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hydrngea · 2 years

Text

𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇

a/n : ahhh i've been so busy lately but i finally got the chance to write this last night! rafe’s kinda ooc so I apologize in advance lol hope you enjoy <3

notes/summary : early mornings are for appreciating you | rafe cameron x f!reader, fluff, established relationship (you’ve been together for years)

word count : 804

masterlist / latest rafe fic

daylight unwraps the hues of the room while the sun shines through the window you had neglected to cover up last night. rafe rouses with the light, eyes straining open.

it’s early; early enough for him to get up and close the curtains over the arbiture and fall back asleep with ease. but for some reason he finds himself too comfortable in the position he in right now-can’t get himself to abandon his spot on the bed and the warmth that radiates from you.

he stretches closer beside you, turning to lay with his back towards the window and facing you. he leans himself against his palm while creating a barrier between you and the light. he’s glad you sleep on your stomach, means the sun won’t get into your eyes and you can stay asleep.

mindlessly, his free digits find the curve of your back and trace over your skin; the imprints of the wrinkled sheets left on your preassure points. the faded strech marks on the flip side of your arms. the freckles on your shoulder.

he thinks his new favorite activity is finger painting over your features;t here’s just something about the way his calloused finger pads feel against the softness of your untouched complexion which could keep him occupied and content for hours.

rafe was never the inventive type, never good with shapes like an artist or spoken phrases like a poet. even with no knowledge of creative subjects he knew without having to study you for long that you were a work of art.

he thinks- even though he doesn’t know much about his existence- that god must of carved you just for him to admire.

minutes pass. the tangerine mountains of the sunrise fade to the comforting yellow the of the day and the sky returning to its familiar morning blue.

his exhales synchronize with yours, the room filled with a comfortable silence which feels so underrated.

you’re the one to break it, limbs shifting under the comforter you’ve mostly stolen off of him and lips smacking together as you awake.

you lift your head from your pillow and look at rafe with unfocused eyes which are just beginning to regulate to the abnormal amount of light that blankets the surface of the bedroom.

“shouldve closed the blinds last night,” you say as press your palms onto your eye sockets, and rafe can’t help but laugh. he pulls you on-top of him and you comply, letting out your own breathy chuckle because of how clingy he’s acting so early in the morning. your nose grazes the side of his before you slump down over him, cheek resting on his bare chest and ear right over his heart.

gentle lips brush on your hair and you melt on top of him, wrapping you own arms around his waist. he can feel your lips curving into a smile against his skin. “how long you’ve been staring at me?” you ask, head lifting from his chest to look at him.

“dunno.” he responds, voice still gruff. a hum exerts from you as you relax back into him.

again the two of you fall into a warm silence, content with being within each others space. no words are said and he returns to stenciling you; drawing shapes and patterns while trying to memorize you shape and every minuscule detail about your body as if you’d disappear any moment.

rafe thinks about all he didn’t do to deserve such a heaven sent gift like you. even after years together, there’s still a part of him who believes you deserve more, better. someone as pure as you. he thinks maybe he should express his gratitude towards you more often.

he’s the one to cease the quiet this time, softly at first. “i feel like..” he fingers begin to drag over the same spot while he tries to come up with the right words to say.

“like what?”

“like you were made for me. like i was made for you.”

his words make you sit up, locking your eyes with his. “what has gotten into you today, mr. whipped cameron.” you whisper as you lower your mouth onto his and press a gentle kiss at the corner of his lips.

he chuckles into you, lightly squeezing your waist. “nothing.”

“nothing?” he lets out a sigh as you pull away with your brow furrowed.

“just promise me you’ll never leave.”

“well if u keep saying stuff like that then why would i ever want to?” you say, dimples on display as your lips curve into a smile.

he scoffs, and you let out a screech when rafe flips the two of you over so he hovers over you. your hands find his cheeks, and you lift yourself up just enough to meet him halfway.

“i would never leave this.” you murmur against him, right before his lips spark over yours.

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

taglist (let me know if you would like to be added!) : @mrsstarkey1 @of-many-fandomss @maybankslover @penny4yourthoughts

follow and reblog and i’ll do the same for you!

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buttercupagere · 1 year

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design your dream playroom prompts 📐

some questions to think about if you’re designing your dream playroom :)

🖊️ how big is it? small-ish, like a walk-in closet? medium, like a bedroom? large, like a living room? maybe huge, like a castle? be as creative as you want! it doesn’t matter if it’s unrealistic.

🖊️ what color are the walls? are they all the same color? are they lots of different colors? are there any decals on them, or a mural?

🖊️ what’s decorating the walls? framed pictures? mirrors? is there a sensory wall?

🖊️ what does the floor look like? hardwood, tile, carpet, foam playmat? if there’s a rug, is it shag, fluffy, or something else? what color is it? are there sensory tiles?

🖊️ describe the lighting. is it bright or dim? how many light sources are there? can they change color? are there fairy lights? ceiling lights? lamps?

🖊️ are there any windows? how many? how big are they? do they have blinds or curtains? what can you see outside the window?

🖊️ what storage is there? a toy chest? shelves? little bins? folding boxes? is there a ceiling net for stuffies?

🖊️ does the room have any fun features? a sensory swing? a fort? a play kitchen? a dollhouse? a pirate ship? a jungle gym? a mobile? a rocking horse?

🖊️ what kind of toys are there? stuffies, dolls, blocks, racecars, playmobil, fidget toys?

🖊️ is there a table? what does it look like? what do you use it for? slime, arts and crafts, legos, snacks? are there chairs at the table, or mats on the floor?

🖊️ is it a magical playroom? are there talking animals? toys that come to life? fairies that hang around and sprinkle pixie dust? is there a portal to another world? or a crystal ball that can show the future?

if you want, you can draw this playroom. or build it in minecraft, or out of legos. someday maybe it can become real!

#age regression #agere #agere game #playroom #playtime #age regression journal #journal #agere journal

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myfandomrealitea · 4 months

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I really wanted to ask you about this:

Do you have any advice of how to develop critical thinking and media literacy?

There are many, many ways you can practice critical thinking, evaluation and media literacy. At its most basic, you can access student resources for lower levels of education like earlier high school years and look at the examples and guidance given there. Rehashing this will often give you a good foundation to build off of and apply.

One of the main aspects of critical thinking involves discerning what is fact and what is opinion. A good portion of media analytics is opinion. What is 'bad' by one person's standards is 'sub-par' or even 'great' by another's. Similarly, the majority of fandom space is opinion-based. The main pitfall of fandom spaces is that everyone wants their opinion to be taken as fact, which is where critical thinking and even basic communication begin to fall away.

"I'm right and you're wrong" and "this is the way it should be, if you do it or think differently, you're wrong" are common roadblocks people run into when engaging with things like media analysis and even basic fandom activities like fanfiction.

'Mischaracterisation' is fanfiction is one popular topic, especially here on Tumblr. What people often fail to recognize is the true creative depth of fanfiction and using someone else's pre-existing characters. Characters as they are in the source material may not make the choices or behave in the ways necessary to activate or validate certain plot material or author intentions in fanfiction. Which is, inherently, one of the main points of fanfiction. Exploring the alternate.

While you might immediately recoil and say "he'd never do that!" you then have to sit back and recognise that that's exactly the point. That this iteration of that character is not meant to directly reflect the source material. Its a re-imagining, a re-interpretation. That doesn't mean its bad. Its simply different.

'Mischaracterisation' is only actually applicable in fandom spaces when someone is trying to insist as a blanket fact that a character would do something or behave in a way that blatantly contradicts their canon behavior, opinions, morals and perspective or deliberately interpreting an action in biased bad faith. It is not actually applicable to fanfiction where creative liberty dictates you can do whatever the fuck you want with a character because you're not trying to claim it as part of the source content.

