for observation to really make sure he is alright."

It is a weight off your heart to hear those words.

"Thank god," you say as you take a deep breath to calm your racing heart, "can i go see him?"

"Definitely, he's awake. We were just leaving, there's a lot of paperwork waiting for us at the Bau. See you on Monday, y/n." You say goodbye to everybody, on their way out Penelope huggs you and gives you a cheeky smile and you know what it means, because you've been given this look before. It's the exact teasing look, that Derek gave you not so long ago. You just roll your eyes at it and playfully push her towards the others.

You find Spencer trying to reach for his bag on the chair next to the bed.

"Spence, hi," you greet him warmly, it's relieving to hear that he is okay, but actually seeing him, it's like you can breath again. He looks alright, but he is definitely bruised, he has a black eye already forming and there's a few scratches on his face as well.

You quickly go hug him," I'm so happy, you're not hurt."

"Ouch," he winces, you probably squeezed some of his bruises.

"I'm sorry," you pull away with a sorry look.

"Y/N? How are you here? Did Garcia call you? I told her not to wake you up-" Spencer wanted you here with him, you make him feel better everytime, but he didn't want to bother you, especially not so late. He knew, you'd be here in a matter of seconds, if you'd heard that he got hurt.

"She didn't, the hospital did," you interrupt him.

"What?....Oh," he suddenly realises what you are talking about, he put you as one of his emergency contacts, "I'm sorry."

"Sorry? For what?" you ask softly and sit on the side of his bed.

"For you having to come here in the middle of the night and f-for putting you on my emergency contact list."

"Of course I came, Spencer. And I don't mind one bit, that you put me on the list. I'm just glad, you're okay," you reassure him, because honestly he is being ridiculous, "I will always come whenever you need help, Spencer," you take his hand in yours to show you really do mean it.

"Still, I should have at least asked you."

"No need for that, I'm flattered that you put me on it."

"Yeah well, you are always here for me when I'm not well," he shyly admits, " I know I can rely on you."

"I feel the same about you," you smile at him," how are you feeling, huh?"

"Not bad, I think my face is the worst part of my injuries, the airbag is no joke," you agree with that.

"Don't worry about the bruises, you are still very much handsome," you don't know how this slips out of your mouth, but it does. Both yours and Spencer's cheeks go red.

"Ugh, c-can I go get you anything?" you quickly try to change the topic.

"Yes, even though it's literally 3 a.m. I'd kill for sandwiches right now." You chuckle and swiftly slip out of the room. You are trying not to feel too embarrassment about what you just said to Spencer and just focus on finding the sandwiches.

It's surprisingly easy to do so, because there's a hospital cafeteria opened. You buy him the sandwiches and also a bottle of water.

Spencer is also trying not to think too much out of you calling him handsome. He likes you, like a lot and he doesn't think he could survive the rejection. So he doesn't want to get his hopes up, he'd rather just stay your friend.

You stay with Spencer 'till he gets released, you don't mean to do that, but you fall asleep in the chair. So when you wake up, you just simply stay until he gets the release papers and then drive him home.

"Thank you y/n, i-i can't even begin to express how thankful I am," you've helped him so much lately. Like you literally helped him wash his hair when his shoulder got dislocated, you took care of him when he had a flu and now you came running to the hospital just to make sure he was okay. Hell even when he had a small paper cut months ago, you took care of him.

He also remembers you giving him a kiss on the top of his head, when he had the flu. He isn't sure if this memory is even real, because he might have been hallucinating from the high temperature. But he does hope it'd happened.

And everytime he thinks of these things, his heart actually skips a beat.

"You don't have to say anything, Spence. I'm here for you anytime," you smile at him, oh so sweetly, that he almost forgets his previous thoughts about rather staying just your friend.

"I'd like to repay you in some way-"

"No need-"

"But I want to. How about a coffee? Monday morning, it'll be on me. I know it's not much, but it's the least I can do," he proposes, " please?"

"Okay yeah, a coffee sounds nice," you give in. You helped Spencer because you wanted to not because he'd have to repay it. But if he insists on a coffee, who are you to say no.

"Yeah?" Spencer smiles, hopeful.

"Yeah, Monday morning at our favourite coffee shop."

"Great, I'll see you there." Too excited Spencer doesn't even realise what he's doing, when he quickly kisses your cheek and gets out of your car. Only when he starts to unlock his apartment door, he catches up. He freezes in terror because of what he just did.

You aren't acting too differently from him. You sit frozen in your car with a stupid smile on your face. You didn't mind the kiss one bit, but it made the already big feelings for him even worse.

It's save to say, that both of you didn't expect that and you think about it for the rest of the day, hell for the rest of the week.

+1

The team should have expected it. You should have expected it. It was clear, that you resembled the unsub's type. Same hair, same eyes, same figure and around the same age as well. You didn't think too much of it. But you should have.

Or at least you should have been more careful.

You shouldn't have gone to the shop so late, when it was already dark outside and you shouldn't have gone alone. You should have asked Spencer or somebody to go with you. This stupid mistake got you kidnapped.

You are now god knows where. You are gueasing, that it's some kind of barn. But you aren't sure, there isn't too much light coming through the wooden desks, just enough to see whether it's a day or a night. And you can't exactly go look around, when your hands are zipp tied to a metal poll.

You aren't sure what time it is, the guy comes to check in on you unfrequently, so you can't even half- guess the time.

You know, you have around 2 days to live, based on what you know about the other victims. But it could be less, especially since you are the FBI.

You are more worried about your injuries, tho. Of course, he hurt you and not lightly. You've definitely lost a lot of blood. You are still bleeding pretty badly from your thigh, he stabbed you there with a sick pleased grin.

But you are not going to give him the satisfaction of breaking you down, never. You are just waiting for the right moment. You think you have enough energy left in you to break out of the zip tie and try to get far enough from him. So you wait until it gets dark outside again, even monsters can't stay up all the time.

The team on the other hand is nonstop looking for you. Spencer was the one who discovered you were missing and since then he hasn't even had one thought about anything else other than finding you.

Hotch's ordered everybody an hour long break, but Spencer doesn't want or need a break, he needs to find you.

"Spencer, come on we're taking a break," Derek says, him and Spencer are alone in the room, everyone else went to the local policy's cafeteria already.

"No, thanks. I'm fine to continue," Spencer says shortly.

"Don't be stupid, you need to-"

"What I need is to find y/n." Spencer cuts him off, raising his voice a little.

"Look Spencer, i understand. I want to find her as much as you do, but we won't be able to do that, if we can't even think clearly from the exhaustion," Derek tells him calmly, he knows how much Spencer cares about you, like more than a friend, so he gets his frustration.

"No, you don't understand," he argues," I-I can't loose her, I can't. We'd tried this before and she- I can't.....not.....-not again," he quaveres, putting his head into his hands. He'd gone through this situation once before and he's not doing the same mistake again. Especially with you, with you it feels somehow even worse.

"You won't," Derek insists, " listen to me Soencer. We will find and we will save her and when we do that, you will finally tell her how you feel."

"Now get up, we're getting some food into you and then we save y/n," he doesn't really give him a choice this time and pushes him towards the door. Spencer goes, but his mind is on you and the case the entire time.

It's much later, when the team has a breathrough in the case and Penelope works her magic, and finds a man that fits the unsub's description perfectly. It takes the team only a few seconds, before they are in the car, driving quickly through the night roads to get to you.

You patiently endure the hours 'till it gets dark outside. And when it does and you are sure, he's not coming back anymore, you yank your hands hard. You do it multiple times, hands bleeding and you get it snapped.

You waste no time from there, you get up on your legs, which appears to be much harder than you thought. You probably underestimated how much blood you've lost, because with every step you take you feel like passing out. But you push through it, you open the door, look around and when you think, that everything is clear, you take off.

You, unfortunately, don't get too far. A set of headlights appears in your vision, so you hide behind the first decent thing you see. You are still quiet close to the barn. You don't know if it's the unsub or somebody else, but you take no chances with whoever it is. You stay hidden and quickly look for something to protect yourself with, you find a big enough rock and decide, that it's good improvisation for a weapon.

You close your eyes, trying to will the dizziness away and in the meanwhile you completely miss, that it's actually 2 cars and not one.

What gets you to open your eyes again is a sound of gunshots and a lot of shouting. You think, you hear a familiar voices, but you stay hidden, not wanting to risk anything.

"Did you find her?" Hotch asks. Him, Spencer and Rossi searched the house and everybody else the barn.

"She's not there, " Derek replies.

"What? She has to be here, she has to" Spencer says desperately. He can't have gotten this far, just to not find you.

"But we found a broken zip tie and a pretty large puddle of blood," Derek sighs. Everybody's worry increases after hearing that.

"Yeah, it looks fresh, if it's y/n's she can't be far," JJ adds.

"Wait, you said, there's a big puddle of blood. How can we even know she's alive?" Spencer says upset. He isn't far from losing his mind.

"Spencer-"

"No, i-i.... how can we fucking find her here? This property is like 15,5 hectares. And we can't even know if he has done anything to her, because he's dead. We could be searching whole night and she will bleed out by then, well if she is even still alive. So how? How?!" Spencer knows, that it's nobody's fault, but his frustration is getting the best of him.

"We'll get the dogs, they will find her quickly-" All this intense arguing makes you curious, so you start to listen closely. At first, you think, that it's the guy talking, but the more you listen, you realise it's not him. You know that voice, it's your Spencer, it's your team. They are here, they have found you.

"Spence?" It's so quiet that Spencer almost misses it, but he's so alert right now, that he couldn't miss it even if he'd tried.

His head immediately snaps in your direction and he swears, he could cry, when he sees you there.

You call out his name again, this time in such a relief, but taking 2 steps towards him, you collapse. The blood loss finally got to you. You see Spencer sprint to you, with the team on his heels and then everything goes black.

You end up unconscious in the hospital for 2 days. You've lost too much blood and when the doctor started to name all your injuries, Spencer actually had to walk out of the room before he could have gotten sick.

He's stayed with you almost all 2 days, except when JJ kicked him out, saying he needs a shower and some sleep. But besides that, he's stayed by your side the whole time. He read you books, fluffed your pillows, just did everything he could to make sure you were comfortable.

He's sitting next to your bed, reading, when you wake up. Spencer notices you waking up, because his hand is holding yours and he feels it move.

"Hey hey hey, " he greets you softly as you open your eyes.

You blink, baffled at him and try to sit up. He carefully pushes you back, which you protest against, "wha-"

"Don't move sweetheart, yeah?" he pushes a few fallen strands away from your eyes and adds,"I'm going to get a doctor, I'll be right back, I promise." And with that he's gone.

He comes back after the doctor does all of the checks to make sure you are okay. He sits in the chair again and unconsciously takes your hand in his again as he tells you everything that happened.

You give him a small smile and with a raspy voice, you tell him," Thank you."

"For what?"

"For saving me, i-i knew, you'd come," there wasn't a single moment, where you thought he wouldn't.

"You don't even know how worried I was. I-I thought, I had lost you," he fretted.

"I'm sorry," you apologise sadly, you stupid mistake, made everyone so worried.

"None of that, it's not your fault. I'm just happy you're okay, we all are. I called Penelope, they are on their way here," Spencer states and then there's a silence between you two. But by looking at Spencer, you know he wants to say something else, he's got a look, that you know well. It's the look he has, when he wants to tell you about something interesting, but doesn't want to bore you with his rambling.

"What is it?"

"Nothing..." it's definitely not nothing.

"Come on, spill it," you chuckle, but his serious face makes your smile drop, "what? Did something bad happen?"

"I-I-I just....-fuck, this is harder then i thought it would be" he mumbles. "I love you, y/n. I've been in love with you since the day you looked my way and it only got worse and worse with every smile or a laugh or a conversation or when you took care of me," Spencer blurts all this out.

"I cannot keep this secret any longer, because it's killing. It's killing me that I can't call you mine and that-that I can't protect you all the time, because I want to. So badly."

" i knkw this a lot, especially now. But you don't have to say anything. I totally understand if the feelings aren't mutual-"

"-Spencer,"you interrupt him, but he doesn't seem to realise it.

"I just had to tell you this, because I'd never forgive myself if I hadn't told you. I'm sor-"

"Spencer!" You cut him off, this time more louder. He looks at you like a lost puppy, just waiting for whatever words of rejection, you'll tell him.

But those words never come," just kiss me already," you huff (affectionately).

He's never wanted anything else more, but he doesn't want to hurt you, " i want to, i really want to, but your injuries.....I don't want to hurt you."

"Spence, just kiss me," you are embarrassingly close to begging at this point, but Spencer fortunately doesn't let that happen.

He very very cautiously leans in and kisses you. And you eagerly kiss him back and not so tentatively pull him closer to you. Your whole body feels like it's on fire, but you ignore it, there's only one thing on your mind and that's how nice it finally feels to be kissed by Spencer and how soft his lips are.

You pull apart after a few seconds and there's this stupid grin on both of your faces.

"Does this mean you also-"

"Oh god, Spence," you laugh at him," of course, I'm in love with you. How could I not be? You're so smart, so kind, so honest, so mindful and so caring. It's honestly impossible not to fall for you."

"Oh, good," he bashfully replies, " otherwise this would have been awkward," he jokes.

"You're such an idiot, come here," you pull him by his sweater for another kiss, happy to finally be able to do that.

-

-

-

Hi lovelies, thank you so much for reading. Please let me know whst you think. Feedback is always up.

Have a great day 🌻

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid

[itsabouttimex2]

Platonic yandere monkey family finding out y/n is dating redson

Monkiefam reacts to dating Red Son

(Alternate Scenario)

MK will no doubt be the calmest about this situation... depending on the season. In the start, he’ll be incredibly upset (even somewhat betrayed) about you dating his very dangerous rival. Let’s not forget that Red Son was once very willing to harm innocent people in his quest to take over the world/please his father.

Once Early!MK learns about your relationship with Red Son he’s genuinely worried for you, thinking you might have been coerced into the relationship in some way. This fear sets him on the war path, racing off to the Demon Bull King’s fortress. He’ll unhesitatingly smash through hordes of Bull Clones, ripping apart the metal of the drones like wet tissue paper. Each machine-shattering swing of the Ruyi Jingu Bang brings him a step closer to you, a step closer to the dining hall that serves as the center room of the armored fortress.

Where he finds you and Red Son sitting across from one another, happily sharing a meal together.

His heart is struck with anger and relief in unison, his diametric emotions spread between the both of you. He’s furious at Red Son, for daring to try and court his precious sibling, but also eased by the fact that you’re clearly unharmed and here by your own will and volition. By nature of being someone very precious to him, you garner far less anger from MK than his rival does, but he’s still upset. His voice takes on a gruff edge as he angrily scolds you, sounding much like Pigsy does when the chef flips his lid.

“You came here?! Without telling me?! To go on a date with my rival?!”

Any protests, excuse, or explanations from you are summarily dismissed as he grabs you by the wrist, swinging his golden staff against the ground. Bits of tech and clutter from around the house gather together, forming a small mech with the both of you in the cockpit. Red Son can only stare in shock as MK’s brand new mech stomps out of the fortress, each angry step shaking the ground.

The ride home is tempestuous, his emotions flaring as he pilots the gold and red mech, biting his tongue to keep himself from yelling at you. He’s angry, sure, but he still loves you. MK doesn’t want to drive you away or hurt your feelings, after all. He just wants to keep you safe.

Even if it means cutting you off from your ‘boyfriend’. He’s only doing it for your own good, of course.

Sun Wukong has seen people make a lot of bad decisions in his time. Even as knowledge and resources grow wider spread and more readily available, people stay foolish, small-minded, reckless. Sometimes by circumstance. Sometimes by choice. And one of the greatest motivators for foolish decisions, staying consistent through the centuries-

is love.

Love, whether fleeting and passionate or slow and drudging, changes people. It inspires them to perform grand gestures, to better themselves, to grow and learn. Love makes people into artists, writers, sculptors, all so that they can share with the world with the white-hot beat of their hearts.

And then, equal and opposite, it drives them to violence and bloodshed. Blood-red hands born of green-eyed envy driven to take up sharp knives and heavy cudgels. It breeds wicked plots and gruesome schemes, tricking people into throwing their lives away for a fleeting flame that’s destined to burn out.

Love is beautiful and dangerous in equal amounts, something to be both cherished and feared.

