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thetomorrowshow · 2 years

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froze in shock

empires superpowers au masterlist (incomplete)

i'm this close to dropping my title scheme

cw: angst, nightmares, seeing someone dead in ur dreams?, relationship fights

this story takes place approximately 7 months after the end of 'poisoned rats'.

For the most part, Scott loves Jimmy’s strange behaviors and quirks. He loves the way he knocks four times before opening any door. He loves the way he glares through slitted eyes at any sort of electronic appliance. He loves the way he never takes his wallet anywhere and tries to just waltz out of stores without paying.

Something he doesn’t exactly love is just how stiff Jimmy is all the time.

Not personality-wise, or emotionally, but physically. When they watch movies all cuddled up together, Jimmy stares at the screen without seeming to need to shift his seating position, even as Scott readjusts about a billion times. They read together and Jimmy doesn’t move an inch from where he’s curled up on the couch. They lie in bed and Scott tries to sleep, but Jimmy is absolutely motionless in his arms.

It’s just frankly weird, and too many times Scott’s poked Jimmy to make sure he’s still alive only for Jimmy to turn those big puppy-dog eyes on him, terribly wounded by a little prod. Scott always rolls his eyes and cuddles Jimmy a bit closer, putting it out of his mind. That is, until today.

It’s the weekend, and Scott wakes up this morning after a terrible nightmare (He’s too late, Jimmy’s on the ground with blood dripping from his mouth and utterly motionless, he hasn’t got a pulse and no matter how many times Scott shakes him he doesn’t rouse), but he shakes it off and slips out of bed to make pancakes, eyes lingering on the sleeping form of his boyfriend.

Ever since he was eighteen, cooking’s something he’s done to keep his mind occupied. It had taken quite a bit of work on Aeor’s part to get rid of the idea that only women cook, only women do chores, but once that particular brand of toxic masculinity had been debunked, he’d grown to love cooking. It's a safe haven, a place to stretch some mental muscles and focus solely on the task at hand. Plus he usually gets something delicious out of his labor, so while others may consider cooking a chore, Scott sees it as one of his favorite pastimes.

He’s just finished the first couple of pancakes when Jimmy shuffles out of the bedroom, pajama shirt half off and hair sticking up. He yawns, leans over Scott’s shoulder for a kiss (Scott smiles and acquiesces, taking in his boyfriend alive and safe and moving), then heads off in the direction of the bathroom.

“Love you!” Scott calls after him. He gets a faint grunt in reply.

When Jimmy exits the bathroom after half an hour, his hair is tamed and his eyes are actually open. He hasn’t showered, which isn’t exactly abnormal, but Scott’s not sure if it’s a trauma thing today or if he just wants pancakes.

Jimmy makes a beeline for the cupboard, retrieving a plate, then a fork from the drawer below. He kisses Scott on the cheek when he reaches over him for the steadily growing collection of pancakes, nabbing two before continuing to the table.

“Sleep well?” Scott asks lightly, blinking back images from his nightmare.

“Fine, I guess,” Jimmy says, and there’s still traces of sleep in his voice that make Scott grin to himself. “Thank you for breakfast.”

Scott nods, flips a pancake. He reaches up into the cupboard above the stove, pulls out the syrup and hands it to Jimmy, who is currently bent over in the fridge for butter.

“Do you have to superhero today?” Jimmy asks after a few minutes, and Scott shrugs.

“It’s not my day for patrol, but I could be called out at any time. If that happens, do you want me to ask Lizzie to come over?”

“Nah, I’ll be fine.”

Elle curls around Scott’s legs, purring softly. He knows what she wants, which is why he’s already made and set aside two tiny pancakes. One of these he dangles between his fingers, drops into Elle’s mouth when she leaps up to catch it. Norman skitters into the room as if sensing the food, gives Scott the most innocent look ever. Scott chuckles, kneels down with the other tiny pancake and holds it out to him. Norman barely takes it in time, Elle lunging forward to try and snatch it.

“You’re such a good cat dad,” Jimmy mumbles around a mouthful of pancake. “Makin’ ‘em pancakes an’ all.”

Scott rolls his eyes. “Right, because they would never whine at me until I gave them one anyways.”

He finishes up the pancakes, clicking the stove off and rinsing the mixing bowl out in the sink. Then he serves himself some pancakes, sits down next to Jimmy, stifling a yawn.

Jimmy, of course, notices, brows crinkling with concern. “Scott, dear, did you sleep last night?”

He did sleep, of course. Just not very well. Scott doesn’t need to answer, though, because Jimmy keeps speaking.

“You look exhausted. Maybe you should nap after breakfast.”

Scott shovels a bite of pancake in his mouth. Now that he’s sitting down, he really feels what Jimmy’s saying. He just wants to lean back and close his eyes for a little bit, and his bed sounds almost heavenly.

“Maybe,” he agrees. The more he thinks of it, the more appealing it sounds. It's not like it takes much convincing to get him to do something he wants to do, though. “Wake me up if the hero phone rings?”

Jimmy smiles, bounces a little in his seat. “I didn’t actually think I would convince you!” he says. “You must be really tired. Of course I will, of course! Just go rest, my love! I’ll clean this up.”

Scott chuckles, leans over for a sticky kiss. “Okay. I’ll go to bed.”

Scott shoots up with a gasp—Jimmy’s gone, he’s dead, he’s lying unmoving on the floor and there’s no blood but his skin has taken on a grey pallor and there’s nothing Scott can do but take his pulse over and over with no results—and Jimmy’s in front of him, hands up placatingly.

What?

“Are you awake?” Jimmy asks cautiously, and Scott glances around the blurry world only for his bedroom to come into focus. He blinks at Jimmy again, trying to reconcile the man in front of him with the one he’d just seen.

A dream. A nightmare.

The Jimmy before him—the real Jimmy, the living, breathing Jimmy—is shirtless, a towel tied around his waist. The scars that mar his torso are a shiny pink, his hair wet and flat against his head. In his hand is a flip-phone, outstretched toward Scott.

“They’re calling for you, but I can tell them you’re sleeping if you like,” Jimmy says, squinting at him. Scott takes a moment to regulate his breathing, still out of control after a repeat of last night’s dream.

“Yeah, no, I’ll go out,” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes and kicking off the tangled sheets. “Does the message say who the villain is?”

“The Oracle,” Jimmy reads. “Apparently Joel went up against him, but you know how sensitive he is to the Oracle’s powers.”

Scott sucks in a breath, suddenly fully awake. That’s bad news. “They should’ve called me right away. Is Joel okay?”

Jimmy shrugs.

“Right, tell them I’m getting ready.” Scott rolls out of the bed, heads to the closet. “Sure you don’t want to come?”

Jimmy snorts. “Right. I’m gonna get back to my shower. Have fun out there, love you.”

“Love you,” Scott calls after his retreating back, before slipping his supersuit on. Apparently he’s got a villain to fight.

The Oracle is a quiet villain with haunted eyes, and Scott hates fighting him these days because of how much that reminds him of Jimmy. He scares him off anyways, helps Joel (who is tugging on his own hair, eyes squinted shut as he lies curled on the sidewalk) to Lizzie, then returns home, somehow more exhausted than he was before he took his nap.

Jimmy’s on the couch when he gets back, Norman on his lap as he watches whatever it is he’s watching. He lights up when Scott stumps through the back door, kicking off his boots and pulling off his mask.

“Hello, my love!” Jimmy says brightly, pausing his show. “I’d get up to kiss you, but Norman is asleep on me.”

Scott can’t help but smile at him. “It’s fine, Jimmy. How about I go change out of this and then we put on the next episode of Stranger Things?”

Jimmy agrees and soon enough they’re both on the couch cuddled up to each other, Norman having slunk off to some other room. Scott flips through the episodes until he finds the one they’re on, then settles in, the bowl of popcorn that Jimmy had prepared resting on his lap.

They’re barely past the title screen of the second episode when Scott feels the exhaustion start to take over. His limbs grow heavy, his eyelids flutter shut, he sighs and lets his head rest more heavily on Jimmy’s shoulder.

And then Jimmy’s dead under him, too still to be anything but that, and his heart isn’t beating under Scott’s ear and he doesn’t know how it happened—

“Scott—Scott!”

Scott’s eyes shoot open and he sees Jimmy, eyes wide, hands pushing gently against his chest. But he’s still so motionless—Scott’s hands are gripping his shoulders and he shakes him, Jimmy has to wake up he can’t be dead he just can’t be—

“Scott!” Jimmy cries out, fear flashing across his face before he fully pushes him away.

Scott blinks, takes in his surroundings.

He’s on the couch in his living room. The TV is playing something—Stranger Things—on low volume, like Jimmy had turned it down so he could rest easier. Jimmy’s on the far end of the couch from him, hands up defensively.

