#jon sims x reader

[0bticeo]

jonathan sims | get some rest (tomorrow is already here)

summary:

“what do you propose?”

you take in a sharp inhale. you should leave. drag him away from his desk. but jonathan sims is a stubborn man, so he must be coaxed into doing so. 

“a massage.”

"a what?"

wc: 2.5k

tw: massage, making out, reader being a horny mess, jon being exhausted and a cranky bastard, hinted at elias' voyeuristic tendencies, usual tma ominous feelings, fluff (shocking, i know)

the analog clock reads 3:27, stark red embedded upon your retina. you sigh, fingers rubbing at the back of your neck as you step into the archives, weary bones aching.

it’s not your fault if you fell asleep in a secluded corner of the archives departement, squeezed between two shelves and piles upon piles of unlabeled statements. scratch that: they’re labeled. chronologically.

they do not make sense, however, because jonathan sims’ predecessor - whose name you curse with every breath and sleepless night you spend organizing her damn mess - left the whole department in such a state of disarray you might spend the rest of your life making sense of it. damn her. and damn your boss for being so uptight about it all.

you feel the weight of the institute, a looming force of knowledge pressed at the back of your neck, sweet pinprick of pain. you’re watched. oh, orwell, how right you were.

you make your way towards your desk, stepping over sasha’s pink slippers and picking up an empty mug. grab your keys, get out, and walk home. you’re not too far away from the institute. no trouble.

as you lean forward, palm pressed flat against a manila file, something catches your eye.

light. 

thin rays of it crawl, seep out from under the wooden door of the head archivist’s office, stark golden in dull gray penumbra.

he’s there, jonathan sims, head archivist of the magnus institute. holed up in his office, recording a statement, voice poised and measured and controlled in every way he isn’t upon being confronted with his poor sleeping schedule. 

you should leave.

you hear the soft click of a tape recorder being stopped. a long, deep-suffering sigh. a drawer opening, more muttering, some shuffling, rustling papers - oh no he won’t.

in three decisive steps, you’re before his door, your sharp knocking rinnging like gunfire in the quiet of the office. 

“who-who’s there?”

unease. suspicion.

you’re quick to answer with a long suffering sigh of your own, forehead pressed against the door.

“it’s me, jon.”

a pause. an exasperated sigh.

“what do you want?"

you take it as your cue to step inside his office, dimly lit by a lone desk lamp, dust particles turning midas-gold under its rays. your foot catches on a discarded paper - another statement, this one regarding a gambling fool of a soldier. 

(he who tries to cheat death gets the fruit of his labor and weeps upon tasting it.)

you pick it up, and let your gaze roam about the place.

a cork board takes up the majority of a wall, red strings twisting and turning in a web of confusion.

bookshelves align themselves in neat rows, cramped against one another, overflowing with statements, indigestions of facts made up and real.

a cluttered desk - a switched off tape recorder, manila folders, an open computer casting its blue glow upon the sharp edge of jon’s face.

he’s glaring at you.

“have you grown deaf since the last time i saw you?”

you let out an amused breath and make a move to put the statement on his desk. finding an uncluttered space is harder than it proves to be.

jon all but snatches the damn paper from your grip. if looks could kill, you’d be in bad shape. you lean back, arms crossed over your chest, hip pressed against the edge of his desk.

“no, merely mute with shock upon your wretched appearance.” you smile, teasing edges fading into concern. “seriously, when was the last time you slept?”

“that does not concern you-”

“it does, actually. you’re my boss. i can’t let you waste away, who would pay me otherwise?”

“elias pays all of us-”

“and he probably would have me promoted as a glorified secretary if you were to overwork yourself to death. i hate accountance, jon.”

he pinches his nose with long, deft fingers, glasses riding up ever so slightly. they reveal the deep circles under his eyes, embedded in his olive skin. you can practically see the tension oozing from him, the knots in his shoulders.

“if you’re determined to waste my time-”

“i came to help, actually.”

he raises a quizzical eyebrow, the living embodiment of judgment.

you feel his gaze rake your form, the own dark circles under your eyes, the crumpled shirt, the dust that clings to your skirt, what he’s sure is the imprint of the shelf you fell asleep against on your cheek.

you raise your hands in mock surrender. (you miss the way his gaze softens a little.)

“you’re exhausted. hell, i can feel your nervous energy from here.”

he opens his mouth, frowning, protest ready on his tongue. you cut him, merciless.

“when was the last time you’ve gotten more than three hours of sleep?”

that shuts him up. his frown deepens. you want to smooth out the wrinkles on his forehead.

“that - look, if you have nothing better to do than pester me-”

“it’s three in the morning and we’re the only living souls in this institute.”

maybe. you don’t really want to know what lies in the tunnels. or in the artifact storage. or what’s watching you.

“you’re not going to sleep at all at this rate - no, i know you’re not, because i know you. kinda.”

he sighs, exhaustion crawling out of his very marrow, and leans back in his chair. you take in the wrinkles in his shirt, now exposed because lo and behold, jonathan sims’ jacket is not sewn to his body and - 

and he’s loosening his tie, two fingers digging in his windsor knot, smooth silk gliding away under skilled fingers. you wonder what they might feel like slipping under your shirt.

“what do you propose?”

you take in a sharp inhale. you should leave. drag him away from his desk and into bed. but jonathan sims is the living embodiment of stubborness, so he must be coaxed into doing so.

“a massage.”

“a- a what?”

you laugh a little.

“don’t pretend your neck isn’t stiffer than the stick up your ass.”

“i do not have-”

“jon, please let me help.”

silence. again, he pinches the bridge of his nose. at least, he’s considering it.

you eye the piles of statements on his desk, half-discarded, half-classified. there’s a pattern in the way jon operates, even if he’s not conscious of it.

he only ever calls for your help when he’s sure the statements at hand are lelgitimate. this means he rules out those he deems written by lunatics and madmen. this means he does most of the work. this means-

“all right. but under one condition."

you tilt your head to the side, curious.

“one last statement.”

“only if i massage you while you record it.”

a glare.

“we’re wasting time, jon.”

“fine. get over here.”

you smile, palms smoothing out the pleats of your skirt as you make your way behind his desk.

he pays you no mind, long fingers selecting a manila file from a pile, opening it with care. there’s a certain stiff grace with which he carries himself, you muse as you step behind him. 

you watch the ripples of tension in the back of his neck, the fine strands of auburn hair tainted penumbra-dark brushing against his nape, and gently run your knuckle against his skin. he’s warm.

“whenever you’re ready,” you breathe, fingers resting on the back of his chair.

he coughs a little. composes himself. hits record.

“continued statement of trevor herbert regarding their latter years as a vampire hunter. original statement given july 10th 2010, audio recording by jonathan sims, head archivist of the magnus institute.”

you watch with fascination as the calm, composed, formal voice slips into something… else. something between jonathan sims and trevor herbert, and it’s fascinating, because for a brief second, split second instant of Knowing, you can See him, the tramp and his collapsing lungs, writing away his youth and hunts on bland institute paper.

you blink and it’s gone. 

there’s only you, the “lofi charm” of the tape recorder, and jon. his nape is bare. intimate knowledge settles in your mind, the fragility of mortality. bury a sharp needle there and his body collapses. 

you frown. push it back. roll up your sleeves and rub your hands together, warming them up because they’re always cold, and the least you can do is give him a modicum of comfort.

slowly, carefully, you put your hands over his shoulders. he tenses at that, briefly, until you start rubbing away the years of tension gnawing at him.

slowly, surely, you knead poor, exhausted muscles. slowly, surely, he relaxes under your touch, head leaning back ever so slightly.

from this close, you can smell him, you realize. cold coffee, dusty paper, cedarwood aftershave and something like a hint of sweat. 

“good?” you whisper, almost silent, voice lost in the quiet static of the tape recorder, in the dust-soft penumbra.

he nods, cheek brushing your wrist. your heart hammers in your chest. a strand of hair brushes the back of your hand - they’re graying a little. you wonder why he exhausts himself so. why he spends nights buried in his office, burrowing himself in piles and piles of files. 

hypocrite.

the only reason as to why you’re here, massaging your fucking boss and growing desperately wet at his deep sighs of content, is because you, too, spend much more time than reasonable trying to make sense of it all. 

the only reason as to why you’re here, taking in the gentle mess that is jonathan sims, is because you both leave at ungodly hours. because he can keep his eyes on you and so he knows that you cannot be responsible for gertrude’s murder.

you think he might trust you.

his hand settles over yours, and you startle.

he’s warm, palm large enough to cover the entirety of your hand, from wrist to fingertips. you don’t know what to do with this knowledge.

you don’t want to think of what you might do in the quiet death of the night, your hand slipping under your covers, down the apex of your thigh-

he slides your hand lower. oh. oh. 

you lean forward, until your cheek brushes his, skin on skin, and unbutton the first two buttons of his shirt. you think he might be leaning into your touch. you think you might cut yourself on the edge of his jaw, on the sharpness of his words. 

your hands meet his bare skin and you feel like you’ve caught fire, breath stolen away as you feel him in a way the cotton of his shirt didn’t allow. there is a sharpness to him. you can feel his jutting clavicles under your fingertips, sharp angel wings of bone, and your heart tightens. 

he works too much.

it’s quiet, for a while.

you don’t know what sets it off. one moment, you’re massaging him, relishing in the feeling of his skin under your hands. the next, your fingers catch a particularly tight spot in his shoulders and he groans , and fuck, you should not feel familiar heat curling in your lower belly but you do. 

you should stop. bid him good night and leave him with his precious recording. 

you don’t. 

instead, you rub at that spot, tentatively, and watch as he bites his lip mid-sentence, voice catching on a word. he’s a little breathless.

you are, too, heart hammering in your ribcage, hummingbird trying to flee its bones.

his hand wraps around your wrist and tugs you forward, free hand settling on your lower back, guiding you until you’re in his lap, looking up at him.

you think you might be dying of a heart attack with the way he looks at you, with eyes so dark you can barely make out the beautiful green of them.

“just what do you think you’re doing?” he growls.

you feel like you're on fire with how close you are. how his hand still encases your wrist in an iron hold. how you can feel warmth of him. how you can see the fluttering pulse of his throat, adam apple bobbing up and down as he swallows and fuck you want to take a bite.

your mouth feels dry.

“i- i don’t-” 

his grip tightens on your wrist. 

“answer me.”

somehow you’re closer. close enough to feel his breath on your lips, to find yourself staring up at him through hooded eyes, to find him staring back with parted lips. 

whatever’s left of your resolve dissolves into a puddle of desire. 

“jon, please, let me kiss you.”

a pause. the faintest glint of disbelief in his eyes.

then his lips crash on yours. 

you startle, hand shooting forward to grasp the nearest thing for purchase and find only him, him and the crisp cotton of his shirt, all exhaustion and boiling frustration.

he puts his mouth to you like one would to a lover’s and kisses you slowly, deeply, unraveling you like a beloved mystery. 

your body sings for him, and it’s so right you dismiss the ever-present pinprick pressure at the back of your neck. 

his palm cups it, your nape, warmth consuming that pinprick pain, until the only thing you can do is sigh in his mouth and press yourself closer.

his lips part from yours, briefly, a breath away, and it’s too damn far, so you tug at his cravat and pull him down. your fingers dig in his shirt, his hair, and he groans at the way your nails rake his scalp.

your lips part for him in a soft, whisper-quiet moan of his name, and he swallows it down almost greedily. you feel his tongue brush against yours and let out a low, needy sound, molten desire coursing through your veins.

his hand slips under your shirt, reaches for the soft skin of your side and presses up, up, up until it meets your breast and his thumb presses against your nipple in tight circles and you’re almost sobbing against his lips. 

you’re not aware that your hips are grinding against the hardness of him until his hand settles on your hip, slowing you down to a stop, and you part from him, breathless, and so, so needy.

there’s a thread of saliva between you, thin little spider-web intertwining your fates.

he looks at you, disheveled, glasses slightly askew, their lenses foggy, shirt half-opened for your gaze to meet tantalizing skin. a feast for the sore eyes.