Sun Wukong has seen both outcomes. He’s personally dealt with tragedies born of love, many times over. Not every coupling ends with marriage and children, a ring and a promise.

His own sworn brother, Zhu Baije, was cast out of heaven for attempting to seduce Guanyin, being reborn as a pig demon. Then, he never returned to the maiden in Gao village that he fell for, instead spending his life as a cleanser of altar leftovers.

Kui Mulang was separated from his lover for his crimes, and forced to become a furnace keeper. Tang Sanzang refused to marry the queen of the Women’s Kingdom, and then rejected the scorpion demon that stole him away.

He doesn’t tell you all of that, of course. He nudges you with an elbow and gives you a cheeky grin, saying that: “It doesn’t always end well, bud. Trust me, I’ve seen more than a few things in my time that would have you running for a cloister.”

He doesn’t warn you off of love entirely, or threaten you to not start dating. In fact, he’s not entirely opposed to the idea of you having a significant other. He’s a pretty easy-going guy, even when he’s staring down his enemies or cracking skulls open.

In fact, depending on who you go after, he might be entirely supportive of you!

Red Son is not a decision he will abide by, unfortunately. There’s just too many flaws to count, in Wukong’s opinion. Short-tempered, egotistical, elitist, violent, power-hungry… nothing that qualifies him to be your partner, honestly.

So the Great Sage goes about trying to casually split the two of you up, whether it’s finding his way “by coincidence” into your dates, or crashing any meetings you and the demon have. What can he say? He gets around a lot more these days, doesn’t he? It’s not strange to meet up in popular places around Megapolis.

Even though he continues to show up wherever you and Red Son meet, no matter how “off the beaten path” or “hole in the wall” it may be. He’ll never justify himself or explain why he’s there. But he will grab a table and join the two of you.

He might not be outright sabotaging the relationship, but he sure makes it hard to maintain and grow. He won’t candidly ruin it, but he keeps pushing and pushing, slowly fraying your nerves. It’s a trap, where he’s trying to push you into snapping at him. And if you do fall for it?

It does get worse.

Try to lash out at him, or demand that he go away. Yell at him, or push him away. Try it, and he’ll throw you over his shoulder and hop onto his flying cloud, racing you back to Flower Fruit Mountain. From there, he’ll forbid you from being with Red Son again, grounding you for the outburst he intentionally provoked.

Watching you grow upset with his decree, Wukong will wipe away the tears gathering up in your eyes, and pull you into a hug to comfort you. He doesn’t want you upset. He just wants you to himself.

“It’s alright, bud. Don’t worry about that fire guy. He’s pretty awful, honestly. Let’s sit down and watch something fun to take your mind off him, alright?”

And; for now at least, he’s got you.

No. Absolutely not. Macaque refuses to allow it. He doesn’t want to see you with anybody, but least of all a “hot-headed demon with daddy issues,” as he puts it. Where Wukong will show restraint by never outright ruining your dates and outings together, Macaque crosses that line unhesitatingly. Once he learns that you’re openly and happily dating a dangerous demon, he sets out to find you and rectify this little issue.

He stalks out to the park that you and Red Son are walking through, quietly following along as his glare burns into the demon’s back. His fury reaches a boiling point when the two of you settle onto a bench, Red Son’s hand slowly reaching out to yours.

He furiously stomps through the park, coming up behind the both of you. The shadows writhe and roil with each step he takes, coming alive to lash at the ground around them with ice-cold tendrils.

He summons up his shadow staff and swings it down, smashing the middle of the bench you and your boyfriend are sitting on to announce his presence, cleaving the metal cleanly and easily. You and Red Son both scramble to your feet, shocked and more than a little scared.

You specifically.

If there’s anything that gives him reason to pause, anything that stops him in his tracks, it’s the look of outright fear in your eyes. He takes a moment to catch his breath, dispelling his staff and quieting the rioting shadows. He’s still angry, sure. But he doesn’t want you to be afraid of him. So, even though he’s seething with fury, he stops short of actually harming Red Son, instead settling for dragging you away by your ear as you argue and protest his rough hold on you.

Macaque pulls you over to a shadow portal, still gripping your quickly-reddening ear between his thumb and pointer finger, pushing you in before him. He whips around to shoot Red Som a death glare, then turns back and jumps in after you.

You both pop out inside your shared house, Macaque’s foot tapping impatiently as he folds his arms, staring at you disapprovingly. You rub at your sore ear, glaring right back.

“No dating. I already told you this. One, you’re too young. Two, anyone could be an opponent in disguise. Three, he’s dangerous. Seriously, bad call. I thought you were smarter than this, kid.”

He goes silent when he sees the tears beading up in the corners of your eyes, maybe from pain, maybe from his lecture. He did just technically call you stupid. Macaque sighs, and pats your head.

“Look, just… go lay down. See if you can’t get some shut-eye, alright? I’ll check up on you when it’s time to eat.”

He sends you off to your room, spinning you around and nudging you off, sighing as you go. His powerful ears make it impossible to ignore your quiet sniffles and the sound of tears hitting the hardwood floors.

He’s not the bad guy here, he reminds himself. The bad guy is whoever’s trying to corrupt you or steal you away from him. Them, not him.

Never him.

#Platonic Yandere #Yandere Lego Monkie Kid #Yandere LMK #Yandere MK #MK #Yandere Sun Wukong #Sun Wukong #Yandere Macaque #Macaque #Monkiefam #I’d like to apologize for the hiatus #Personal life got very troublesome for a while

[vorecaptions]

Metamorphosis part 1

Aaron's father have been grumpy about his age, how his body was getting weaker and not doing as good as before. 

God, that was so fucking annoying having to hear him nagging all day long of how incredible he was at his best. I had no patience to hear anymore of that shit, so I proposed a really absurd idea, he could become one of the subjects of my PhD research on pred's genetics. My family bloodline had not a single predator gene in it so I started making papers to understand how a pred could become one or pass it to their offspring. My research showed that preds genes were highly volatile, making their bodies capable of the most absurd adaptations and, because of it, in need of humongous amount of nutrients to fuel it. Because of this insane genetic adaptability I pondered to be possible to introduce it via transplant of a few cells into a standard man and, in theory, the cells to be able to entangle the genetic structure from host and donor much alike some preds absorb their prey instead of digestion. To do a test however I need a subject willing to risk everything, even this days genetic engineering was a shot in the dark. His father didn't need to be told twice to agree head on.

-

The treatment was not so much complex as one would think. All he need to do was getting a sample of preds cells and inject them in the hosts body. Aaron explained that since the risk of unforeseen shenanigans was high they would need to pick an "expendable bit" of his body, one that wouldn't involve too much structural muscle skeletal changes. The locale has been obvious, they would need to use his penis. His dad was reluctant, but agreed saying he didn't use that "shriveled piece of meat in years". The preds cells were from a young donor, a teen yet to have his first feeding. This characteristic was crucial, everything a pred would feed he would also assimilate bits of his preys dna, making his own genetic makeup more unstable in long runs, making them feed more and more to stabilize it as they get older. A small prick on his dad meat and one in each of his small nuts was enough to finish the operation. Now was the waiting game. Two weeks past it, and constant checkups indicated a good integration on both the genetic makeups. Aaron noticed the skin of his dad cock wad getting darker, he recalled the donor was a black teen, perhaps it has influenced throughout the dna intermingle of host and donor cells. The tissues of the genital area did look more tender and firm, the testicles were more round and scans confirmed their changes, they soon demanded nourishment... The rate of development was way quicker than Aaron would've predicted, and it did scare him. He soon realized the quimeric cells made from his experiment would propagate to the rest of the host body. A month later and his dad had been different already, he had way less wrinkles and would talk about how his nuts were churning seminal fluid nonstop. This last bit was expected, the treatment made his cells unstable as a pred, albeit as much as an inexperienced one after his first meals. His father would need constant new genetic mass to surplus his own degrading dna. The problem however was obvious, his dad was not a pred, he did not have their innate biological capacity of swallowing or directly absorbing his preys. That came with yet another conundrum. How in the actual fuck would he solve this problem? Getting dna for him would become a problem, if he gave another genetic makeup it would desistabilize his matrix even more and larges quantities would be required. This situation Aaron resolved fairly easy, he would donor his own dna to his father, since he was made from his seed his genetic makeups were more similar than any. The first "meal" wad quite weird. Aaron could've had done it with any bit of himself, hair, skin, blood. He decided to make his donation with his seed as well, it made sense to him since the central point of the transformation his father had came directly from his genitals, the sperm cells would be much easier recognized.

With a syringe without needle filled with his cum, he inserted in the urethra of his dad eager cock. The thing was hard as steel and Aaron could just see the slit gaping as if it was trying swallow the upper point of the syringe. Slowly he injected the stuff down the schlong, it really looked like gulping its contents, he could see the small bulge following the underside of his dad dick all to the base.

-please son, it was so fucking good, don't more...

His dad looked like a dumb gooner during a edge session, his face in ectasy and his tongue out like a fucking perv.

His administration of dna did wonders to his dad. He looked way livier and showed improved health on his exams. It did however show something unexpected. His father celular degradation slowed down considerably, but by just one exposition to new dna shouldn't have this effect. Only about weeks later would he actually discover what was happening.

By accident would Aaron have checked one of the ip cams he had on his home, the thing malfunction made him have to reinstall the necessary apps for it to work. Curiosity called him to check how weird he'd sound while snoring, that's when he witnessed something that would change everything about his experiment.

His father entered the room while Aaron was passed out snoring. Gently his old man unfurled him from his blankets. His dad would often stay still, frozen when he moved a bit, he was trying really hard to not wake him. When he saw it was safe enough he slowly put his hand inside his sons boxers and took the soft penis out. He took his time looking at the meat. Weighing it in his large hand before he would take his own schlong from his underwear. Through the cam Aaron was astonished about what was happening but the next thing was way off the scale. His dad dick was fattening, engorging as it got hard. It didn't look full hard though, as if a half mast, still flexible. Dad studied his own dick for a bit before he got closer to Aaron. He proceeded to rub his fat gland against his son soft cockhead. It was then that he bit his own hand, like trying to block any sound coming from his mouth and leaning a bit to the side that Aaron could see what he was doing. The fat cock was even more fat, thick, because it was engulfing his own, it was like a snake swallowing another! It was way beyond mere docking with their foreskin, his dick was being devoured by his dad own schlong! God, it was so absurd, and he could even see the thing making sucking, slurping motions as if trying to get more of his meat. Aaron did not know what was happening, but he could see it was affecting his dad, his face strained, eyes closed and his mouth still locked bitting his hand. Few minutes later he saw his cock, now hard, getting even harder against the other engulfing it, his balls retracted and he ejaculated. A soft moan was heard, his dad couldn't control it anymore, the seed his son spurt was injected directly into him through his urethra, his cock was slurping all the contents his balls churned that night, his own testicles were so hungry and he needed something to fill their emptiness.

His dad would not leave until every spurt was drained by his cock, until his victim deflated and dislodged from his pisslit. He would massage his balls and put a face as if tasting something delicious.

Aaron was beyond shocked, but confused as well. He was a heavy sleeper but not enough to have his meat raped and not waking up. Reviewing the records he realized his dad had been doing it for a week.

#cock vore #male vore #cock theft #muscle drain

[sassycheesecake]

In honor of Iwa-chan‘s birthday today, a small os for my bestie @rukia-uchiha-98 ❤️

Warnings: mentions of blood

You’re already in a bad mood when your friend drags you to a volleyball game that your school is having.

Aoba Johsai against Karasuno.

Now, if it were an actual match, you‘d understand her hype a lot more but the thing is, she really wants to watch that smug bastard Oikawa play.

Neither you or your friend knows anything about volleyball though, it’s just an excuse to watch pretty sweaty high school boys play ball and run around.

Pulling you by your uniform to some free places along the side of the gym hall, you and your friend sit down.

As soon as your friend spots the Captain of Aoba Johsai, she squeals in excitement and shakes you a little bit by the shoulders.

Letting her do what she wants, you just sit there with an annoyed expression and wait for her to calm down.

In the beginning, you watch the ball going to your team‘s field and the opponent‘s field but after a while, you get bored, so you fish your phone out of your hand.

Swiping through your homescreen, you open your Pinterest app to look at some more Satoru Gojo fanart to distract yourself.

All of sudden, your friend next to you screams out your name and she ducks to the side.

Before you can even react, an extremely heavy force lands on your face, making you see a white light for the moment.

Only a few seconds later, a vastly pain spreads through your face.

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God (Y/N) are you okay?!“ A shrieking voice rings in your ear.

You barely acknowledge your friend‘s voice, as you hold on to your nose with your hands, when you felt a warm wetness against your hands.

Slowly pulling your hands back, you see blood covering your hands.

Due to your huge shock, your feel a lot of tissue papers being shoved into your face, covering half of it.

„Owwww….“ you mumble out.

„(Y/N)! SPEAK TO ME! WHAT YEAR IS IT?!“

„2012 and stop screaming in my ear, I am right next to you. Oh gosh this hurts so bad.“

„Oh sorry… let’s go to the nurse‘s office, maybe she can give you some ice.“

With both of you heading out to the gym to the school nurse‘s office, you hear a voice shouting behind you.

„HEY WAIT!“

Both turning around, you see a muscular guy in his Aoba Johsai uniform running towards you with the number „4“ on the front of his shirt.

His dark brown hair is slightly spiked up, it reminds you a little bit of a cute hedgehog.

The sweat is slightly running down on his face, his cheeks red from probably running after you.

His face shows deep concern and big regret and you can guess from his guilty face that he was the one that slammed the volleyball into your face.

Your friend is just as much as in shock like you, surprised that the Wing Spiker followed the two of you.

„Are you… are you okay?“ He pants when he stands in front of you.

„I uh… I am okay… just in pain…“ You retort.

„(Y/N) I will leave you be, since Iwaizumi is here, text me later what the nurse says.“ Your friend farewells you with a smirk on her face.

As you and the volleyball player stare after your friend, you mentally curse her for her devious smirk.

When the brunette turns around to look back at you, he frantically starts apologizing.

„I am really sorry, I-I uh…-“ You gently interrupt him.

„It’s not your fault that the ball flew in my direction, unless of course you did that on purpose, then I will slam a ball into your face.“ You threaten with a dangerous tone in your voice.

He looks even more horrified at the thought of him doing it on purpose.

„No! I swear! I tried receiving the ball from the opponent and it bounced off and flew with an incredible amount of speed into your direction.“ He mutters with a redness on his cheeks.

You hum at his explanation.

„We‘ll just blame physics then.“ You try to smile beneath the bloodied tissues, getting into the nurse‘s office.

The handsome looking stranger mirrors your smile, follows you into the room after making sure you’re okay with it because he still feels bad for your probably broken nose.

After the nurse has checked out your nose, she confirms that it is indeed broken and tells you to go to the hospital to have it checked out. She did give you some pain medication and a cold compress to hold against your nose. Luckily your nose stopped bleeding.

Both of you exiting the office, you notice you don’t even know his name, so you ask for it.

„Call me Hajime.“

„What a beautiful name. I‘ll see you around Hajime. Thank you for accompanying me.“

„Goodbye (Y/N), I‘ll see you around.“ Iwaizumi blushes a bit around his cheeks, the tips of his ears gushing red as well.

You part your ways, with you heading home and Iwaizumi back to the gym.

With a small smile, Iwaizumi walks back to the gym, a tumbling feeling settling in his stomach, like his heart is making more jumps than usual.

When he reaches the locker room, he sees his teammates almost done with changing into their school uniforms.

Hanamaki notices Iwaizumi first when he walks in.

„So? Got her number?“ The Outside Hitter asks intrigued.

Iwaizumi frowns at that.

„What?“

„We saw you running after that girl like a headless chicken, don’t try to deny it, we followed you until you both went inside the nurse‘s office.“ Matsukawa explains.

„You guys have nothing better to do than spy on my personal life?“

„Nope.“ They all say in sync.

„Iwa-chan, can I be the best man at your wedding and tell your future wife that you still collect Godzilla merch like a 10 year old geek?“

Iwaizumi throws a bottle from the bench at Oikawa, who barely dodges it.

The rest of the team laughs at their banter, happy that Iwaizumi may have found someone special in his life.