And maybe Scott’s just exhausted. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t been able to sleep lately without being haunted by nightmares of Jimmy dead under his fingers. Maybe the fight with the Oracle had tipped him over the edge. But instead of doing what a good partner would do, instead of apologizing and explaining his actions, instead of offering Jimmy a hug and safety, Scott lashes out.

“I thought you were dead!” he spits, hands clenched in fists. “I—I keep dreaming that you’ve died, that I was too late to save you, and then you make everything worse by how freakishly still you are all the time! It’s like cuddling with a statue, I swear! I woke up from a nightmare that you weren’t moving and you weren’t moving here, either! I just—” dread (or maybe tears) chokes him, but Scott continues— “I just wish you weren’t weird like that.”

There’s a moment of silence as all those ugly words hang in the air between them, and for a moment Scott feels viciously pleased, pleased that they’re finally out of his head. Then that moment is gone and Jimmy is rolling off the couch and running into their bedroom, the door slamming shut behind him.

Scott sits there for a moment, fuming. Oh, so he doesn’t get to be critical of anything? Jimmy’s just scared him half to death, and Scott doesn’t even get the chance to ask him to not do that?

And then his brain seems to catch up with his mouth.

Oh no.

Scott may have no idea why Jimmy doesn’t fidget. It may bother him a lot. That doesn’t mean he gets to blame Jimmy for it. It doesn’t mean he gets to be mad at Jimmy. If something about Jimmy’s actions truly bothers him, he’s meant to talk it out with his therapist and figure out the best conversation that can be had for the both of them over the issue, and remember that they both have to make concessions for this relationship to work. This is certainly something he can concede.

Not anymore. Not now that he’s ruined everything. Jimmy hates him. He’d yelled at him for something that he probably didn’t even realize that he was doing, for something that Scott had never even expressed bothers him. And now Jimmy’s going to break up with him and Scott deserves it.

Maybe he can fix things, a little bit. Or at least find a way to apologize to Jimmy before he leaves him.

Scott dashes away the tears that have begun to roll down his cheeks, kicks off the blanket that he doesn’t remember putting on and trips over the overturned popcorn bowl, knocking even more kernels all over the carpet. He sighs, crouches down, and begins picking up each piece to throw away. He could get the vacuum out—he should get the vacuum out—but this is more difficult, and he deserves more difficult.

Once he’s collected it all, he carries the bowl to the kitchen and dumps it in the trash, then puts the bowl in the sink. From there, he rinses any other various dishes and loads them into the dishwasher, then opens the fridge and gets out the ground beef he’d set to defrost the day before.

They’d planned lasagna for dinner. He sets a pan on the front right burner, plops the ground meat into it with some oil and onion flakes, then sets a pot of water to boil on the back left burner. He moves mechanically, just following step after step, repeatedly blinking back tears. This is something he knows how to do, something he knows Jimmy will enjoy eating.

As if summoned by the thought of him, the bedroom door creaks open and Jimmy sidles out, pads down the hall and into the kitchen. Scott doesn’t look at him, just wipes his nose on his sleeve and stirs the meat.

“Babe,” Jimmy says softly, stepping closer. “Baby, you’re overworking yourself. Sit down, yeah? You literally fell asleep on my shoulder earlier.”

Scott sucks in a shuddering breath, reluctantly lets Jimmy pry the spatula from his fingers. At another nudge, he falls into his chair at the kitchen table.

He hadn’t realized just how far he was pushing himself until he sits down, feels his muscles relax, soreness he hadn’t noticed resolving into relief.

He shouldn’t be feeling relief. He should still be struggling. He deserves to struggle.

“Now. We need to talk about what just happened,” Jimmy tells him, tossing the meat around. “To start off, I’m sorry.”

Scott blinks. “I—sorry for what?” he asks incredulously. “You didn’t do anything!”

“I’m sorry for running out when you were hurting,” Jimmy says simply. “I should have stayed and tried to talk you through it, but I panicked and bolted. I want to get better at staying in uncomfortable conversations, and it’s something I’m going to talk to my therapist about.”

He’s so perfect. Jimmy’s the most perfect boyfriend in existence, and that’s why Scott doesn’t deserve him. He didn’t do anything wrong, Scott was the one to freak out on him for no reason—

“Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Scott sniffles. “Thinkin’ about how much I don’t deserve you.”

“Okay. And what upset you earlier?”

Scott’s not sure how to say it, because now that they’re in the brightly lit kitchen and Jimmy’s tapping the spatula against the rim of the pan, it seems ridiculous. “I—” he cuts himself off, arms twitching up like he’s about to hide his head in them. Maybe he should. “I’ve been having bad dreams,” he says eventually. “Where you . . . where I’m too late. And they’ve k-killed you. And it always ends the same way—I’m listening for your heartbeat, and there’s nothing, and you’re so very very still—and I should’ve never freaked out at you about it, you—”

Jimmy snorts. “‘I should’ve never freaked out at you about it’ should be the title of my autobiography.”

“Yeah, but—” Scott’s hands are shaking, he’s not sure why— “but I had literally no reason! And you might have a reason for not fidgeting, and—” “Whoa, back it up!” Jimmy sets the spatula down, turns to him, his brows raised in concern. “Do you think I have no reason for freaking out when I have a panic attack over the door being closed?”

“I—what? No! But that’s a trauma response, it’s—” “And you think your nightmares aren’t a trauma response?”

Scott stops. Thinks.

It’s . . . it’s certainly possible that rescuing Jimmy was a traumatic enough experience that he can’t stop dreaming about it. But. . . .

“But that’s your trauma,” Scott whispers. “I—it wasn’t bad for me. I shouldn’t be upset over it when it didn’t even happen to me.”

Silence for a moment. “Scott,” says Jimmy eventually. “After you rest, I hope you realize how stupid that just was.”

“I—what—?” Scott sputters, but Jimmy continues speaking.

“Trauma doesn’t discriminate! And secondhand trauma is a thing that exists. It doesn’t have to happen to you for you to be traumatized. Like—uh, like when Mythics accidentally flashed you that one time? I may have just been in the crowd, and I wasn’t the one who had to help him pull his pants back up, but I was certainly traumatized.”

Scott laughs in spite of himself, some of the tension oozing out of him. Jimmy’s right, and he knows it. He’s even talked to Nora about secondhand trauma and what signs to look out for. He really is just exhausted.

Still.

“I’m sorry,” he says after a minute, “for saying what I did. Sure, it could have been a trauma reaction, but that doesn’t mean I had to say all that.”

Jimmy nods. “Thank you. It sounded like it was something that’s been building up for a while.”

Scott shrugs. It has been, but he doesn’t want to say it.

“I don’t know why I’m so still all the time,” Jimmy says thoughtfully, opening a box of lasagna noodles. “I don’t remember if I used to fidget or not. If I had to guess. . . .” He pours the noodles into the boiling water, pokes at them with a wooden spoon. “Y’know, thinking back I think I did fidget a lot in school. But you’re looking at a guy who had to spend days lying frozen on an operation table.”

Guilt surges through Scott, but before he can open his mouth Jimmy continues.

“But then again, I’ve had to sleep in a lot of tight spaces over the years where there wasn’t room to move. And there was a year or so when I was younger that I was so scared of myself that I barely dared to move. And also, the education system sucks for neurodivergent kids and they might’ve just trained it out of me when I was real small. I really don’t know. I have my theories, but there’s no way to really know. In any case, I never meant to scare you.”

“If I didn’t feel like a jerk before, I definitely do now,” Scott admits. “Being tired is no excuse. I shouldn’t have been so nasty about it. I’ll talk to Nora, try to work out why I responded like that.”

“And I’ll work on moving occasionally, so you feel more comfortable!”

“What?” That’s—no— “Jimmy, no. I don’t want you to change your behavior, you haven’t done anything wrong!”

Jimmy turns the heat of the lower right burner on low, sets down the spatula. He leaves the food to sit beside Scott, takes his hands in his own.

“Petal,” he says seriously. “When you started leaving doors open for me, that was a change in your behavior to keep me safe, even though you weren’t doing anything wrong by closing them.”

“Yeah, but—”

“When I asked you to not stand over me if I’m on the floor, that was a change in your behavior that you made and you definitely didn’t have to, but you choose to crawl across rooms sometimes so that I feel safe. When I asked you not to touch my head, you immediately stopped, even though it was an instinct for you.” Jimmy kisses one of Scott’s hands, smiles softly. “This isn’t a big change for me. And it’ll help you feel safe. Let me do this for you.”

Scott bites his lip. “But what if it is a big change for you? What if you try to fidget and have a flashback?”

“Well, then we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Jimmy shrugs. He stands, squeezing Scott’s hands before letting go. “Now how about I finish making this, and you hop in the shower, and then we can eat and go to bed. Sound good?”