“you might want to make me breakfast instead.”

“not like this,” he mumbles, thumb swiping against your bottom lip. “not- at least, let me treat you to dinner first.”

he chuckles at that, a little breathless, a little exasperated, definitely fond.

“cheeky.”

you peck his lip, sweetly. his hand tightens over your hip.

“look at the time, jon.” 

he rides up his sleeve ever so slightly to reveal his watch and with it, the tantalizing softness of his pulse, beating wildly against the tender skin of his inner wrist. almost four in the morning. you press your lips there, feel the yearning of his beating heart. 

he doesn’t think he’s seen you this beautiful. you, disheveled, on his lap, almost chest to chest with him, bringing his palm to your cheek and pressing fluttering kisses to his fingers. you, smiling up at him, exhausted, worn to the bone, but happy, and -

“oh.”

“what is it?”

your gaze lands on the tape recorder. oh.

“still recording. i should -”

“go home, get some sleep and finish what you started - me included - later.”

he sighs. there’s still a smile on his lips, exhaustion melting down to affection. 

"fine. end recording.”

[tma-reader-inserts]

Jonathan Sims x Spiral Avatar! Reader

Knowing Jonathan Sims was… an experience. When you first met him, you were just giving a statement.

You knew he didn’t believe you at all. To be fair, you were blazingly high when the experience happened, and high when you gave your statement.

While smoking with some of your friends, you stumbled upon an old book your father, who you hated, had collected before he died. You hated that book, you hated the ominous air it gave off, how your father obsessed over it, how he mumbled passages from the book, sketch fractals on every surface in the house, and hit you with the leather cover whenever you invited his rage. You tried burying it, but somehow it always came back to your coffee table. You never even bothered to read the words on the almost transparent-it-was-so-thin pages. You hated that stupid book as much as you hated your shitty father.

So you found the stupid book, and told your friends that you couldn’t even get rid of it it; and as one of them flip through the pages, they mention how similar they were to rolling papers.

… and well, didn’t that give you a novel idea.

Page after page, after your friends left, you slowly tore and filled and rolled the thin sheets of the book, lighting up until you couldn’t even lift your head. For months, you slowly decreased the thickness of the book until only half the pages and the leather cover with that stupid stamp of “Leitner” was left.

Well and all; but each time you lit up, you saw things. Normally, when you were high, you were just relaxed, slow moving and thinking and caring; a giggling, hungry mess that rolled around on the floor and dozed in and out of consciousness. But whenever you smoke with the pages from the book, thing were different.

Shadows from the corner of your eye moved and pulsed, you heard low whispers from every direction of the room. The worst of it was all the doors you saw. So many doors that didn’t belong in your house. The curiosity to open them, to trapeze through those rooms and halls, was staggering. You were always of such low motivation, to feel the so much desire to do something (beside getting high and sleeping) was unusual. However, you were too stoned to move, so you never actually entered a door. Even when a tall thin woman in a wacky business suit threw the door opened and tried to coax you in; even when a creature resembling a man with endlessly curling blonde hair sits with you and speaks nonsense at you as you tried to comprehend your surroundings.

Whenever you did come down, things wouldn’t just return to normal; there was always a stray door that would taunt you; the sound of the man laughing ringing in your ears.

When you gave your statement, you couldn’t really give a damn about the circumstances. You were seeing weird shit, and the Magnus Institute was for telling people about weird shit that was seen. Did you care that you were going insane? Not a bit. You father went crazy when he got that book, god knows what got into your mother to copulate with the man, and you reckon that your entire lineage was severely fucked in the head. You self medicated to cope, what choice had you? Seek professional help? Open yourself up bloody and raw to a stranger who was paid to give you fake platitudes and a low grad prescription for mania? Absolutely not. And frankly you were more taken to the effects of marijuana rather than alcohol or any other kind of drug.

So yes, you were high when you went to the Institute to give your statement. And Mr. Sims was less than impressed by your antics. In fact he more or less chewed you out entirely in the privacy of the archive room. It amused you greatly; as he yelled at you about ‘decorum’ and ‘self-pride’, you could only muse about how badly you wanted to see this man specifically as high as a kite and zoned out, drooling on your couch as you combed your fingers through his pretty, curly brown hair. You smirked at the mental image, which only seemed to enraged him further.

After you left the place, however, things had gotten… much worse.

As soon as you got home, you got blitzed off your ass. Despite whenever you used the paper from the book things got super weird, that didn’t exactly stop you from continuing from doing it. Sure, you saw unexplainable things, but you weren’t one to waste paper.

You supposed the reason why you liked being high was the surrender. The passing of responsibility of your thoughts and actions unto something else. To completely give yourself up for a few hours and not be for that time; to be consumed by the buzz of nothingness and allow yourself the high of not thinking straight. There’s a sort of control in losing control to something else.

Maybe that’s why you changed.

It was subtle at first. You noticed your highs lasted much longer than they normally did; soon you weren’t even consuming any of your stash, you were just perpetually buzzed. Then you noticed you could control how high you were exactly, after one instance where you were annoyed with being numb everywhere; suddenly you were almost entirely sober. Still a little high though.

Your biggest discovery was that you could intoxicate others. While you were at a club, you kissed another party-goer in the alley by the club, and you watched in fascination as his pupils dilated immediately and he fell to the ground, silently screaming and clawing at his face. Between his terror you could understand him saying something about feeling bugs in his skin. The knowledge that you caused this sunk into your hazy brain with a rush of excitement and pride. You did this. You reduced some boring, straight laced business man on holiday into a pathetic writhing mess, so high out of his mind that he was truly panicking, probably for the first time in his life; he was truly afraid.

And the fun of doing that, scaring people, far outweighed the joy of being high.

Being high was still super fun, though.

By the time you polished off smoking the pages of the book, you were certain you weren’t totally human anymore. Maybe human adjacent. You were at some point, for certain, but now you were something else. Similar but distinctly different from before.

You took great joy in terrorizing others. You tried being careful at first; most people just assumed they were drugged, or whatever substance they took was laced. Then you got reckless, you supposed. One of your victims, a college boy who was a friend of a friend, who was lured back to your car to scare him through a drug haze, went to the Magnus Institute.

Apparently, even though the idiot young man was already high when you met him, he remembered your face quite clearly, and was insistent that his encounter with you was ‘supernatural’ purely because there was no physical way he could have gotten that out of touch with his senses.

Now, you have minor control over what your victims hallucinate. Usually, whatever was in the recesses of their mind was enough to scare them, but the stubborn ones required some… direction. With that college boy, you managed to convince him he ate rotten meat from an alley way, that there were maggots and bugs and all sorts of diseases crawling around in his guts, in his skin, when in reality you never even left your car until he became so terrified he was rendered unconscious.

You thought your original visit to the Institute was written off; you were certain there was no way Jonathan Sims bothered to remember your face, let alone your name. But there you were, once again in the same recording room as last time, after one of Sims’s meekish assistants contacted you for a “follow up”.

You should’ve known it was a trap to confront you. But in your defense, you didn’t think the archivist was smart or ballsy enough to pull a stunt like that. Yet, here you were, once again being glared down at, with a written statement from the boy you’re tormented in front of you.

“Well?” Jon asks, one bushy eye brow raised in annoyance.

“Well indeed.” You reply, scanning the page once more. “Sounds like this lad had a hell of a trip, some people can’t handle their substances.”

This only seemed to anger the man. “The person he describes sounds an awful lot like you. Even some of your mannerisms and ticks were mentioned. Are you denying this is you?”

You laugh. You couldn’t help the sound from breaking through your teeth.

“It is you, isn’t it.” He accuses.

“Who it is, and who it isn’t, aren’t the problem Sims…” you drawl, throughly amused. “The real problem is you’re believing the accounts of some pot head. What happened to the ineffable skeptic I met months ago?”

He flinches, and you note the movement with great interest. “… I should have believed you about the doors.” He mumbles. “When you came in, I shouldn’t have written you off so quickly, least of all belittle you like that.”

It was your turn to quirk your eyebrow. “I’m getting the feeling you met Micheal, then?”

With shame, he looks away, and you sigh.

“Tell you what…” you say slowly, tongue heavy from the feeling of intoxication. “… I’ll give you another statement, but just for us. Just for you.”

Intrigue paints his features.

“No one else, not even your assistants, not your boss, gets to hear about this. Just you, only for you.”

Now he looks at you in scrutiny. “What do you get out of the exchange?”

A wild smile pulls across your face. “I wanna get you blitzed out.”

“Good lord.” He groans.

“Come on!” You laugh. “I’ll take you to my place-“

“No.”

“We do a little hash-“

“Absolutely not.”

“And I’ll give you an explanation to the weird shit I can do!” You exclaim. “I’ll give you full details, I’m not dodgey about questions like Micheal is, I can give it to you straight!”

“You are aware that the consumption, distribution, and possession marijuana is illegal in the United Kingdom?” He hissed, scandalized.

“Duh; that’s what makes doing it even more fun.” You explain, amused. “You asked what I wanted out of my statement, I told you.”

He huffs. “How is me getting high going to benefit you?”

You never found a point in being dishonest to pretty men. “I think you’d look cute dazed out of you mind.”

“Wha-what?”

You shrug. “You’re pretty, and I think you’d be prettier high, and I wanna see it.”

Jon flushed, tan skin becoming tinged with red. His upper teeth dug into his bottom lip, and his eyes darted away from you so quickly you almost heard them snap. “That is- you can’t just say-“

“You found a way to contact me before; use that method to contact me again when ever you decide on what you want to do.” Standing from your chair, you see the archivist take a small step towards you, almost as if to stop you but he thought the better of it.

You open the door, and before you ascend the steps, you look at the pretty book worm one last time.

“And for the record, whatever that little shit smoke up with was stolen from me. He deserved it. I probably scared him straight anyway, you should be thanking me.”

“That doesn’t make what you did right.” Jon snipes back.

You shrug, unconcerned. “I don’t care about what is right or not, Sims.” You level him with a blank look, allowing a haze to permeate through your conscious. “I hardly care about anything at all.”

And with that, you left.

—

It took a grand total of two weeks before Jon Sims contacted you directly. You were pleased as peach to answer your phone, hoping it was the pretty and emotionally surly archivist.

He had agreed to meet you under your circumstances, and you could help the giggle that leaked into the receiver when he spoke. He talked like an old man, it entertained you ceaselessly. You wondered if he even would be able to keep his bookish facade while high. You hoped not; to see Jonathan Sims at a loss for words would be delightful.

Later that evening, upon your doorstep, in a comfortable brown and grey cardigan, was Jonathan Sims. He seemed nervous, tightly gripping his tape recorder and note book as he stepped into your home.

Honestly your house was a wreck. It’s been in your family for generations, and no one in your bloodline has ever really cared about cleaning up after themselves, yourself included. Did it look like a trap house? Probably; but you could get to the kitchen, your couch, and your bed; so unless something was in your path it was ignored. Jon eyes the trash in the corners of your home, but said nothing unkind.

Sitting him on the couch, you leave only to return less than a minute later, holding a small pastry.