Questions To Ask Yourself

Am I reacting to [media] emotionally instead of rationally? Is my emotional response to [media] blinding me to the rational or critical approach(es)?

Am I allowing my expectations to get in the way of me understanding [media] fully? Am I forming a biased negative opinion of [media] because it isn't meeting my expectations?

Even if I disagree with [media], do I actually understand it? Can I recognise the reasoning behind choices made or actions even if I don't agree with them?

Am I searching too hard to hidden meaning or purpose in absolutely everything? Can I recognise what is simply passive information/detail and what is active information/detail? (E.g; English tutors saying a character's curtains are blue because they're depressed when throughout the literature its passively reinforced that blue is the character's favorite color.)

Even though I disagree with the statement or opinion shown, is it necessary to argue against it? Is there any benefit to making my counter-opinion known or is it simply a no-end argument? Am I just using arguing as a means of release/fulfilment? Am I treating this person poorly because of their opinion/statement?

Resources

Critical Thinking Exercises & Explanations #1 The Critical Thinking Activity Workbook Early Stage Critical Thinking Games Five Media Literacy Activities Six Media Literacy Ideas

#myfandomrealitea #sephiroth speaks #fandom #reality #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fic #literature #media literacy #critical thinking #education #fandom culture #activities #games #fiction #ao3

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hyperactively-me · 9 months

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Hello hello do you have any thoughts of writing the reader in the king!ghost au getting kidnapped? Maybe graves or shepherd (if he's in the au) or just some random made up character was doing some operations with Simon and they decided to ditch Kastron, and abducted the reader to send her off to Simon's enemy? I think the reader could manage to run away by herself, or it is Simon who rescues her but she got some good intel while being held as a hostage.

Also, what do you think about the reader getting poisoned? I think the scenario could be like: there is a noble who wanted his daughter to be married to Simon, but Simon chose the reader instead, saying that brings more benefit to Kastron, and the noble is like okay so we get rid of her and then I can be the king's father in law🤔. So he bribed some of the maids in the kitchen+the queen's direct maids, and the reader ends up getting poisoned but didn't die due to the fast treatment of the royal doctor.

Or for a bit of more angst, the poisson was originally targeting Simon, but there had been some mistakes in the middle and it ended up in the reader's teacup.

I'm sorry if these aren't your preferences! Love your writings and your creativeness💕

alright, this work is about the second prompt in this ask!

(extras)

king!ghost x reader -- poison

warnings: attempted assassination, descriptions of physical reactions to being poisoned

You wake up each morning alongside Simon, surrounded by the tasks and responsibilities that comes with your status as the queen of Kastron— no easy job. As the rays of the sun filter through your ornate curtains, you find yourself reminiscing on your marriage with Simon.

Despite the trials that had marked the early days of your union, you and Simon had grown closer, forging a partnership and marriage that withstood your past qualms with each other. Now, you couldn't help but marvel at your blossoming love.

Your marriage was not without its challenges, particularly from a cunning nobleman, Lord Andrew, who had sought to secure his daughter's place as the queen of Kastron. He had tried diligently to get Simon to propose his daughter, forcing her to attend every event that would have the King present. However, when Simon had returned to Kastron with a bride in tow, choosing you over his daughter, the nobleman was furious.

Unbeknownst to you, the disgruntled nobleman had a sinister plan. He had envisioned a future where he would be the king's father-in-law, and to achieve this, he plotted to eliminate you from the equation. Lord Andrew was blinded by jealousy, greed, and the need for power.

His conniving plans led him to far, dark corners of the castle, where he bribed the maids in the kitchen to taint today's afternoon tea with poison. Lord Andrew's bribery extended to even your most trust attendants, who were lured in by the promises of money, power, and protection. So, that afternoon, one of the maids poured the vile of deadly poison into your teacup.

Little did the maids know that you would be having tea with Simon today.

You settle into your plush chair, sighing in relief as you lean back into the cushions. A few moments pass by and you're met with Simon entering the tea room.

"Afternoon, love," he greets, walking over and pressing a kiss to your cheek before sitting down in his own chair.

"Hey, Si! I'm glad you could make it so last minute," you respond, a genuine smile playing on your lips as you meet his warm gaze. The sunlight dances on the delicate porcelain of the tea set before you, casting a serene glow over the room.

"Wouldn't have missed it," he responds gruffly, a small smile quirking on the corner of his lips.

Suddenly, the doors to the tea room fly open, and you sigh contentedly when you see the maid carrying a tray with you and Simon's teacups.

"Ah, perfect timing," Simon remarks, his eyes brightening as the maid sets the tray down. "Could you make a second cup, please?"

You miss the way the maid's face pales when she sees Simon sitting across from you, swallowing thickly.

"Yes, of course, right away!" she squeaks.

You watch as she pours Simon the normal tea, her hands a little bit shaky. She sets one teacup in front of him, and the poisoned one in front of you. The aroma of freshly brewed tea fills the room, masking the poison hidden within the delicate porcelain.

The maid, knowing of the sinister plot she carries out, offers a polite yet patronizing curtsy. "Good afternoon, your majesties. Tea is served."

"Thank you," you acknowledge with a gracious smile, exchanging a brief glance with Simon. As the maid departs, you turn your attention back to Simon, making quiet conversation with him, letting your tea cool down.

Simon picks up his teacup, preferring his tea to be scalding when he drinks. He takes a few sips, savoring the taste on his tongue.

Your conversation flows freely, talking of what you both have planned for the rest of the day, from recent council meetings to other more trivial matters. The atmosphere is light and airy, seemingly untainted by the poison that threatens to slip between your lips any moment now.

"Y'know, love," Simon begins, swirling his tea absentmindedly, "I was thinkin' we maybe take a trip somewhere?"

You smile, the idea of a getaway appealing. "A trip sounds wonderful, Si. Any particular place in mind?"

After deeming your tea was cool enough for you to drink, you bring it up to your lips and take a sip.

He leans back in chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. "There's a coastal town called Alordia, have you ever heard of it?"

You swallow another sip, nodding. "Yes, I used to go there as a child! It's been a while since I've been to the sea."

"I was thinkin' the air might do us some good," Simon says thoughtfully.

As Simon continues to share his plans for the trip, you suddenly feel a subtle wave of discomfort washing over you. At first, you dismiss it as a one off sensation, perhaps just lingering stress from the day. However, as the conversation continues, you start to notice an unusual bitterness lingering on your tongue.

As the minutes pass by, you begin to feel a strange heaviness settling in your limbs. You glance at Simon, who is still animatedly describing Alordia. Meeting your eyes, Simon takes a good look at your face, concern flickering in his eyes as he notices your demeanor.

"Are you alright, dove?" he asks, his voice tinged with worry.

You muster a weak smile, swallowing thickly, attempting to push through the mounting weakness coursing through your veins.

"Mhm, just got a bit tired is all. Tea can make me sleepy sometimes."

Simon's brow furrows with concern as he continues to observe you closely, eyes flitting up and down your form. "You don't look well."

"I... I think I just need some air. Maybe a walk in the garden would do me good."

Simon, however, isn't convinced. He sets his teacup down, the worry deepening in his eyes. "No, something's not right."

"I think it's fine, really. I just need some fresh air," you say as you rise from your chair. Your heart is racing in your chest, and that unsettling weakness rushes to your legs. The moment you stand, you falter, catching yourself on the edge of the table.