@nerd-of-karasuno @wake-uptoreality @darthferbert

#haikyuu!! #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyū!! #hq x reader #hq fluff #iwaizumi x you #hq iwaizumi #iwaizumi x reader #haikyuu iwaizumi #iwaizumi x gender neutral reader #iwaizumi x y/n #iwaizumi drabble #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi haijime x reader #iwaizumi fluff #aoba josai x reader #aoba johsai #oikawa torū

[after-hours-art]

Coffee Pot (pt.2)

Pt.1

Pairing: Kyoya Ootori x fem!reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: swearing

As Kyoya promised you, he provided you with the peaceful space on the back of the music room number three and you, fulfilling your part of the deal, were helping him handle the finances of the Host Club. And you had to admit that for as much of rich lifestyle you have seen in Ouran High School, the amount of money Tamaki was spending on the club was sometimes making you read the number twice and run in through Kyoya as you couldn't believe in what you were seeing. The deal seemed to work for both of you.

For Kyoya you became his right hand, sometimes even some kind of his knight in shining armour when you could save the day with something as simple as putting the tissues on the documents so he won't damage them by putting cups of coffee on them, tired after serving in the club. Kyoya found you... surprisingly useful to himself, even if your grammar skills in German left a lot to pray for.

Kyoya found you many things, what was surprise for him as he never seemed interested particularly in anyone. But maybe it was the way you wrote down on the papers, that small neat handwriting of yours. Or the mugs of coffee and weird variations of tea you were bringing him if he seemed tired. Even the way you walked past him on the corridors, almost acting like you didn't know him, always made him think of you. He kept thinking of you to the point he invited you over to his mansion.

As the school year passed by, and as an official Host Club member, you were dragged by the boys to the hotel where Haruhi was working for the summer. You smiled apologeticly when you showed up with the boys at the door. You were asked (forced) to go with them since Tamaki believed that if Haruhi had an opinion of other female she'll be more likely to spend more time with them. That way you ended up in the one room with Kyoya, as he insisted "on behalf of Host Club's finances it's better if you'll stay with him", the one of the rooms with only one bed.

You sat on the bed with a laptop near you as you chuckled, thinking of how terrified your grandmother would be if they found out. She'd probably kill you and then Kyoya. You stared typing something in the finance document, each boy financed this trip on their own but you needed to prepare for next semester, which knowing Tamaki will require huge budget for Christmas and Halloween parties since Host Club wanted to add a bit of foreign traditions to their repertoire. As you opened your written notes that Kyoya demanded you to run, along with his laptop, you kept borrowing from him since your own broke down. Kyoya entered the room with two white cups in his hands.

- Für Sie - he said and placed your cup on your notebook.

- But not on the notebook. Do you want our budget notes to be soaked in coffee? - you scolded Kyoya as you pulled a tissue from your bag to protect the papers.

- It's not coffee. - he says blankly.

- No? - you pout, unknowingly melting his heart.

- Nein. Try to take your studies seriously for once. - Kyoya rolled his eyes.

- I'm trying! I'm not telling you to learn hard-ass language (author's note: Sorry, German speakers, German is incredibly hard)

- Because I already know it. - Kyoya sat next to you, completely ignoring the fact that you were still in your pj's. - How's the budgeting for the next semester going?

- We're screwed. Tamaki already asked me to include a huge Christmas and Halloween party since it was such success last year.

- Tch. Idiot. He's westernizing us too much.

- He'll be fine. It was successful, after all.

- You didn't have to wear weird anime cosplay. - Kyoya hissed at you.

- Oh, shut up. You looked great as Sebastian Michaelis from "Kuroshitsuji".

Ootori raised his eyebrows.

- So... I looked great to you?

- I... - you blushed and looked back at the numbers on your paper. Kyoya only chuckled.

- I'll take it as a compliment. Keep up the good work. And next semester will be successful. - he pats your shoulder and is about to leave the room when you call his name.

- Oi, Kyoya! What about my coffee?

- If you drink too much caffeine, it can cause health problems such as anxiety or insomnia. - he said in a serious tone. - I'd prefer our assistant manager not to have problems with sleeping or anxiety.

You opened your eyes wider. Did he just say that he cares about you and your health?

- What? You look like if I just said it all in German. - Kyoya scoffed and walked out of the room. Your eyes followed his person as you had to admit he looked good without his school uniform. More human, less machine-like. Almost handsome to you.

***

As the Moon raised on the dark sky, you drank another glass of the champagne that twins brought with them. You allowed yourself to let go for one night, and as you knew that Kyoya was about to do something for Tamaki, you had nothing else to do. The boys clapped as you finished your fourth glass. Weird taste of alcohol burned your throat, but you only laughed as it was one of almost non-existent situations when you could actually let go and have fun with people your age. You swinged around with Kaoru as door to the room opened with loud slam. Kyoya, surprisingly wearing only his elegant pants and no shirt, stood like frozen staring at the twins, Mori and Honey.

- What the fuck are you doing? She's... - he stopped as you looked in your direction. - I left you alone for 5 minutes as now you seem more drunk than sober and under the influence of something! - he said, the tone of his voice could unravel that he was pissed.

- In my defense, you left me unsupervised! - you tried to defeat the accusations.

- Like I care! - Kyoya grabbed your wrist and pulled you behind himself, out of the twins' room. He dragged you back to your shared room. He looked at you as he rolled his eyes as you smiled at him.

- Don't smile like an idiot! They could get you drunk! You could've been taken advantage of! - the light reflected in his dark eyes as he yelled at you. But despite all the yelling he cared. He cared a lot. Almost as much as Tamaki cared about Haruhi.

- Are you worried about me, Herr Kyoya? - you smiled and tilted your head to the side.

- N-no. Well, I care but only because you're a female left alone with four men!

- Those men are your friends, don't you trust them? - you asked, sitting the edge of the bed.

- I trust them, but... - Kyoya stopped and just stared at you.

- But?

- But... can't you simply appreciate it when someone cares about you?! You know what, just... just go sleep. - he left the room, slamming the door loudly behind him. You only fell on your back onto the soft bed. The behaviour of Kyoya was so surprising. You would've never expected him to act this way towards you, towards Haruhi, yes, but not towards you. You curled up on the bed and, put down with the amount of alcohol you've drank, you drifted off to sleep.

***

The next day, you were surprisingly woken up by comforting the smell of coffee. Coffee, which you couldn't get in the inn for the past two days. Small, metal coffee pot that could fit about two small cups of coffee was waiting for you at the nightstand along with a small pink sticky note, apparently taken from your own sticky note collection. Driven by the curiosity, you picked up the note. You frowned, trying to read.

"Ich hat was ich gemacht, weil ich hat das für dich gemacht, Meine Dame"

You sighted and yelled.

- Kyoya, you idiot! You darn know that I don't know German!

You couldn't see Ootori, who was leaning onto the door frame with a small smile on his face as he heard you yell. He knew it'll take you a few days to know what he had written. Especially now that he took your phone and you had no access to the dictionary.

#fluff #kyoya ootori x female reader #kyoya ootori x reader #ouran hshc fanfiction #ouran kyoya #ouran high school host club

[ltbarnes]

I Still Worship the Flame

[Stark U #5]

Summary: Everyone but you are at the cinema watching dumb movie marathons. You lay home in a sea of tissues, drowning in schoolwork with a pathetic fever. But what they don’t know can’t hurt them, right?

Pairing: college!Steve Rogers x reader, college!Bucky Barnes x reader, college!Sam Wilson x reader, college!Natasha Romanoff x reader

Word count: 6.8k

Warnings: sickness? just a really bad cold really nothing graphic, Steve and Bucky being a little overbearing, schoolwork (the biggest warning), angry reader

A/N: haven’t posted any of my writing since March 🤠 forgive me please and enjoy!! I have another one-shot coming soon though so you’ll get a little more of me than usual

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

As the hundredth whine from your lips sounds out today, you are glad that no one else is home. You would be scolded for being more dramatic than Sam during that week after his concussion while simultaneously yelled at for doing too much when you should be resting.

The words have since long started to blur together and the pen is clutched tightly in your hand without even touching the paper for half an hour. You can't remember comprehending the change from afternoon sun to complete darkness outside of your window, but you do know that you have piled on three layers of clothes only to tear them off of your overheated body in the last hour.

Fucking fevers. It's incredible how you forget how absolutely horrible they are between each time, but battling this one seems especially miserable when you have a test in four days. Your roommates had begged you to come with them to this god awful long Lord of The Rings marathon at the local cinema, but you were stressed out about the test enough without losing a full day of studying.

You have gotten some things done. It's just that your room is drowning in tissues, and the pills you've taken haven't done shit and your back hurts from sitting for so long. What you really want to do is take your comforter out to the couch and open all the windows with the AC on full blast. No—what you actually want is to be rid of this fucking cold and sit lodged between Steve and Bucky at the cinema, warm hands on your thighs with an obscene amount of chocolate in your lap. You know that Bucky would whisper random facts about the movies in your ear during the entirety of it, and that Steve would give him angry glares for speaking in the theater.

God, if it weren't for your body's excessive temperature, you would kill for them to hold you. It would suck in reality, because both of them run hot and that is the last thing you need right now. But you miss them. You miss them all the time lately and it frustrates you, because six months ago things weren't like this. Steve and Bucky were two of your annoying, though very sweet, roommates who bickered like siblings constantly at ungodly hours in the morning and left dirty dishes out in the living room (thank fucking god Bucky has stopped doing that).

Now, you dream weird dreams about them at night and shiver everytime they touch you. Calling you by name has suddenly turned into 'sweetheart' and 'bug' (still can't quite figure that one out), while merely the sight of Steve unintentionally flexing his bicep and Bucky moving his metal fingers makes you want to escape into your room. It's hard, because they are pretty much doing that everyday.

Worst of all is your resentment towards Natasha—she caught on so quickly that you barely managed to slip out of Steve's room the night you slept over before she confronted you about your feelings. She very conveniently left out the bet she and Sam had set up, but Bucky found out about that two weeks later and pushed Sam into some bushes. The latter complained about how Bucky didn't cater to his 'bush-related trauma' for much too long after that.

But at the same time, she reinforces your delusions about them liking you back. They are very protective of you, sure, but so are Sam and Natasha. Actually, that might have something to do with your constant knack of getting into the trouble rather than harboring secret, unconditional love for you. Natasha says they look at you with puppy dog eyes, but you think they just always look like that. And the constant touching and pet names are just—it's just who they are. You think.

Another onslaught of heat crashes over your tired body, and you give up completely. There comes a point where even you can't force yourself to work anymore. It's too draining. Instead you gulp down another pill, turn off the lights and throw yourself onto your bed. You groan out of pleasure, but know that it will soon disappear only to be replaced by torturous discomfort.

Yeah, it's good that they aren't here. Gathering the energy to deal with a smug Sam and overbearing Natasha is not in your capacity.

Besides, facing them in this state feels embarrassing. You'll pull yourself together by the time they come home. Just a short nap, and you'll fix your hair. Just twenty minutes of sleep, and you'll put on something presentable. Just some rest, and you'll look good for them.

"Ah, shit—why's it fucking pitch black in here?" Sam seethes as he now limps on his newly stubbed toe, reaching for the hallway light.

The living room is empty and so is the kitchen, they notice that pretty quickly. Usually when you're home alone you cook something elaborate with music blasting in the background, or rewatch that show for the thousandth time. Bucky always gives you a hard time for it, but he usually ends up watching it with you anyways.

"Y/n?" Steve calls out, taking off his jacket before hanging it up on the rack placed by the door.

"Hey, bug—we're home!" Bucky says, walking further into the apartment while searching with his eyes.

The lack of answer gives them anxiety, even though it's probably nothing. Might've gone out. It's Saturday night after all. But you don't really have many close friends outside of them. Unless you're on a date, which quite frantically makes Bucky want to throw up. Yeah, he chooses not to believe that for his own sake.

Natasha bites off another section of her snickers, the one she made everyone stop at the gas station for, while toeing off her shoes. Shoe-free household since you moved in, but exceptions are allowed in emergencies. If you knew that both Bucky and Steve have on theirs right now, you would be mad. But Natasha isn't about to nag about that—she's more focused on getting a huge glass of water for herself. She knows those idiots will take care of whatever's going on.

Steve knocks on your door, waits for too many seconds before calling out for you again.

"Y/n? You okay?" he asks, leaning against the wall.

And because Steve is a considerate man, he doesn't open the door without an answer. But the same can't be said for Bucky—he shoulders past the former and pushes down the door handle without even so much as a sound. He is met with resistance as soon as he steps over the threshold, but all of it comes from the guy behind him.

"Buck—no," Steve seethes through a whisper, trying to pull him back by his shirt unsuccessfully.

Your room is as dark as the rest of the apartment was. Warm and stuffy, rid of any fresh air from outside of the four walls. You've been in here for a long time.

The small strip of light coming into your room reveals your figure splayed out over the unruly covers, a sign of tossing and turning in your sleep.

"Let her sleep, Buck," Steve sighs, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand while leaning against the doorway.

It would be near goddamn foolish to ever expect him to listen. Steve isn't surprised when Bucky steps towards your bed anyway. He lowers down into a crouch, reaching his right hand out for your face.

"Christ, she's burning up," Bucky sighs, pushing himself up to his feet again.

"Shit," Steve answers, passing the threshold into your room while forgetting the previous reservations he held. And as if Bucky's judgement isn't enough, he presses the back of his hand to your forehead. Steve's hand is normally warm, but your skin is a hot furnace against the lines and creases of his palm.

"Fuck, we just left her here all alone." Bucky shakes his head. "We watched fucking Lord of the Rings that we've seen a million fucking times and she laid here suffering with a fucking fever."

"Tone it down with the 'fucks', will you?" Steve tells him.

He turns on the small lamp standing on your bedside table, soft light revealing the dozen tissues spilling out of your trash can. There's not much doubt about your sickness now.

"What do we do? Oh god, what do we do?" The brunette starts pacing as if he has never been more stressed in his life.

"Calm down, Buck. It's a cold, not a heart attack." Steve raises his brows, turns around to glare at his friend. "You've taken care of me dozens of times when I was like this as a child. Go get a glass of water and a few Tylenols."

It seems like it takes a few seconds for Bucky to register Steve's words. Even then he looks anxious, as if he doesn't want to leave. This makes Steve nervous, because Bucky never acts like this, but then again he feels the same way. That's why he told his friend to get you medicine instead of himself.

But Steve could never deny Bucky anything, even if it costs him time watching over the girl he almost certainly cares for more than a friend should. He ignores that part though, and pushes himself up to a stand.

"I'll go," he sighs, gesturing for Bucky to replace him by your side.

The short trek towards the kitchen is filled with anxiety. Why does his heart beat so fast when it's probably just a cold? He just told Bucky to calm down despite feeling anything but calm himself. Just gotten very good at hiding it through the years, he supposes.

Steve has never been the caretaker. He so desperately wanted to be that person during his childhood—the fierce protector, the strong hero, the one bullies cowered away from instead of running towards. Maybe he has been overcompensating for his lack of heroism in his early years now with his friends. The guilt is always eating him up if even the slightest thing happens, because most of the time he can stop those things now. Steve is tall and muscular, fast too, and he's not afraid to speak up anymore.

But things like these—sicknesses—he cannot help except for pouring water down your throat and make sure you're comfortable. Because he wants you to be comfortable so badly, as the slightest sight of pain in any shape or form makes him as gloomy as Sam on days where his favorite football team loses. Steve has known for a while now that you—the girl living on the other end of the hallway who curls up at his side on movie nights and bakes him cookies after each test he's had—is much more than just a roommate. God, he waits by the door for you to come home like a puppy, for goodness's sake. Gets a hard on at least once a day no matter what you are wearing.

And Steve really likes this thing he and Bucky has going on with you. That caretaking thing that he never has gotten a chance to do is now so natural. He and Bucky has adapted this protector-role in your life that makes Steve feel so good. He likes making you happy, making sure you're safe. Like he has a purpose.

"She alright?" Sam speaks up as Steve passes by his room, changing out of his thick sweatshirt to a thinner t-shirt.

"Not really. She has a fever," Steve answers, both hands filled with water, pills and more tissues.

"Oh, shit. How bad? Dr. Wilson bad?"

"No." Steve rolls his eyes. One time Sam helped patch you up and now he has been calling himself Dr. Wilson ever since. "We're taking care of it. She hasn't woken up yet."

"Well, just call for me if she gets tired of your needy asses and wants some Sammy loving instead."