“Is that… a marijuana brownie?” He asks, eyes the confection with anxiousness.

You laugh boisterously, shocking him. “It’s called a pot brownie and you damn well know it, Sims.” Sitting next to him, you unwrap the napkin. “Ten milligrams would be too much for your first time, and five I don’t think would really do anything but take your edge off, so I split the difference to seven. It’s what I started out on and it’ll do just fine.”

He stared down at the piece of brownie with dread, and as he tried to reach for it you pulled it away.

“Hey now.” You warn, frowning, “Do you actually want to do this?”

He scowls. “I’m here aren’t I? Besides, what choice have I?”

It was your turn to scowl now. “If you really don’t want to do this I’ll find another way to make us even. It’s no fun being high against your will.”

He eyes you with an annoyed expression. “Isn’t that what you do to people?”

“Yeah, ‘cus they’re assholes who don’t deserve a nice experience. I’m trying to give you a nice experience.”

“So you target people you deem unworthy to torment?” In the silence of the room, you hear the ever so faint sound of something turning. Has he been recording you this entire time?

You roll your eyes. “I’ll spill my guts soon, Jon, don’t jump the gun. Do you actually want to get high or not.”

He seems to battle with himself for a long moment before nodding. “… I really wanted to try it in college… but I didn’t have any… connections…”

You breathe a laugh. “You didn’t have enough good friends who knew where to get a stash, huh?”

He mumbles something like a, “shut up.”

“Aw, baby-“ you croon, a hand reaching up to pet at his hair. “It sucks to be left out, huh? Never lived up to the traditional college experience? Don’t worry, honey, I’ll fix that right up; you’re in good hands.”

Finally you bring the brownie piece back into reach. “Don’t eat more than this for now; anymore and you’ll be fucked rightly.” You warn.

Nodding, Jon gently takes the piece from your outstretched hand. Grimacing one last time, he places the entire bite size piece into his mouth, and slowly chews.

“It tastes strange.” He complains.

“There’s weed in it, precious.”

“Not that; you didn’t sift the flour when you made these, did you?”

You throw your head back laughing. Oh this was going to be delightful.

—

Forty minutes in and Jon’s head was in your lap as he stared blankly up at the ceiling. Humming, you combed your fingers through what you could of his hair.

“You doing alright, pretty boy?”

A sound comes from his throat, and you know it was a half hearted attempt to respond.

The best course of action, you decided, was to remain as sober as you possibly could be, to be there for Jon during this new experience. After about twenty minutes, his speech began to slow, and by the thirty minute mark, he asked to lie down.

One of his hands held yours, leaving his other hand limply on his stomach.

“You’re doing such a good job, Jon.” You whisper. “You’re doing so well.”

He whimpers, turning his face into your stomach as his skin once again alights with a blush. Removing your hand from his mane, you rub your thumb against the small circular scars along his cheek bone.

“I can’t feel my face.” He complains, high and breathy.

You hum again. “You never are able to feel your face, you’re just actually feeling it for the first time right now, you’re hyper aware of it.”

He groans again, longer, annoyed. “Shh, I don’t want to think.”

“All right, sweet heart,” you say sweetly, “It’s normal to feel things like that. You’re doing just fine.”

“… I can feel all my skin at once, then. And my head feels like a pillow.”

Biting back a laugh, you resume stroking his hair.

“Can you feel through hair? I can feel my hair.”

“Boy, just wait until you start watching trippy movies like this. ‘The Cell’ is gonna be great.”

He groans again. “I don’t want to watch anything, I can barely keep my eyes open.”

“Close them, then, sweetheart.” You coax. “No shame in it, do what feels nice right now.”

At your encouragement, he curls into almost entirely. He moans again, nestling his face into your stomach. You try not to laugh at the sensation of his vibrations tickling your skin through your clothes. “Please keep talking…” he mumbles, “Your voice is nice…”

This time, you did chuckle. Normally, you were amused by everything, but this especially entertained you. “I think your voice is nicer, I could listen to it for hours.”

Jon’s head swivels so he could peer up at you. “Please, no one wants to hear me prattle on about my statements or, or my theories on them.”

Working on a particularly difficult knot in his hair, you hum. “I know I would, who knows, those statements seem to be pretty interesting, a bunch of cool stories to listen to.”

“Right, the trauma of others are interesting.” Sarcasm drips from his lips.

“Well, everyone loves a good scary story.”

Jon sighs and returns to nestling your stomach. You ponder his earlier request and speak. “Your recorder going, yeah?”

The man’s hand slides away from his face and fumbles around beside you until his hands grip the device and presses a button, the sound of faint whirling enters the air.

You introduce yourself to the device, stating your name and occupation, and just began talking. You spoke of your father and his beatings, about the terrible book, when your drug habit started and progressed into what you are now. How you feel powerful picking out certain people to torment, finally taking back the dominance your father stole from you. You muse about Micheal and Helen, and about the doors, the connection between you and the disconnection from reality. You end your statement with a shrug, saying something along the lines about how your humanity is a choice you constantly make, but if you wanted you could abandon it easily.

When you finish and look down, you see Jon is asleep. He is warm and heavy in your lap, he is snorting softly, and he look truly and deeply at peace.

Reaching your hand into the tangle of Jon’s fingers, you turn off the recording device. As you stare at the man, you feel a dopey smile stretch across your features. Maybe, for right now, you’ll be on better behaviour. If for nothing more than to keep Jon near you.

[cupioromantic-simp]

Jon x corruption avatar

Jon clicks the button on the tape recorder and the sound resides through out the room

“Statement of”

You state your full name and occupation

“-About entity driven events during my life time”

“Recorded direct from subject by Jonathan sims…” he looks disappointed in you maby that you didn’t tell him or maybe because you are telling him

You take a deep breath and sigh

“First things first I’m sorry for not making a statement after the Jane prentis attack I was worried you’d turn on me I’m sure you’ll see why…

My first experience with a deep internal fear was when I was six me and my mother where on a vacation at a motel near our house not really a vacation per say but it had a pool and and arcade so that’s really all that mattered to me

We had go to this one specific location multiple times but this time it was different it was about twenty years before they closed it up and they whet going through repairs changing out some stuff and adding things to make it more hip for the non-locals

We- me and my mother-where in the pool.. well I was my mother never really liked getting her hair wet and I decided to just float on my back in the pool because I was a shy kid I didn’t know how to interact with people even at six and as I was floating I looked up at the ceiling and.. one of the panels where gone and you could see pipes and wires and… so so much dust I was going to call out to my mom and tell her how dangerous I found it

B-but when I opened my mouth a string of dust fell from the open panel and.. and in to my mouth

I-I can still remember it I gagged so hard I threw up in the pool it was as thick as dryer lint and I- I think I passed out because I don’t remember most of what happened there I just remember that the blankets in our room where the deducting green-brown and that I had an allergic reaction to it ether that or a rash

The next I remember is more clusters of things like wanting to vomit every time I saw bare feet on tile, or that if you pop a pimple wrong it can get in to your blood and cause sepsis, or the fact there where always fruit flies in our house because my mom didn’t have time to clean and I was so forgetful that I whole only remember to bring my mugs down because there was a thick layer of twisting curling mold of top of whatever I was drinking ten days ago

I remember learning that penicillin was just apple mold so I left a slice out for a little over a year just to see what happened

Mold happened obviously

All things rot and decompose I’ve-

I’ve come to peace with that

Sounds like a weird thing to have to come to peace with

I’ve also come to peace with the fact that everything is dirty

Nothing is clean it’s just how it is

Everything touched by human hands is dirty and humans have the need to touch everything

Whether there supposed to or not

I think that’s why it got me the thing that’s corroding the iron in my blood, flaking my skin and molding my meat

And I mean it not in the meat in my fridge though it is in the food but the meat in my body if you can call it that

I am meat and my meat is moldy and crawling with rot and decay

That’s why I didn’t quite care about the worms I think…

Or that they didn’t care about me in the way they cared about Jane

You read her statement you know

‘I am a home for that which loves me’

No it’s not like that

‘I am consumed by that which wants and crawls in the dirt and the air and the ground and the halls and the food and the water it sinks in to my skin and in to my stomach and up my throat and in to the pool and in to the filters and in to the skin of the others who return it to me because I am it’s master and it owns me and I am so full and connected and so so scared’”

You and Jon stare at each other for al least thirty seconds

“S-… um.. s-statement ends…”

He moves his hand to the tape recorder but his hand trembles before he can touch anything

You can feel that he can feel it all around the dust, dead skin, the paper mold I mean who knows where that tape recorder has bean, how long, what kind of plastic mold crawls and hides and feasts you’ve really been touching that thing Jon? Who knows what bacteria you’ve spread with that thi-

“STOP!” Jon if visibly shaking “how-..what… why did you do that?!”

“Hmm? I’m not sure, I don’t know if it was even a conches decision, is it weird being on the receiving end of an avatar spell thing? Because i know it’s weird when you do your little statement suction thing”

“I um-“

“Oh you didn’t understand how horrific things like that are, you up set your self with the thought that you’ve been doing a similar thing to people”

You move you hand wanting to comfort him some how but quickly realize that holding his hand with your corrupted fungi filled strangely soft hands it would probably send him in to another fear fuelled panic so you just move your hand back in to your lap

“I’m.. sorry Jon, I… I think I’ll be going now, for awhile, you should um clean the apartment I think… I- I’m not sure what to say… goodbye Jon”

You click off the tape recorder for him before leaving

[randomafwritings]

Requests Open!

I’m taking requests again! Here are the fandom I’ll write for:

Dream SMP (Ranboo, Tubbo, Philza, Wilbur, Tommy, Techno)

Sally face

The Magnus archives

Reader inserts for all of the above

I also write poly stuff with people so I’m 100% down to write for that

Just a note that I don’t write angst or smut, I only write fluff both platonic and romantic.

Here’s my masterlist of all of my fics.

Here’s a link to my ao3 if you’d like my read my works over there.

[shina913]

Fire to the Low | KNJ

Fire to the Low (one-shot)

Pairing: KNJ x Fem!Reader

Rating: M 🔞; NSFW

Genre: Established relationship; some fluff; smut; pwp

Warnings: crop-haired/buzzcut Namjoon kink; cussing; clit play; oral (f-receiving); dirty talk; unprotected penetrative sex in a committed and monogamous relationship; standing/wall sex; creampie; soft aftercare

Word count: 2,234 words

Summary: Namjoon gets a new haircut but you have to wait until you're alone to let him know just how much you love it.

A/N: This was spurred by a comment made by Namjoon during his recent live when he said that he was over his hair and wished he could just shave it all off (accdg to translations). FYI, if you're curious to know what a skin fade is or what it looks like, here are some variations. I was thinking more of #4 for this AU 😜 I also blame Sim @itdoesntmatterwhy for this prompt because we can't seem to stop screaming and losing our shit talking about how we love crop-haired/buzzcut Namjoon (yeah, yeah, unpopular opinion, whatevs). Anyway, it's nice to revisit those days from PTD Online/Proof album era when he looked absolutely beefy and hhhnnnngggghh 🔥 I think I might also be a step closer to buying that Proof Collector's edition as well LMFAO🤡

A/N2: This is unbeta'd and it's horny word vomit that I finished at 2:30AM so I hope you can get past typos or other errors. I guess you could also consider this as a sequel to Stubble? 😏

“I can’t believe he’s getting married tomorrow,” Namjoon comments as you both head back to your hotel room, coming back from his college best friend’s rehearsal dinner.

“Mm-hm,” you hum noncommittally as he retrieves his key card. While he taps it against the sensor, you reach up to run your fingers against the back of his neck.