Simon immediately stands, his chair scraping against the floor as he rushes to your side. "We're going to get the doctor," he says gruffly, wrapping an arm around your waist to steady you.

He knows you've been poisoned, but he doesn't tell you to prevent you from outright panicking. This happened once before, where you collapsed at the dinner table. Everyone had thought you been poisoned, but you were just sick with the flu. But now? You weren't sick at all, in fact, you looked bright and well-tempered when he walked in the tea room.

The room begins to blur, and you struggle to maintain consciousness as he starts to drag you out of the tea room.

Desperation fills your eyes as you reach out and grasp Simon's hand wrapped around your waist. "Wait, Si, I..." Your words falter as dizziness washes over you, making it harder to form coherent sentences. Your face feels heavy, each blink slower, each breath more shallow than the last.

"Just breathe," he tells you, trying to calm his own racing heart.

The moment he kicks down the tea room door, he's yelling at the guards to go tell the doctor that he's coming with you. Simon's free arm comes around the back of your legs, and he's lifting you off the ground in one motion. When he has you secure, he breaks off into a run. The world around you continues the blur, the sounds echoing painfully loud in your ears. You can feel the urgency in Simon's steps, a sick realization dawning upon you. Beads of sweat start to roll down your forehead, and everything feels too bright, too loud.

You don't fully register when the doors to the infirmary swing open, mind muddled from the effects of the poison. Simon bursts into the infirmary, calling for the doctor urgently.

"It's poison," Simon calls out, voice gruff and commanding.

Everything is muffled, barely registering his words, but the urgency in his voice cuts through the haze. The medical team springs into action as Simon places you gently on a bed. The room is a flurry of activity, and you catch glimpses of worried faces and the glint of medical instruments.

"Move!" the doctor calls out, carrying tray of vials.

Simon stands by, his eyes full of fear and determination. A nurse gently directs him to a corner of the room, where he can observe but not stand in the way. For once, he gives them space.

The frantic activity around you is a distant hum as consciousness slips away, leaving only fragmented images and sensations in the tips of your fingers.

In your haziness, you feel a cool sensation on your forehead as one nurse places a damp cloth over your heated skin.

Without hesitation, the doctor wrenches your mouth open, taking out the vials and pouring antidotes down your throat.

As the antidote slips down your throat and into your system, a shiver runs down your spine.

Simon watches every little movement, a hardened plea in his eyes for your recovery.

Time seems to stretch and fold upon itself. The medical team exchanges hurried whispers, their faces etched with both concern and concentration.

Simon remains rooted in his corner, his fingers nervously drumming against his thigh. The seconds tick by like an eternity. His gaze never wavers from you, holding his breath.

Finally, you start to cough, eyes fluttering as the blurriness of the room starts to fade.

A collective sigh of relief sweeps through the room. The antidote takes effect, and your vitals start to stabilize.

"Christ..." Simon mutters to himself, his shoulders sagging as the tension and adrenaline drains from his body. He strides over to your bedside, his eyes searching yours for signs of consciousness.

The doctor approaches Simon with a reassuring yet stressed smile. "She's going to be fine. We got to her just in time."

Your eyelids flutter, consciousness slowly returning to you. Simon takes your limp hand, his thumb gently stroking your knuckles. You blink a few times, the world gradually coming into focus. Simon's face swims into view, and you manage a weak smile.

"Hey there, dove. You alright?" he says, relief evident in his tone.

You nod lightly, your voice a mere whisper. "I think so."

The doctor turns to you, relief written on their face. "You gave us quite a scare, your majesty. You're responding well to the antidote. You'll need to rest for the next few days, and the effects of the poison won't fully subside for another 24 hours. No strenuous activities for the next week, at the very least."

Simon nods in understanding, his protective instincts kicking in.

You nod, still feeling the lingering effects of weakness. "Thank you... all of you."

Simon's grip on your hand tightens, eyes softening.

Once the doctor is finished with their debrief, the medical team withdraws, leaving you alone with Simon. He sits by your bedside, his gaze never leaving your face.

"I need to find out who did this," Simon says, his jaw set with determination.

"We will, together."

As the hours pass, Simon remains by your side, occasionally leaving only to return with a cup of water or a damp cloth. His concern is palpable, knee bouncing with anxiety and impatience.

. . .

It's been about a day since you've fallen victim to poison, now resting in your chambers. As you recover, Simon's protective presence becomes a constant.

Word of the attempted murder spreads throughout the kingdom, stirring anger and concern among the people.

As soon as investigation into the attempted poison went into motion, it was brought to a close. It was obvious enough to question the staff in the kitchen that day, and one loose lipped maid immediately broke down the minute she was brought into questioning, sobbing about how sorry she was, and how it was Lord Andrew who had put her up to it.

The news of Lord Andrew's involvement sends shockwaves through the kingdom. The castle buzzes with tension as the truth was unveiled, and the nobles whisper about the impending consequences.

Simon left no stone unturned, taking in nobles for questioning left and right, sparing no chance.

The once-respected Lord Andrew is now a pariah, and his name is synonymous with betrayal and greed. The court proceedings intensify, and the truth is laid bare for all to see.

During this time, you gradually regain your strength, but the trauma of the poisoning lingers. Simon is always hesitant to leave your side, but his need to seek justice intensified.

Simon much preferred to deal with Andrew himself, but he couldn't allow his personal feelings to cloud his pursuit of justice. Instead, he endures Kastron's legal system, relying on it to deal with Lord Andrew appropriately.

Simon, still fueled by anger and protectiveness, watches Lord Andrew with a steely gaze. As witnesses testify against Lord Andrew, the depth of his deceit is laid bare for all to witness. The kingdom demands justice.

The nobleman, now stripped of his titles and influence, stands in the court to answer for his transgression. The room falls silent as Simon addresses him, his voice strained with anger.

"Andrew, you attempted to poison my wife, the queen of Kastron. You sought to undermine the very foundation of this kingdom, to harm the person I hold most dear," Simon declares, his eyes ablaze. "Your greed and lust for power have cost you everything."

Andrew, standing before the court, attempts to justify his actions, desperation laced in his voice. He was on Simon's bad side, a place you could never find forgiveness. "Your majesty, I... I felt cornered, with no way to secure a future for my family. I just wanted to ensure my daughter's prosperity, her future."

Simon's gaze remains cold as ice, his anger tempered by a sense of duty. "Don't drag your family into the mess you made. Nothing excuses the treason you've committed. You put the entire kingdom at risk for your own personal gain. Attempting to murder the queen is an affront to Kastron herself."

The court watches in tense silence as Lord Andrew flounders, attempting to shift the blame, pleading for mercy.

Simon had his mind made up the second you started displaying symptoms.

He stands up from his seat, shoulders back and head held high as he addresses Lord Andrew with finality. "Andrew, for your betrayal and attempt to murder the queen, you are hereby stripped of your titles, lands, and any influence within Kastron. You are banished from the kingdom, and any attempt to return will be met with severe consequences. May this serve as a reminder that treachery against Kastron will not go unnoticed or unpunished."

The guards move forward to escort him away, and he glances back one last time at the court.

As the doors close behind Lord Andrew, the weight of the moment settles upon the room. The people of Kastron, witnessing the fall of a once-respected noble, murmur among themselves.

"A warning to you: let Andrew's fate be a lesson to those who let betrayal cross their minds. The consequences are severe."

. . .

In the aftermath, you and Simon spend days in your private chambers. He had also wasted no time replacing your staff, maids, and cooks in the kitchen he deemed unreliable. He went through each staff member that has ever come into direct contact with you, wasting no breath when it came to questioning their loyalty.