Steve raises his eyebrows, shakes his head like he always does, and moves on. He purposefully quiets his steps down while walking past the occupied bathroom—a fuzzing Natasha is not what you need right now. You already got two overbearing people in your room.

The door is shouldered open by Steve as he returns, realizing as soon as he steps inside that your eyes are open, tiredly nodding along to whatever recap Bucky is giving you of the movies. Steve stays silent, setting down his gifts beside you before crouching down. Soon enough you have him staring up at you, that ever present frown in between his brows.

"Now, will you tell us why in the goddamn hell you did not call or text any of us to say that you were sick?" Steve asks sternly, though his hand is gentle on your head. "Excuse the language."

You let a chuckle slip despite his lecture, because of course he needs to apologize for the very tame curse words inserted into his sentences. Of course Steve scolds you before even saying hello. Such a dad.

"You were at the cinema..." you croak out, glancing down at your intertwined fingers.

"So?" Bucky says with a look on his face that reveals he has no idea what you are talking about.

"I thought you wouldn't notice if I just—didn't think it would get this bad." You pout visibly. A bead of sweat has formed in your hairline, steadily making its trek down your forehead.

"Wait a minute, Y/n—you thought we just wouldn't notice you holing yourself up in your room for days until you were fine again?" Bucky raises his eyebrows, nearly rolling his eyes on you. It sounds dumb now that he says it out loud.

"Yes..."

"For god's sake, bug." He lets his palms scrub over his face while Steve sighs, balancing on the scale between amused and concerned.

"I didn't want to bother you! Besides I'm—this is not my finest moment. Kind of disgusting right now," you say.

"Now, c'mon," Steve tells you with a pointed gaze. "You know we don't care about that."

"You look fucking adorable right now. Just a little shiny, that's all." Bucky pokes you in the forehead, earning an offended gasp from your lips.

"Hey! I have a fever, asshole. I can't help it." The expression on your face is offended, but inside it's all warm and fuzzy because he called you adorable. Bucky fucking called you adorable.

But the playful grin on your lips soon turns into rumbling coughs, hiding your face into your elbow to avoid spreading saliva all over the two men beside you.

"Hey, hey. Take some water, Y/n. Here." Steve's hand flies to your back, rubbing gently, while reaching out the glass towards your lips.

Your throat is all scratchy and sore, and coughing up half of your lungs does not help in the least. But gulping down the cold liquid soothes the pain for the moment, even though most of the water drops down your chin.

"Should I...uh—"

Bucky reaches his hand out towards the box of tissues on your nightstand. Calloused fingers brush over your skin as he rids it of the stray drops, a metal hand tilting your chin up.

It's entirely too silent as you sit and let your face be dried like a toddler. Steve puffs up the pillow behind you, readjusts it until your face is getting enough support.

You don't say anything. Nobody says anything. The two of them work in tandem as they usually do, and have done since they were little boys, while making sure you're as comfortable as you possibly can be.

Soon enough there is a fan dragged in from someone else's room (you think there might be an angry Samuel barging in here any minute to demand it back), three boxes of napkins on your bedside table (you did not know there were that many napkins in your apartment) and four blankets on your bed in case you start shivering again (you do not own four blankets).

You get up to go to the bathroom and end up being carried instead. Being left alone is something you have to literally beg for, because you might, in their words, "pass out". The door remains unlocked as a compromise.

It's sometime around 12 am that you switch off the lights, still feverish and so tired of the sickness already. Mostly you're tired of the babying. But you don't say anything about the fact that both Steve and Bucky remain in your room, sitting on the goddamn floor even though you've told them several times that you have a desk chair and a bean bag. Actually, they have their own beds right on the other side of the hallway. Stupid boys.

They fall asleep pretty quickly, if judging by their snores. Both of them will deny their obnoxious sounds in the morning when you tell them. It makes you happy in one way, because Bucky usually has trouble not staying awake for hours on end grumbling over everything under the sun. Steve is sometimes found in the kitchen at 3 am when you go up for a glass of water, staring blankly out of the window as if he has the entire world resting on his shoulders. On the other hand, you're now the only one awake with your misery and overthinking.

Steve and Bucky definitely cares about you. For you. That much is clear from the past few hours. But to which extent? Is this what they would do for any of their friends? You would like to think so. It feels self-centered to not believe that. But they have been so adamant on making sure you're safe and alright and comfortable today—telling funny stories to distract you and getting caught up in those meaningless, petty fights they know you enjoy so much. Stroking your cheek, calling you sweet names and constantly making you drink water. College boys don't act that way towards their friends, or anyone at all really. You don't know why they are like this.

At the same time, the sweet things have become almost too much. You didn't think it was possible. But it frustrates you that this has become a whole savior-situation for them. Maybe you should want that now. Many girls do—not having to lift a finger while two men come at your every beck and call, and you usually do too. But the thing is that they are not listening to you. They are deciding things for themselves about you.

There comes a point where being helpful and taking care of someone transcends into being condescending. You absolutely can dry away water from your chin yourself. You can go to the fucking bathroom by yourself too, and would actually prefer it that way if you had a say in it.

Maybe you're just sick to the point of extreme irritability. You're probably overreacting to their sweetness because of everything happening in your life right now—this comes at the worst possible time with your final exam for the year in just three days. The final grades for most of your classes come anytime now as well, and you're not sure you did so well in all of them. You haven't even gotten a job for the summer either because no one wants to hire you. It's all pretty shit at the moment.

Barely anything is in your control right now. Not even your own health and how you choose to deal with it, because there are two men hovering over you every second since they came home. This is the first breather you've gotten in way too many hours. You're actually surprised they fell asleep before making sure that you did too, but happy that they did.

Another hour passes before you give up. It's too hot in here, despite cracking the window open half an hour ago, and the fan doesn't do you any wonders. The air is too thick from the small space being occupied by two giants and a sick girl for hours on end, and your bed is too soft.

You silence your coughs as you sneak out of your room out onto the living room couch. It's colder out here. Quiet.

You fall asleep within two minutes.

"Sweetheart, wake up."

"C'mon, Y/n."

"Let her sleep, you assholes."

"She's burning up, for fuck's sake! We gotta do something!"

"Throw cold water on her."

"What the fuck, Sam?"

You groan, stirring awake while your eyes reluctantly flutter open. It feels like they have been glued shut. The fever-aches hit you instantly, distracting you from the mumbled voices right beside you as they try to gain contact.

"She's alive, at least," Sam says right before leaving the room. You barely notice.

"Y/n, hey, can you hear us?" Bucky asks, on his knees in front of the couch.

"Yes," you croak out, rubbing your eye while squinting. It's still early judging by the dimmed morning light coming into the apartment. "Wha—“

"Why did you leave? You have a 103 degree fever, baby. We have to cool you down."

You simply shake your head, letting out a distant hum while sinking down into the pillow once more, letting your eyelids close.

"C'mon. Sit up," Steve tells you, sneaking his hands around your back to push you upwards before you even have a chance to react to his words.

There's too many sounds around you, too many voices and hands prying your body around. You want quiet, like how it was when you went out here a few hours ago. What you sought after from the beginning.

"I want to be alone."

"Well, we're not going to fucking leave you alone right now, Y/n," Bucky says, stress practically seeping out of his pores.

Steve returns from the kitchen. You didn't notice him leaving. He reaches a cold, wet rag out to Bucky who immediately presses it to your burning forehead.

"I can do that myself."

"Nonsense. Just rest," Steve tells you.

"I'm serious. Guys, it's fin—"

"Can you get me the pills on her nightstand?"

He turns his head over his shoulder, nodding for Natasha who disappears into your room without so much as a blink to confirm. Your frustration grows with each second—Steve just entirely ignored you to speak over your words. He doesn't usually do that.

Red hair comes into view again, at least as much as you can see of her from underneath the rag covering half of your eyesight. She tosses the bottle, and you're lucid enough to try and catch it. Bucky grabs it instead.

But when he pours out a pill and begins prodding at your lips you push him away. It's  too much.

"Bucky, stop!"

This is the thing with the two of them—you love being cared for like they watch over you, but right now it just feels demeaning. As if they believe you can't do anything by yourself, as if you will fall and break your bones each time you stand or confront someone who has done you wrong without bodyguards crowding your space. Their intentions are good, so good, but right now it feels like unnecessary babying.  You are a grown woman who just happens to have very bad luck, but that doesn't mean you can't handle yourself at all.

As your yelling echoes through the now quiet room, their expressions fall, even though they did not look too chipper to begin with. Bucky inches back just slightly. Your tone was harsh enough to know that something is wrong.

"I get that the two of you are trying to help me right now, but I can lift my own fucking fingers!" Your face is hidden beneath your hands, head tilted back with a groan.

You can almost feel how their faces change right in front of you, postures tense up. It's not what you wanted—that is their reaction when being confronted, and this is not a scolding. At least you didn't intend it to be from the beginning.

"I just want to sleep right now, okay? I'm not going to die." Your voice softens into a whisper, a large contrast from the previous yelling that has the room quiet as a mouse.

Another three seconds of silence pass after your statement. Now they won't say anything? Steve runs a hand over his mouth, looking away from your gaze. Nervous.

"Uh...okay." He nods, despite looking like he doesn't want to agree. "Just—just take the Tylenol. If it gets worse you'll tell us, right?"

You don't really answer in the way he wants you to, which is not at all. You can tell by the way he purses his lips. Bucky just looks scarily neutral, as if he's schooling his face with every ounce of willpower in his body.

"Alright, boys. Scatter," Natasha says, waving her hands towards their rooms like she's directing an airplane. You guess that's about the organization you need to coordinate the three of them.

Before you can catch Steve and Bucky's conflicted glances, and Sam's slightly shocked expression, you roll around to face the back of the couch. As peace falls over the room, so does sleep once again.

Steve and Bucky take turns tiptoeing into the living room to watch over you each hour.

Natasha sits in the living room chair reading from her iPad when you wake up. It's dark outside—you've been asleep the entire day. She has a cup of tea and half a cookie left on her plate sitting on the table, and does not even stir when you speak up from out of nowhere. Damn her spy skills.

"What time is it?" you croak out, so unbelievably hoarse that you can't even believe words are coming out of your mouth. You kind of regret speaking at all.

"7:32," she tells you while pushing a glass of water your way. The glass is devoured immediately.

While drying away the stray drops of water from your skin, you put the back of your hand against your forehead to realize your fever has gone down significantly. Not gone entirely, you think, but so much better. The only thing worse is the lack of anyone else in this room besides you and Nat.

"Where is everyone?" you ask her, pushing yourself up slightly until you sit up in the couch.

Natasha must instantly clock your hesitant tone, the slight trace of regret in your voice that manages to seep out through your cold-affected throat. She turns your way, leaning forward slightly.

"Hiding in their rooms."

Your face soon gets buried in your hands, leaning back with a groan from your lips.

"I was too harsh on them, wasn't I?" you say suddenly, letting her decipher your muffled words. "Fuck, I upset them. I was too mean."

"No, no. Hey, no," Natasha interjects, clasping her hand around your wrist to reveal your face again. "Babe, you are allowed to have boundaries, and they're not allowed to be bitchy about that."

"But I—they were just trying to help and I went off on them," you whine. "They haven't even talked to me since this morning. I feel like shit about that, Nat."

"They didn't talk to you 'cause you've been fucking asleep, that's why," she says. "And just because their intentions are good doesn't mean they have the right to be around you."

Natasha raises her perfect eyebrow, glancing over her shoulder towards the empty apartment behind her. Her words hit you like a fucking truck no matter how cliche that sounds, regardless of the fact that you have never taken any sort of advice of this sort to heart before. They never used to apply to you earlier.

"You decide that. And I'm sorry that their egos were bruised, but they need to learn how to respect people's wishes even when they believe they are doing the right thing by disregarding them," she tells you.

"Yeah," you breathe out. "Yeah, you're right."

"Sure as fuck I am," Natasha agrees. "Now go tell them that."

"I don't want to," you whine.

"But you have to. They're not gonna learn if you ignore them. And I know they're dying to check up on you."

"They haven't been in here?" you ask, trying to sound more curious than disappointed. Why are you disappointed? You were the one who wanted space.

"I banished them after they kept checking your temperature as you slept seven times within an hour."

Your eyebrows shoot to the roof. Actually, that makes you annoyed. It's cute, but you were sleeping! You had just yelled at them for invading your space and privacy! Goddamn men who worry too fucking much!

She smirks as you struggle your way up from the couch, angrily making your way towards the end of the hallway to your best ability in this state. The knocks on their doors are loud. Both doors open almost at the same time.

"Get in Rogers' goddamn room, Barnes," you mutter, before shouldering your way past the blonde wall of muscle looking entirely too confused for your liking. He's way too cute like that, and you're supposed to be angry.

The two men follow you like obedient puppies, sitting down on Steve's bed when you gesture towards it. You sway slightly after closing the door, resulting in someone shooting up from their position, but quickly falls back when you shoot the brown-haired guy a glare.

For what must be at least five seconds, you stare at the two young men now sitting on Steve's bed, staring up at you nervously as if you are the principal and they've been called into the office for disobedience. It's kind of fun, but you tire quickly of the staring contest, and instead run the back of your hand across your forehead with a sigh.

"I do just fine by myself," you say all of a sudden. No warning, no explanation. "And yes, it's really sweet that you two want to help, but you've completely ignored me and what I want since I got sick. That's not okay."

What started off strong and confident has now turned into looking anywhere but their eyes as you speak. Why are they making you nervous?

"I have boundaries when I'm sick too, you know? And it doesn't exactly feel like you actually care about me when you just push and prod at me like I'm some doll instead of a person who told you repeatedly that I didn't want your help."

You can't really see their reactions, since you're...not looking at them. Instead you have your arms engulfing themselves, fingers picking on your skin and the hem of your shirt nervously. You're not used to confrontation. Almost no training in scolding people at all. Especially not when it comes to people you care about so deeply. But it has to be done, according to Natasha. And maybe you know that she's right.

"And I'm mad at you. But I know that your intentions are good, and this doesn't have to be a big thing...but I just wanted you to know how I felt."

Too many seconds of silence passes after your little speech is done. The only sound in the room is your collective breathing. You're still looking down to the floor, watching your toes wiggle as a distraction.

"You can speak now, if you want to," you add timidly after what must have been half a minute.

The sound of Bucky letting out a long pent up breath almost makes you laugh, but you school your expression as you finally look him in the eyes. He almost burst watching you so fidgety, refusing to look at either of them.

"I'm sorry, babe," Bucky says, volume nearing on a whisper. He didn't mean to say that last word. "I just—I get kind of panicky when people get sick. You know, Steve—"

"I know about Steve's sickness, Buck," you tell him.

"Yeah, but...sometimes when he was like this it would be a life or death situation. Y/n, I've been the one to call 911 several times when I didn't think Steve would make it."

"I didn't know that," you say. "That it was that bad."

"He would start off exactly like you." Bucky pauses for too many seconds, scrunching his nose before shaking his head. "This fucking cough that would never disappear, and then the high fever. But I guess you have a better set of lungs and heart than he did back then."

"Oh, I—I don't know..."

"You're not about to go into heart failure because of a stupid cold," he says, but you think it's more of a reminder for himself. Steve looks at him funnily, as if he's almost sad by Bucky's words. Maybe he didn't know how much his friend saw during their childhood.

"We're sorry we ignored you, Y/n," Steve speaks up. "Now after, I...I can see that we were too overbearing. And you're right, that's not okay. But I don't want you to think we don't view you as a person. That's not true."

His blue eyes do that soft, concerned thing only Steve can pull off. It kind of pisses you off. You're supposed to be mad, but it's hard. Okay, you actually forgave them before you even entered the room, but they don't know that yet.

"Well, it kind of felt like you didn't," you mutter, looking away.

"I know. You don't deserve that," he answers. "I'm really sorry, sweetheart. I promise I'll do better."

You can't help but let the tiniest of smiles grace your lips. They barely notice it, you think.

"Okay. I guess I accept your apologies. But, this doesn't mean that I don't want to be helped at all—it just means that it will happen on my own terms. No more extreme coddling and babying."

Bucky gives you an amused smirk, rubbing his chin with his fingers. God, he would fit in perfectly in a douchy frat house. Idiot.