Namjoon managed to fit in a haircut before this evening. He got a low skin fade and kept the top cropped with short spikes. You ran late from another appointment and met up at the restaurant instead so it was a nice surprise to see it for the first time when you walked in. 

Even though you had already complimented him when you arrived, you couldn't show him how much you appreciated it since you were both busy socializing.

It’s been a while since he had his hair cut this short. The weather was starting to get warmer and he was tired of hair getting into his eyes or having to brush it back so often. 

“What’s up?” He asks while you distractedly rub the back of his head.

“Nothing. It’s just…so…short.”

He frowned. “Is it bad? I know it’s kinda drastic and I didn’t want to sweat through my tux.”

“No, I don’t think it’s bad at all.”

He pushes the door open and prompts you to enter first. Once he was through the threshold, you turned around and pushed him against the wall, taking him by surprise.

Finally glad that you were both alone so you could express how much you liked his new look, you whisper, “I think it’s really sexy.”

He squinted an eye at you, seeming incredulous. “I always thought you preferred the long hair.” He cocked his eyebrow and had a sly smirk, knowing how much you loved to pull on it.

“I mean, I do but…” you ran your fingers from the base of his skull in an upward motion. “I can get with this, too. I’ve been fighting the urge to touch it at the party.” The feel of the short, prickly strands bristling against your skin sends shivers coursing through your body.

Just then, you felt his strong hands grasping your hips.

“Have you now?”

“Mm-hm. I love how rough it feels back here.” You rub his scalp gently. 

He sighs softly then closes his eyes while leaning into your touch. “That feels nice.”

“Yeah?”

He hummed his agreement. “You know what else feels nice?” His hands start slowly roving up and down your body. “This dress and the way it just clings onto every curve. Just fucking ridiculous.” He stops to give your ass a firm squeeze.

“If I had seen you in this outfit before on your way to the party, I would have called Jon to say that we’d be running a little late.” He pulls you closer to him, grinding his hips against your center. You moan at the feel of his stiff cock rubbing up on you.

He peels himself off the wall and slowly backs you against the opposite wall, caging you with his large frame.

He reaches under the hem to run his forefinger up the inside of your thigh, watching as your lips pressed together in excitement. He smirks cockily and sweeps his finger under the seam of your panties, brushing at your clothed pussy. You groan softly.

“Wet, already?” he whispers, circling you slowly.

“Already? I’ve been wet since I saw your new haircut.”

He clicked his teeth. “Kept you waiting too long?”

You pout playfully and nod. “Just a little.”

“Damn, I’m sorry. Can I make it up to you?” He purrs.

You bite down on your lower lip and nod, watching while he kneels before you with his head lowered. You tug on his hair making him turn his gaze up to you. You stroke his cheek lovingly and he kisses the inside of your wrist in return.

He pulls the hem of your dress until it bunches up a few inches above your waist. He leans in to kiss your stomach while cupping your bottom; your head rolls back in a sigh.

He hooks his fingers to your panties’ waistband and slides them down your leg, only pausing to tap on your ankle, which prompts you to lift your feet to completely rid you of them.

He looks pleased with how lewdly exposed you were for him. And before your skin shivers from the draft, you feel his warm tongue between the apex of your thighs, making your legs buckle under you.

“Hmmmfuck…” Your eyes roll to the back of your head and your grip on his hair tightens. In one broad lick, he has you at his mercy.

He grabs your hips, causing you to jerk against his mouth. You feel his skillful tongue swirl around your sensitive nub of nerves, circling with slow, precise licks before delving deep into your folds.

You writhe in pleasure, grinding your pussy against his lips. He increases the pressure, his fingers digging into your flesh. It’s only a matter of seconds before he has you falling apart; the surging pleasure crashing down into your center has you tensing up, gasping for breath, with your heart jumping into your throat.

“I love the way you taste. I could do this all night,” he cooed against your wet folds before he suckles on your clit.

“Shit, I’m close, Joon!” You gasp in a rush.

A hand is removed from your hip and two fingers plunge into you, sending you into a spiral.

“Yes! Fuck…just like that…” You choked out, not even worried about the fact that you must be ripping his hair out at this point.

You whine helplessly as he stretches your opening with his fingers, circling and thrusting, working your clit with his thumb and lapping at your sensitive lips with his tongue. 

“C’mon, baby. Cum for me,” he gasped between powerful, even strokes of his hand.

With a few more measured pumps of his fingers, thumb and tongue, you are tipped over the edge and start free-falling, every nerve ending in your body is set off with sparks of pleasure.

He licks and sucks, slowly and gently, easing you down at a steady rate, your body relaxing and your heart rate calming down. You keep your palms on his head, tracing slow, light circles in his hair.

When you come down from your high, he makes sure that you are steady on your feet before he stands and comes up to plant a light kiss on you. You lick at the seam of his lips, tasting your arousal on them.

He pulls away with a softened expression and looks down at his pants. You take the hint, slipping your hand into the waistband, and skim over his hard-on.

You flick your eyes to his and find them regarding you intently. When you move in closer, he takes the opportunity to lower his forehead onto yours.

You slip your hands around the back of his boxers, smoothing your palms over his ass. 

“I love this.” You whisper, molding your palms over his cheeks.

He moaned softly, rubbing his forehead against yours.

You go on and smooth your palms back to the front, grasping his thick, hard cock at the base. “And I really love this,” you dragged out.

“All yours.” He hisses in appreciation while you pumped his length in slow, rhythmic strokes, stopping at the tip to squeeze gently. Unable to withstand your teasing any longer, he dips his head to claim your lips in a growl, eating at your mouth hungrily.

You’re pulled into his chest, feeling his hard length pushed into your groin. You feel the ache building up again, forcing you to withdraw your hand from his pants. The urgent need to have him inside you has you breaking your kiss, ripping the shirt off him, and frantically tugging at his pants. He releases one hand from your bottom to help and his boxers follow.

He swiftly and securely wraps his hands around the waist and pulls you upwards against his body. 

“Up, now.” He growls against your neck, as he sucks and bites at you. You obey without hesitation, wrapping your thighs around his body when he lifts you, his arousal slipping over your swollen entrance, causing a desperate moan to escape your mouth.

He crashes his lips against yours, moaning as your tongues explore each other’s mouths. Your hands smooth down his stubble and go around the back of his head, hanging onto him as he holds you with one arm wrapped around your waist. His other arm is against the wall above your head for support.

You move your hands around to grip his neck and shoulders when you feel him pull back slightly, lining himself up to your center. You relax your thighs to give him room.

Bringing his hand down from the wall, he guides himself to your entrance, looking straight into your eyes as the tip of his cock brushes against it.

“Ready for me?” He asks as he darts his tongue out to run it across your lower lip.

“Yes. Are you ready for me,” You press your chest closer to his.

He gets so wildly turned on when you challenge him. With a smirk and a sharp shift of his hips, he thrusts upwards, filling you to the absolute hilt, slamming his hand back into the wall beside your head.

“Oh…God!” You scream when the tip hits your cervix.

“Nah baby, that’s all me,” he strains between slow, deep thrusts, pushing you further up the wall. “Feel good?”

“Always.” You purr at him.

He increases the tempo and you throw your head back, panting and crazy with pleasure, as with each hard strike he pushes you further into absolute ecstasy. 

“Fuck, your pussy…so good,” he groans against your exposed throat.

You cry out, helpless to his punishing drives against your core. 

He gasps, tilting his head to claim your lips. He moans into your mouth as you hold onto his face, soaking up the passion radiating from every inch of his body.

As your mutual hunger for each other takes over and you reach the point of no return, you lock your thighs around his hips, every muscle in your body tightening in anticipation of the snap and release that’s on the horizon. 

It starts to become unbearable and you don’t know what to do with yourself. It’s too much but you also don’t want it to stop. He feels too good and you’re too greedy for him.

He brings his eyes back down to yours. They’re dark and hooded. 

“Harder?”

Fuck…he’s going to rip you in half.

“‘Wanna hear it,” he demands.

“Fuck, yes, Joon…harder,” you choke out. 

He growls deep in his throat, increasing his thrusts to an even more determined, purposeful pace—something you would never have thought possible. Your legs tighten around him further to the point of pain, but that just increases the friction and maximizes your pleasure. 

Finally, that tight coil snaps and you’re thrown over the threshold, cumming around him with a scream and a shudder.

The loud groan that bursts from his lips tells you he’s not far behind. Then, he slows his hips to a steady rocking. He gets in those final strokes before you feel the warm sensation of his release within you, saying your name with his hot breaths bursting against your neck. Once he’s settled, you drop your head to his shoulder, your heart hammering in your chest. 

“Holy fucking shit.” He whispers through his suppressed breathing.

You sigh. That was beyond intense. Your mind is pure mush at this point, and you know you won’t be able to stand on your own if he tries to put you down. 

As if reading your mind, he turns you so his back is against the wall and slides downward, taking you with him so you’re straddling his lap on the floor. Your face is planted on his chest, and you can still feel him pulsing inside you. 

You’re totally ruined by him. Your eyes start to close and mildly aware that you were still stuck to his body.

“You okay, baby?” he says softly as he strokes your back with both hands.

Your eyes open and your brain lurches forward again. “M’fine.” That fuck drained all of your energy but you were completely satiated.

“Can you stand?” He chuckles.

“Can you?” You giggle weakly as you throw the question back to him.

“...Just need a minute.”

Once he gets his bearings he says, “You have the most unusual kinks, you know that?”

You laugh heartily then shush him. “I like what I like!”

You could very well pass out on the floor by the doorway, but you knew that you had to get cleaned up and be in bed soon. Besides, Namjoon had to be up early the next day to fulfill his best man duties.

Namjoon…in a tuxedo. You feel another flutter in the pit of your belly.

Absently, you run your fingers behind his head and against his fade once more.

“So…do you think that after you guys take pictures in your tuxes, we can have a little time before the ceremony?” You give him a sly, knowing smile.

A low, sexy laugh rumbles within him at your request. “Don’t worry. I'll make time.”

Main Fic Masterlist

You’ve reached the end! Thank you so much for reading!

If you loved it, please comment, reblog, or send me feedback! 📩. I love hearing from readers! If you didn’t like it so much, I would still like to hear about it. Help me become a better writer! 💜

Tags: @itdoesntmatterwhy @purplewhalewrites @internetjunkdrawer

[maximwtf]

“You should watch out more...”

art: @/thirdchildart on tiktok

Jonathan Sims  x Reader

words: 1020

google docs pages: 2.5

Warnings: Worms, trypophobia (mild), knife, mentions of blood, some spoilers for S1

opening: One of the worms bit you when your attention was elsewhere. It’s quite late, and the only other person still working is Jonathan. He’s the only one you can ask to remove the creature. 

AN// No pronouns used for reader! I was lowkey upset at how small amount of Jonathan fanfics I could find so I guess I’ll make them myself. I’m still getting the hang of personalities so do excuse me if anything is out of character. :”D 

                        “You should watch out more…”

It had happened so swiftly, there had been no time to react or stop it from happening. Once the nauseating creatures had made its way onto the table and close enough to your arms, what was there to be done? The worm had bitten you, and started to bury itself in your forearm. The sight alone was enough to make you gag, but the feeling of the act was something so nauseating it got a scream to leave your body. This specimen seemed to be a little faster than the other ones you had seen before. Disgusting, nevertheless. The scream didn’t alert anyone, not that it could have. There was no one else there to hear it, except for one man. Jonathan Sims, your superior.