Simon, still seething with anger, finally allows himself a moment to relax, his facade softening as he returns to you in your chambers.

"You've held up well the past few days, darling," he says, his voice a soft murmur. "I hate that you had to go through that."

You offer him a tired but genuine smile. "We faced it together, Simon. And, he's gone now."

He nods, a profound gratitude in his eyes. "I couldn't bear the thought of losing you, especially like that. I love you, more than anything."

You reach out to gently touch his cheek. "Thank you for looking out for me. I love you."

- - - - -

(masterlist)

#simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon “ghost” riley x reader #simon “ghost” riley x you #hyperactivelyme

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lale-txt · 1 year

Text

❈ 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐰/ 𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨 & 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐥!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝐠𝐧)

@bas-writes asked: That was supposed to be a joke but I can't get it out of my mind after our extra conversation 😭😂 Could I request Gojo or Geto (still can't decide sorry aklskdd) taking bath or shower with their tall afab s/o - or rather, attempting to because when the average height is like 185cm nothing possibly can be easy 🤭 Thank you! ❤

a/n: ngl this drabble sent me into a deep dive of how certain parts of a shower are called because somehow i forgot them in all three languages LMAO it ended up being a short drabble and only slightly suggestive at the end, but the scenario was just too funny for me to take the full blown nsfw route asdfhjks but i hope you'll enjoy it anyway! thank you for your request, Bas! you're always giving me such fun prompts to work with, hehe.

word count: 637

“Uhm, excuse me, personal space?”

You let out a small huff when someone squeezes into the shower with you, basically cornering you with his tall frame. It’s not like you were small to begin with, and yet Gojo still could rest his chin on top of your head if he wanted to–and right now there was almost no other choice than to do so. This shower wasn’t built for a person above average height, even less for two of your kind.

“You didn’t seem to mind me in your personal space last ni–OI!”

Note to yourself: Shower head aimed directly at his face can make Gojo shut up for an approximate span of two seconds. He’ll never get rid of the house cat accusations, huh?

Gojo grabs your hand that’s holding the cursed tool and gently nibs at your neck (again with the cat behavior…) before he puts the shower head back where it belongs. He’s not bothered by your protests and reaches to adjust the temperature of the water from a pleasant medium high to something that could best be described as close to boiling, filling the already too small shower with so much steam you practically go blind. Not much of a problem for the Six Eyes though.

“You could have just waited till I got out of the shower, you know?”, you grumble, trying to find your shampoo bottle but continue to grab anything but said bottle, maybe because Gojo is everywhere your hands reach out to in this cramped space. He hums, a deep sound in his chest that was close to purring, his big hands running over your body playfully with his chest pressed against your back.

“But Ichiji texted me that he’s already waiting for us outside, even before I got into the shower. I’m just being time-efficient here”, Gojo coos and presses a kiss on the back of your neck. His wet hair tickles your skin while his hands sneak around your waist—a moment of defenselessness, leaving him unprepared for you abruptly bending over to grab your shampoo from the ground and pummeling your boyfriend out of the shower with the sheer force of your arched back.

Freedom never tasted sweeter than in this moment; to finally move around somewhat freely in your shower again without bumping into this brick of a man. Sure, you still had to duck slightly to stand under the shower head, but at least it wasn’t getting blocked by another giant. You love Gojo, with all your heart, but you learned very early on in your relationship that showering together wasn’t this romantic and cute scenario for you two to enjoy–it was war.

“Oi!”

The shower curtain gets dramatically pulled aside and once the hot water steam sets slightly, you see your butt-naked lover with his hands on his hips, bright blue eyes on you, probably thinking of a hundred creative ways to make you pay for your crime. You would be intimidated if he didn’t look like a soggy wet Norwegian cat which makes you bite back a laughter forming in your throat.

“Don’t come back in here, I swear, this shower is too small for–”, you threaten him with a laugh, already reaching for your weapon–the shower head–again.

With one big step Gojo is back in the shower with you, cornering you once more, his mouth finding your neck and trailing kisses up to your ear before he bites it gently. He chuckles quietly at the small noise you let out and you know he won’t stop until he charms out many, many other sounds. Something tells you that you won’t be getting out of this shower anytime soon and you make a mental note to send Ichiji a gift basket for putting up with your demeanors. It probably won’t be the last time.

#jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #jjk imagines #jjk drabbles #jjk scenarios #jjk x you

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the-cat-and-the-birdie · 1 year

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Neurodivergent!Hobie Brown Headcanons - Hobie Brown having AuDHD

Hobie Brown has AuDHD (Autism & ADHD) because I have AuDHD and I love him and want him to have AuDHD :) i was reminded of this and this is mostly me projecting so uhhh...here

____________________________________________________

Love the idea of Hobie Brown having ADHD and autism

Like his attention is shit. And he doesn't care.

He's always working or tinkering or planning away at something, writing some song, but he's never doing what 'he's supposed to do'.

He's Hobie - he's going to do whatever he wants to do and whatever strikes his fancy.

It's the ADHD. He procrastinates, and if you tell him to do something - yeah, he's not doing that

but when he needs to get something done he gets it done. ALWAYS. Somehow.

Miguel is asking for mission reports and he's like 'piss off m8'. He gets it done when he needs to don't ask questions

Super truthful. He doesn't see the point in lying. He's never mean about it, but he never hides the truth.

Stims a lot.

Always fidgeting with something. Doesn't carry stim toys cause he always loses them - fiddles with anything his hands come across instead

Chews on pens when he's trying to think or write a song

Fiddles with his piercings and lip ring a lot

Constantly losing his guitar pick, gets pissed off and can't find it even though it's right in front of him

He has ADHD-combined so sometimes he's pacing back and forth and other times he's just zoned the fuck out daydreaming

DOODLES on everything.

STICKERS everywhere.

Doesn't mask AT ALLLL

If he doesn't understand a joke he will ask - especially if he can tell it's meanspirited

Sleep schedule is wrecked. He hates the AM - and gets up at like 4pm. he's up at 2am playing electric guitar on the loudest volume and drinking a coffee at 8am before going to bed

Bounces his leg really really hard then tells people to piss off when they demand he stops

VERBAL STIMS. OH MY GOD

CONSTANTLY repeating song lyrics, even random ones. Repeats them to himself while pacing as a way to relax

Stims on his guitar, plays the same chord over and over and over.

The chords of 'Immigrant Song' - by Led Zeppelin is a popular choice of his

Gwen stims by tapping and drumming on things so they can be sitting there and play-stimming a song without even noticing

Doesn't follow rules he doesn't understand or thinks are unreasonable

Will argue with someone over it when confronted and tell them exactly why their rule makes no sense

He'll 'talk back' to authority and someone will be like 'Hobie you can't say that!!!' and he will genuinely be like 'why???'

Used to get put in 'time out' A LOT. Big 'problem child', always talking in class, wandering off, etc

Light sensitive.

His room dark as fuck boooooyyyy

Black out curtains, no clothes in the drawers, 12,000 unattended water bottles everywhere

NEVER makes the bed but has other cleaning routines he HAS to do

loves planning shit, planned out all of ASTV in detail, keeps really detailed notes of stuff

but his handwriting only makes sense to him

remembers everything about his friends but doesn't know what day it is

Time Blind as FUCKKKKKKK. So hard to get a hold of him or get him to text back.

You see him when you see him - either he's early or he's late as hell.

Says 'five minutes' but gets distracted or severely underestimates the time.