"You're kinda cute when you're yelling at us, you know?" he tells you. You think both you and Steve share the exact same reaction—Bucky gets a slap to the back of his head from the latter while you just scowl at him.

"You're such a jerk. That is not what you should take with you from this situation," you seethe, even though heat is traveling to your cheeks in an almost unhealthy pace. Goddamn him and his charm. You blame it on the fever.

"Punk," Steve mutters, shaking his head in disapproval while Bucky just ducks away from any further violence. There's still that smug grin on his face though.

"Bucky is a lot more likeable when he's shy and quiet, don't you think?" You turn to Steve, ignoring the brown-haired man now pouting at you. You've already forgotten why you're in this room in the first place. And damn it, you're starting to feel that you're not exactly top condition right now, and you know you have to sit down soon.

"Uh-huh. Is a lot easier to keep in line, at least."

"Hey! I'm right fucking here, you know? Don't talk shit about—"

Bucky doesn't get to finish his sentence before your seemingly healthier state turns critical in just a few seconds. The standing up for too long with a fever and no source of energy for two whole days finally takes it toll, and the clear focus you had on your boys turns into a big blur. A thud sounds through the room as your side crashes into Steve's drawer, balance lost completely before you could even notice you were dizzy in the first place. Within a second you're on the floor with a throbbing pain in the back of your head.

"Ow."

"Fuck," Bucky breathes out as he gets to his feet with Steve right on his heel, crossing the few feet's distance between you. "I know you just said we shouldn't coddle you...but—"

"It's fine. I'll give you a pass," you manage to get out while rubbing the back of your head, a small chuckle escaping your lips.

Strong hands pull you up to your feet, embracing your unsteady body so your head rests against Bucky's chiseled chest. Steve has his palm on your back, searching for any kind of contact.

"What happened? Are you okay?" he asks while Bucky leads you to the bed, forcing you to lie down.

"I don't think it was such a good idea to stand for that long," you say with a tired smile.

"Well, I tried to tell—" Bucky stops himself in the middle of the sentence, catching himself doing exactly what he promised he wouldn't. You grin at him, patting his thigh the best you can from your position.

"Good boy. Already learning."

The man blushes like a grown man has not done ever. You don't notice though, of course you don't, and his momentary weakness remains harmless. Steve doesn't point it out, because he's too engrossed by looking at the now sore spot at the back of your head. But you never notice, and Steve almost begins to think you're avoiding the signs on purpose. You should have noticed by now. Sam and Natasha certainly have—they can't give either of them a break when it comes to teasing about you.

"Fuck, this is the last thing I needed," you groan, putting your hands up to cover your face while leaning back into what now feels like Steve's thighs. When did he move you?

"Know it sucks, bad timing and all that, but maybe a sign to take it easier?" Bucky says, though he has to clear his throat first to rid it of the thickness he gained from your little comment earlier.

"What d'ya mean?" you mumble, eyes closed.

Maybe you were overreacting earlier. Now, with their hands in your hair and stroking your legs soothingly, you feel great. As if they really do care about you. But it's different now, you guess.

"Sweetheart, you've been stressing yourself to death this past month. You have this irrational fear, which is completely wrong, that you will fail all of your classes when you absolutely are not going to," Steve tells you.

"Maybe..." you mutter.

"Yeah, lay it down, will you? 'M only taking it easy on you with the scolding now 'cause you're sick, but it's actually worrying. Don't know why you think so low of yourself when it comes to school. You've done great the entire time."

"I can't help it," you whisper. "But I really don't want to study anymore. I'm tired."

Steve chuckles at you, shaking his head. "You don't have to. If you're good to do the test in two days—and I really mean if—you're already perfectly prepared. Been studying for a month. God knows I ain't ever studied that long for an exam."

"I know..."

"But even without me and Steve...helping, I, uh—are you gonna be fine 'till then?" Bucky asks, a new concerned frown in between his eyebrows appearing.

"You are allowed to help me, Buck. I never said that you couldn't," you tell him. Your eyes are closed, deep breaths being taken to rid yourself of the nausea. Despite this, you notice his restlessness over the thought.

"Yeah. I guess. Just don't want you...don't want you to be sick anymore," he mutters under his breath, as if though he wishes you could not really hear it.

This is the Bucky you usually see. The one who's a little shy and has trouble expressing his feelings, except if it's anger. Then he has all the willpower in the world to act on it. The guy who cares very deeply about his friends and becomes closed off when he can't help them.

"Not super excited about this either, Barnes," you whisper, arm thrown over your face to shield you from the rest of the world.

"We're on last name basis now, huh?" Steve says. You can hear the smirk in his voice.

"Uh-huh." You nod to your best ability. "You deserve that."

"She's just practicing her future last name, Stevie," Bucky speaks up, wearing a grin that falls just as quickly as it appeared. A dreaded, wide-eyed expression dawns upon his face as he stares at the two of you. The realization is painful.

"What? What did you just say?" You lift your head up from Steve's lap, staring at Bucky who's now beet red.

"Buck..."

"Oh, shit."

#Stark U #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #sam wilson x reader #marvel fic #marvel fanfiction #college steve rogers au #college au #college!bucky

[saintsenara]

there is so much new stuff on your blog that i need to catch up with omg and i swear i will get to it BUT. BUT FIRST. i have a question (which, funnily, is really relevant to my actual offline life rn): if tom riddle was a doctor, what specialty would he practice? [he gives me major neurosurgery vibes] and, more laterally, what do you think makes a good surgeon? as in, what kind of personality types fare the best in a surgical program?

now this is the sort of content i like to see!

while i can certainly see good old dr riddle [bmbch oxon] very much enjoying having a rummage around in a patient's cranium, he strikes me as someone who would prefer specialties on the medical, rather than surgical, spectrum - and, especially, would like specialties which require a lot of sifting through evidence and solving mysteries. he's clearly a puzzle girly [why else would he spend his teenage years coming up with anagrams of his own name?] and so i think he'd very much like the parts of his job which allowed him to spend half his time running a lot of invasive tests on people and the other half skulking in a lab getting an enormous amount of money to run research projects...

so he's applying for:

haematology

aka: staring at blood - which is right up his alley. his particular interest is coagulation disorders in pregnant women - and their contribution to these women dying in childbirth.

histopathology

aka: staring at slices of tissue. he's determined to find out whether or not the soul resides in the liver.

neuropathology

i think we can all picture him presiding over a collection of brains preserved in formalin. one of them is dumbledore's.

forensic pathology

cutting up corpses by order of the state? he's in! his team of graduate students have conned several million out of the wellcome trust and are spending it trying to reanimate their specimens.

forensic psychiatry

because while if you want to be a good psychiatrist you need an iron will and well-developed sense of empathy, if you want to be a bad one you need to be able to gaslight, gatekeep, and girlboss. and our tom's got that nailed...

now.

the above flippancy is about to make me look quite bad, because i am also a puzzle girly, and i like medicine precisely for the sort of mystery solving and research paper publishing it enables. but i'm not a mass-murderer, which i feel it's important to clarify...

i'm not a surgeon either - i didn't struggle with the gory bits of the work, i just didn't find any of the surgical specialties i shadowed during my training particularly compelling in re: that element of mystery.

while the reputation they sometimes have - especially on tv - for being scalpel-wielding jocks isn't accurate, it's certainly true that the defining trait you need as a surgeon is total, unshakeable conviction. in all medical specialities outside of emergency medicine you have the option to adopt a wait-and-see approach a lot of the time - but you do not have this option if you've got someone open on the table in front of you. you need to be enormously decisive, capable of tunnel-vision, incredibly good under pressure, and also a little bit arrogant - the only way you can get through the terror of knowing that you're responsible for slicing and dicing someone [particularly in specialties like neonatal surgery or neurosurgery] is to believe unquestioningly that you're going to smash it.

these are probably all traits you already possess - they're certainly something it benefits all doctors to have, in moderation - and they can also be learned and honed through practise, but they're going to be most crucial in surgery because - the vast majority of the time - your issue won't be working out what's wrong with a patient, it'll be pulling off the operation without a hitch.

surgeons still get to do academic work, clinical research and so on, but if you think you want to be a surgeon, you really have to like that slicing and dicing, in-and-out aspect of the work. if you can't see yourself performing thousands upon thousands of the same operation, it's not for you.

#asks answered #tom riddle listened to doctor death religiously change my mind #he's giving medical malpractice #on medicine

[cyborgpulsebooks]

Pulse of Life Press 1st Anniversary - and an experiment!

It's been a whole year since I started this crazy artform! I can't believe it myself. The amount of books I've made in the past year has long since hit the double digits, and each and every one of them is incredibly important to me, flaws and all.

However, there was one book - my first book - that had more issues than the others, some that outright interfered with reading. Luckily I've been learning book repair at the same time as binding, but when I tried to fix some of the problems for Bernhardiner, it went...well... about as badly as it could.

What to do, then, with a ruined book? I didn't have enough decorative paper to completely redo the cover, with all the little dogs. But then I thought - why not leave the cover? I know how books work - I could pretty easily detach the whole case from the ruined textblock, make a new textblock, and just reuse the old case. It seemed like a sound experiment. Now, for the press's first anniversary, I have compiled most of the process under the cut, complete with pictures.

Please come along with me on this journey!

This was the beginning of the process, after having slooowly and carefully detached the endpapers of the textblock (right) from the case itself (left). You might remember this from my recent shitpost! To loosen the adhesive and separate the two parts without ruining either one, I initially slid a bonefolder into the hinge area of the case, and then switched to a thin little boi called a microspatula to slip through the glue not unlike a letter opener.

This did lead to some wear and tear on the boards of course, but it could have gone a lot worse. Most binders that I've learned from use a homemade wheat paste to attach case to textblock, but so far I have not been able to make it without the ingredients turning into an Oobleck-esque gelatin. Thus I use PVA glue, which is far stronger, and can lead to things like this. Still, not too bad. The case was successfully salvaged!

Before I describe and show off the redux, I just wanna share a couple of the errors and mistakes I made on the first textblock here, as I usually try and photograph my books with the least amount of flaws visible. Here we can see, firstly, that the glue job on the spine was shoddy at best; none of it really got quite between the individual signatures of the book, leading to weird gaps like that which compromise the stability of the book and show off the spine liner/mull, to my dismay.

In the other two pics you can see page numbers where they're definitely not supposed to be. Ah, MS Word, you son of a bitch and your terrible, terrible pagination settings. Took me months and months to learn how to paginate my books correctly, up until about my FINAGLC bind.

Not enough glue here on the pre-made endbands, either. It would sometimes fold under while reading, which wasn't super fun to see.

Finally, the botched repair that started this whole journey - I had attempted to fix one of the gaps between signatures (seen earlier) with some Japanese repair tissue, but ended up sticking these pages awkwardly together and fucked up that little top part there. A nightmare!

For all the above reasons, I actually decided to go back to my original typeset and revamp it. I've gotten some... teasing in my binding groups for the fact that my first few books were set in Times New Roman (which I actually find satisfying to read, thank you very much), which apparently gives off a sort of amateurish vibe. I've been experimenting with body fonts since, and the two I reliably use at the moment are usually Sylfaen (for shorter, smaller books) and Baskerville Old Face (for longer books). I switched it to Sylfaen here, and you can compare and contrast the results far down below.

Now, I'm not going to detail the entire bookmaking process here - just the interesting bits. If you want to learn how to make books, I highly suggest checking out @renegadepublishing's resources, as they're how I learned. But here we can see all the new signatures of the new edition nice and crisp and printed. In the second photo they've even been punched for sewing already!

At the co-op where I print and sew my textblocks, I often get to use real nipping presses like this bad boy right here. It's entirely metal (iron?) and way too heavy to lift. Between the two scrap papers peeking out is the new Bernhardiner!

But at home, this is my current set up:

Everyone, meet the eponymous Pulse of Life Press. POL Press, meet everyone.

A family member of mine made the wood part (obviously, a separate piece from the HS books) for me last Christmas, with no real knowledge of what a book press should look like at all. It's sort of a cross between what's known as a lying/finishing press and just some sort of regular old clamp. I line it with wax paper, stick the spine of the book in the center, tighten, and then cover the rest of the textblock with my trusty viz Homestuck books. It's a little MacGyver-y, but it's served me well.

This is the part where you glue the spine, attach the endpapers, and so forth.

For this redux, I decided to continue practicing making my own endbands instead of using the same pre-made ones I had for the first copy. These ones actually came out pretty darn well, if I do say so myself! They're the absolute neatest I've made them so far, and that's a relief. Obviously I still need work, but it's so lovely making them. <3

After this, I actually don't have a lot of pictures! It's basically just press, attach the spine liner and glue again, press again, casing in, and then...

Et voila!

Lookin' pretty good, if I do say so myself.

I didn't get exact duplicate photos of the original textblock's mistakes for a before/after, but you can probably just tell from these just how cleaned up the new one is. Rest assured those pesky out-of-place page numbers are long gone, and my spine gluing has gotten a lot better. I'm honestly just glad that it cased in so well - I was worried about that flaky board for a minute there!

And that's all. Thank you for coming with me on this little peek behind the scenes! Here's to many more books in the coming year - more to read, more to make, and more to write.

Cheers!

#cyborg rambles #POL press #bookbinding #fanbinding #book repair #it's also my birthday month so! double the warm and fuzzies #long post

[monstersdownthepath]

Deity: Nulrea, Emissary of Eternity

Lawful Evil Velstrac Demagogue of Isolation, Meditation, and Demiplanes

Domains: Evil, Law, Protection, Void Subdomains: Kyton, Fortification, Solitude, Isolation Favored Weapon: Falcata Symbol: An infinity symbol made of dozens of small circles, some of which contain a small environment or depict a creature trapped inside. Sacred Animals: Blind cave animals Sacred Colors: Gray, dark blue

Those who know of the velstrac know to fear them for the depravities that they inflict upon the bodies and minds of their victims. Those who have been rescued from their clutches are almost always irretrievably insane, broken by ceaseless tortures as the cruel fiends sought to shape their bodies into new and aesthetically pleasing configurations. Velstrac are always seeking to hone their craft on others before turning the scalpels on themselves, in much the same way a sketch artist would use scrap paper from a notebook for their practice work before utilizing a proper canvas for their real masterpiece.

The Demagogues among their kind are no different, but they work on a much grander scale. Whereas a typical velstrac works to perfect the suffering of a single individual, a Demagogue may become the architect for the torment of entire nations as part of their latest and greatest project. There are always exceptions to this rule, of course; one of which is the obscure Demagogue known as Nulrea, the so-called Emissary of Eternity. Very few know of this entity's existence, a Demagogue only by virtue of their considerable power rather than by having a large following of servants and fans. Rather than seeking the spotlight and the adoration of their peers, Nulrea prefers an existence of quiet contemplation and meditation, seeking out areas in the Great Beyond where they cannot be reached by any force and pondering deeply on the mysteries of the mind, the soul, and of existence itself.

It is said that the Emissary was born at the end of time and has been living all of eternity backwards, a lofty claim if there ever was one, but one that's nonetheless accepted by many considering the circumstances of their past: that is, Nulrea has no recorded past. As near as any scholar and diviner has been able to discern, the odd velstrac merely decided to reveal their presence to the greater velstrac population after hiding for an unknowable amount of time in an unknown location for an unknown purpose. They have revealed nothing of their past, if indeed they have one, stating plainly "I have no past, only an infinite future," a sentiment echoed by the handfuls of supplicants who have undergone the Emissary's agonizing process of enlightenment, destroying their own past selves through concentrated efforts to induce ego death, leaving room for a brand new self to be born.

Even among velstrac, the mutilations of Nulrea are unique, in that they barely look like a living creature, but seem more fossil than flesh. They appear as a humanoid made of soft stone that nevertheless bears deep and organic-looking scars, some of which bleed as though there were flesh beneath the stone. They possess no facial features, but deep scars along their head give the vague impression of a face. They also have no hands or feet, their limbs terminating in rough, rounded masses of stony scar tissue. When they do deign to move, they do so by hovering in utter silence, looking to all the world like a puppet being pulled along by unseen strings or a doll being carried by an invisible force, leading many to believe that the Demagogue's body is entirely useless as anything but an anchor point to sustain an incredibly powerful mind.