The chair at your desk almost fell over from the harsh movement you had made whilst getting up. You didn’t care. What had felt like running, you made your way to his door and knocked on it frantically. You knew he hated when people disturbed him, especially if he was recording. But this must have counted as an emergency. There was no way you’d be able to get the worm out on your own, you were far too panicked. But even apart from that, it would be harder to do by yourself. Your free hand was far too shaky to be of any help.

It felt like the knocks had gone unheard, almost to the point where you had started to think the man must have fallen asleep or was just ignoring you on purpose. Though, just as you were about to open the door even without an invitation to do so, a ‘come in’ called out from the room behind the door. You did so, gladly.

Almost an irritated groan met you when the door behind you closed shut. “What is it?” Called out from the table, he looked tired but reasonably so, it was quite late. You wanted to tell him straight away, but the words were oddly stuck somewhere in your throat. “I got bit.” Was the final result from all the things to tell him that had gone through your mind. You saw his brows furrow, now more serious than irritated, but still somehow he looked to be both? Seriously irritated? No time for that. “The worms, one of them…it bit me and…”  You tried to explain, but the panic in your mind blocked any sensible thoughts from coming through. You pulled the sleeve of the bitten arm up, showing him instead of explaining. Jonathan slid closer to you, still sitting on his chair. He pulled the arm lower to examine it, a look of horror spreading on his face at the sight but he soon hid it. You'd say it was for your sake, but knowing him it was unlikely. “We need to get that out..” He murmured, turning to his desk and opening one of the drawers.

You leaned to sit on the edge of his table, trembling just enough to think standing wasn’t the best option. To your horror Jon pulled out a small knife from the drawer. “Are you serious?!” You asked, shock clear on your face. “If you have better options to suggest, now's the time to do that.” The man murmured, taking an oddly firm hold of your wrist, placing it down against the cool surface of the wooden table. Not that you were going to pull away, but now you couldn’t even if you wanted to. “No, I suppose I don’t…” You bit the inside of your lower lip, looking away from the hole that had formed on your forearm. Jonathan placed the blade around the hole, cutting in. It hurt, there was no way to hide that. No amount of biting your teeth together could have governed the hiss that left you, hands curling into fists to block the urge of pulling away. You knew more damage would have been done if you moved too much. “Stay still.” A harsh murmur that came from Jon. He was focused, but clearly at least a little frightened himself. He wasn’t a brave man, and you knew that. Soon enough he caught it, pulling it out and away. You gagged, not even trying to hide it, trembling as he let go of your wrist. Hand still placed over your wrist. Jon killed the thing, stomping on it after throwing it onto the floor. He'd done it with such emotion, that it almost looks like he has something personal with that specific specimen.

The wound still ached, bled a little from the damage the knife had done. “I’ll bandage it for you…I suppose.” Jonathan spoke after he had made sure that the worm was truly dead, not moving an inch from its resting place. The drawer opened again, a roll of bandages appearing into the archivist’s hands from it. He looked up at you, as if asking to straighten your arm. You did straighten it, he took a hold of your wrist again and pulled you closer. With somewhat careful movements he rolled the bandages on the wound and the hole, hiding them away. “You should watch out more..this isn’t the first day we’ve had these…parasites.” He mumbled while finishing the bandaging. “You shouldn’t even be here this late, leave as early as you can.” He sighed, letting go of your arm. “I know, I’ll be more careful.” You hopped off the table, a little less shaken by now. “In fact…I’ll head out now. I’ll just grab my coat. You could join me?” You asked, walking towards the door, feeling his eyes follow you. “Yes, I suppose…I should get going too.” He took a hold of his coat, hanging it over his arm. You nodded, leaving the door open when you exited the room. You could have sworn he looked more relieved after you left, as if he had been waiting for someone to ask to leave with him. And in all honesty, you doubted you would have left if he hadn't come along. The place was far too eerie nowadays to wander alone.

[lumierexfics]

Wow I go by Wish so your inbox thing was cool to see :O

Umm…. May I request. Um. Uh. Oh my god sorry I’m shy BSNSNDNSNDNDNDN

ok ok Jonathan Sims with someone who just for the life of them. Has this debilitatingly HUGE crush on him. Has for 3 years!!! And just. Aaaaaahhh—

A cheery, sensitive, whimsical uhh. Stargender,, enby Person (I go by wi/wish/wishes/wishself pronouns!) just. Very enchanted by his beauty and the soft tones of his voice and his delicate hands and GSBDBDBDBDNDND ETC ETC ETC— has always wanted to approach him to help him destress and cuddle, but has always been too shy to act on these feelings? ;~; or to really ever approach him in general? Save for small offerings left around his desk, like water bottles and snacks— probably lots of baked goods >//<

Super friendly, and very excitable around most coworkers and then just the equivalent of “O//O eep!”Around Jon, you KNOW—

God it’s so bad I have such intense fantasies about kissing him deeply and passionately but then I just!!! CANT FOR THE LIFE OF ME EVEN MUSTER UP THE COURAGE TO BE LIKE “HI JON”

He loves my star-shaped glasses

A/N: I’m a bit rusty for TMA but hopefully you’ll enjoy it!!

Jonathan Sims x reader

Thankfully, it was one of the many times which he left to grab new cassette tape and it was your time to strike. Opening the door to the archives office, scanning around to see who was there but everyone was either on their lunch break or overworking themselves, leaving the water bottle and a snack behind not on the case file but on the side so it wouldn’t be in the way of him recording.

You’d hurried back to your office, feeling your cheeks burned from almost getting caught by your overwhelming crush on the head archivist.

Working in the artifact room was interesting but it was easy to categorize the objects that were found in other cases, slipping on your gloves to carefully analyze the artifacts and to put them in their respective levels of abnormalities. A smile creeped on your face, just imagining how he’d react to the snacks and water bottle that appeared on his desk. But it was better for him not to know who left those small gifts since you couldn’t seem to muster up any words even if you tried speaking to him.

A tinge of a feeling grew on your back which must’ve been the strange feeling or sense of being watched while you worked, deciding to pay no mind to it as you continued to put the items back in their places. Finally, it was time to leave the Institution to return home but there remained an eating feeling of worry and utter wonder about Jonathan Sims, if he already clocked out and began to head home.

The archive hallways were cleaner as the walls were lined with metal file cabinets and doors that led to the archives. But something was off, next to the archive door was an oddly colored yellow door; was it always there, you thought. The familiar feeling came back instead of worrying about Jonathan Sims, it was curiosity and what is behind the yellow door. The yellow door creaked open to allow you inside; a long hallway of doors and shattered mirrors but something told you to not enter the hallways. Instead you opened the door to the Archives, every desk had their lights off except for one which belonged to him. Papers were scattered, the click the tape recorder had snapped up; it seemingly echoed around the tight and suffocating room of the archives.

Why was the sensation of being watched so intense in the archives, you questioned yourself in thought. And where he was, was the main question scattered in your mind when you put down snacks and a water bottle on his desk.

“Jonathan?” You asked.

Hearing your voice echo throughout the archives with a small response from an opened spare room, hurrying over to the room to see a clearly distressed Jonathan holding his shinbone, blood droplets were a scattered trail. Thin napkins and your constellation themed scarf that you kept in your bag for occasions is what tried to stop the bleeding.

You hoped that it wasn’t obvious but your face burned with boiling feelings since it felt like he was inches away from your face, you helped him stand, carefully exit the spare room into the Archives with his arm over your shoulder and walking the nearest desk because he insisted to finish his work rather than going to the walk-in clinic.

Handing him the organized papers that were once scattered on the floor.

“I know it’s you leaving me these gifts on my desk.” He said.

You couldn’t look over at him since your face bloomed with more burning embarrassment after the sudden reveal.

“How did you know it was me?” You asked, trying to sound confident.

Jonathan reached down to the last cabinet in the desk, opening it to pull open to reveal a single item which was your missing pair of star-shaped sunglasses which you swore you lost in the artifact room, carefully outstretched his hand for you to grab the star-shaped sunglasses.

“Thank you for leaving me those gifts.” he smiled.

He always had a stern expression but he smiled at you or it must’ve been a hallucination seeing him smile.

“It’s nothing..” you responded, not wanting to look over to him and to embarrass yourself more. “Besides, we should really go to a clinic..”

You carefully rested his arm over your shoulder and helped him walk out of the archives. Hearing the faint sound of the tape recorder click up, reaching the door to the archives. Pulling it open as you shuffled out to the hallway which you stopped to look at the empty space next to the archive door.

“Is something wrong?” He asked.

“I thought I saw a yellow door when I came over here..” You answered, still puzzled if the yellow door was real or just a figment of your imagination.

[written-in-the-clouds]

Can I request platonic Jonathan Sims x reader who is Gertrude's grandchild? The reader is essentially working as a spy and knows that Elias is bad but dosen't say anything to not blow their cover. Gertrude has had the reader working in the archives as one of Jon's assistants, Gertrude had off handedly mentioned she had a grandchild but no one ever knew who it was, but then Jon end up finding out.

Done! Hope you enjoy! <3

╭── ⋅ ──────── ✩ ────────── ⋅ ──╮

“Hey, [Name]? Can we talk for a minute?”

“Of course,” you agreed, following Jon into his office. “What is it?”

Jon sat down at his desk and pressed play on a tape recorder. The voice that came out of it was unfortunately familiar.

“Next week, my grandchild is returning from their research trip… if all goes well, they will have some interesting results. I do hope they will stay and help my successor, whoever they may be. They—” Gertrude cut herself off, and you could hear her stand up. Jon clicked the tape off.

“Okay,” you said cautiously, “so should I look for them? Do you have anything else to go off of?” If he sent you to investigate yourself, you were fairly confident in your ability to keep the appearance of a wild goose chase.

“No,” Jon replied. “I already know who they are.”

He pushed a printed-out photo across his desk, and you winced once you saw it. A social media profile of you, from a few years ago, but still clearly yours. [Name] Robinson. You force a smile. “Come on, Jon, that seems a bit stalker-ish. I haven’t used that account for years.” His paranoia is starting to concern you. Though he was right in this case, he would have had to dig for this profile. You should have deleted it, really, but it was too late for that now. You were also fairly sure that Martin had mentioned Jon had actually stalked Tim to his home. Depending on how he accuses you, you should—

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded. “You know what’s going on here, don’t you?”

You hesitated for a moment, then reprimand yourself. Wait too long, and he’ll get more suspicious. “I’m not here to help you. I have another job.” A bit harsh, maybe, but that’s how you were raised. You may be friendly with Jon, but the job takes priority. Gertrude told you to watch Elias when she was gone, and while Elias may know that’s what you’re doing, he hadn’t fired you yet. Keeping an eye on an Eye.

And, really, if you were fired, all the better.

Jon looked upset. “I know our introduction wasn’t the best, maybe, but I thought we were friends. I want— need to know what’s going on. If you know anything about Gertrude’s murder—”

“Ah, that’s what this is about,” you interrupted, rising from your seat. “Your paranoia of being assassinated. Honestly, Jon, your stalking of your employees isn’t doing you any favours. Well, I suppose it makes you a better candidate for him. You don’t have to worry about being killed when you keep pulling this.”

You knew Elias had killed Gertrude. You knew that the more Jon attached himself to the Eye, the more he continued to dutifully work for Elias, the more useful he was. You should have interfered earlier. Maybe this would be a wake-up call for him.

—

It only takes a week of you and Jon awkwardly avoiding each other for Martin to start preparing tea and Tim asking what happened this time. Somehow, you both end up in the break room alone. You give it about an sixty-five percent chance that this was planned, and a seventy-eight percent chance that Tim is eavesdropping.