Special interest is his records and they mean a lot to him

Knows everything there is to know about every album he owns, takes really good care of them and his player - the only thing he'll spend money on

Very creative, has many creative projects he starts and stops and never really completes

10,000 half finished patches and prototypes

But he's really talented and handy because of it

Like he knows random ass statements in dozens of languages cause he memorizes the weirdest stuff and sometimes run into situations where he really needs it

Like the first time they go to Mumbattan looking for Pavi Gwen is like "ugh how are we gonna ask people 'have you seen this boy' in Marathi?" and Hobie is like "i got this" and she's like "Bro HOW"

REAL ASS AUDHD EXPERIENCE: Being able to memorize copious amounts of information about things that don't matter at all

Hobie has so many facts inside of him that he just drops so casually

And people are like how are you so smart

and of course he's like 'i was smart this whole time'

People think he's rude or an idiot because he doesn't make eye contact or doesn't face people when spoken to

but he's not at all, and he's very good at picking up little details

Dry but hilarious sense of humor that takes seven layers of irony and 3 years of context to even process

Probably has one completely left-field unrelated hyperfixation that catches people off guard. Is completely unashamed about it

When he's overstimulated he gets very irritated and snappy and fidgety -

Has to leave the room immediately - will stop everything and just get up and head straight to the door

If he can't leave he'll start covering his ears or put his head down against a table

Has loss of speech episodes sometimes, but not only when stressed. Lots of times it happens while relaxed or really deep in thought/daydream. His closest friends can understand him perfectly fine, and can tell when he's just chilling vs when he needs support

Will stand up in a 'quiet' room and say "what's that noise??" cause he can hear electric buzzing and it's pisses him off

He still blasts his music loud as hell in his headphones

Puts something into one of his many pockets then immediately begins to look for where he put said thing

Always pulling stuff out of his pockets, looking slightly impressed but confused as to how it got there, or how long it's been there

Has the weirdest palette. Weird ass food combos. The type of guy to put one sauce on everything

Probably eats beans on toast like twice a day

His comfort food is a Gregg's Sausage Roll from a very specific branch in East London, others taste a bit off to him and he can tell if it's not the right one. He'll still eat it, but he can tell it's not right

Most of these are SUCH a projection but I love him so so so much ok bye bye

#hobie brown #spider punk #spiderpunk #atsv #across the spiderverse #spiderman #spider man #gwen stacy #spider gwen #headcanons #marvel

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archiveikemen · 1 year

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"The Villain's Relentless Love" Story Sale

Liam Evans

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection; expect mistakes, grammatical errors, and some creative liberties. All original content and media used belongs to Cybird. Please support the game by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

Read this before interacting

Liam’s performance came to an end with the theatre’s audience at full house, and he basked in the audience’s roaring applause.

By the time Liam and I returned to the castle, it was already past midnight—.

Liam: *Sigh* I’m glad it went smoothly!

The moment he entered the room, Liam collapsed onto his bed and heaved a sigh of relief.

Kate: Fufu, this production took a rather long time. You’ve worked hard, Liam.

I sat down on the bed, stroking his rose coloured hair and he smiled cheerfully.

(Really though, Liam looked amazing tonight.)

Standing under the spotlight, Liam captivated every single member of the audience, like the brightest star shining in the sky. That image remained vivid in my heart.

I thought back to how my lover looked back then, our fingers intertwined as we laid on the bed…

Liam: Hey, Kate.

Kate: … Yeah?

Liam: Recently, I realised that I've found more places I enjoy being at.

Liam: Under the stars, on stage… and in the sheets with you.

Liam tightly squeezed our intertwined fingers and muttered like he was biting down on his words.

Liam: … You’re my special place.

Kate: … Liam.

Liam: And I must protect my favourite place. So, from now on, I’ll keep on trying my best.

Liam: I’ll steal your heart and make you love me even more.

After we became lovers, Liam was always saying that he would try his best.

His blind love made me incredibly happy and full of love.

However—

(Even though I feel the same way about him…)

I couldn’t help feeling uneasy whenever he stood on stage and captivated everyone’s gazes.

I always wished that he would love me more and more. More today than he did yesterday, more tomorrow than he does today.

(Tonight, I want to try harder than Liam.)

Kate: I feel the same way, Liam. Every day, I think about wanting you to love me even more.

Kate: And so, tonight, to reward you for your successful performance, I—

Liam: You…?

To hide my embarrassment, I pressed a kiss to Liam’s lip while he was lying on the bed.

Kate: I… I want you to love me.

Kate: I want you to do everything you want to me. … I’ll gladly accept.

Liam: Kate…

Liam: Ah… you make “everything” sound so simple…

Liam sat up and stared into my face.

Liam: I love you much more than you think I do, I love everything about you… do you understand that?

Kate: I do. I know that you’re kind and you love me a lot.

Kate: If I didn't, I wouldn't be able to say something that embarrassing.

Liam: …

Liam: Kate — promise that you won't ever, ever hate me.

(Huh…?)

When I looked up at him, I noticed that the usual calm expression Liam had was gone.

I was surprised by how passionate he was, and I felt his hand slide to my sides before pulling me onto his lap and holding me from behind.

As I was wondering why he held me in that position,

(Ah…)

I realised that there was a large window in front of us with its curtains wide open.

A reflection of us showed in the glass window that showed the night sky outside. Just as I was about to point that out—

Kate: Mmph…

Liam grasped my chin with his fingertips, turned my head to face him, and our lips met.

(... His kiss is more intense than usual.)

I twisted my body to look back at Liam, desperate for his tongue.

Liam’s hand moved to touch my breasts over my clothes.

Kate: Ahh…

In that position, Liam toyed with my sensitive peaks through my clothes, sending a tingling sensation through my body.

Liam: They’re getting so pointy. Doesn’t rubbing against your clothing make them hurt?

Liam: I want to see them. Your cute, pointy, and rosy nipples.

Liam: … Can I strip you?

Without waiting for my answer, he undid the ribbons at the back of my blouse, causing it to fall off my shoulders and onto my stomach.

It felt embarrassing to have only my underwear on, and Liam’s hands forcefully pulled them down.

(...!)

Liam: There, I can see it all now. Your nipples are so cute, Kate… so, so, cute.

Liam: They’re so red, it's like they’re asking me to touch them more.

Liam gently grabbed my exposed breasts, holding them and pinching my red and pointy nipples.

Kate: Nn.. ahh…

— And I saw my reflection in the window in front of me.

I watched Liam kneading my breasts, my facial expression nowhere near calm.

(No, this is too embarrassing…)

Kate: Hey, Liam. This… spot is…

Liam: Right? Isn’t it so shameful to be able to see everything?

Kate: Are you doing this on purpose— ahh…

Still toying with my breasts, Liam’s experienced hand swiftly removed my shorts.

While holding me from behind, he spread my legs wide open.

Kate: Ah… Liam. Everything’s… on show…

Liam: Mm-hmm. I want you to see it all. Look at who it is always making you feel good down here.

Liam grabbed my embarrassed face by the chin with one hand, slipping his other hand between my legs.

Liam: Aha, you’re so wet already. I’ll make you even wetter.

Kate: Ahh…nn…

Obscene wet noises filled the room as he moved his fingers inside me.

Liam: No. Don’t look away. I want you to watch me turn you into a complete mess.

Through my reflection in the window, I watched as Liam stimulated my sensitive buds and torturing the wet spot between my legs.

Kate: Haa…

Liam: You’re so cute… you’re about to cum, aren't you? I’d love for you to cum right now, but…

Liam: I’m… at my limit too.

Liam pulled his fingers away before lifting me from his lap and laying me down on the bed.

He then took off his pants and underwear slowly like he was putting on a show for me.

Liam: Kate, I want you to put my dick inside you by yourself.

*yes i hath given up on cybird let’s spice things up ourselves, shall we? let us say dick !