It sounds wonderful, especially when Scott had convinced himself not long ago that he deserved to be dumped by Jimmy. Maybe his thoughts today haven’t exactly been rational.

He showers, and they eat, and they turn in early but lie in bed and finish their episode on Scott’s laptop. When it’s over and Scott puts the laptop to the side, Jimmy snuggles up to his chest and closes his eyes.

“I feel like I really messed up today,” Scott whispers.

Jimmy hums. “Maybe you did mess up. But we’ll get through it. And tomorrow we can talk about it more to really sort out the issue, okay?”

“Okay.”

Jimmy tilts his head up, presses a soft kiss to Scott’s lips. “I love you.”

“I love you.”

Scott wakes in the middle of the night, frantically reaching for Jimmy’s arm to take his pulse. Jimmy just sniffs, mumbles something in his sleep, presses himself closer to Scott.

Scott watches his chest rise and fall until he feels secure. Then he lets his eyes flutter closed and finally falls into a dreamless sleep.

#empires smp #esmp #empires smp fanfic #empires superpowers au #esh au #mas writes #flower husbands #yeah i'm sorry about this one #i just didn't like the idea that they're both perfect all the time #yk what relationships are messy and you inevitably hurt the other person sometimes #that's okay. you just have to talk about it and fix it #then move on #and i do need to make clear that jimmy messes up too #it happens. they accidentally hurt each other sometimes #i also just wanted to explore secondhand trauma a little bit #as i've not really written about it yet afaik #but lmk what you think!#love you guys

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sorrygotthesesacks · 2 months

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I had this whole thing written out yesterday (mostly in the tags) comparing my favorite pretty pretty man in hypmic (and his ride or die partner) with my favorite pretty pretty man in twst (and his ride or die partner) but I don’t see it on my blog and it’s not in my drafts.

Apologies if you see it twice here on Tumblr (I’ve posted less coherent thoughts on other social media platforms).

I ramble more today, so...

So our pretty liar once again speaks of meeting in a dream. He used this phrase in Once Upon a Time in Shibuya, too.

But this time, Gentaro uttering the words “meet in a dream” was an absolute gut punch.

He has such a romantic way of speaking - which is very much like Sebek!

Anyway. Gentaro's lyrics.

How am I expected to be normal about this?

#thinking of Gentaro and his lying #(flirting)#such a contrast to Silver's earnest sincerity #but they both have family issues #if we believe Gentaro was lying about lying in Scenario Liar #they're both orphans #taken in by 'elderly' caretakers #(sorry Lilia - going by years lived here)#they both have strong family loyalty #devoting themselves wholeheartedly to defending them #Gentaro for revenge #Silver as a misguided attempt to repay what he sees as a debt he owes Lilia for taking him in #but their partners - we have to talk about Dice and Sebek too!#Dice leaps to Gentaro's defense without even knowing the details #because he sees how upset Gentaro is #Gentaro who hides his smiles behind his sleeve and conceals his real emotions most of the time #he lights into Hifumi (and poor Doppo by extension) because Hifumi's words hurt Gentaro #meanwhile Sebek #who shows with his actions that Silver does not need to change himself for anyone #then there's the whole book 7 spoilery stuff #meanwhile Dice with his issues with his mother #and Sebek who despite having loving parents has issues with his father #for different reasons they're both separating themselves from a parent as much as possible #Gendice and Silbek are such yin and yang for each other #This is why I cannot see them with anyone else #they're just too perfect for one another #and all I needed to ramble on in the tags about my OTPs was simply #meet in a dream #gendice #silbek

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noxtivagus · 2 years

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i remember again n feel better hehe 🥹🤍

#🌙.rambles #thought i'd just ramble abt this to my notes but maybe a fellow wanderer wld come across this #i mean. aside from a few irls that could very much stumble across this.. i get shy n embarrassed at the though of it but OH WELL HDKGJSKDS #majority here r basically friends acquaintances n strangers that essentially don't know. like my real name or address or wtvr.#basically we don't know each other irl directly so it's somehow for some reason much easier for me to be open about how i feel in tumblr ta #s bcs 1) i write VERY long. very unlikely that someone wld read it unless they seeked it out for some reason that only they'd know #my brain's empty rn it's a bit of a mess but i feel better than just pure emptiness bcs i remember how #genuinely when it comes to other ppl.. despite how they may feel about their own selves. disappointed hatred wtvr #that. regardless of that i know that my own truth for them would be that i'll love them the same #let's say if i don't reach a certain standard for my own grades. say i usually get grades that r 90-100 often around the higher end too #but for one course i get vey slightly below the 90 mark. i'd feel like such a failure i'd feel like such a disappointment #so much so that i genuinely can't accept how others aren't disappointment in me despite how much of a failure i feel i am #turn the tables however; how do i react for others? even if. theoretically let's say they outright fail #i wouldn't think of them as anything less. it doesn't change anything bcs i genuinely love and care for the other wholly from the heart #they're my equal. they're my friend. yeah.. i rmb times in the past where i wld nearly break down from being around the passing score for #only 1 exam. i'd have friends that failed though. & i also forgot of how for other exams i basically got perfect or wtvr #it's so easy to just blind ourselves n focus on failure n forget. things that r most important #i deal with failure.. very badly honestly bcs i achieved very well as a kid. aside from stuff in filipino which uh. yeah trauma but um #maths n sciences n english or wtvr n nearly everything else i'd get easy perfects but i'd forget them over one disappointment #i struggled w that lately w my released grades n it still hurts the regret really hurts so much n i hate myself so much for it but #i'm.. trying to be kind n i've managed to feel like myself for a while today. progress. thats enough to be proud of #bcs yk knowing how others feel of their own selves n the way i treat them despite it. i cld at least try again to do the same for myself #say 10 years from now i'd be more thankful n happy if i forgave myself for it than destroyed myself in pursuit of doing better #more than. success in terms of grades i'd much rather grow n develop as a person #that said recently i've had so much anxiety w reaching out to ppl n i reply slowly but i'm trying to do better #bcs yesterday i rmb feeling so low that i really wanted to reach out to someone.. that's a whole nother lvl of pain for me bcs that means #my hopelessness reached a level enough that i knew i really needed comfort n support or i'll break #indirectly. helping you made me realize n remember myself. n i felt well enough to reach out once more.. i'm too shy to say directly but #thank you very much for that. it means more to me than you'll ever know

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nitw · 7 months

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OKAY REAL TALK. i'm on episode 5 rn. if this keeps up the way i think it is then this show is such a fucking genius adaptation, and i never would've seen it coming

like yeah, an animated scott pilgrim series authentic to the comics and the story bryan originally wanted to tell would've been amazing too. but when you think about it, SCOTT'S story has already been told to us more than a few times now. even if the live action movie took a different turn by accident, the overall message of "well-intentioned people can still make, and should still take responsibility for, mistakes that hurt those who care about them, and indifference will only end up hurting them back" still sticks for the most part.

but it's mainly been from scott's perspective. which makes sense! he's the main character, so, obviously!! but here's the thing: ramona has ALWAYS served as a reflection of scott's issues. ngl i think this is one of the most consistent things in the entire franchise, and it's why i love ramona so much. as we dive further into her backstory we learn just how much of a wall she's built around herself, how she's afraid of trusting people, but especially that, as sympathetic as she is, she's also caused so much (unintentional) damage herself. although she's introduced as someone literally too good to be true and unreachable by scott's standards, it becomes more and more apparent how similar scott and ramona are, and so they're perfect for guiding each other towards a brighter path.

and what better way to highlight this than to flip the tables completely, putting RAMONA center stage aka making the audience intimately familiar with her immediately, making SCOTT the mysterious damsel in distress/goal at the finish line instead, driving ramona to face the 7 evil exes and making amends with them in a way scott never could???

also can i just say. HUGE SHOUTOUT to the marketing team for hiding this reveal SOOOOO well. like seriously, i was worried they were showing TOO MUCH in the trailers BUT I WAS WRONG. WE GOT PLAYED SO HARD

#ANYWAY ILL KEEP WATCHING NOW #leo.txt #spto spoilers #ramona flowers #scott pilgrim #spvstw #scott pilgrim takes off

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luveline · 6 months

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that spencer x bombshell one you just posted has me giggling and kicking my feet I think I’m in love with YOU 🫵

Now I’m thinking of spencer x bombshell where the team starts to not view reid as unwillingly tortured by her flirting. Like maybe Morgan makes a comment to reid about something he does and is like “don’t torture the poor girl” and he’s like oh shit I’M the one torturing too now?

im in love with YOU !! for you, ty for requesting ♡ fem

“Difficult,” you say, resting your head on the table.