You broke the silence first. “I apologize for blowing up like that,” you started, “but your paranoia is becoming a problem for all of us.”

“I hardly think finding an old social media profile indicates paranoia.”

“Sure, but you stalking Tim home is.”

Jon paused for a moment, then said, “I suppose that is true.” He sighed. “You are right, I suppose. Though, what ‘job’ were you talking about?”

You shrugged. “Can’t tell you that one. Call it a side gig.” It’s one thing for Elias to know what you’re doing and turning a blind eye, and another to admit it outright.

“Alright.” Jon sighed. “I apologize for… sneaking around.” He raised his voice slightly: “To you eavesdroppers as well.”

Tim slammed open the door and strode in. “Excellent, now we can go back to dealing with our regular spooky bullshit.” Martin followed in behind him, and Sasha not long after that.

Speaking of Sasha. Something is off about her. You can feel it, a vague sense of something wrong. You haven’t been able to confront her yet. Maybe that’ll be next on your list.

“You know,” you say, “now that you all know I’m Gertrude’s grandchild… There are some things I should explain to you all.”

They would be more successful if they knew what the Fears were, too.

╰── ⋅ ──────── ✩ ────────── ⋅ ──╯

[ao3feed-jonmartin]

Not Gonna Let You Die

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/YiIRJNs by JesusTapdancingChrist ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴀ ɢɪʀʟ ᴏʙꜱꜱᴇꜱꜱᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜᴇʀ ꜰᴀᴠᴏᴜʀɪᴛᴇ ʜᴏʀʀᴏʀ ᴘᴏᴅᴄᴀꜱᴛ ɢᴇᴛꜱ ᴍʏꜱᴛᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ ᴛʀᴀꜱᴘᴏʀᴛᴇᴅ ɪɴᴛᴏ ɪᴛ; ꜱʜᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴅᴏ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴀᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴏꜱᴇ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ ꜱʜᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇꜱ. ______________ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀɢɴᴜꜱ ᴀʀᴄʜɪᴠᴇꜱ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ɪꜱᴇᴋᴀɪ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ Words: 749, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: F/F, F/M, M/M Characters: Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood, Melanie King, Georgie Barker, Basira Hussain, Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Michael | The Distortion (The Magnus Archives), Helen | The Distortion (The Magnus Archives), Michael "Mike" Crew, Gerard Keay, Gertrude Robinson, Elias Bouchard | Jonah Magnus, Annabelle Cane, Jurgen Leitner, Pipe Used to Brutally Murder Jurgen Leitner Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James/Tim Stoker, Sasha James/Reader, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives) & Reader, Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Basira Hussain & Alice "Daisy" Tonner Additional Tags: Angst with a Happy Ending, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Brutal Pipe Murder of Jurgen Leitner, Gerard Keay Lives, No Sex, Eventual Romance, Reader-Insert, Fluff and Angst, Author Is Sleep Deprived, The Author Regrets Everything, Author Is Not Religious, Help read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/YiIRJNs

[rainstormzz]

⋆°•☁︎⋆.ೃ࿔⛈ ݁ ˖*༄ Introduction .ᐟ .ᐟ

Hi! Welcome to my blog ♡ I’m Evangeline, or Ev for short :3 i like rainstorms and other things of the such!! This is a writing blog mostly for Poppy playtime and Regretevator. I’m always open to other media if I have enough information!! The other fandoms I could write for if requested is FNaF, Helluva boss (I won’t be doing hazbin hotel), and The Magnus Archives (as long as there are no spoilers)!! Request rules and other writing related hints under the cut <33

༄.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Rules

⟢ I don’t write NSFW of any kind!! A little (and when I mean little, I mean incredibly tiny) bit of suggestive content is ok, but anything else I will not write!

⟢ I won’t write anything illegal. Things such as incest (this includes step-cest.), adult x child relationships, or anything of the sort will not be written and your request will be deleted immediately.

⟢ I mostly write x reader, but character x character or character x OC is also allowed!! go wild!,

⟢ You don’t have to be hyper-specific with your request, but please give me the basics! For example “could we get Jon sims x spiral avatar! reader headcanons?” That would be an example of a good request <3

Thank you and have a good day! Have fun requesting <33

༄.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Masterlist

༄.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Anon list

[centrumlumina]

As part of the AO3 Ship Stats project, this list shows the 100 most-posted pairing tags on Archive Of Our Own in the period 24 July 2019 - 2 August 2020. This list was created by comparing the current number of fics with data gathered for the 2019 AO3 Ship Stats.

There are 71 M/M pairings on the list, 15 F/M, 3 F/F, 8 Gen and 3 Other. (Please note that on AO3, ‘Name & Name’ indicates platonic or familial ‘Gen’ relationships, while ‘Name/Name’ is used for romantic and sexual pairings.)

Of the 200 names on the list, 23 are women and 3 are characters of ambiguous gender, down from 28 and 3 in the 2019 list. 92 are POC, and 7 are racially ambiguous, compared with 64 and 11 two years ago.

For more information about the AO3 Ship Stats project, please check out the accompanying FAQs. You might also be interested in the All-Time Top 100 Pairings and the Femslash Top 100 list. These stats are also available on AO3.

ETA: Fixed the Change value for Merlin/Arthur Pendragon.

ETA 2: Fixed Race categorisation for Michael Guerin/Alex Manes.

A text-only version of this data is given below the cut.

Rank   Change   Pairing   Fandom   New Works   Total   Type   Race 1   15   Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)   Good Omens (TV)   20298   28726   M/M   White 2   72   Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn   魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù   10671   13130   M/M   POC 3   8   Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren   Star Wars Sequel Trilogy   9076   21306   F/M   White 4   28   Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier   IT (Movies – Muschietti)   8441   12227   M/M   White 5   N   Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion   The Witcher (TV)   7573   7573   M/M   White 6   1   Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter   Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling   7239   40312   M/M   White 7   5   Bakugou Katsuki/Midoriya Izuku   Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia   7070   16824   M/M   POC 8   0   Peter Parker & Tony Stark   Marvel Cinematic Universe   6807   17366   Gen   White 9   -7   James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers   Captain America (Movies)   6262   49659   M/M   White 10   4   Bakugou Katsuki/Kirishima Eijirou   Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia   6141   15375   M/M   POC 11   -5   Steve Rogers/Tony Stark   The Avengers (Marvel Movies)   5613   36264   M/M   White 12   68   Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)   Good Omens (TV)   5503   7928   Gen   White 13   -8   Jeon Jungkook/Kim Taehyung | V   Bangtan Boys | BTS   5254   23339   M/M   POC 14   5   Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug   Miraculous Ladybug   5183   19631   F/M   Whi/POC 15   5   Midoriya Izuku/Todoroki Shouto   Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia   5001   14073   M/M   POC 16   -13   Castiel/Dean Winchester   Supernatural   4927   84563   M/M   White 17   1   Jeon Jungkook/Park Jimin   Bangtan Boys | BTS   4596   17867   M/M   POC 18   N   Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)   9-1-1 (TV)   3716   3716   M/M   Whi/POC 19   5   Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor   Supergirl (TV 2015)   3614   13048   F/F   White 20   -16   Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood   Shadowhunters (TV)   3599   24787   M/M   Whi/POC 21   2   Pepper Potts/Tony Stark   Marvel Cinematic Universe   3569   17384   F/M   White 22   14   Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead/Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic   Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia   3565   7325   M/M   POC 23   N   Adora/Catra (She-Ra)   She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)   3538   4919   F/F   Whi/POC 24   15   Dazai Osamu/Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs)   文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs   3512   8768   M/M   POC 25   N   Wang Yi Bo/Xiao Zhan   陈情令 | The Untamed (TV) RPF   3446   3446   M/M   POC 26   -12   Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski   Teen Wolf (TV)   3249   59286   M/M   White 27   10   Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)   Merlin (TV)   3157   18688   M/M   White 28   -11   Kim Namjoon | RM/Kim Seokjin | Jin   Bangtan Boys | BTS   3155   16682   M/M   POC 29   66   Ayanga/Zhèng Yúnlóng   声入人心 | Super-Vocal (TV)   3111   5285   M/M   POC 30   -21   Min Yoongi | Suga/Park Jimin   Bangtan Boys | BTS   3026   19851   M/M   POC 31   -3   Sirius Black/Remus Lupin   Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling   2958   17686   M/M   White 32   N   Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist   The Magnus Archives (Podcast)   2917   3367   M/M   Ambig 33   60   Bakugou Katsuki & Midoriya Izuku   Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia   2672   5023   Gen   POC 34   12   Peter Parker/Tony Stark   Marvel Cinematic Universe   2623   6160   M/M   White 35   N   Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio   Haikyuu!!   2601   10485   M/M   POC 36   22   Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy   Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling   2583   10171   F/M   Whi/Amb 37   -8   Kim Taehyung | V/Park Jimin   Bangtan Boys | BTS   2507   9891   M/M   POC 38   -37   Keith/Lance (Voltron)   Voltron: Legendary Defender   2480   30317   M/M   Amb/POC 39   20   Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington   Stranger Things (TV 2016)   2438   5338   M/M   White 40   N   Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou   Haikyuu!!   2387   7629   M/M   POC 41   N   Patrick Brewer/David Rose   Schitt's Creek   2363   3150   M/M   White 42   5   Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee   NCT (Band)   2331   5854   M/M   POC 43   8   Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren   Star Wars Sequel Trilogy   2304   6506   Gen   White 44   N   Dabi/Takami Keigo | Hawks   Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia   2294   2930   M/M   POC 45   N   Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru   Haikyuu!!   2272   11155   M/M   POC 46   -24   Jung Hoseok | J-Hope/Min Yoongi | Suga   Bangtan Boys | BTS   2259   12668   M/M   POC 47   N   Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier   Fire Emblem: Three Houses   2218   2218   M/M   White 48   28   Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth   Game of Thrones (TV)   2186   7063   F/M   White 49   19   Bakugou Katsuki/Todoroki Shouto   Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia   2169   4991   M/M   POC 50   N   Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh   IT (Movies – Muschietti)   2163   3116   F/M   White 51   3   Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley   Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling   2128   11699   F/M   Whi/Amb 52   -31   Sherlock Holmes/John Watson   Sherlock (TV)   2121   61544   M/M   White 53   -5   James Potter/Lily Evans Potter   Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling   2110   10125   F/M   White 54   -28   Jeon Jungkook/Min Yoongi | Suga   Bangtan Boys | BTS   2074   9498   M/M   POC 55   N   Jiāng Chéng | Jiāng Wǎnyín/Lán Huàn | Lán Xīchén   魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù   2073   2494   M/M   POC 56   -25   Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter   Hannibal (TV)   2064   17257   M/M   White 57   N   Kakyoin Noriaki/Kujo Jotaro   JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure   1964   3580   M/M   POC 58   N   Midoriya Izuku/Uraraka Ochako   Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia   1896   3983   F/M   POC 59   -46   Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov   Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)   1843   24332   M/M   Whi/POC 60   15   Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley   Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling   1838   9269   F/M   White 61   N   Poe Dameron/Finn   Star Wars Sequel Trilogy   1806   7238   M/M   POC 62   N   Kaminari Denki/Shinsou Hitoshi   Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia   1791   2732   M/M   POC 63   -38   Dan Howell/Phil Lester   Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)   1782   17316   M/M   White 64   -54   Keith/Shiro (Voltron)   Voltron: Legendary Defender   1764   13925   M/M   Amb/POC 65   31   Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders   Sanders Sides (Web Series)   1720   3917   M/M   White 66   N   Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow   Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell   1707   4803   M/M   Whi/POC 67=   -33   Kim Taehyung | V/Min Yoongi | Suga   Bangtan Boys | BTS   1651   7176   M/M   POC 67=   N   Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth   Fire Emblem: Three Houses   1651   1651   Other   White 69   N   Michelle Jones/Peter Parker   Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)   1639   3692   F/M   Whi/POC 70   N   Michael Guerin/Alex Manes   Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)   1635   2746   M/M   Whi/POC 71   28   Uchiha Sasuke/Uzumaki Naruto   Naruto   1625   7705   M/M   POC 72   N   Bakugou Katsuki/Uraraka Ochako   Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia   1617   3776   F/M   POC 73   -30   James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark   Marvel Cinematic Universe   1559   7456   M/M   White 74   -39   James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader   Marvel Cinematic Universe   1544   7724   Other   Whi/Amb 75   9   Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed   Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)   1534   3921   M/M   White 76   N   Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort   Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling   1511   6308   M/M   White 77   N   Jeon Jungkook/Kim Namjoon | RM   Bangtan Boys | BTS   1505   3911   M/M   POC 78   N   Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson   Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan   1501   6017   F/M   White 79   N   Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth   Fire Emblem: Three Houses   1495   1495   Other   White 80   N   Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester   Supernatural   1493   8791   Gen   White 81   N   Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead & Midoriya Izuku   Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia   1487   2200   Gen   POC 82   -37   Tony Stark/Stephen Strange   Marvel Cinematic Universe   1460   4912   M/M   White 83   N   Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist   Persona 5   1447   3285   M/M   POC 84   N   Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou   Haikyuu!!   1444   4932   M/M   POC 85   N   Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know   Stray Kids (Band)   1440   3091   M/M   POC 86   -33   Byun Baekhyun/Park Chanyeol   EXO (Band)   1431   6629   M/M   POC 87   -45   Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester   Supernatural   1416   27696   M/M   White 88   N   Leone Abbacchio/Bruno Buccellati   JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure   1415   2237   M/M   White 89   N   Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar   Lucifer (TV)   1413   4165   F/M   White 90   N   Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier   IT - Stephen King   1396   2268   Gen   White 91   N   Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard   All For The Game - Nora Sakavic   1392   4681   M/M   White 92   N   Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long   RWBY   1390   4358   F/F   POC 93   N   Midoriya Izuku & Todoroki Shouto   Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia   1378   2887   Gen   POC 94   N   Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker | Darth Vader   Star Wars - All Media Types   1369   4112   F/M   White 95=   -8   Kim Namjoon | RM/Park Jimin   Bangtan Boys | BTS   1365   4728   M/M   POC 95=   N   Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)   Avatar: The Last Airbender   1365   1828   M/M   POC 97   N   Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin   NCT (Band)   1360   3266   M/M   POC 98   N   Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier   X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)   1333   14736   M/M   White 99   -72   Loki/Thor (Marvel)   Thor (Movies)   1330   12863   M/M   White 100   N   Logic | Logan Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders   Sanders Sides (Web Series)   1327   3132   M/M   White