Despite the lack of any teeth or claws, Nulrea can leave hideous open wounds that are difficult to magically heal upon any creature coming too close, all without making a single movement, giving the impression of a victim being torn into by an invisible force. No one is quite certain if Nulrea manifests phantasmal limbs, summons or is guarded by an invisible attacker, or simply rends victims with psychic power, but the end result is the same, and there appears to be no measure that can be taken or defense that can be raised against the velstrac's unusual vector of attack. They prefer to avoid combat if only not to interrupt their current train of thought, striking out with their strange lashing power only until the approaching creature leaves, but if pressed into battle they can unleash even more frightening psychic abilities... or simply be done with a single creature with little more than a gesture.

Floating anywhere from ten to a hundred feet above their head is a halo consisting of thousands of tiny lights, each no larger than a fleck of dust, each providing such scant illumination that even their great number produces little more than candlelight, as not to annoy Nulrea with unneeded light. Every one of these of tiny specks represents a demiplane it has sealed an enemy, annoyance, or supplicant inside, each plane sustained by the Emissary of Eternity's power. Such victims are trapped in environs such as endless sunlit deserts, valleys of ice that go on forever, vast bottomless oceans, labyrinths of twisting tunnels, forests with no edges, cities that continue endlessly into the horizon, and other such spaces... Though victims that Nulrea dislikes may be sealed inside bubbles a scarce few meters across, such as a single room within a house, on a disk that sits atop an infinitely tall spire, or even within a coffin barely large enough for their body. Time passes differently within each demiplane, fully at the whims of Nulrea, and trapped victims may experience the passage of decades, centuries, or even millennia within their prison even as mere days pass in normal time.

With their needs and lives magically sustained and their bodies recovering swiftly from any form of harm, creatures imprisoned in these planes have little choice but to find a way out or go completely mad, and often do both. Escape isn't simple, as Nulrea sets the conditions for leaving each prison plane and gives only the vaguest possible instructions for doing so; complete madness is often required to parse these instructions, and worse is needed to carry them out. A victim condemned to walk through an endless desert may be tasked with finding a single specific grain of sand and consuming it, while someone trapped in an endless city may be required use their own blood to scribe the entirety of their life along its streets a hundred thousand times, and someone trapped in a cave may walk through the tunnels for several lifetimes before figuring out that they must dig their way through the solid stone with tools crafted from their own bones. Each task inevitably requires some level of intense, long-term suffering or sacrifice, often to the point the victim goes entirely numb to it. Rarely do imprisoned creatures emerge from the demiplanes at all, and not one has ever been the same as when they entered.

------ Obedience and Boons ------

Nulrea's clergy is obviously quite small. Very few creatures even know of the isolationist Demagogue's existence, and fewer have reason to seek them out. They offer little to most supplicants, refusing to share the secrets they know with any who are not sufficiently 'enlightened,' and the only way one may achieve a level of enlightenment the Emissary finds satisfactory is to subject ones self to unreasonably extended periods of deprivation, isolation, and silence, until all past personality and potential are destroyed, the hopeful now hollowed out and ready to serve wholly as a vessel for the secrets the Emissary wishes to impart. Typically, this means the price of the Demagogue's knowledge and power is to willingly accept being sealed within one of its demiplanes until total ego death is achieved.

Even other velstrac are wary of drawing Nulrea's attention, lest they end up trapped within a realm of numbness until the madness inherent to the velstrac is eclipsed entirely by new and novel forms of insanity. Some, however, purposely seek it out for that precise result, primarily any velstrac wishing to become the feared Obsignator; a cult of Obsignator known as the Ten-Thousand Moments in Amber--in reference to the Demagogue's halo of demiplanes--and the victims and madmen they've managed to capture/attract make up the largest cult in the Emissary of Eternity's name.

Creatures who manage to escape Nulrea's demiplanes and recover from their madness sometimes develop a deep and unsettling appreciation for the Demagogue's "work," taking a moment to silently thank it for giving them new perspectives on time, suffering, silence, and isolation before making their way back into the world. These blessed souls are regarded by the Demagogue as having taken their first steps towards true enlightenment, though it is up to them to continue their journey. While many of them become mad hermits no longer able to stomach the presence of other beings and retreat to isolated areas to further ponder the mysteries of eternity, some instead become adventurers seeking to either unravel the mysteries they have begun to ponder and the secrets they have discovered in their meditations, or simply make up for lost time and catch up with the world that they have not been a part of for several lifetimes--perhaps several hundred.

As a Velstrac Demagogue, Nulrea may gift especially fanatic worshipers with Boons that are are relatively simple: a trio of spell-like abilities, each of which may be used 1/day. Boons are normally gained slowly, at levels 12, 16, and 20, however entering the Evangelist, Exalted, or Sentinel Prestige Classes can see the Boons gained as early as levels 10, 13, and 16. Note that, as with all Demagogues, you cannot enter the Diabolist Prestige Class to quickly obtain these Boons without DM fiat.

Obedience: Find a spot where you can expose yourself to a single repetitive sensation, such as water flowing over your body, wind blowing over you, sunlight shining down on you, or constant cold. Spend at least one hour completely still, meditating on this sensation. If a creature interrupts your meditation, you must deal at least 1 point of lethal damage to it and drive it away. Benefit: Gain a +4 profane bonus to saving throws against charm and compulsion effects, as well as to saving throws to avoid effects that would inflict confusion, insanity, or madness.

Boon 1: Blindness/Deafness Boon 2: Lesser Create Demiplane Boon 3: Maze of Madness and Suffering

#original concepts #this was written in a single sitting over like 2 hours at 1 in the morning #please forgive any mistakes ill hit them with a hammer later

[thedreadvampy]

I love your bleach paint shirts they are amazing and you look incredible 🌠

Would you by any chance have any pointers on how to get started with that for someone who'd love to do stuff with bleach but has zero idea how it works nor much artistic talent/skills?

Honestly the reason I'm so into bleach painting lately is that I tried it last year and discovered it is like. CRAZY easy to do. all you need is regular household bleach, an area that it's ok to get bleach on, and a paintbrush. other stuff that's useful is electrical tape and card (for masking/stencilling) and a good spray bottle/mister. Recycling the kind of spray bottles cleaning products come in will give you a very blotchy/streaky effect which looks cool but will probably not stencil super well in my experience - I use a hairdressing mist bottle for stencils that gives a really even coverage.

As a step by step, my process looks like:

Put on light coloured clothes/clothes I don't care about, make sure soft furnishings are well out of the way, and cover any fabric (I have lino floors so usually just move the rug and work directly onto the floor)

Get the clothing I want to work on and put some thick cardboard inside it to hold it flat and make sure I don't bleach through onto the back

Draw out a design in however much detail is useful to you. I use a white pencil so it shows up well - dressmakers chalk would probably also be a good shout.

Cut any stencils I want to use (card, cartridge paper or tracing paper all work but bleach will just soak through regular paper. I have also had solid results cutting shapes directly out of gaffer tape) and stick them on with double sided tape.

Pour some bleach into a jar to work with, put bleach in the mister. Make sure you have some tissue or paper towel on hand bc bleach does go everywhere.

Paint with the bleach! I just use regular nylon paintbrushes for this. You should see the line developing almost straight away, but it might take a while depending on the fabric - sometimes you have to paint a bit blind while the bleach takes a while to work. Resist the urge to paint over it again until you've given it plenty of time!

Rinse it when you think it's developed enough! As soon as I'm done, I take the shirt to the bathroom, take the cardboard out, hang it up in the shower and just fire water at it. Once the water runs clearish, I rinse it properly in the sink. I do the shower step to make sure I've taken off a decent amount of the surface bleach before I submerge it cause I worry about the bleach spreading, but it may not be a necessary step. The water will probably run rust-red or grey for a while - that's what you want, that's the dye washing out of the bleached fabric.

I usually hang it on the bath for a tiny bit to drain off and do any last bits of developing, then stick it in the washing machine on a rinse/spin cycle.

Once it's dry you did it! New t-shirt!

Strongly recommend buying a good few plain black t-shirts to practise on and try out techniques with ☺️ I may go to fast fashion hell for this but I have a box of like 5 black shirts in my wardrobe that I replenish regularly for when I Get The Urge - I get ones that are like £3 from supermarkets and Primark/H&M and hoard them 😅

More details under the cut:

Some stuff about the properties of bleach:

Compared to pretty much any paint, bleach is SUPER viscous. Putting a brush in and pulling it out will stretch out a long string of bleach, and you have to reload the brush a LOT because it'll really only do one brush stroke because bleach likes to stick together

There's a temptation, always, to water it down to make it lighter or easier to work with. DON'T DO THIS (except if it won't come out of a spray bottle without it, and then water it down SUPER sparingly). Reducing the concentration of the bleach will extremely suddenly take it from "will give you a clear bright line" to "the fabric is very slightly paler if you squint in the right light"

The wetter the fabric gets, the more all the bleach will spread. So the more layers of bleach you put on the surface, the less crisp and more glowy the mark gets. In particular, cause spraying the fabric gets it fairly wet, I would always advise doing most spraying and stenciling last if you want to mix painting and stenciling.

Bleach obviously develops over time - depending on the fabric and the concentration you should get a fairly clear idea of how it's going to look after 5 minutes or so, but it will keep developing for a while and it looks a bit darker when it's wet, so you don't 100% know how it'll turn out until it's washed and dry.

There's two ways to moderate tone in bleach painting:

How much bleach you put on the surface (which you can control either by how much bleach is on the brush, or by layering up several rounds of bleach...remembering that the more you layer it, the blurrier it gets)

How long it sits (there's an upper limit to this - if it's been 10 or 15 minutes and it's still not as bright as you want you probably need to go over it again)

Because of this, you always want to start with the stuff you want to be brightest - so, on the ACAB design I started with the highlights on the lettering and the pig, the white squares on his hat, and his white fangs. Then I did the outlines, then worked down from brown to black.

Design notes:

You can't rely on getting crisp edges when you layer bleach on bleach, so I think it helps to leave some empty space around key details like lettering (like a black outline). One thing I've been experimenting with is masking areas off with cut out electrical tape or gently stuck-down card stencils that cover slightly more area than the design so I can work on a background without making everything a blurry mess

It's also very hard to rely on how dark or light an area will come out, so if you try to do bright white against dark brown, you might end up with a whole area of bright white. So again, outlines and empty space are your friends.

Bleach does spread and it is heavily affected by the weave of the fabric, so don't rely on getting tiny clear detail

Cool stuff bleach can do:

Spraying from a mister, spraying from a spray bottle, and just splashing/dribbling/throwing bleach directly onto the surface all give really different and fun effects and it's really nice to layer those up imo

Because of how viscous bleach is, you often leave drops and trails of bleach unexpectedly when you move your brush. this is a feature not a bug it looks Cool And Punk and you can use it to add interest

Different fabrics go different colours. Some go bright white, some go orangey/yellow - if you're really lucky, I've seen some t-shirts that go a really reddish orange and you get some cool bloody effects like that. As far as I can tell, fabrics with a higher cotton content are likely to go brighter (my denim jacket has gone almost bone white under concentrated bleach whereas most cotton mix t-shirts I've done go a fairly bright yellow/orange) while ones with a higher synthetic content may bleach a bit darker/greyer/murkier.

One other note is that bleach does damage the fabric's integrity a tiny bit. Not much, but if when you rinse it the back side of the fabric is more or less as bright as the front, you might want to treat the shirt with a little more care than otherwise - it's not a huge issue, but a few of the shirts that my partner made a few years back have started to develop holes in areas where there's been particularly heavy bleach.

#red said

[lesbruabba]

More Than Skin Deep

A conversation about old wounds; written for @fugio-week0 day 4: Healing

"Does it still hurt you?"

The question could have referred to any number of things, none of which he was prepared to think about, let alone answer. Having startled in response to the voice that asked it, despite its gentle tone, Fugo blinked while looking up from the array of papers beneath his fingertips, scattered across the surface of the desk. Financial information on a variety of Passione-managed businesses; the kind of thing he was good at managing. 

The kind of thing he'd decided the young man before him shouldn't have to think about.

Giorno Giovanna may as well have appeared out of thin air – or maybe Fugo had just been distracted. It always amazed him how Giorno could manage to have such a large amount of presence, but still somehow go unnoticed until the very moment he wanted to be and finally drew attention to himself. There was no missing him now, standing with his hands folded before him and eyes fixed on Fugo with a strange intensity that caused him to force back a shudder. 

"Huh?" Was Fugos first, incredibly intelligent response, but as he cleared his throat and awkwardly raised a hand to scratch it, it became painfully clear what Giorno was referring to. The skin there was raised beneath his fingertips, a raw and still unfamiliar texture that somehow seemed to crawl beneath Giorno's searching gaze. 

"Oh – no. No, don't. . .don't worry about it," he muttered, tacking the sentence on in a futile attempt to not look like an idiot while looking back down towards his papers. For some strange reason, his heart continued to race, and he found himself incapable of focusing on the numbers on the page. 

No longer unnoticed, Giorno's quiet steps drew closer as he approached the desk where Fugo worked. With every inch that closed between them, he could almost feel the distance shortening, something about that causing his breath to catch and hold in his chest. Why’s he doing that? Coming closer, asking questions – surely the young mafia boss had more important things to worry about than him. Unless he’d done something wrong – shit, Fugo hadn’t managed to fuck up somehow, had he? Fingers tightened around the pen in his grip hard enough to cause it to bend beneath his fingers, threatening to snap. Where it brushed the paper, the nib shook, leaving behind jagged and messy purple lines Fugo would later have to frustratedly try to cover.

The footsteps stilled, just on the opposite side of the desk. Then, a shuffling sound, and a quiet disturbance as something nearby shifted just a fraction – He’s sitting on the desk. Swallowing hard, Fugo finally pried his eyes from the paper in order to slowly look up. Giorno had indeed settled lightly on the desk in front of him, facing away with his legs crossed and one hand resting on a knee. The other was braced against the desk beside him, and his face was turned in Fugo’s direction, slightly tilted to the side as eyes that were too bright and unreadable looked directly towards Fugo’s face. Immediately, he looked back down, only for his gaze to flicker back to Giorno’s face in the very next moment as he began to speak. “You were touching them – your scars, I mean. I couldn’t help but notice. You do it a lot.” Shit, did he? Fugo didn’t think so, but he couldn’t deny having had to suppress the immediate urge to reach for the network of scar tissue around the corners of his mouth. It stretched from there down the underside of his jaw and partially down the expanse of his throat, and it took every bit of self control not to press a palm against his neck out of desire to hide even a small fraction.

“Sorry,” he said reflexively, then immediately grimaced and looked away. “But – no. No, it doesn’t hurt. It feels . . . weird, sometimes, like any scar does. But it doesn’t hurt. Not since you . . . healed it, anyway . . .” His voice had trailed off into a mumble, then cut off completely as Giorno’s hand suddenly removed itself from the table and reached out. Not only out, but towards him – Part of Fugo wanted to lean back and away. Another, one that would have been louder had he been speaking to anyone else, wanted to snap that hands should be kept to themselves if their owner wanted to keep them.

As it was, he simply sat stock-still as Giorno’s fingers moved, quickly and confidently, to brush against the side of his face. Right on the edge of the scarring, they lingered for several moments as their owner’s brow furrowed. “. . . I’m sorry,” he murmured, to Fugo’s complete surprise, and he felt a muscle in his cheek twitch. “I wish I’d been able to do a better job.” “What the hell are you talking about?!” the words escaped from his mouth in an immediate rush, and Fugo’s face immediately went red as he clicked his jaw back shut. Emotion had reached a boil quickly and escaped his chest before he could contain it, and it took a few moments to fight back even a fraction. “S-sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. But. . .saying that. . . just doesn’t make any sense.” As he’d spoken, he’d looked briefly back to Giorno, but grimaced while looking again towards his hand. The pen had fallen at some point from his hand, which remained half-clenched into an angry claw. Ink droplets trailed across the paper. “Not when you’re . . . the only reason it’s as healed as it is already. Which is more than . . .” Giorno hadn’t allowed his hand to fall. For what reason, Fugo didn’t know, other than perhaps an awkward lack of understanding of the definition of personal space. He was quiet for a moment, then frowned while prompting “. . . More than what?”

Pulling back a fraction, Fugo shook his head. “Nothing. It’s – it’s nothing.”

Slowly, Giorno’s hand lowered, bracing against the desk once more as his torso turned further in Fugo’s direction. The look in his eyes was – strange, to say the least, and incredibly disconcerting. Fugo didn’t like to think about what it might be seeing.