“I know.” Spencer wiggles his pen back and forth between two fingers, thinking hard. This case is proving to be indecipherable. None of the details want to add up, and no clear profile geographical or otherwise appears.

“Useless.”

“Who, me or you?”

“Us.” You sigh morosely. “Mostly me.”

You're not being serious. Spencer huffs a soft laugh and continues to turn the details over in his head. You open your notebook and scratch down a couple of sentences with a pen, a visual thinker. Your mind map turns to a second iteration and then a third. You can't connect the dots because they're too far apart from each other; Spencer can't do it either. Not alone.

He scoots his chair as close to yours as possible, your knees touching, his elbow in your side. “Can I look?” he asks.

“Of course you can. Sorry about my handwriting.”

He shakes his head. Your handwriting is perhaps the only thing about you he wouldn't say was one hundred percent perfect. You can't control it like other things. It is perfect, in a way, because it's yours, but you've been writing quickly and he struggles to make out the occasional letter.

He leans in toward the page. “What's this word?” he asks.

You lean in to see it. “Coruscated.”

“The swimming pool?” he asks, lifting his face to yours. You're closer now, and beautiful like this. He can see the powder under your eyes, the lines in your irises, the slight fading of your lipstick at the corners of your mouth. There's an eyelash on your cheek. He lifts a hand to wipe it away. “What's so important about that?”

“It reminded me of something…” You pause as he touches your face. “Something…” Your voice lilts up in question, half-shudder.

“Eyelash,” he explains, blowing it off of his finger.

“Right,” you say, eyes oddly wide and soft at once, your eyebrows lifted at the starts.

“You okay?”

“Is she okay? Reid, you're torturing the poor girl. Give her some air,” Morgan says with a chuckle.

Spencer leans backwards in surprise, no idea what Morgan could possibly mean. Your eyes relax as you regain some personal space, your hands coming together loosely in your lap. You laugh weakly.

Spencer looks you up and down. He's torturing you? That doesn't make sense. For as long as you've known one another, the team has joked that your flirty ways and feminine wiles are too much for Spencer to handle. You once gave him an apology he didn't want, worried you actually were hurting him by being your playful self, and he'd set that straight immediately. You don't torture him. It's a lot of feelings to be doted on so much by you, and painful isn't one of them. Overwhelming, sometimes, and exciting, sure.

He never realised he had the power to overwhelm you. Not until that moment. You offer a funny smile far from your usual smirk and try to steamroll Morgan's claim. “Guess I should've made a wish.”

“What would you wish for?” Spencer asks quietly.

You still. Morgan shakes his head in disapproval, but he laughs again and stands up. “I think they'd call that a taste of your own medicine, sweetheart,” he says to you.

You meet Spencer's eye. “I think they would,” you say bashfully.

For three blissful seconds, Spencer enjoys the reality of having made you flustered. You, gorgeous, confident you, left flushed and a little daunted by his casual actions and simple (maybe slightly flirtatious) questioning. But then he remembers how much he likes you and pushes it away.

“Sorry,” he says, plastering a smile over uncertain lips, “I didn't mean to do that.”

“No, it's okay.”

He turns to your notes, but gives you a look from the side. “I hope you wished for someone to solve the case. We're never getting anywhere like this.”

“Are you saying you can't?” You rest your chin in your hand. “And here I thought you were more than a pretty face.”

You have a quick recovery rate, evidently.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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emeraldbloodcrown · 2 months

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i'm thinking of an alpha 141, with price and simon being you stereotypical alphas, while johnny and kyle might be mistaken for betas - until you piss them off and then even price and simon struggle to hold them back.

they're all alphas but they're also all part of the same pack, which wasn't planned by either of them but it's not unheard of for that to happen in a task force as close knit as the 141. it's their bread and butter to go into the most dangerous situations, to protect one another, to take bullets or knifes for the others; they're the only ones who can actually understand the depth of the trauma each of them is going through.

of course they'd bond together and form a pack. but they're all also alphas. alphas with a desperate wish to mate and breed, and they can't do that with each other, they need an omega for that. but an omega who not only accepts and respects their weird pack dynamic but actively wants that? unheard of, chances so slim they were non-existent.

but so were the chances of simon crawling out of that grave or johnny recovering from that shot to the head.

and they did find one, someone who loved all four of them, someone who wanted to be their mate and give them a child. a beautiful little girl, who somehow seemed to share all of their appearances. and it was perfect.

until it wasn't. until these alphas had to gravel with the situation that their omega was gone, mating bond ripped apart, and their little girl screaming her lungs out. so used to the omega's scent, which after months of trying their best was now fully gone, that it put her in severe distress for weeks on end, leaving not only her but her fathers restless.

and then there's you, their newly moved in neighbor, they only knew their name from their landlord when they came back from their latest mission, knocking and looking just as stressed as them.

price had opened the door for you, chest puffed and ready to tear you apart for coming at his pack but you were calm..exhausted beyond belief, of course, but understanding and most of all concerned for their girl..

"all that screaming can't be healthy for her either"

you had a small container with you, a remedy from your great-grandmother, all herbal so as not to offend her nose, that needs to be rubbed into her chest before bed.

"i'll just leave it here, maybe it helps"

johnny, always the perceptive one, will forever remember how you smiled sadly at their daughter, how your fingers seemed to itch towards her before you remembered your place and just left.

they would soon find out that you were an utter blessing, kind to the bone and so unbelievably considerate. the ointment worked wonders and for the first time in over a month, they saw their daughter smile again and each other finally relax.

and from that point on, johnny was gone, absolutely enamored by you and always jumping at the chance to invite you into their circles, knowing full well the others were much more hesitant, the pain and trauma from their omega abandoning them still stiff in their bones.

but they'd see what he already saw, and it was like you wanted to prove him right when you found out about what happened to their omega, to the one among them that should be bonded the closest to their little girl but was still able to just leave.

you clenched your fingers so tight he was almost afraid you'd break something, the muscles in your neck tightened and you downright snarled, nostrils flared and lip pulled back.

"is...is that normal? her screaming like that for weeks on end? is that likely to happen with something like this?"

the air in the room tensed, charged, similar to before a storm, and it answered all of their suspicion, when they gave you the answer that yes, it was normal - and it audibly cracked around you, like thunder striking, and you had to take a deep breath, mumbling in an old language to let your environment not be influenced by your emotions, lest you hurt or scare any of them.

"you're a witch"

and damn, it should terrify him, witches and shifters don't mix well but all he can think of is that he was right, you were perfect for them, your protectiveness of their daughter only outmatched by them, and if johnny hadn't already made up his mind, hadn't already talked it through with his pack, this would definitely solidify it:

witch or not, you were theirs and mark or not, they'd never let you leave again.

#crown mumbles #i have a distinct idea with this #can you see it??#cod mw2 #cod x reader #141 x reader #poly 141 #john price #john price x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #johnny mactavish #johnny mactavish x reader #kyle garrick #kyle garrick x reader

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buckyalpine · 7 months

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Edit to add: thought it saved with tw, non con, dark winter soldier

I wanna fuck the beefy winter soldier who uses me like a sex doll, just a hole to fuck. I want him to shove it in whenever he wants, fully focused on pleasuring his dick and nothing else. He’s chasing that pleasure at the tip of his pink cock that feels so good, grunting and groaning, wide touch hands holding you down in place.

Imagine he comes to finish a mission, breaking into a large mansion in the middle of the night only to find no ones home except the sweet little maid, still dressed in her tiny uniform, finishing up in the master bedroom.

You freeze on the spot, ready to beg him to spare your life as he shut the door behind him, swiftly locking it. He's programed to kill but you're evoking something new inside him. He feels pressure between his legs, his cock aching with need, a new desperate desire he needs to quench.

You know that scene with the red henley, his thick, muscular body throwing others around with 0 effort. I want that but with no clothes on. Clothes make his body feel too hot. He takes it all off when he stalks over to you, rock hard cock bobbing between his legs when he grabs and throws you over his shoulder. He might as well be an animal, precum dripping from the head down to the floor from your smell alone.

He’s absolutely unhinged.

Hasn’t had an orgasm in years.

Nearly nonverbal as he gets ready to take what he wants.

Your heart races, too scared to cry while he shoves your legs apart, groaning at your sweet scent. He tears your clothes off with his bare hands before experimentally pumping his cock, moaning at the bit of relief it gives him.

He needs more.

"P-Please-please no-Oh God!" You cry out as he shoves his cock in with one swift motion, pounding you with no remorse, grunting and panting, inhaling the scent of your perfect and something distinctly you as he snarls against your neck.

It feels so good, the serum in his veins making his cock swell with each thrust, thick drops of precum already marking you from the inside. His sole focus is to get rid of the achy feeling in his dick by using you, wanting to stop the heavy feeling in his balls. They're too heavy, too swollen, too full, it fucking hurts and your cunt feels so good, wrapped around his cock.