Kate: M- Myself…?

Liam: Yes. You’re already making me so sore… please.

The shame was making me feel dizzy, and yet it was me who said that I would accept everything Liam wanted to do to me.

I pushed my embarrassment aside and lifted my hips, positioning Liam’s hot and hard dick against my wet entrance.

(I’m so embarrassed it’s driving me nuts…)

Even the slightest movements created lewd wet noises.

Liam: Haa… look at you spreading your legs and craving me. You’re so naughty and cute.

Kate: Nn…

Liam: I can’t wait any longer. … Let me help.

Liam slowly pushed himself into me, gripping onto my waist.

Kate: Ahh…

The strong surge in pleasure made me reflexively buck my hips, rubbing myself against him.

(This feels so good… I’m losing my mind…)

Liam tightened his grip on my waist as I writhed in pleasure.

— As if to say he was never going to let me go.

Liam: I can’t get enough of seeing you look up at me from below, Kate. I want you to feel even better with me inside you…

Liam pinned me down and mercilessly rubbed my wet spot.

He squeezed and teased the tips of my breasts while thrusting into me.

Kate: Ahh… Liam… this feels… good…

Liam: Haa… I feel good too… so good

Liam frowned as he stroked the area on my abdomen below my navel.

Liam: Hey, Kate…

Liam: How many times do I have to fuck you for “this place” to remember me?

Kate: Huh…?

Liam: I want this place to remember me, and only let me be inside it…

Liam’s love was — heavy.

But that was what I loved about him.

Liam: Whenever our bodies become one like this, I wonder why we’re two separate individuals.

Liam: … It makes me feel frustrated sometimes.

Liam: I get anxious when we’re apart, because our hearts are in different places. I can’t stop thinking about you.

Liam: And yet…

Liam: Because we’re different people… we can love each other like this.

Liam: I love the frustration, sorrow, and all that happens between us. Everything.

My heart was so moved by Liam’s intense and genuine love, I couldn't help embracing him in my arms.

Kate: … I love you too, Liam.

Liam smiled happily and thrust into me again, pulling me into a whirlpool of pleasure.

I was sure that tonight — our bodies would never be apart.

#ikemen villains #ikemen series #cybird ikemen #cybird otome #otome #ikevil story sale #liam evans

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creativevision006 · 1 year

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#bestcurtains #bestofinterior #creative curtains and blinds #curtainsandfloorng #bestforyourhome

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pullhisteeth · 1 year

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Hi! I saw your "Wise Words" fic and got so excited because it was inspired by one of my favorite songs by miss blondie herself 🤣 And I loved your writing so much I thought I could request for a fic if that's okay 🥹

So the "Vigilante Shit" performance in the Eras Tour has been stuck on my mind for AGES (and for good reason) and I was thinking...what if reader is a dancer and is besties with Eddie, and he sees her perform like THAT for the first time...I wonder how he would react and keep his shit together lmaooo

Can't wait to read whatever masterpiece you come up with! Ahhh thank you and ilysm ❤️

oh this one was lethal. checked my notifs at like 10pm and bam! I was off!!! and now it’s like 2am lol. I loved writing this - I took some creative liberties because I do not know a damn thing about dance but I hope it’s okay! thank you for the request (and your lovely kind words) ♡

contains fem!reader, dancer!reader, best friend!Eddie, best friends to lovers, bad knowledge of dance (it shows), fluff. 3k-ish

The heat beneath your cheeks can’t be kept at bay. You’re all flushed, palms clammy the way they used to get before recitals.

It has been years since stage fright could even try to get the better of you. Too many hours spent in front of crowds - whether they be three people small, parents and siblings crammed into your living room, or hundreds big, it doesn't matter to you anymore. You know this is all there is for you, moving across a stage like you own it.

Today is an exception. You’re standing - hiding - behind the curtain, nose inches from the deep blue velvet, right on cue but without your guts or your confidence. There’s a gaping hollowness there instead. You’re nervous.

It’s not like nerves have completely escaped you before now. On stage you’re stoic, but in life you’re… Less than self-assured. Especially when it comes to boys, or rather one boy in particular.

“Hey,” someone whispers to your left, “you’re up in five.”

Seconds. She means five seconds. Soon, the curtain will lift, and you’ll be released into the open arms of cheering onlookers, and you’ll have to try your hardest not to look for him among them.

You hear the familiar rattle of the rope mechanism somewhere distant, the lowering sandbag and the gear up high, and then the light descends at your feet. The fluorescence is blinding as the curtain lifts above your face, but this is easy. Comparatively, holding yourself together here, on this stage, is child’s play. Holding yourself together in front of him? Not so much.

“I thought you’d be happy!”

Eddie stands at the foot of your bed with his hands on his hips. You’re recoiling, knees up at your chin, at the headboard, whinging something cruel about this surprise he’s been keeping from you.

“I am, it’s just-”

“What are you hiding from me?” he asks, smiling, coy like he knows already.

He doesn’t. If it goes your way, he never will.

“Nothing!” you exclaim, too enthusiastically. “Nothing, I just…”

“Just what?” He’s getting impatient; he’s started pacing again.

“It’s nothing, Eds. I am happy. I promise.”

“Good,” he says, grinning. It’s a smile you love dearly, and if this is something that encourages it, so be it. “Nance is coming, too. We got four tickets, so Rob and Steve are gonna try and get the night off.”

Before you can protest he’s throwing himself onto your bed, chest-first, his arms winding around your calves and squeezing a shriek out of you.

“I’m so excited,” he tells you, muffled, face stuffed into the comforter by your feet. “How’ve we been friends all this time’n I’ve never seen you dance?”

“You have,” you respond, absentmindedly threading your fingers through his hair, nails gentle on his scalp. You feel him relax into your mattress and you smile.

“The club doesn’t count,” he says, turning onto his cheek to look up at you. “I don’t even know what kinda dancing it is.”

“You bought a ticket,” you giggle, “surely you saw the name?”

“Yeah,” he says, a little confused, “but what the fuck is chair dancing?”

Before Eddie even makes it inside the club, he knows he’s sticking out like a sore thumb.

“Nance,” he whispers, bending ever so slightly so he’s closer to her ear, “where the fuck are we?”

“Shut up,” she says, laughing her breezy laugh and lifting her shoulder to brush him off playfully.

He’s out of his depth, surrounded by a strange concoction of people - plenty of gaggles of young women, sashes reading bride to be or birthday girl, as well as innocuous older men, distinguished in their suits and pressed shirts, speaking to each other in hushed tones.

Where the fuck is he?

The line gets shorter, and inside the door, once they’re past the lacklustre bouncers, Nancy hands their tickets over and Robin takes her by the arm, giggling with her as they descend the stairs.

Eddie eyes the posters along the walls - comedy shows, open mics, oddly themed club nights - but doesn’t find what he’s looking for.

The four of them emerge into a dimly lit room, where small tables hold even smaller lamps and are surrounded by leather chairs. He feels a firm hand on his shoulder and turns to see Steve looking at Nancy and Robin.

“Okay, girls, find us a seat, me’n Eddie’ll get us drinks.”

Eddie follows him wordlessly through to the bar, where a cheerful - and very pretty - woman takes their order from Steve, who turns to him as she wanders off.

“Hey,” he murmurs, dipping closer, “what’s up with you?”

Eddie groans and holds his head in both hands, elbows on the bar. “I don’t know,” he says into his palms.

Steve’s hand is back on his shoulder, firm again, grounding. “She’s great, you know.”

Eddie twists to peek at him. “You’ve seen her before?”

“Only practising. I was over at their apartment and she was in the living room.”