[writing-for-the-gays]

Can I request Jon Sims x archival assistant! reader who helps take care of him if he’s been in the archives too long by bringing snacks or making tea? Just generally reader making sure he doesn’t overwork himself (I’m on episode 110 if that has any relevance)

can you give some more specifics? pronouns and stuff like that?

[tma-reader-inserts]

Who of my followers (and others) wanna see a fic where Jon gets really high and finally takes a break?

Cuz god know I want it.

[muchdesire021]

Não dá mais

–—–—–—––—–—–—––—–—–—––—–—–—––—–—–—–—–—–—–—–

Resumo: Jon Bernthal Imagine.

"Quer um conselho? Ele lembrará de falar com você, quando você esquecer de falar com ele." - Autor desconhecido

Emparelhamento: Jon Bernthal x fem!reader

Advertências: Angustia, Coração partido figurativamente, TO BOUNCE BACK!

Notas: Desculpe-me por qualquer erro ortográfico! Em todo caso, aproveitem!

–—–—–—––—–—–—––—–—–—––—–—–—––—–—–—–—–—–—–—–

Eu simplesmente cansei de ser ignorada.

Não dá mais pra aguentar isso sozinha, porque foram tantas brincadeiras, tantas conversas, tantas risadas, tantos momentos que compartilhamos, que agora nem isso nós tínhamos mais e eu cansei. Antes de dizer porque cansei, eu deveria começar falando de quando conheci Jonathan Edward Bernthal, mais conhecido como Jon Benrthal. Isso foi antes dele começar a atuar, de ser famoso.

Bem, nossa mães eram melhores amigas desde o pré-escolar, crescendo juntas, sendo a melhor amiga uma da outra. Quando cresceram eram do tipo que iam na casa uma da outra para conversar, iam ao shopping, no parque, numa simples cafeteria ou apenas conversavam pelo celular. Então quando engravidaram era lógico seus filhos serem inseparáveis devido a amizade de suas mães.

Parecia ter dado certo.

Jon e eu - apesar dele ser dois anos mais velho do que eu -, nós crescemos juntos, passamos nossa infância indo pra mesma escola, brincando de futebol, carta, ou quando eu queria e pedia, ele se juntava a mim na para brincar de boneca.

Ele odiava, mas não deixava de brincar. Eu apreciava isso nele.

O tempo passou, a adolescência chegou e também não desgrudamos. Frequentamos as mesmas escolas, tivemos amigos em comum, passamos por momentos felizes como conquistas escolares, mas também momentos triste como a separação dos meus pais e a morte da avó dele. Acho que foi ai que tudo começou.

Ele mudava de escola, enquanto eu não podia fazer com a mesma frequência então em determinada época, nós ficamos um tempo sem nos ver pessoalmente. Mas claro dávamos um jeito de nos ver, nem que fosse por vídeo chamada, o que era o maximo pra mim, me deixava muito feliz.

Na faculdade, voltamos a nos encontrar e sair com mais frequencia e foi numa dessas saidas que eu realmente percebi que estavamos diferentes.

Jon no meio do semestre da faculdade marcou de sair pra um pub para beber e conversar, no inicio era pra ser somente nós dois, mas ele chamou mais pessoas o que incluiu ela. Rose D'Angello, a famosa do campus, lider de torcida, manequin da Victoria's Secret. Literalmente a popular que me odiava por ser a garota não popular. Tipico não?

Rose ficou a noite toda, literalmente, agarrada ao braço do meu melhor amigo, que ela nunca tinha ouvido falar até que percebeu seu ganho muscular e sua nova posição no time de Beisebol! Isso me enfureceu mais do que previ. E por ver a Rose dar em cima do meu amigo, eu percebi que estava seguindo por uma estrada perigo, pois aparentemente eu gostava do Jon. Na verdade, eu o amava e é assim desde muito tempo, só não sei dizer quando exatamente foi. Talvez tenha começado quando ele me ajudou a espantar uns caras que me perturbavam no campus.

Enfim depois desse evento, nós inevitavelmente nos distanciamos, Rose o puxava cada vez mais pro seu mundo e quando percebi estavamos formados e a amizade detriorou. Bem, conseguiamos nos ver de vez em quando, mas sempre era comigo o convidando. Eu sentia muita saudades dele, do nosso tempo juntos, meu coração doia não por perder o meu primeiro amor, mas sim porque eu estava perdendo o meu melhor amigo. O cara com quen eu costumava compartilhar meus sonhos estava sumindo da minha vida e isso machuca, mas do que palavra podem descrever.

Então um dia, me mudei para New York, onde tinha conseguido uma vaga como advogada na melhor empresa de advocacia da América. Era uma vida agitada com poucas pausas, mas como eu sou cabeça dura, insistia em acreditar que dava pra salvar minha relação com Jon, porque eu não conseguia aceitar perde-lo e meus sentimentos com relação a ele não mudaram. Eu tentei, juro que tentei de todos os jeitos falar com ele, manter contato. Não consegui.

Com a fama, Jon passou um tempo fazendo trabalhos na russia como ator pra logo voltar pros Estados Unidos, e na sua volta eu a vi.

É... Eu deveria ter percebido antes que meu esforço, meu amor era tudo unilateral. Assim como nossa amizade começou a ser quando ele a conheceu.

Porque, quando Jon voltou, ele trouxe Rose D'Angelo, sua então noiva.

Eu fiquei mau depois da noticia, era como se eu tivesse perdido o chão e mergulhado num buraco negro de tristeza e angustia, sentindo a cada segundo o meu coração se despedaçar. Eu queria gritar mas minha voz não saia, meus soluços e choro entupiram por um bom tempo o meu apartamento. Cheguei a parar no hospital por não comer ou beber e fui diagnosticada com depressão... Passei um bom tempo trabalhando de casa depois desse diagnostico, pedi meu chefe um tempo e ele foi um anjo em me conceder. Eu não conseguiria encarar meu colegas e amigos de trabalho com uma cara acabada, só voltaria quando estivesse melhor.

Dava pra imaginar o sorriso de vitória que a idiota da D'Angello daria pra mim se soubesse o quanto fiquei mau, porque a muito tempo atras ela descobriu os meus sentimentos pelo meu amigo e me jurou que eu nunca iria te-lo.

Bom ela esta certa. Nunca vou te-lo. Mas ela também não o teve por muito tempo.

As noticias de que seu casamento com o famoso ator Jon Bernthal, que durou 3 anos e meio, terminou quando ele soube que ela o traia com o seu fotografo. Caso cliche entre modelo e fotografo. Na hora do divorcio, ele veio na empresa que trabalho para contratar um advogado para lidar com a sua separação. Nesse dia ele - sendo a primeira vez em muito tempo - e eu nos vimos quando o próprio entrou no andar que ficava o meu escritório. Ele tinha uma reunião comigo, por que meu superior acreditava que eu poderia lidar com esse caso.

Ele estava errado, eu não queria e não iria lidar com Jon, mas por respeito ao meu chefe que eu não queria decepcionar, acabei por receber o Sr Bernthal. Conversamos profissionalmente, ele me contou o seu caso, enquanto me encarava sem jeito, parecia envergonhado e eu gostei de ve-lo assim. No fim, eu o aconselhei a procurar outro advogado por que eu tinha compromisso e não iria desmarca-lo.

Jon tentou me convencer, o que não deu certo, tentou me ligar depois que foi embora do meu escritório, entrar em contato os dias que se seguiram, para que recuperasse-mos a amizade de antes, mas como eu não o atendi, ele teve a audacia de ir no meu apartamento. Esse dia foi engraçado porque ele não sabia que eu tinha me recuperado de meu estado platonico por ele, então quando Jon fez um discurso sobre eu perdoa-lo, foi o meu namorado de 1 ano e meio que estava no meu apartamento comemorando a sua vitória na Tag World Grand Prix 2005, quem escutou tudo e ele não gostou nada do derramamento de emoções do meu ex-melhor amigo.

Demonstrando isso quando abriu a porta para o expulsar, dizendo que Jon me machucou o suficiente e que queria mais ve-lo tentar se aproximar de mim. Eu o amei mais por isso, por me defender, por mostrar que me amava e por se importar.

Porque como eu disse, eu cansei de ser ignorada, nunca mais seria posta pra segunda opção como deixei Jon fazer comigo. Eu poderia entender que ele se apaixonou por outra, mas me senti um nada quando ele me ignorou, jogou fora tantos anos de amizade.

Nunca mais vou me sentir assim, pois me amo e também porque achei alguem que além de ser meu melhor amigo, é o meu amor e eu sei que com ele isso é verdadeiro, que isso vai durar.