He moans louder with each thrust, pleasure licking up his spine, your needy little squeals just adding to how good it all feels. He loves the sting of your nails scratching down his arms, your tight pussy quivering and fluttering around him.

He sits back on his heels to watch the sight of his cock going in and out, your sensitive button throbbing between your legs. He gives it a flick, fucking you harder when he realizes touching you there makes you scream. He flicks and rubs at it wildly, loving how much tighter you get when he does that.

He gives you no warning when he pulls out and manhandles you till your face is pushed into the mattress with your ass high in the air, his cock reaching a much deeper angle in this position. He grabs onto your hips with both hands and slams you to meet the sharp snap of his hips, muttering something in a language you don't understand.

You can tell he's close, feeling him harden further inside you, his pace starting to falter. He's panting harder, head thrown back feeling that release get closer and closer. He gives you a final harsh thrust before burring himself in as deep as he could go, letting out a deep guttural moan as he starts to spill into you, his hot cum pouring out endlessly.

He wants to stop but he can't, waves of pleasure continuing to wash over him each time he thinks he's almost done, letting your body go limp while he flops on top and practically ruts and humps himself until he's finally soft and spent. He pulls out, searing the sight of his seed dripping out to memory before throwing his clothes back on. The empty feeling makes you whimper.

"moya khoroshaya devochka" [my good girl] he murmurs before leaving, already deciding he's ready to go rogue just to add this location to his list of places to revisit.

This wasn't meant to be part of the story but imagine he does come back to take what he wants and you let him. A few weeks later you feel insanely nauseous, throwing up every time you eat, exhausted and constantly wanting to nap.

When he sneaks in again, your scent in different and he knows. You're confused when he doesn't ravish you. Instead he wordlessly puts his hand on your belly. You look at him with confusion, especially when he picks you up softly and puts you to bed instead, keeping his hand back on your tummy.

"nash malysh" [our baby] he says softly and slowly, hoping you'd understand. Of course you quickly piece it together, only snapping out of your shock feeling his cold metal hand cup your cheek.

He makes love to you that night.

He's not sure why. He knows he has to be gentle with you. He should end you, end this mess before it goes any further but its too late. He's soft and slow. He holds you close and moves with such care, giving you deep thrusts with the roll of his hips. He lets his hands lace with yours, pinning you against the bed, squeezing them comfortingly as if to let you know he's not going anywhere.

He knows he doesn't have a lot of time. You'll be showing soon.

He'll figure something out.

Idk why tf I can't just write fics with the winter soldier where he fucks and leaves. It always ends with some stupid fluff which I didn't intend to add.

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luvfy0dor · 2 months

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“You Know That I'm Obsessed With Your Body ♡⁠˖” BSD Men x GN!Reader ੈ✩‧₊˚

╰┈➤ Chuuya Nakahara, Osamu Dazai, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Nikolai Gogol, Sigma, H.P. Lovecraft

Warnings; Suggestive, kisses, hickeys, bite marks, allusions to self harm (Dazai), sh scars (Dazai), prolly a little ooc

Description; BSD men and their physical attributes

A/n; CAS lyric title!!! But I cannot bring myself to write reqs RN so............but guys i actually talked to a guy OMG never thought I'd have big enough balls but I got his ig ^w^

⑅Chuuya Nakahara⑅

Chuuyas arms are beautiful to you, they're not insanely buff and they're not thin, but at a perfect equilibrium. They're decorated with intricate tattoos and beautiful colors, and sometimes small dotted lines left by your teeth or maroon spots formed by your love and passion for each other. You loved feeling them wrap around your torso or waist with him leaning his head against your back, letting all the thoughts in his mind flow from his mouth like a waterfall. Other times, he'd hang his arms over your shoulders, letting you feel his biceps against the nape of your neck, ghosting over the baby hairs on your skin. His arms can carry you too, no matter your weight. If it'd make you feel better, he'd use his ability to help and reassure you that he won't drop you or let you get hurt.

“There we go, darlin', see, I told you I wouldn't let you get hurt. Literally not even the strongest gust of wind could knock me over with you right now, so quit worrying.”

⑅Osamu Dazai⑅

Dazai has such a gorgeous torso, bandaged or not. His skin is soft on contrast to the rough and volatile life he's always lead. The only patches of skin that aren't smooth are the ones that are littered with past scars, whether self inflicted or from other people. When Dazai trusts you enough, he'll ask you to help him take off his bandages before bed, letting your fingers brush over the rigid bumps and sharply inhaling while adjusting to your sweet touch in a new, naked place. He lets you kiss the scars and it helps him feel a little relaxed receiving your acceptance through soft kisses and affection instead of being pitied or shamed for his past. It's not like you encourage it, but you don't waste your breath on lecturing him on why he shouldn't have. It's in the past, so instead you'll offer your support for him now rather than dwelling on what you can't change.

“Mmnn...your lips are so soft on my back, baby...keep going, sweetheart, you know how much I love feeling your kisses on my skin...”

⑅Nikolai Gogol⑅

Nikolais thighs could resurrect a dead man, and you couldn't help but feel the same way every time you had your head between or against them. Occasionally your hands would hold them apart and squeeze or grope at them, feeling the firmness beneath the palm of your hand. The pressure from your fingertips leaves temporary pale spots with every pinch and your teeth and tongue leave red ones in your wake as you kiss, suck, and bite all over his thigh, and he loves it. Nikolai loves the harsh feeling of your teeth clamping around his skin, making him gasp and giggle in excitement with a hand on your neck encouraging you to continue. He's got a higher pain tolerance, so if you like to give lovebites, especially on thighs, he's your guy.

“Ah-! Oh, don't worry dove, it doesn't hurt. You know I have a good pain tolerance! You can keep going, hehe, I don't mind it.”

⑅Fyodor Dostoevsky⑅

Fyodors hands are thin and pale aside from some select spots with higher blood concentration. His nails are bitten down to the quick almost always and his fingers are bony and thin. They rest gently on your hips when you sit on his lap while he types or just relaxes with you, his thumbs rubbing circles into the fabric of either your top or bottoms. Sometimes they'll travel upwards, resting against your midsection and making you shiver from their low temperature. He'd laugh under his breath at your reaction and slide them further up, loving the idea that he has you squirming in his grasp. Otherwise, he'd keep a hand on your thigh, rubbing it out of habit modestly. In public he keeps his hands to himself, but in private his hands have a mind of their own.

“Are they that cold, Moya Lyubov? You'll get used to it eventually, unless you'd like to find your own way to warm my hands up?”

⑅Sigma⑅

Sigmas jawline is so defined and Everytime you look at it, an overwhelming urge to kiss along it bubbles up inside of you. Sigma doesn't dislike it, but he'll act like he does, always squirming and playfully grimacing. Eventually he'll give in though, holding your hand while you pepper soft pecks along his skin. He'll return them all over your cheeks and nose, tickling your skin and making you giggle. You can't help but watch Sigmas fingers trace over his jawline while he's deep in thought about this that and the other, admiring how perfect it looks on him.

“H-hey, knock it off, I'm in the middle of fillin' out papers! I said quit it- huff...fine, just a few though! You're really distracting, you know that?”

Bonus; ⑅ H.P. Lovecraft⑅

His hair is so long and luscious- how could you not want to run your fingers through it while your sleepy boyfriend lays his head in your lap? The upper half is smooth and straight while it changes into silky curls towards the bottom, though they're not the tightest and allow for your fingers to brush through them with minimal effort. He loves the feeling of your hands against his scalp, giving soft hums and groans of a relaxed pleasure. His face has his usual neutrality regardless of how nice it feels to get his head massaged by his lover. He frequently lets you pull it into a ponytail or put it into braids or whatever style you please. He lets you brush it, too, as long as you start at the bottom instead of ripping the brush through his hair.

“Mnn...that feels nice, dear...don't mind if I fall asleep on top of you, I can't help it.”

A/n; I feel so bad for not getting to requests, something like this was the easiest thing to do this week though because I had mock trial comp right after school so i couldn't write anything from 8am-7;30 pm some nights and it was the end of the quarter so i had to focus more on school work.

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winters-rose-daughterofcain · 18 days

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It's actually so important to me how flawed Penelope is you don't get it. She's complex and she's kind and sweet and caring and loving and bitter and manipulative and insecure and she's young and hurt and fucking up and making mistakes and hurting people and loving people and handling things in the worst way possible with the resources she has on hand and she's allowed to.

So often for a fat (and I say that within the context of the show, Pen is a fat/pus sized character within the narrative even if Nicola isn't) character to have any storyline outside of mother or joke they have to be the perfect victim. To be fat is to be victimised by society to some degree, it is to be told you are unloved and unwanted and unworthy without anyone saying those exact words, we all know this even if we don't want to except it. It's why almost every fat character is bullied in some way even if it's passed off as a joke, and they are just expected to take it because to actually acknowledge the pain and hurt and damage that causes is to acknowledge their humanity.