Eddie groans again, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. “I feel… Nervous, for some reason.”

Beside him, Steve laughs, boisterous and accompanied by a squeeze at his shoulder.

“You should be,” he tells him, “she’s hot shit, Munson. Better be careful, or she’ll be gone before you can catch her.”

The music is your favourite part of dancing.

The dancing itself is fun, of course, but it’s nothing without the bass beneath your feet, the smooth curves of sound that seem to run straight through you like a livewire. You like all of it: jazz, rock, country, even metal, when Eddie’s playing it. But there’s something about that sultry kind of pop, the darkness and the sharpness, that turns you into some type of marionette, moving almost without thinking to the sound of gutsy women.

That’s doing yourself a disservice, of course; you’re a good dancer. You’re an excellent dancer. Eddie’s just never seen it before, and suddenly you’re quite sure you’re about to trip over your own feet.

The thrumming bassline distracts you for a flash, and you look over at the other dancers. You move seamlessly between one another, bare legs weaving and feet precise. Your hands lift in the air and run down your body, feeling the intricate beading of the handmade bodice gifted to you by the director. Every nerve is on fire, hyper-responsive and humming with energy. You flip your hair, bend at the hips, move your mouth in time with the lyrics.

Your hand curls around the cold metal of the chair at the front of the stage, and as you lift your leg, planting a heel firmly on the seat, you forget there’s anyone watching, let alone him.

Eddie’s knee stopped bouncing the moment that the curtain shifted.

He loves music, but while you’ve made him listen to his fair share of pop, he’s never heard anything like this. It’s darker than the other stuff. Sexier, even.

His mind empties as the bass kicks in and the curtain hits its peak. There’s a line of dancers, each one beautiful and sparkling under the spotlights, but once his eyes find you there may as well be no one else in the room.

He knows what it’s like to be on a stage - the lights are too bright, the act of performing too consuming; trying to spot someone in a crowd is almost futile. And yet, for the first time in his life, he feels that insatiable urge to be noticed. For you to look over, meet his eye, and shoot him a wink or smile at him the way you do when he picks you up from work.

The way you move up there is unlike anything he has ever seen before. He knows you’ve been dancing your whole life, and when you’re out with friends you still move effortlessly, often emboldened by liquid courage and a good song, but even his wildest dreams - of which there have been many - could not have prepared him for this.

Your body moves with its curves, swaying and bending in a way that seems so natural on you. There’s a confidence he’s rarely seen before, and it’s electrifying, lighting him up from the inside.

“Isn’t she amazing?!” Nancy whispers beside him.

“Yeah,” he breathes, eyes tied to you. Every move you make is slow, methodical, intentional. You lift your legs, tilt your hips, curl your arm upwards like you’re made of water, and Eddie is thirsty.

He feels the warmth of Steve’s chest pressing into his shoulder. “Dude,” he whispers in Eddie’s ear, “shut your mouth. Gonna catch flies or something.”

Three songs isn’t many, but holding your own body weight the way you have to takes its toll, and the oppressive warmth of the dressing rooms only make you sweatier. So you race through your post-show routine, saying quick goodbyes to your friends and hanging the bodice carefully on the hanger with your nametag. On quick but tired feet you race through the dimly lit corridors, thankful for the simplicity of your sneakers, in search of the fire escape and some fresh air.

You know he’ll be out here. Part of you longs to linger inside, wait it out until you think he might have left with the rest of them, but you know it’s no use. He’d wait for you all night if you made him, and you’re not in the business of making Eddie Munson wait.

With your bag slung over one shoulder, you push firmly on the bar across the fire door and emerge into the dark alley, the air crisp - just the way you like it. The smell of pot and cigarette smoke drifts and you hear the familiar hum of late-night conversation from around the corner, so you close the door softly and follow it.

As you round the front of the small building, you’re met by thick, strong arms around your middle, lifting you into the air with a force you couldn’t fight even before a full dance routine. You squeal, your feet kicking up behind you, finding the shoulders of your friendly attacker.

“Here she is!” Steve booms, his voice a little muffled by your stomach.

“Steve,” you pant, grinning too wide to make the v sound properly, “let me down.”

He gives you one last squeeze and relents, lowering you slowly until your feet hit solid ground. You’re still grinning and he is, too, beaming at you so wide you can hardly bear it.

“You did good, kid,” he tells you, foregoing his boisterous grip around your waist for a gentle squeeze to your bicep.

“Thanks,” you breathe, eyes drifting as Robin and Nancy weave between the two of you and descend, fawning over you, giggling like children.

“You were so good!”

“Why’d you never tell us you could do that?”

“And that suit, oh my god-”

“Y’know the redhead? Do you think you could maybe-”

“Robin, stop it-”

“What?! She was hot! I'm only asking.”

“Hey,” Nance suddenly hisses, smiling something cruel and cunning, “someone else wants to congratulate you.”

She looks quickly over her left shoulder and you follow her eye line, finding Eddie standing a few feet away with his back to the wall and a cigarette at his mouth.

“We’re gonna head over there,” she tells you, nodding at a bar across the street. “Come find us, yeah?”

They saunter away, looking smug as ever, arms looped as they cross the street. You watch them go until you feel the phantom of someone behind you. It comes with the distinct scent of smoke, and underneath it you catch the bright, fresh smell of his washing powder.

“Hi,” you whisper as you turn to him. He looms over you a little, his head blocking the streetlamp so he looks like a haloed angel.

“Hey,” he says and you’re taken aback, because there’s a waver there. Something like nerves, except this is Eddie, and Eddie doesn’t get nervous. You do enough of that for the both of you. “You, uh… You were really good.”

“Thanks,” you say, smiling.

“I mean it,” he says, the words coming out all together like he might have stopped himself if he’d taken too long. “So good. I had no idea you… I didn’t know you could dance like that.”

“It makes me a bit nervous, I guess.”

“It shouldn’t,” he says without a beat. “You looked amazing.”

You smile at him, a little lost in this sea of nice words. Standing on the sidewalk outside a dingy dance club, under the gaze of your lovely best friend, what are you supposed to say?

“I saw you,” you tell him, voice quiet.

“Huh?”

“I was obviously concentrating, it was just a second, but you looked… Entertained.”

He looks down at his shoes, at where the toes of his boots meet your sneakers, and scratches the back of his neck. You dip your head down slightly to catch him forcing down a smile.

“It’s okay,” you laugh, “it’s kinda the point.”

“I know,” he says, laughing too, though it’s a nervous, unsure sound. “I know, I just…”

He can’t meet your eye. It’s worrying you, pulling your gut apart to make space for that black hole of panic. You stand back up straight and pull your bag up further onto your shoulder.

“I, uh, they went over there,” you tell him coldly. He looks up at you, still stooped a little like he’s being told off. “I’m gonna go meet them, um… You coming?”

You’re backing away on uncertain feet, suddenly acutely aware of the aches buried deep within your muscles and the burn of the soles of your feet.

“Wait,” he says, reaching out to wrap his fingers around your arms. You stop moving but look away, too filled with those wretched nerves to face him.

“Wait a second, I just…” He’s panting, stumbling, and you have no idea why. “I can’t… Fuck, sweets, I need to-”

“Eddie,” you snap, patience wearing thin.

He looks at you again, and you see it: the wavering of nerves in his eyes, though they’re hiding from you in the dark, dissipates into something deeper. Some miniscule movement of muscle in his face tells you everything, and yet you hang onto every word regardless.

“I lost my shit when you came out from behind that curtain,” he begins, a hand on each of your bent arms now, shifting lower to cradle your elbows. “I couldn’t… It was like my head went empty, except all that was bouncing around in there was this, like… Bouncy ball of regret.”