“. . . What you deserved? Is that what you were going to say?”

Disfigured lips pressed into a thin line, Fugo swallowed. His hand had clenched into a fist. “. . . Just – it was more than you had to do,” he finally muttered. “Fixing my side and my mouth . . .I didn’t know if I was going to be able to eat or smell normally ever again, and if I did, how long it was going to take. So . . .”

As if it meant anything, he finished his statement with a shrug. With any luck, Giorno would just let it go and walk away . . .

But that incredibly perceptive, curious look remained fixed upon him, and with that same gentle persistence Fugo had come to both admire and detest, he said “so you think I shouldn’t have bothered.” “No –” Mouth open, Fugo hesitated. “. . . You think that I should think it wasn’t worth the effort or time?” Shit, he was doing it again. That same, disorienting deconstructing of an otherwise spiraling thought process that put thoughts into words that Fugo never would have been able to parse out on his own. It was like being laid bare – dissected – and he couldn’t help but shift awkward and uncomfortably in place. Letting out a rush of air, he found himself asking “. . .Well? Why don’t you?” For once, Giorno looked taken aback. “I should want you to be in pain?” he shook his head, brows knit together as his shoulders slumped ever so slightly downwards. “Why?”

Their hands were only a matter of inches apart on the desk. It wouldn’t be hard for Giorno to reach over and press his hand over Fugo’s fist – of course, doing that might cause him to lose his balance and fall over, so obviously he wouldn’t. But – well. It should be easy for Fugo to unclench his fingers and reach out to do the same. Shouldn’t it? He didn’t. “. . . Shouldn’t I deserve it? Wouldn’t that be . . . common sense? After everything I did – or, I guess, didn’t do.” His voice was stronger than he’d expected it to be as he lifted his head and managed to meet Giorno’s eyes. What he found there, though he couldn’t name it, stole the air from his lungs just as much as always. The vision of Giorno before him was perfect, also just as always, save the little detail of his expression.

He was frowning, but the expression wasn’t tense or angry. Tilting his head again to the side, he lifted his hand, and reached once more for Fugo’s face. It didn’t so much as occur to him to pull away this time, already prepared for the feeling of fingertips or the brush of a knuckle across the raised, scarred skin. What he felt, instead, was the length of Giorno’s palm, settled against his cheek as he held it. Neither avoiding nor focusing entirely on the scars, he brushed a thumb just barely across them.

Giorno’s lips parted, but at first nothing came out. Something flashed in his eyes that might have been a kind of panic, if Giorno were capable of feeling things like that. Like flashes on the surface of water, his emotions were too difficult for Fugo to read – so what was the point of trying? “. . . Do you really think so?” he asked, and something in his voice was pained. Shaking his head, he was quiet for another moment, then said simply “. . . I don’t.” Pressing ever so slightly against the touch of that warm, gentle hand, Fugo felt his lip begin to tremble. Shouldn’t I? He didn’t manage to say, words sticking in his throat along with emotion. It was all he could do just to breathe. Yet, somehow, the effort not put into speaking allowed him to convince his hand to move. Slowly uncurled, leaving the indentation of nails against his palms, he reached up and gently laid his hand over Giorno’s where it rested on his face. “. . .Then . . . I don’t, either,” he mumbled, though it made no sense at all. There were no powers being used, but a warmth spread nonetheless from everywhere Giorno’s fingers touched, sending life and drive throughout his entire body. In that moment, he wanted so badly to tell him. Maybe one day, he would. He would tell him just how much more he’d been able to heal than skin.

#jjba pt 5 #jjba vento auero #giorno giovanna #pannacotta fugo #fugio #fugio week 2023 #purple haze feedback #zero days since i last went insane about purple haze feedback

[celiosal]

Hello there! ✨

will it's kinda weird ask but I'm curious how would the brothers in obey me and Simeon react to female reader when she work herself too much she got stressed and bleed from the nose .

It's a condition I have and I'm just curious to know the reaction .

hope it's not too much to ask , and I like your writing good luck 🌺

Stressful Blood

pairings - obey me brothers + simeon x reader synopsis - reader gets a nose bleed from overworking themselves

writing contains : fluff, established relationship, gender neutral (lmk of any possible mistakes), possible ooc, mentions of blood (not gory, just nose bleeds), racing thoughts (asmo), stress and overthinking, poor grammar possible

a/n - it's not weird at all! and thank you 🥺 sorry for taking long!! enjoyy (i wrote this with female reader in my head, i hope you don't mind it being gender neutral :)

LUCIFER

You had a huge pile of tasks, all dropped on you on the same day. Heck, the pile was almost the same amount of work that Lucifer would have in 2 days.

You figured it was best to start now and finish the next 2 days. It's safe to say that it was a horrible idea. You set yourself to do an inhumane amount of work each day.

Eye bags, exhaustion lines, and an overall tired look started to make itself a home on your face. It was on this one specific paper when your nose started to drip blood.

The blood immediately stained the page. You quickly got up to wash the sanguine fluid that was running down to your upper lip

Lucifer decided one day to check on you and he beholds the sight of the said pile. He spots the blood stain and gets worried.

He finds you in the bathroom, takes one look at the blood and picks you up and sets you on the chair. He makes you sit up straight before dabbing a tissue on the area.

He chants a spell and the bleeding suddenly stops.

"You need to relax. Go lay on your bed, I'll help you finish"

MAMMON

You were trying to complete the homework assignment from RAD but it was quite confusing.

To make it worse (better?), Mammon was being clingy today and wanted to cuddle.

"Mammon, baby, you know I have to work-"

"Noo, ditch your work and come cuddle me. Who cares about that anyway..."

He pouts before giving a huff and lying down on your bed to scroll on his D.D.D.

You tried going back to your assignment but the frustration has piled up to the point where your nose bled.

Mammon noticing the smell of blood quickly shot up to look at you. He panicked, seeing the blood drip down slowly onto your shirt.

"MC?! Why's there blood coming out of your nose??"

"Oh, that? It's a condition I have when I get stressed or overworked."

He just looks at you in shock before running out to grab a washcloth. He just wipes off the blood until it stops. He tosses it into the sink to clean later.

You're just sitting there calmly while your mind slowly starts to relax. Mammon uses it as an advantage before throwing himself into your arms and burying himself in the crook of your neck.

"You're mine, how dare you deprive The Great Mammon of cuddles.."

LEVIATHAN

Playing games after a long day with Levi was a normal occurence for you at this point. It was quite relaxing to play with him.

When you came to his room today, he had an excited look on his face. It turns out, recently he bought a puzzle game for two players and really wanted to try it out with you.

He already had everything set up - snacks, the computer on, and two controllers on the chair.

Excitedly, he inserts the disk and the game starts up. You grab your controller and sit comfortably in the bean bag chair he got for you.

The game had an incredible amount of detail which Levi - who had stars in his eyes - noticed.

The puzzles got harder for each level you passed, from finding levers in bushes to moving blocks to place in the correct slot. Things were going quite well until level 50 came in.

Leviathan pauses to think and gather his thoughts while you sit there trying to decipher the code.

You end up trying a bit too hard and the red fluid comes out of your nose. Levi just turns to look at you in shock before scrambling around to find a tissue.

He gives it to you and you wipe of the blood that comes out.

"M-MC, you scared me for a second. Try not to think too hard next time okay?"

SATAN

Satan was already aware of your condition from the start.

He recently found tissues covered in blood along with some worksheets in your trashcan.

He took two and two together and guessed that it was a condition. So he wasn't really surprised when he saw blood flowing out of your nose. You two were doing a tutoring session at the time.

He just makes you lay down before wiping the blood from earlier with a handkerchief. While you two wait, he takes out a book and reads aloud to you.

He enjoys reading to you quite a lot, he'd also play some quiet classical music while doing so.

It's so calm to the point it soothes you to sleep. All tensed muscles start to relax and your breathing becomes slowed.

Satan kisses your forehead before turning off the lights and leaving the room.

"Sleep well, love."

ASMODEUS

You were in Asmo's room talking about gossip and other topics. Asmodeus was listening to you while trying to put on his skincare products.

You talked for a while until the conversation came to a halt. The white noise of the air conditioning can be heard in the background. Asmo finally finishes and goes into the bathroom to dry his wet hair.

You're patiently waiting for him to come back.

Out of nowhere, thoughts start rushing into your mind, making you overthink. Your head starts to hurt and you get irritated. Blood starts to drip and fall onto your hands.

Just as you were about to get up, Asmo comes back. He takes one look at your hands and nose and screams.

"Oh no, your precious skin!! EEk! Go wash it off and come back when it stops!"

You nod before going to the bath room to wash yourself up. When you finished, you got out of the tub before stealing his clothes and wearing it.

You come back out and he jumps into your arms.

"Aah!! My darling is soo cute!"

BEELZEBUB

Hungry baby boy was out raiding the kitchen when you come in. He's munching on some Hell Cream Cat Tongue Cookies while you stood there.

Your nose was already bleeding from the work you had to do earlier and you came into the kitchen to get some napkins.

Beel sees this, grabs the nearest napkin and hands it to you before eating some more.

He pauses for a moment to stare at you lovingly. After a few minutes, he walks over to you to wrap you in his arms.

Immediately you're enveloped in a deep warmth, finding comfort in his arms. The bleeding has already stopped completely and you finally relax.

He picks you up bridal style before bringing you into his room. Showering you with love and kisses.

"I love you MC."

BELPHEGOR

Lucifer decided it was a good day to assign you housework. You're now tasked with multiple responsibilities.

Belphegor is on your right, cuddling you and his pillow. When you try to break free to do your chores, he pulls you back and hugs you tighter.

He's just burying himself into your chest while you lay there.

"Belphiee, I have to do my work.."

"No. Stay with me,"

He's pouting with his eyes closed.

He's also not budging at all, so you give up. Although you're a bit worried about Lucifer considering his punishments with Mammon.

Worried to the point where your nose bleeds while Belphie's hugging you.

He quickly sits up.

"Are you okay??"

You nod slightly, trying to prevent the blood from dropping into the sheets.

Belphie wipes off the blood for you with a tissue. Then goes back to cuddles you.

There's no stopping him so you let him be. Lucifer saw what was happening and did the work himself instead.

You two had slept peacefully

SIMEON

You were baking food for everyone at Diavolo's castle. There was a ton of pressure due to the amount of servings you had to cook (including Beel's).

While you were hastily moving around the kitchen to cook, Simeon comes in to check on you.

He was watching you until he sees a slight bit of red peeking out of your nose.

He rushes over to stop you, helps you take a few breaths before giving you a kiss on the nose.

Suddenly the feeling in your nose disappears. You look at him to give him a smile before expressing your gratitude by hugging him tightly.

"Be careful now darling, we don't want any stress alright?"

You nod at him before going back to cook. He decides to help you by adding a few touches and bake for you. You also earn a few kisses from him.

"I love you Simeon!"

"I love you too,"

© celiosal. 2022, do not repost/modify/translate

Reblogs and feedback is highly appreciated!

#✏️ - celi writes #☆ - obey me #📩 letter - minervaalanzar #belphie fluff #beelzebub fluff #satan fluff #asmodeus fluff #leviathan fluff #mammon fluff #lucifer fluff #simeon fluff #obey me fluff #obey me fanfic #obey me brothers #obey me fanfiction #omswd #omswd fluff #this took me too long #enjoy <3 #obey me

[boyfridged]

i'd love to hear about his little habits headcanons!! and disability ones

as to small habits, a lot of these are based on his background and how i think he was raised- i believe most of the time he has incredibly good manners, and i'm not even talking about what he learned at the manor; i mean simply being considerate and polite when interacting with civilians. things like tipping generously, taking his shoes off when entering someone's house, keeping his space as clean as possible etc. i also like to think he was brought up with his parents reminding him of value of their belongings (since they did not have much and needed their appliances etc to serve them as long as possible) and so he takes care of his things and maintains them well, mending his own clothes etc. in general, i think he's very particular in terms of housework and perhaps a little obsessive about it, as it helps him to maintain an illusion of control during moments when he is out of mask... (and his mask is usually a buffer between him and simple life, so he needs additional systems and rules to maintain this distance...) of course i think he gets worse at all of these things sometimes, especially when he's at his lowest and doesn't have the energy to keep up even with the most natural and ingrained into him routine...

oh, he also loves lists. and he loves handwriting and physical paper in particular, both in his personal life, as well as when it comes to returning to traditional media and techniques in detective work when possible (even though he's obviously proficient in technology). he often fiddles with pen as he writes things down.

he has a lot of quirks when it comes to the way he interacts with people... he observes them quite carefully (as a kid to understand their expectations and as an adult out of paranoia) but if he talks to someone and truly listens or speaks carefully himself, he averts his gaze and looks into a completely random direction.

as a child he liked to maintain some sort of physical contact, even indirect; he would hold bruce's cape or just one of his fingers once he got more comfortable with him, touch donna's and barbie's hair etc. he sometimes slips into these habits and does some of it post-death too.

regarding the second part of your question, i'm not too keen to share my specific disability headcanons because esp. considering mental health-related ones it can get messy, but i can tell you i think there's definitely something wrong with his brain, if not because of the amount of trauma then also because the lazarus pit actually rewriting brain tissue couldn't come without consequences... i'm not really talking about the magic itself, but given lazarus simply heals injuries, the *freshness* of this healing would definitely reflect some issues that regular patients have; i believe jason would still have to relearn some things and that he would lack built resistance to some external factors, hence making him more sensitive. this would incline him to pursue training with an intensity that could cause further damage... which leads me to a pretty generic headcanon about chronic pains of all kinds.

#outbox

[late-to-the-party-81]

You bring me closer to God - Ch2

AN: I hope you all enjoyed part one - onwards to part two!

The prompt for this chapter, from the lovely @buckybarnesevents was Give me a colour.

Beta’d by @hannahshattuck

Master list| Hot Bucky Summer Master list| Chapter 1

Summary: Joaquín thinks over his relationship with Bucky and what it means to him…

Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Joaquín Torres

Word Count: 1.8k

CW: Mean Dom Top Bucky, Enthusiastic Sub Bottom Joaquín, Pre-established ‘Situationship’, Safe word discussion, mentions of Degradation, mentions of Sub Space, mentions of aftercare, mentions of sex toys and masturbation, Angst, Pining 

Joaquín dragged his hand down his face in frustration.

“Idiot!” He let out a shout as he kicked his trash can across his room. A few paper tissues and the plastic liner wafted lightly in the air, almost mocking him. He took two steps over to his couch and dropped down into it, feeling both the physical exhaustion from the mission, as well as the mental exhaustion of trying to keep his emotions in check.

But it was getting harder and harder to do. To keep it light, to just be ‘bubbly and carefree Joaquín’, when all he wanted was to shout his truth from the rooftops and revel in it.

He’d been in awe of James ‘Bucky’ Barnes from the moment he’d first seen him. Despite the almost permanent scowl, Joaquín had thought the Sergeant the most handsome man he’d ever seen. Then he had to go and rip the sleeve off his jacket and jump out of the aircraft, following Sam into the jaws of danger, without either a set of wings or a parachute. Just thinking about it made the young man feel all funny inside.

Then, when Sam had gifted him the old wings, saying he could wear them if he was able to repair them, it was the start of the three of them working together, and he’d had to tamp down his crush on the vastly older man. Which had been incredibly hard, mentally and physically, because, as it turned out Joaquín had a competence kink. Or was it a knife kink? Maybe it was just a Bucky kink? Either way, whenever he saw the former Winter Soldier fighting, effortlessly taking down the enemy, it took every ounce of control not to look at him with heart eyes or pop a boner. A couple of times he’d had to rush to the tiny washroom in the jet at the end of a mission and quickly tug one out, lest he actually explode from the amount of want inside him. On some occasions, just watching Bucky clean and check his knives and guns on the way home had got him all hot again, and he’d had to go a second round when they got back to the compound. He didn’t remember being this horny, even as a teenager.

However, despite his best efforts, he must have given something away because now he and Bucky were doing this dance where they were cordial to each other in front of the rest of the crew, and then went completely feral with each other when they were alone. He’d have said private, but some of the places where they’d indulged themselves were definitely not that. He prayed no-one ever got a black light out on the jet…

It was great though. He was definitely physically satisfied - Bucky was a more than generous lover, and the things he did! Just thinking about it made Joaquín glad he was already sitting down. Bucky had helped him explore a side of him he didn’t even know existed until the first moment those slightly chapped lips had met his own. Yes, he might wish they could be more open, have a more conventional relationship, but he knew that isn’t what Bucky wanted from him. It was obviously, purely physical between them. An outlet for pent up frustrations and even if it got his heart broken, Joaquín was all in until Bucky wanted out.