There is no space for complexity when you do not recognise the humanity of a character, there is no room for mistakes or grace or forgiveness in a narrative when the character is presented as lucky to simply be there. This goes doubly so for romance, as rare as it is to even see plus sized girls as a romantic lead, when they are there is no room for mistakes, the standards they are held to are so vastly different because they can't fuck it all up, they have no room to make mistakes when people question why they're even there in the first place.

But not Penelope. She fucks up so many times over, she creates half her own problems trying to fix things or make herself feel better. It dose not shy away from the damage and underlining issues and insecurities the life she has lead has left her with, and it's sympathetic to be sure, but what she dose with it isn't. Because fat people do not have to be the perfect victim and honestly most of the time are not. Because when you tell someone how little they are worth and how out of place and undesirable they are at every turn and expect them to internalise that, especially a young girl with very little power at her immediate despoil, it doesn't always come out in a very nice palatable way. It doesn't always create nice sweet uncomplicated people who cry a little when insulted but otherwise brush it off. It creates people like Penelope, it creates anger and resentment and bitterness and a need for control.

Whistledown is so many things, not all of them negative, but it is the cause of so many problems in her life after she made it as an attempt at a solution. It has caused her to hurt people and betray people and lose some of the very few genuine connections she actually has. She manipulates people and misleads them to keep her secret, because keeping a secret like that will always result in that. Her motives are sympathetic, she rarely dose anything to bad without reasoning, she has all the excuses in the world and still at the end of the day she fucked up. Her and Eloise are the second love story of the season for a reason. She adores that girl so much and she is absolutely miserable without her, as Eloise is without her. They love each other so much and there is so much pain between them now, they're practically crying every time they look at each other. And even tho the situation was complicated an messy and not completely her fault, she did in a way cause it. She's hurt people and she's hurt herself. And I love that.

Because she's a main character. We know her and Eloise will make up even if it isn't the way it was before (arguably a good thing but that's a different post.) Because she's a romantic lead, because we know, even if we don't know how they get there yet, that she will get her happy ending with the man she absolutely adores and who loves her just as much. It will not be easy I don't want it to be easy, Colin has every right to be angry and hurt and betrayed and he deserves to have the space to say whatever it is he's feeling and to have a negative reaction, but he will forgive her. Part of that is just because of who he is and the relationship he has to her (mandatory Colin appreciation moment) but it's also because the narrative has given her room and grace to be flawed.

There is so much to love about Penelope. She's so intelligent, and she's funny, she's a good listener, she makes people feel heard and important, she's kind, she's attentive, she's romantic, she's creative, she's beautiful. She is a victim and people and society do hurt her, but that's not all she is. She's given the space to be more and still be forgiven and loved just like anyone else. Because her actions is what she's apologising for not her existence. She dose not need to earn her place in a love story just because she's fat, it's her actually flaws and mistakes that exist in abundance no matter how sympathetic some of them might be, that she has to make up for. And I adore that and her.

You take away so much of her character and her agency and her complexity when you say she did nothing wrong or that she's the absolute devil. Let her be flawed, let her be someone trying their best and failing at it, let her make mistakes. But give her some grace, for once the narrative is. Her happy ending will come Bridgerton is a romance show, but she'll have to work for it. Colin and her will work for and earn their happy ending together, because they love each other and because of who they are and what they mean to each other they will find a way to make it work, but also because the writers let them and her find it.

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yandere-kokeshi · 9 months

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Saw an idea from @frogchiro and decided to write some feral content. Send her some love ❤

TW: yandere, monster fucking, werewolves, some crack/funny thoughts, talks about pregnancy/having pups (still gender-neutral), and knotting stuff.

Imagine TF-141 being yandere werewolf hybrids, falling for you all at once, each sharing their own yandere traits; which, causes all of them to be wherever you are. The need to scent you. Need you to be beside them at all times. And soon bring you home as theirs.

And now, you're their mate, sharing is needed — pack mates practically share everything, no?

Out of the four, Soap and Gaz are the absolute worst — they're feral, energized through the roof, and has to follow you around constantly; nudging into your crotch as they need to smell you. Smell your addictive scent that makes them all types of crazy, causing them to start nipping at your poor skin, growling at each other as the need for breeding comes along.

They both love to yap and bark at you, gently grasping your hand to guide you back to your bed (aka nest) so they can cuddle you (or stuff you full of their knot, their fluffy fur likely suffocating you.)

Though, you are often saved by Simon, and Price, whom are the biggest. They growl at them to watch it and gently bite their ears on scolding, snarling at them of needing to be more careful, and to not hurt you. You're their perfect mate!

Of course, Soap and Gaz make it up with sloppy kisses. And how can you not forgive them? Their obvious doggy eyes working perfectly.

Simon and Price are more so on the chiller side. Watching from afar, and demand cuddles that end up with their heads laying on your lap, the thumping of their tails on the chewed-up couch shows their appreciation when you finally decide to pay them attention.

But don't think they don't get possessive – because they do. More often or not, the hickeys and knots come from them. Though, they're regularly the nicest, rarely one to hurt you, and more aware of their size.

But, their breeding cycles are the fucking worse. Soap and Gaz are naturally horny, biting at your form as their tongue hangs out, but Simon and Price are a menace when in heat. Being more vocal, possessive, and often nipping at your ankles to not stray too far.

Regularly dragging you by the scruff of your clothes where the two of you can mate, spending their heat in peace. Making sure that you can see Price flexing his burly muscles, wanting you to admire their wagging fluffy tails, and showing off how thick, glossy Simon's fur is, and how both of them. All of them, really, can provide you with pleasant things, including a healthy litter of pups.

Despite them being pack mates, all of them are fighting on a regular basis — they all want to be the first one to breed, knot, and have you carry their pups.

When in their full werewolf forms, soap is more prone to chasing butterflies, and bringing you back half-alive birds, barking at you for his proud hunt – his mouth and chest covered in deepening blood.

Though, Gaz, and Price, actually bring actual gifts that are thoughtful — plopping full landscape roses in front of you, the roots still connected to the plant as their tail wag violently as they wait for your praise.

Simon, on the other hand, brings actual food. Like… steals a whole ass barbecued-chicken from someone's backyard, and nudges it closer to you as it's still warm.

Stares at you to eat it, his hazel eyes demanding for you to take it, but immediately snaps at Johnny, who only cackles back. He tries so hard to steal the items every time Simon gifts you something (he just wants a bite out of your food — sharing means caring!).

Everywhere on your body is marked by them, the harsh-but-yet healed maw-marked implanted into your skin. Their marks are typically licked, and kissed on by them.

Bring me some more ideas, please!! I fucking love these men who are feral for you — especially as werewolves 🤭

—

Here's my mw2 masterlist for more things <3

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sharonccrter · 1 month

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I saw this really interesting video, which talked about my two biggest gripes with challengers' discourse. Which are that everyone keeps saying Art is the heart of this movie, and secondly, the insistence that Patrick doesn't love Tashi, only Art. The creator pushes back against these two narratives, and I wholeheartedly agree. Patrick is arguably the heart of this movie.

Two of the most important scenes in the movie are the churro scene and the scene between p/t out in the storm, and they both centre around Patrick.

The entire movie is about passion and purpose in life, and Patrick is the passion.

I mean, a lot of people assume Patrick didn't really have feelings for Tashi, but the only person who says that is Art. Who is vying for Tashi and is his biggest competitor. The reason I empathise with Patrick is that he is genuine and loving to Art; he does love him. However, we are shown no evidence to suggest that Patrick is this shitty boyfriend, apart from what Art says when he's trying to get into Tashi's head because his jealous. We find out that they're talking every week while he's on tour (normal relationship shit). It's Art who insinuates that Patrick is cheating while on tour. The only person in this movie who says Patrick doesn't love Tashi is Art, and it's obviously very intentional.

I think the reason both Tashi and Art push Patrick out of their lives is because he forces them to comfort parts of themselves they are not yet comfortable with. I mean, it's obvious why Tashi would react that way to Patrick; she's just lost the most important thing in her life. However, I think it's tragic from Patrick's point of view as well. I mean, what did Patrick really do? He got into a fight with his girlfriend because she hurt his feelings.

And no, he's hurt was not about Art. The fight made him feel unimportant, which made him feel like she didn't actually care about him. And that's where Art comes in, because who was going around telling Patrick Tashi didn't give a shit? You bet ya. Art. Art absolutely got into his head. And even if he clocked it, in that moment, he still allowed it to get to him because he was emotional and upset. And because he was too hurt to support her, he was thrown out of Tashi and Art's lives.