Eu enfim, estou feliz.

–—–—–—––—–—–—––—–—–—––—–—–—––—–—–—–—–—–—–—–

[sazandorable]

First lines meme

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag 10 authors!

(nabbed from @si-siw​, as usual i don’t like tagging people but feel free to grab it :3)

/!\ TMA and RQG spoilers, lots of Elias ships.

1. Playing with fire (TMA):

At eleven years old, Agnes wants to touch Ronald Sinclair like she wants to touch someone else’s stuff.

2. Particular (TMA):

Jon does not like boys.

WOOF that’s already one of those that really doesn’t do well without the whole context x’’’D even though it is isolated in the text.

Both of those were for the TMA Mspec Week so both are an immediate (start of) exploration of the mechanics of those characters’ desires.

3. This Was A Triumph (RQG)

Sasha stays in Paris.

4. fragments of decidedly [REDACTED] nature (ch7) (TMA)

Martin is crying before the end of it, which is pretty typical, honestly; he allows the tears to flow partly because it makes Elias happy, partly to have evidence.

5, 6, 7, 8, 9. Marginalia (ch28, 27, 26, 25, 24)

Martin is alone on New Year’s Eve.

 “World domination.”

The thing with the hands and the sharp smile is distracted, though, that might be a lie again, might be a trap, just to make her hope and then laugh in her face again, but, but she’s been good at seeing through it, she always finds the right mirrors, always finds the right turns, she hasn’t found the exit but it’s just a matter of time just a matter of time just a matter of time until she gets out, the thing that sometimes pretends to be a man told her there’s no exit but it was lying, wasn’t it, isn’t it always

“No worries, boss, I won’t tell on you,” Tim proclaims with a proud grin, which, weirdly, makes Elias laugh.

They find out many new things about each other, in three weeks; some good, some bad.

These and number 4 were 3-sentences New Year’s microfic (the Helen one runs on and is all just 1.5 sentence technically), and it’s funny to see how half of those lean harder on the blunt minimalism and half immediately get super long and rambly.

10. the void is getting closer (Golden Sun)

The first Felix sees of Prox is the abyss.

11. Transmission (RQG)

C’est étrange, d’accueillir de parfaits inconnus et de les installer dans le foyer vide.

Pas super heureuse de celle-là mais punaise je me suis battue avec pendant des heures, y a 3 ou 4 versions très différentes de ce petit machin.

12. this will be our year (TMA)

On the third day (since they woke up), Martin distractedly looks out the window of the gallery and goes, “Huh!”

13. keep close (and your enemies closer) (TMA)

The man interviewing Martin stares through him like he knows.

14. Nightingale Floor (TMA)

The first time he comes inside Elias’s house, Martin’s trainers squeak on the gleaming floorboards.

15. Cheirophilia (RQG)

Zolf Smith has big hands.

That’s it that’s the fic (actually it’s a lot longer and deeper than that and i’m v happy with it. but this sure is a Exactly What It Says On The Tin moment huh)

16. When Passions Are Happy To Sit Quietly Together, Not Colliding (RQG)

 “You don’t have to hide it, you know,” Hamid stresses three days later, sounding frustrated and perhaps a little insulted, and Zolf doesn’t bother looking up from his book to answer: “Not hidin’ anything.”

... again... (This was a 5-sentences one so it gets a pass for being much ramblier and more complex.)

17. A little sincerity (RQG)

It’s busy, after the resurrection.

18. La maison (TMA)

The house is more of a small mansion, really.

19. Le phare (TMA)

Martin has been having trouble sleeping, lately.

20. Cinderella (TMA)

Obviously, there’s a great many things they’ll have to address and deal with, and about eight different red flags setting off alarm bells in Martin’s mind.

Hmm. So I sure have a tendency for the short bluntly establishing isolated intro line (that often makes it to the summary), but not that much, actually. Not even 50% are really learning hard into that. 10, 14 and 17 are cases of my favourite way to use those, casually establishing things that sound like they should be getting a lot more emotion and development. Some of those do explore it later, some of them do not.

Outside of length-restricted microfic, I don’t do much of in-medias-res (even though i love it), but tend to do a lot of establishing by implying or referring to things that haven’t actually been stated yet (“stays in Paris”, “before the end of it”, “On the third day”, “The first time”, “three days later”, “after the resurrection”, “The house”, “lately”, “Obviously”), which is also something I really like in reading. Some of those are only possible due to the fact that this is a fanfiction referencing events the reader is already familiar with (and that’s a huge reason why I love fanfic), but not all!

And only 2 or 3 are really very rambly! Most of them because I was on a number-of-sentences restriction. But I also manage to keep a lot of those very short and dry. I used to be a lot ramblier. Some of these are even normal, unremarkable average sentences. Amazing.

(Also whoah, hadn’t realised I’d posted 20 things since the Archives Sim :O I keep feeling like I didn’t write much this year but I did write a LOT in 2020...)

[whatifyouimagined]

Habilidades Excepcionais

Fandom: Game Of Thrones

Ship: Jon Snow x S/N

GIF: nenhum gif que aparece aqui é de autoria minha

Avisos: 👅

Autor: @hearmeroarasoiaf

Sinopse/Pedido: E quem diria que um dia chuvoso, em uma caverna qualquer, iria te trazer tantas surpresas, eim?

——————————————————————————————————

A corrente de ar fresco gentilmente tocou o seu corpo nu enquanto você se encontrava em uma caverna úmida e escura com o Jon. E nesse momento, por um instante, você se arrependeu da proposta que tinha feito.

O Jon tinha sido um companheiro dos selvagens por pouco tempo, mais ou menos uns dois meses, entretanto, a tensão sexual entre vocês dois era inegável.

Os sorrisos de canto de boca se tornaram flertes no meio de conversas normais, o que, eventualmente, se tornou algo a mais.

Ele não queria nada menos do que percorrer todo o seu corpo e alma, mas tendo sido criado pelo Ned Stark, ele tinha um respeito enorme por toda e qualquer mulher, e por isso não mostraria seu interesse até que a moça demonstrasse reciprocidade.

O que era exatamente o que você estava demonstrando naquele momento.

Os olhares provocantes se tornaram insuportáveis. Você queria mais que um abraço inocente entre amigos de vez em quando. Você queria bem mais. Você precisava que ele te segurasse com uma paixão que poderia acender todas as fogueiras dos sete reinos.

Talvez isso explique por que você decidiu ser tão impulsiva. Não era todo dia que você se deparava com um local que possuía tanto fascínio e irresistibilidade.

Sim, o norte tinha lugares incríveis, mas você nunca tinha visto um lugar tão perfeito pra executar suas fantasias eróticas.

Você então o atraiu para a caverna e o seduziu facilmente, removendo lentamente toda peça de roupa que estava no seu corpo, que convenhamos, era de tirar o fôlego.

Você então tirou um segundo apenas pra ver a expressão espantada de Jon, e logo notou como os olhos dele brilhavam, de adoração e amor. Aquele olhar apenas aumentou a sua confiança pra dizer o que queria.

"Ter uma conexão tap forte como a nossa é raro, Jon Snow..."

Enquanto você falava aquilo, você começou a se mover na direção dele. Seus olhos brilhando de desejo e seu sangue pulsando mais do que nunca por causa da proximidade criada.

"Eu só vou te pedir uma coisa, meu querido Snow...", você sussurrava no ouvido dele, "faça amor comigo."

No segundo em que essas palavras saíram da sua boca ele te beijou. Um beijo lento, quente e cheio de paixão.

Ele então, lentamente colocou uma das mãos no seu pescoço e foi percorrendo o seu corpo até que elas chegassem nos seus quadris. Quando isso aconteceu, ele começou a se abaixar até ficar ajoelhado na sua frente.

"O que você tá fazendo?", você perguntou sem entender nada.

"Eu só quero testar uma coisa...", a rouquidão em sua voz te deixando molhada em antecipação. Você podia sentir o sangue fervendo dentro de você enquanto ele deixava leves beijos nas suas coxas.

"Jon...", você sussurrou, sua voz baixa e trêmula de repente vira um gemido alto quando você sente um beijo quente de Jon na sua entrada.

Por um momento, Jon para o que estava fazendo apenas pra observar as suas expressões de prazer. Ele então começa a fazer movimentos circulares com a língua no seu clítoris.

Enquanto ele fazia isso, você começava a sentir seus joelhos ficando fracos, fazendo com que você segurasse no ombro dele com uma mão enquanto entrelaçava seus dedos nos cachos dele com a outra. Sem parar o que estava fazendo, ele olha pra você, cego de desejo enquanto sua língua trabalhava pra te dar prazer.

Os barulhos que você fazia, pra ele, eram angelicais, sons tão bonitos fizeram o bastardo querer muito mais do que só sentir o seu gosto.

Ele pegou o seu dedo do meio e lentamente se posicionou na sua entrada, ainda virgem. Ninguém exceto você tinha tocado naquele lugar antes, então essa nova sensação te fez ficar arrepiada por completo.

Jon lentamente começou a mover seu dedo dentro de você, atingindo suas paredes com a pressão certa pra fazer seus olhos revirarem. Ele então começou a fazer movimento de vai e vem dentro de você, indo fundo mas não rápido demais. Ele queria sentir e aproveitar cada momento de prazer. Afinal, não tinha por que ter pressa.

"Tá bom?", Jon disse contra você, sem parar o que estava fazendo com a boca, e as vibrações de suas palavras faziam você apenas gemer, sem conseguir dizer nada pra responde-lo.

Jon, com a sua mão que estava sobrando, sente seu membro, ainda coberto, ficar cada vez mais duro. Ele estava desesperado pra sentir você em volta dele, seja com a sua boca ou com você por completo. Ele precisava disso.

Enquanto seus gemidos ficavam mais frequentes e altos, ele tinha decidido de foder com dois dedos, fazendo assim, você chegar ao clímax.

Ele tirou os lábios do seu clítoris e ficou em pé de novo, e te beijou com força e paixão. Um beijo de puro desejo.

Jon tentou colocar mais um dedo dentro de você, mas como você ainda era apertada, isso te causou um pouco de dor. "Ai, Jon!", você disse baixinho e ele soltou uma risada de leve.

"Você precisa se acostumar um pouco antes de eu fazer amor com você, S/N...", ele disse num tom baixo, sexy e confiante. "Meus dedos não são nada comparados ao meu pau."

Ao ouvir aquelas palavras saindo da boca de Jon, seus olhos se abriram e sua expressão de choque ficou evidente. Ele nunca tinha falado dessas coisas. Muito menos com esse tom de confiança. E enquanto ele dizia aquelas coisas, você sentia que o orgasmo se aproximava mais.

"Eu quero você dentro de mim, Jon."

A reação dele ao ouvir suas palavras te pegaram de surpresa, enquanto ele continuava a te penetrar com seus dedos. Foi o barulho mais sexy que você já tinha escutado e de longe o mais gostoso.

"S/N... vai doer..."

"Eu não ligo.", você o interrompeu, "Dor é prazer."

Jon riu da sua pressa antes de perguntar se você tinha mesmo certeza.

"Só me fode logo."

Você soltou um gemido alto de dor e prazer quando ele moveu mais fundo os dedos em você.

Então, rapidamente tirando os dedos de dentro de você, ele começou a tirar a roupa, nunca tirando os olhos de você. Ele então sorriu antes de murmurar, "Você não precisa pedir duas vezes."

link pro imagine original: https://hearmeroarasoiaf.tumblr.com/post/163997854537/jon-x-female-reader