Of course though, today, he’d fucked up. He’d let his feelings take the lead and he’d swooped in and made himself a target to distract some alien heat-seeking missiles away from his not-boyfriend. It was an instinctual reaction to seeing someone he loved cared for in potential danger, and in that moment  it completely slipped his mind that he was eminently more fragile than the super-soldier. It had all turned out okay, but Joaquín had felt the waves of anger rolling off Bucky from that point on. He’d tried to apologise, to explain himself on the way home, but Bucky had damn near bitten his head off before sinking into himself and cleaning his knives in a way which was both frightening and arousing all at once.

Joaquín had hoped he’d have the opportunity to speak to Bucky after they’d landed and the older man had some time to cool off, but that had been a no-go as well when Bucky had unceremoniously stalked off in a manner which indicated it wouldn’t be a good idea to stop him. He’d seen Sam bravely catch him and mutter something, but he’d been out of earshot.

Slapping his hands on his knees, he stood up. There was no use mouldering on the couch, all sweaty. Maybe a shower and good night’s sleep would help, and then in the morning he would have the opportunity to seek Bucky out. It was odd though, not being with him at the moment. He couldn’t remember the last time he and Bucky hadn’t spent any time together after a mission, even if it was a frenzied quickie in a closet.

Admittedly, those… encounters weren’t his favourite. He liked it - loved it - when Bucky took his sweet time with him, breaking him down and keeping him on the edge for as long as he could stand, before granting him sweet relief.

Fuck, he was horny.

He stripped off his clothes and threw them in the laundry basket and made his way to the bathroom. He’d have a quick shower, clean off the grime and then relieve some tension before going to sleep.

He couldn’t help teasing himself though as he stood under the blissful spray, running his hands down his body as he washed himself. His thumbs traced the dips in his hips, the small hollows surprising free of bruises placed there by his lover. He gently traced over his nipples, the small dark buds puckering, acting like switches that activated his cock as they did so. Bucky loved to tease them as well, sucking and biting for what seemed like hours until Joaquín was thrashing under his touch. God, he wished the man was here right now. He had sexual torture down to an art. Joaquín would be crying from frustration, but at the same time still be thanking him, over and over.

Realising that he’d been standing, daydreaming in the water, for far too long, Joaquin shut off the shower, wrapped a towel around his waist and started to rub at his hair with another. His erect cock rubbed against the fuzzy material with each movement, and while brushing his teeth, considered how he wanted to relieve himself before going to sleep.

Obviously, there was the quick, efficient version, just using his hand and a dollop of his favourite lube, but he could always ‘jazz it up’ with the textured stroker he’d bought a few weeks back. He’d only used it once so far, but it did feel really good. However, he was really horny, and missing Bucky, so maybe using his dildo would hit the spot, so to speak? It wasn’t as wide, or as long as the man himself, but at this moment Joaquín was aching to be filled, and prior to Bucky, the fake dick had been satisfactory enough.

He let out a sigh then, as he realised how much Bucky had ruined him for other people - and apparently toys as well - because even the fattest fake cock wasn’t going to pin him down with only one hand. It wasn’t going to drip the most degrading, but erotic words in his ear, telling him how dirty he was, how slutty. How he was just a set of holes for Bucky to use over and over until his lusts were slaked. The best nipple clamps weren’t going to come anywhere close to the feeling of those vibranium fingers closing over his tender flesh, pulling on them harshly until tears rolled down his cheeks. And no stroker was going to replicate the feeling of Bucky’s mouth around his cock, teasing him, edging him and setting him up for failure for which there would be an inevitable punishment.

He almost wished he hadn’t already kicked over the trash can, just so he could do it now. Because as much as he, very enthusiastically, enjoyed everything Bucky did to him, his favourite part of their encounters, by far, was afterwards. That 30-40 minutes after he’d been wrung dry and Bucky was satisfied with the number of orgasms he’d had, and the supersoldier shifted gears, no longer a demanding lover with a wonderfully cruel streak, but a caring and attentive partner, cleaning Joaquín up and talking him back round with soft words and tender touches. 

Joaquín liked to think that when they were in the afterglow bubble, the person he was seeing was more akin to how Barnes was before the fall, before WW2. Before the world had left him hurt, scarred and traumatised. He could also pretend in those moments, that he and Bucky were actually boyfriends, whose friends knew about them, and complained about them when they indulged in over the top PDA. But it was just a dream, and as Joaquin walked out of his bathroom, back into his bedroom, he resolved to keep reminding himself he was lucky to get what he did, and that Bucky didn’t need his lo…

The hand grabbing hold of his throat was entirely unexpected, and he left out a strangled squawk as his body was slammed up against the wall. He kicked and lashed out with his hands and legs for about a second before his brain realised that it wasn’t in any danger.

He was in the Avengers compound, and unless something had gone very wrong with the multiple security protocols, this couldn’t be anyone who wasn’t authorised attacking him. Additionally, the fact that whoever it was had bypassed the security on his room and, most importantly, owned a metal arm, meant only one thing.

“Bucky!”

His lover didn’t answer, just pressed his clothed body against Joaquín’s almost naked one and kissed him. It wasn’t gentle, it was hard. Possessive. And Joaquín unfurled under it like a flower under the morning sun. He rolled his hips against Bucky’s and grabbed fistfuls of his black t-shirt. As Bucky continued assaulting his mouth, he let go of Joaquín’s throat to pick him up, took three steps over to his bed and tossed him down onto it.

The young man let out a plaintive whine at the loss of touch, but in a moment, the towel around his waist was torn away and Bucky’s large body loomed over him. Cool vibranium cupped his erection and that whine immediately changed to a reedy moan.

“I need you baby boy. I’m still mad at you, but, fuck, I need you. Gimme your colour, yeah? ‘Cause I’ve got plans for you, and I need to know you’re with me on this.”

Bucky’s voice was a husky growl, and for a heartbeat Joaquín.exe stopped responding, but a gentle squeeze of his cock had him writhing and nodding and babbling again.

“Green, Bucky. Green. Oh, god! Please, please, please.”

Chapter 3

Tag list: @jobean12-blog @krissy25 @bodeckersdiamonddoll @goldylions @luxeavenger @wheezy-stucky @doasyoudesireandlive @chemtrails-club @talia-rumlow @peaches1958 @pono-pura-vida @writing-for-marvel @kmc1989

#hot bucky summer #hotbuckysummer2023 #late writes #bucky barnes x joaquin torres #buckquin #joaquín torres #bucky barnes

[blackestnight]

2: warp and weft

Prompt: Bolt

Word count: 1284

Set pre-Stormblood, inspired by a conversation with @aethernoise back when I was making piles and piles of Borel wallpaper.

Hanami gets a rather rude reminder of the fact that, although he is a nice man, Aymeric is like, disgustingly rich.

The invitation to join him on a tour of the wine cellar had mostly been issued in jest—he’d never seen Hanami partake of anything stronger than small beer, and while he owned a handful of exceptionally fine vintages the room itself wasn’t that interesting, particularly to one who wouldn’t drink the contents. She’d answered him entirely seriously, however, a quiet I would like that, and Aymeric had managed to scrape together his composure enough to offer her his arm on the stairs.

The cellar was a long, narrow space, lit with wall sconces and boasting a tall table parallel to the wall holding most of the bottles, as well as a cabinet for glassware. He had, admittedly, been unsure initially of what sort of tour to give, and had resorted to pointing out the handful of bottles left from his mother’s family land, before the Calamity had buried their vineyard under ice. Hanami had canted her head, her ponytail swinging free of her collar, and mentioned that the label was pretty even though she couldn’t read it; from there they had made a game of examining the bottles with the farthest-flung origins he could find and trying to decipher the writing. (He had, apparently, completely butchered the Dalmascan tongue, which sent Hanami into a coughing fit; he found her scorn far preferable to the flicker of melancholy that had overtaken her when she’d found a single bottle of Doman rice wine, the date marking it as older than the Imperial occupation.)

The back of the long room was dedicated mostly to the newer, or cheaper, wines, as well as racks for storing household items and heirlooms that required the same darkness and cool temperatures as the drinks; Aymeric’s own eyes skipped over the plain shelves, accustomed as he was to their presence (and inventory, which to his knowledge hadn’t changed in his lifetime), but his hunt for a Gridanian brew with a rather amusing depiction of Nophica on the label was interrupted when Hanami made a questioning noise and headed straight for a rack of fabric rolls.

“What are these?” she asked, ducking around a shelf of old silver sets. The rack was mounted just high enough off the ground that, after a moment’s hesitation, she rested her foot on the bottom (empty) row of a neighboring set of shelves to grant her a slight boost in height, which was so charming that Aymeric had to remind himself to answer her question.

"Excess wall coverings for the first floor, I think," he said—though as the rolls were wrapped in tissue paper he wasn't completely sure. Grafant kept a careful count of every item stored in the cellar and its use in any future renovations to the house, but Aymeric couldn't remember any such work being done while he had lived in the Manor, and had to rely on guesswork and half-remembered snatches of overheard conversation. “In case the need should arise to patch them.”

She hummed an affirmative, and—with a glance back at him, as if waiting for a protest, and a flick of her tail for balance—leaned over and pinched the top corner of one of the paper-wrapped rolls between two careful fingers and her thumb. The tissue crinkled quietly at her touch, and she moved incredibly slowly as she pulled aside the covering just enough to peer at the fabric underneath, at which point she wheezed and hissed, “Aymeric, what the fuck.”

Aymeric blinked.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, already making his way closer, his hunt for the Gridanian wine abandoned.

“Why are you keeping this in your basement?” she said. As he drew closer he could see just how wide her eyes had gone, brilliant in the dim light of the cellar, her face a perfect mask of shock and some tiny amount of worry. “Do you—have any idea what this is?”

He felt a momentary flash of panic as he drew alongside her, envisioning—he couldn’t even imagine what would garner such a reaction from her of all people; lurid tapestries, maybe, depicting any number of unsavory acts. But when he brushed a gentle warning hand at her back and craned his neck to peer at the exposed fabric, it was, in fact, a perfect match for the walls upstairs, a relatively inoffensive (or so he’d thought) shield-and-wings pattern reminiscent of the Borel crest.

“I…don’t catch your meaning,” he admitted, as she flipped the fabric to reveal its opposite side: this time with the pattern reversed, a blue crest on a silver field, which he’d never seen before but thought quite lovely.

“This is—shit,” Hanami breathed, apparently even more distressed by the fabric’s reverse. “I thought the stuff upstairs was paper. This color blue? I have seen silk like this before, once in my life, and it was on a robe taken from Doma castle. Do you know how expensive this is?”

Aymeric shifted his weight—he knew damask itself was a costly weave, which was why the Borel ancestor who had commissioned it had only used it in the rooms most likely to be subject to public scrutiny, but he couldn’t speak to the fabrics used to make it; he was fairly sure it incorporated silk and satin both, but the specifics were beyond his knowledge of textiles. (He did feel somewhat justified in his ignorance, as it was, in fact, wallpaper, and he’d become inured to its presence by the time he could speak in full sentences.) “I must defer to your expertise in this matter,” he told her.

She twisted to glance up at him, her brows pinched around the little scales on her forehead, but when she looked back to the fabric he could see her shock beginning to ease into something gentler. She flipped the corner again to display the more familiar side—careful, Aymeric noted, to only let her fingers touch the paper, and not the silk. “My family was—wealthy, I think you would say? Before the Empire. My mama had some very nice wall hangings hidden away. Nothing like this. Not even we could afford it. This much rhea silk…this is what you would pay a ransom for a king with.”

Wonder, he decided. The look softening the heavy lines of her brow was wonder.

He felt himself smile at that while he turned over several possible responses in his mind. Tempting as it was to press her for more recollections—she so rarely spoke of her homeland, and this was the first fascinating glimpse she had ever given him of her life before the Empire; he’d had no idea that she came from a family of means, especially given that she preferred to act the rough-and-ready adventurer—but he was loath to replace her fascination with uncomfortable memories, so instead he said, “Thank you for sharing your knowledge. I didn’t appreciate its value before now.”

Hanami looked up at him once more, her fascination lingering just for a moment, the lamplight and the glow of her eyes painting her in gold and delicate blue sublime enough to rival any emperor’s silk—before she clenched her jaw and rolled her eyes, though her hand was still careful when she tucked the silk back into place and secured the paper wrappings.

“In your basement,” she muttered again, disgusted. “Like a can of fucking paint. I hate you right now. Just a little.”

But when she hopped down from her perch on the shelf, her tail brushed against his calf, and her fingers brushed his arm; he could only laugh as he followed her away from the racks, and as she let him place his hand at her back once more to steady her on the stairs, he assumed himself forgiven.

#final fantasy xiv #ffxivwrite 2022 #oc: hanami hagane #s: a minor justice #aymeric de borel #ishgardian interior walls also use holy water. what the fuck is wrong with them. #writing - mine

[compacflt]

hey i just wanted to thank you so much for all of WIP Wednesdays and other insights into your writing process (from tags to answering asks) that you've posted so far. i'm a huge fan of wwgattai and debriefing, and everything new that you post is so wonderful. the amount of work that you've put into this is astounding, and the results (from what i've been able to read and otherwise glean so far) are incredible. all of this to say - i love your writing, i love to hear about the writing process and your thoughts on the characters and the universe. it's really special to be able to read and follow along, so thank you so much

(also i have not ever had a fic alter my brain chemistry the way that this has. the fic has had me in its tractor beam since october - literally cannot stop thinking about it, truly some amazing stuff)

ugh this ask means so much to me, thank you. i could talk about the process for this fic for literal years, mostly because it is the bane of my actual existence!!!!!! i was not supposed to care about this series at all!!! ‘when we get around to talking about it’ was originally just a 10k one-shot bouncing back and forth between charlie & ice’s povs as they try to figure out their equally extremely fraught and difficult relationships with maverick. the “we” in the title was supposed to be mav and charlie! it was originally more about mav’s relationship with women than it was about ice’s relationship with men—obviously that idea didn’t pan out! (it’s why there’s so much residual sexism in the story actually, i was originally trying to highlight the differences between ice & charlie as men and women… mav’s sexism in the original top gun is my least favorite thing about that movie and it really stuck with me) & ‘debriefing’ started out as just extra dumb little one-shots that didn’t make it into wwgattai (specifically just venice & the smoking weed scene) with no connective tissue whatsoever to the original fic. like. both fics were written out of order and without an outline, which… is why trying to fix their gigantic structural issues is such a bitch for me right now.

i can trace back every problem im having with the story back to one (1) day (august 14th) when i wrote both wwgattai chapters 7 and 8 without planning or thinking about the consequences of certain actions. i don’t want to get too deep in the weeds but there are so many mistakes i made that day that ive been paying for for months (for instance, the factual inaccuracy of ice & mav’s fucked-up ranks, the soft squishy landing of pulling roosters papers, CHOOSING TO MAKE ICE RESPONSIBLE FOR THAT [because i hadn’t seen TGM for two months at that point & forgot what happened in the movie], not actually going into what it means for ice to be at the top of the american war machine, not bothering to ask how it’s even possible that one motherfucker can be this far up his own ass for thirty fucking years…) idk. like, when i wrote 90% of this fic i didn’t care about it, but now i… really do. idk why, but i really do. and im paying for the mistakes i made when i didn’t. which is why the edit is taking so long.

but stuff like this keeps me going :’) thank you <3

#this fic is the longest thing ive ever completed #i have a big problem with starting stuff and never finishing it #so maybe that’s why it means so much to me: it’s proof that i can do it #and maybe that i can do it again someday #i never write fanfic usually original stuff #so this has been such an interesting and fulfilling experience for me #…except that i can’t show anyone in my real life because it’s top gun fanfic #so it’s a give and take #holding it in my hands though. That was probably what did it. That’s probably when I started caring about it. #like oh shit. i did this #it’s a powerful feeling #anyway im rambling the way i always do #that’s how these fics got so fucking long #i always have too much to say. #thanks for the ask :) #asks #edts notes