And here's the thing, Patrick never saw Tashi as an idea. He saw her as a real person, unlike Art kinda did. Patrick wasn't going to let Tashi treat him like shit just because she was special. And, tbh, if Tashi hadn't gotten injured, I think it's something she would have eventually been grateful for. But instead, she got hurt; she pushed Patrick away, and Art slid into his place, telling her that she could be his entire world and the star. That's not healthy, and sorry to stay a little manipulative.

And let's talk about Art. Patrick and him were literally fire and ice. They always had this underlying desire. They were perfect opposites. Let's face it: Art could never replicate what he had on the court (and off) with anyone else. But instead of confronting his feelings, he took the first chance he had to get Patrick out of his life.

The girl I was watching said it perfectly, "Art and Tashi allowed themselves to find consolation prizes in each other and allowed them to run from parts of themselves they didn't want to comfort and in turn enable each other's worst habits."

Art tries to become a tennis superstar so Tashi can live through him, and Tashi gives him a family so he can finally be confident in who he is. But is there any passion? I don't know; I think at some point, it drained; nothing about what I saw on screen apart from their initial get-together screams passion.

Cue Patrick walking back into their life and showing them how they can feel. Art was always going to let Tashi live through him, but that was never going to be satisfying for her. Tashi needs to find a way to create an identity for herself, separate from him. And I believe it'll be the only way she'll live a satisfying life. That's why they need Patrick: to make them realise that and to help them rediscover their passion.

I think people think that Art is the heart because Patrick admits to being a piece of shit. But the truth is, they're all dicks; Patrick was just the only one who was willing to admit it.

#challengers movie #challengers #patrick zweig #art donaldson #tashi duncan #josh o'connor #mike faist #zendaya

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xoxotria · 2 months

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starcrossed | hjs

pairing: professor!hong joshua x student!reader

themes: professorxstudent relationship, flirting in public, smut

warnings: none

tick. tock. tick. tock.

time was moving painfully slow today. normally you’d find dr. hong's class interesting but today you just couldn't seem to focus for some reason.

well—you couldve been focusing on the lesson if it weren’t for your stupidly hot professor teaching, his attire slightly different from his usual because the first few buttons of his shirt was unbuttoned whilst his tie hung looser than it normally would around his neck.

it was as if the world was plotting against you to actually do well this semester because of the temptation speaking to the entire class infront of you.

you shouldn’t be having these kinds of thoughts for your professor (he wasn’t that much older, just your senior of 2 years as he had graduated early) but goddamn was he fine. you just couldn’t help but think of him that way—his perfect head of hair that is perfectly messy and perfectly wavy on days he doesn’t gel in place. he's tall and buff. some people describe him as somewhat on the thinner side but i can tell he has more than some hidden muscles under his suit. his big brown eyes are hypnotizing; and his pink plump lips—fucking perfect.

don't even get me started on his hands. hands that i've imagined on my body in the most inappropriate ways—gripping, spanking, rubbing, choking.

he's a profiler so he's probably picked up on the fact that you were attracted to him. and you no profiler but you think he's attracted to you some way too. he looks at you when he thinks you don't notice (but you do). and they're not just any kind of looks; they're long looks, looks that start at your legs and end at your eyes. like that one time you just so happened to wear a short skirt and thigh high socks. walking in late and stopped him mid sentence as he watched you take a seat on the front row. he quite literally choked on his words. and in that moment you felt such a boost of confidence to be able to get that sort of reaction out of him. seeing what you did to him turned you on enough to be miserable for the rest class.

today you were not wearing a short skirt and you were bored. you wanted to get his attention somehow. it's wrong—so wrong.

but this couldn't hurt right?

you remembered you were wearing a tight fitting tank top under your sweater. you decided to discreetly pull down your top and take off your sweater then lean forward and pretend to be engulfed in the subject he's discussing, showing quite a bit of cleavage just enough to get his attention.

he usually paces from one side to the other when he discusses to check if the class was still listening. and you happen to be sitting towards the right side of the room and he's walking towards the left so you wait patiently for him to turn around.

he's walking. walking. walking. and turn.

"what i find interesting is the part where jane says that a lady's imagination jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony in a moment. what do you think she—" he stopped dead in his tracks; he spotted you.

you smile innocently as you feign to be listening intently to the discussion.

"uhh, ahem" he clears this throat nervously.

"miss, what do you think she meant by this?" he improvised, catching you off guard.

people started to turn their heads in you direction so you instinctively leaned back and slightly pulled up your tank.

shit, he got me there.

you could see a small smirk form on his face as he waited for your answer.

"well..." you start hesitantly, "that women are used to being disillusioned."

"that's your take?" he cocks his head and raises an eyebrow.

"yes. that's how i interpret it. how would you sir?" you both start to engage in a back and forth. your gazes locked on each other.

"i believe she refers to women's ability to develop deep feelings for someone when they respect them," he walks a few steps forward with both hands in his pockets. you nod your head slowly in agreement.

"i suppose you're not wrong. but the two don't necessarily contradict each other." you add, feeling more confident now with your answer.

"mmm you're right miss. I can always count on you to give me good answers."

you had laid low for the rest of the class, periodically answering some questions for recitation. he had avoided lingering too much on your side of the room probably to remove suspicion on his side from his flustered outburst.

"that's all for today, class. have a good weekend."

slightly embarrassed from what happened earlier in class you try to leave swiftly, passing by the professor's desk avoiding eye contact.

"miss, may i speak to you for a second?" he called out behind me as you curse under your breath for not getting out faster.

you turned around hesitantly and saw him sitting at his desk, looking at papers; almost as if he hadn't called you over. you walk back to his desk as the last few students leave the classroom, leaving us alone.

you start to get nervous as your brain imagines all the things he could say to me.

could he be mad about what you had said in class? is he gonna call you out for your flirting? is he gonna kick me out of his class? fuck—that can’t happen. this was a prerequisite for another class you have next semester.

"the last paper i assigned was due yesterday, you haven't turned it in" he looks up at you as he props his arms up in front of him and interlocks his fingers, resting his chin on his hands.

you had let go of a breath you hadn't realized you were holding—a late paper you could handle but him calling me out or worse dropping you from his class? another story.

"i'm sorry professor, i haven't finished it yet" you make slight puppy dog eyes in the hopes he'll be the tinest bit forgiving. normally he hates it when students turn in their work late and you did not want be one of them that he mentally puts a label on for being tardy.

"can you have it done by tomorrow? i'll be in my office at around 9pm, you can drop it off then. normally i wouldn't open office hours on weekends but i can make the exception; just this once."

"i can do that. i'll have it done by then sir."

"good. you're a bright student, i wouldn't wanna see your grades suffer due to tardiness." he leaned back on his chain and places his hands on his lap.

your eyes had drifted towards his lap—it almost looked like an invitation but you knew better than that.

"thank you dr. hong i greatly appreciate it." you say with all sincerity as you watch a small smirk form on his lips.

does he like it when i call him that?

"i'll see you tomorrow at 9pm sharp, miss."

well, fuck. no escaping him now.

⋆˚🐾˖°

you've finished your paper as soon as you got home and now your mind is being filled with tempting ideas you should not be entertaining.

what if i wore a short skirt again? no. it'll be too obvious what you trying to do.

but wouldn't that be the point though? what point was i making anyways? am i really considering trying to get my professor to sleep with me? you groaned as you jumped into your bed.

the thought kept looming over my head the next morning, during the day, in the afternoon—the entire time i was awake and before i knew it it was time for me to get ready. it's settled—you want him and you wanted him bad.

⋆˚🐾˖°

you walked into the campus surprised that the main buildings are even open at 9pm on a saturday. the halls were so dimly lit, you almost couldn't find his office if you didn’t know the way to the room like the back of your hand.

you were late but that was on purpose. you were hoping it'll get a rise out of him. you decided to put on the same skirt and knee high socks as the last time, except your skirt is slightly more hiked up and you were wearing a very form fitting cropped sweater.

once you reached the door with his name on it you stop for a moment to muster up courage. you loved his name, it really did suit him.

you knock on the door and hear a faint, "come in."

you open the door to reveal a room that looks like any typical college professor’s office; but in a good way. it's lit up by a few lamps and candles, there's books on shelves and on the floor all opened as if dr. hong rummaged through it for research, there's a small couch with throw pillows and a blanket and his desk is facing the door—it was homey. you liked it.

it's not until the click of the door closing that he looks up from whatever he's doing. he does a quick double take and gulps and from where you were you could see him shift in his chair slightly.

"you're ten minutes late," he leans back on his chair and intertwines his hands together on top of his lap.

"there was traffic leaving my house i'm sorry." you lied.

"do you have the paper i asked for?"