You can’t help but giggle. This fucking boy.

“I know, I know,” he says, smiling again, slowly stitching the rip in your anxious gut back together, “but it’s true, I can’t… I can’t believe I left it this long, and I can’t fucking believe it took me seeing you like that to get it together, I… I feel like a fucking teenager. But I just… I need you to know you looked so fucking hot up there.”

He’s as close as he can be without crashing into you. His hands are drifting and returning, like he’s restraining himself, but he has managed to walk you backwards so you’re sandwiched between his body and the wall.

“I-” you begin, though you’re the one with the empty head now and you have no intention of finishing your sentence.

“You can head over there,” he says, tilting his head just so towards the bar, “no questions asked. And I’ll go home and leave you alone for a while, if that’s what you want. I just…” He lets his left hand leave your arm finally, and you let out a weak breath. He hovers over your hip, not touching but definitely there.

You hear him, but you don’t move, aside from letting your arm straighten so your bag can drop to the floor. There are people hovering around, loitering after the show, but you couldn’t care less, because Eddie’s knee is knocking yours and his hand has finally landed on your hip and his mouth is so close to your ear you could die.

“Eddie,” you breathe.

“Yeah, sweets?”

Looking down at you like this, Eddie doesn’t know how he’s kept his composure all these years. He really did feel quite stupid for being moved to act by seeing you on stage like that, but now that he’s this close, so close he could kiss you, he’s not feeling too bothered anymore. You’re looking back at him with wide eyes and your mouth’s in a slight pout and, god, maybe he could kiss you after all.

You crane your neck and lift up on tiptoes until your nose bumps his. You feel him smile and you smile back, until his lips brush yours and you’re knocked silly.

This feels a lot like dancing. Less like the dancing you do now; more like the dancing you did when you were younger, the more traditional kind shared between two people. A duet of movement that, once perfected, feels completely natural.

You’re no traditionalist, but you’re happy to let Eddie lead this one.

When he finally gives in and bridges the gap you whimper, because his knee is settled between both of yours and his hands are spread wide across either side of your hips, and you feel just as warm as you had running through the corridors. There’s the same sense of relief, though, that you’d felt opening that door.

He doesn’t linger, pulling back after only a few seconds.

“Thanks,” you say. He laughs.

“What, for that?”

“No,” you respond, smiling again. It won’t go away; maybe you’re stuck with it. You think about your grandfather and how he told you that if the wind changed, you’d be stuck making that face forever. “For coming to see me.”

He leans back in and kisses you again, more playful this time, firm at first and then dotting them like bursting stars around your mouth.

“You’re amazing,” he says. “So amazing.”

“So you’ll come see me again?”

“Every night, if you’ll have me.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #stranger things #eddie munson x you #stranger things 4 #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson requests #eddie munson request #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie fanfic #eddie imagine #eddie fic

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oneshotnewbie · 2 years

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Olivia comes home finding Reader painting and she knows that Reader paints whenever she us anxious or feels weird. Reader doesn't hear her when she comes home and Olivia cuddles her from behind while kissing her before she disappears in their room,bchanges her clothes in some old ones and goes back to Reader which already has set up a painting wall and some paint int the pallets ready for her wife?

---

Ever since you woke up with a cold side of the bed next to you that usually belonged to your wife, you have had an oppressive tightness in your chest, accompanied by a lump in your throat that steadily increased in size with every outside noise your body perceived as a threat. Your body was shaking, your fingers sweating as you felt as if fear was running through your nerve tracts and taking up all of the space your body could offer.

However, you didn't know where this fear came from this time. There was no origin to which you could assign this episode. It was just there and you did what always helped and relaxed you when you were alone in such a situation- You let out your feelings with paints and brushes.

These moments of fear only occurred most of the time when Olivia were at home, but there were days - like today - where you were alone and had to deal with it until she came back to help you. Even if she told you that you should call her whenever it's got too bad, you didn't wanted to bother her.

She had enough work to do and you didn´t want to stop her from catching suspects and order her home. You would get through the hours without her until she was by your side and she could hold you in her strong and protective arms.

Standing on your heavy legs, you walked into the living room and opened the blinds to let in the natural light. The sun that greeted you and the warm rays that fell on your skin made you shiver and your eyes narrow as your heart began to beat faster when you saw the crowd and the many cars rushing by below you; like an unfounded warning sign.

Immediately you closed the blinds as fast as possible and drew the curtains to dim the light again. The apartment was now completely dark, only a few rays of light had sneaked in through the small air holes of the blinds.

You leaned against the couch before you sat on the armrest and closed your eyes. Your heart was pounding like crazy and you couldn't calm down. You didn't even know what to calm down from - nothing had happened.

You shook your head to banish the thoughts and suppress them- your clammy hands holding each other tightly as you walked into the guest room where your creative office was. There were drawing on paper and playful paintings on canvases everywhere. Others would think that chaos broke out in this room, but it just reflected how you felt inside on days like these.

With a quick wave of your hand, you grabbed the headphones from the table and paired them with your cellphone, which you threw next to you on the couch. With the colors pressed onto the palette, you just started drawing on it. You didn't know what it was going to be, just that your emotions were suppose to express what you didn't understand on paper.

---

Olivia hurried up the stairs with quick and wide footsteps to the apartment you shared. You hadn't answered any of her messages all day, her calls had been routed to voicemail and she had all sorts of horrific scenarios in mind.

She decided without further ado to see for herself that everything was okay and to make sure you were fine during her break at work. Even the silence when she unlocked the door made her heart beat faster. She called your name but got no answer except the echo of her own voice. Again, but this time louder and slightly panicked, she screamed your name in line with the bang from the door pushing into the lock. "Y/n!"

Her handbag fell to the floor and her shoes clattered on the old parquet floor as she walked quickly down the hall into the living room. Before she could take another step, her eyes started moving and scanning the large room, her eyes automatically moving to your studio and caught on you.

The brown haired immediately noticed the white little plugs in your ears and she began to grin - a great burden fell from her heavy heart as she exhaled deeply to balance the stress from just now.

Silently she kicked her shoes off her feet and walked towards you in gentle and quiet steps, her long and strong arms first touching your waist before they wrapped themselves around you and pressed you smoothly against her body. Her lips already searching for the sensitive spot on the side of your neck, your head already tilted - patiently waiting.

Olivia's fingers of one hand slid from your stomach over to your face, brushing away a few strands of hair before removing one of the earplugs from your ear. "Honey, are you alright?"

You nodded and lay your head on her chest. Again the brunette hugged you tightly and continued kissing your sweet skin. You closed your eyes and enjoyed the warmth and closeness that she gave you. You put the paintbrush you were holding aside and put your hands on top of hers while you snuggled up against her. "Now that you are here, yes."

Both of you stayed like this for some time and enjoyed the attention before Olivia tore herself away from you and disappeared into the bedroom, leaving you with nothing but coldness. When she came back, she had put aside her office clothes and had only a shirt of your on that was already stained with paint and shorts that were allowed to get dirty.

You smiled when you saw her. You had already set up everything for her and just pressed a palette and a brush into her hand before she started painting next to you.

She knew that this day was not good for you - you were always painting when such days came and she wasn't there to take care of you; leaving a message to Finn beforehand, letting them know that she won´t be coming back today. She saw the sadness and the anxiety in your eyes. With a small kiss on your nose, she stole a headphone from your ear and plugged it into hers.

Before you started working on one of your paintings again, she turned you around once more and used the red paint for a heart that she painted on your cheek. "I love you and I am here for you, no matter what."

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