"yes," you reached into you bag and dug out a folder with your essay neatly tucked inside and walked over to his desk and handed him the folder.

"i wanna read it over and give you your grade before you leave. please, make yourself comfortable."

you obliged, sitting down in one of the chairs in front of his desk and dropping your bag in the other.

he began reading my essay while you observed him. it was evident he was trying extra hard to focus. as he read and turned the pages you were entranced by the way his fingers moved and caressed the paper softly as if it was fragile.

at this point you were starting to imagine his hands on you again, creating a wetness between your thighs in probably the sluttiest panties you owned and if you had been a bit more entranced you wouldn't have noticed all the times he snuck glances at you while he read the paper he seemed to be approving, which was another relief.

finished he dropped the folder and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk.

"it's a great essay, A+." he finally spoke.

you let out a breath you didn't notice you were holding.

"thank you dr. hong.”

"you're a great writer," he complimented, "but you really need to work on the tardiness."

"yes, you're totally right. i will work on that sir."

silence filled the room and all that raced through your mind was that you had to make your move.

now or never.

you stood up slowly and walked around the desk, your finger tracing the smooth wooden surface. you don't say a word and can tell he's trying to decipher what the hell you doing. once you were all the way around you sit on the desk, right in between his legs.

"what are you—"

"do you like having me as your student, dr. hong?"

he gulps and shifts in his seat, "yes."

you hooked your foot under his chair and pull him closer watching as his eyes drift towards your lips then up to your eyes again.

“what’s your favorite thing about me being your student?”

"uh, well, you're very smart and—"

"are you sure it's not staring at my ass and legs when i wear skirts like this?" you cut him off, leaning forward slightly.

he exhaled through his nose, looking deep into your eyes and you see he's giving in. concern flashes in his eyes for keeping things professional as it fades into lust and desire.

"i do like it when you wear skirts like that," his voice was no longer hesitant. he knew you wanted him just as much as he wanted you—and that was all he needed not to be nervous.

"mmm, why?" both of you were inching closer to each other. you could smell the perfume he wears to class that always seemed to get your attention in more ways than one.

god, did he smell divine.

"because i can imagine lifting it up to fuck you bent over my desk." his hand began sliding up your leg feeling you up as he did.

your breath got caught your throat when you heard him say it.

"that's what you're gonna do to me?"

"mhm, maybe that'll teach you a lesson on being tardy all the time." he stood up slowly, towering over you with both his hands are now caressing your thighs—his thumbs getting dangerously close to your soaking core.

"then teach me, doctor."

a smirk grew on his face as it did on your own as you challenged him. he tilted your chin up with his finger and leaned down slowly—painfully slowly. your lips graze each others as he avoided kissing you fully.

"can i kiss you?" he asked, your lips nearly touching.

"you can fuck me." you said impatiently breathing getting heavier.

"but can i kiss you?"

it confused you that he wanted to be a gentleman now after explicitly telling you he wanted to fuck you bent over his desk but then you realized he was just teasing you some more.

"yes." you breathed out before pulling him in by the back of his neck and practically going in tongue first.

he immediately pressed his body against yours, and you pulled him even closer by his cardigan. once you was clutching it you thought: why does he still have this on?

you quickly started to unbutton his cardigan as if your life depended on it whilst he slid his hand in your hair pulling on it by the roots.

"you're greedy huh? i bet you're already soaking wet."

"why don't you see for yourself?"

how you even got to utter that sentence was past you. you just needed him and you needed him now.

he grinned before attaching his lips to yours again and slithering his hand under your skirt and into your panties. you moaned softly into his mouth at the feeling of his fingers sliding in your folds and brushing against your bundle of nerves with the fingers you fantasized so much about.

"i hadn't even touched you and you were already this wet for me? all this for me?" he slid his hand out and put his fingers in his mouth and sucked—your mouth hung open in both shock and desire.

that was fucking hot.

"i wanna taste more of you, babygirl." he said looking at you through half hooded eyes.

he got down on his knees and scooted you forward to align himself with your entrance as he then began peppering kisses up ypur thighs as he hiked the skirt up more and more.

once you were exposed he kissed your clit through your underwear—at this point you couldn't help but groan as you grew heavy with anticipation. he hooked a finger on your underwear and tugged them off before he kissed your clit again. this time his lips made direct contact with your skin and a louder moan escaped your lips—you swore you could see your juices coating his soft pink lips.

he started licking softly and slowly. your hips beggining to rocking against his face almost as if they had a mind of their own. he picked up the speed just a little bit and then he stayed in that pace.

fuck this man is driving me insane. i want him like this—all day and everyday, always.

like waves your pleasure kept rolling in as he fucked you with his tongue. you could feel the familiar knot building up in you as began panting and moaning like crazy as his tongue danced slowly on your clit in circles. that's when he inserted a single finger and hooked it upwards hitting that one spot that makes you cry out in pleasure.

"oh fuck!" you cried out pulling his face deeper with your thighs as you crossed them behind his head as you heard him moan in response. your hand was tangled in his beautiful head of hair and you tugged on it slightly.

you couldn't believe it. he's moving ever so softly but you can feel so much pressure building up and then it crashed down on you—hard. body began shaking uncontrollably as your thighs clenched together locking him in but he didn't stop what he was doing.

it wasn't until you had come down from your high that he detached himself from you. this man really had you seeing stars for a moment.

he got up and kissed me again tasting yourself on him—his lips felt so nice on mine that i could kiss him forever.

"get up." he commanded softly as you followed.

he pushed his chair to the side and turned you around kissing your neck as he ran his hands all over your body with you becoming a moaning mess again.

"say my name." his hands grabbed my breasts as you felt your eyes roll to the back of your head from the way he played with your nipples with his fingers.

"joshua." you moaned out.

he groaned into your ear and quickly bent you over pressing his hard dick against your ass.

"you see what you do to me? every time i see you in class you're teasing me. coming into my class late in a short skirt like a slut."

he lifted your skirt and gave your ass a slap, making you jolt and moan at the same time from the sting it left.

"are you gonna keep being a bad girl? or are you gonna take my dick like the good girl you know you are?" he whispered into your ear as he spanked you.

"why can't I be both?"

"i knew you were greedy from the start." he chuckled lightly before pulling back to unbuckle his pants and get rid of his underwear.

he lined himself behind you grabbing unto your hips for support.

“do i need to use a condom?” he asked.

i shook my head no.

“i’m on the pill.”

you heard him say a quick fuck under his breath when he realized that he could cum inside you without worries.

"fuck!" he cursed as he inserted his dick in you.

"you're so big," you breathed out as you felt as if your voice had left your throat for a moment.

"you can take it."

once he was fully in he thrusted in slowly so you could adjust to the pleasurable pain.

you gave him the signal and he started to thrust faster. small moans and whimpers can be heard from both of you along with the rattling of his desk.

he took a handful of your hair and pulled, making you moan louder and even though the building was pretty empty both of us could still be heard by guards so he grabbed your panties and stuffed them in your mouth to muffle your loud moans.

"that's my good girl." he said in between pants as he lifted your leg and placed it on top of the desk to get a better angle.

"touch yourself." he whispered into your ear as your fingers found your clit feeling him thrust in and out of you.

you were getting over stimulated feeling both your fingers and his dick sliding in and out of you at a fast pace.

you could tell he was trying to holding back moans as he panted out.

“you look so pretty taking my dick like that. it looks so much better than i even imagined in my head.”

all you could do was moan and cry into your panties. you couldn't really tell him you were so close, but he could tell by the way your walls clenched around his dick.

"cum for me my sweet girl."

you felt the knot in your stomach dissolve as your orgasm crashed over you. you swore you came so hard you squirted and blacked out for a moment.

“fuck joshua!” you cursed as he still thrusted in and out of you, chasing his own high.

he quickly turned you around feeling his high and pushed you on your knees to cum in your mouth. his mouth hung open in an O shape as his hips buckled into your mouth. you swallowed every last drop and stared at each other for a moment—both out of breath.

"quite the mess i made." you said looking up at him, slightly embarrassed after catching your breath.

"was that the first time you squirted?" he asked as you nodded.

he took your hands and helped your stand. your legs we shaking like a baby deer's as he helped you to your feet and pushed your hair out of my face.

"don't be embarrassed. it was very sexy. and i'll take care of the mess."

he chuckled as you nodded and smiled back at him.

"did you learn your lesson about being late?" he placed his hands on your waist and you rested yours on his shoulders.

"if this is what i get for being late then i'm gonna be late everyday for the rest of the semester."

and the sound of his laugh filled the room as you smiled at him.

"fine," he replied, "as long as you wear outfits like this more often."

you had placed a soft kiss on his lips before pulling away.

“deal.”

so tell me, how can something so wrong feel so good?

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