#I don't have the brain to do this... or maybe... but not right now

[clrasecretdiary]

Why does she give a damn about me? | Spencer Reid x Reader

cutesy, cheesy fluff

In wich Spencer thinks reader is out of his league but she could not be more into him.

Content: Garcia is a queen as always, sunshine!reader

Warnings: Maybe some light lack of self steem from spence, but nothing crazy!!

He was used to it at this point. Being the weird kid in high school and college, Spencer never really expected anyone to be into him and, after being rejected a couple of times, he had practically closed himself off in that sense. But then, you came into the picture.

You are one of those girls that everyone seemed to gravitate toward, not only because of your beauty but because of your essence. You were genuinely kind, smart and good with people in a way he wished he was, maybe that’s why he was so drawn to you, you had all the qualities he wished he had and being close to you made him feel complete.

Needless to say that he was in love with you, it had started as an admiration and when he realized he was thinking about you all the time, but he was sure you would never be into guys like him, he was sure you’d never see him as more than friends.

–

You had joined the team a few years ago, you were excited to finally be doing what you really wanted when you joined the BAU, going out in the field and being on cases instead of just working a desk job all the time. When you first met the team, everyone seemed very welcoming but you felt yourself especially drawn to Spencer out of all people, at first he seemed distant but with time you noticed how sweet he was and how much he cared for everyone around him and god that man was so funny, you loved his weird science jokes and his magic tricks. How were you supposed to not fall in love with him? You asked yourself that question every time he brought you coffee in the morning or went on his rambles about some random thing.

After a particularly intense inquiry from a very drunk Garcia in one of the girls' nights she organized at her home, you told her your feelings for Reid and she made you swear you would act on it.

“Garcia, I'm not confessing. He's not into me like that, i’ll just ruin our friendship”

“Oh honey, he practically kisses the floor you walk in, he follows you around the office like a lost puppy and practically kills any officer that dares to be the tiniest bit mean to you. There’s no way he’s not into you, at least try pretty please” She says, doing puppy eyes at you. Garcia took her job as a cupid very seriously and was not going to let this be her first fail.

“Alright, i’ll try but if he ends up hating me you’ll have to bake me cookies everyday until i die” You say rolling your eyes and finishing your glass of wine.

“Ohhh i’ll be cooking cookies for you guys wedding!”

–

So, here you are holding his favorite order from the local coffee shop and gathering the courage to press the button to the elevator

“Hey are you fine?” A familiar voice calls you, when you turn around its spencer.. Great, guess you’ll have to do this right now

“Oh hi yeah, I was just um… meditating”

“Did you know meditanting has been proven to increase your memory and is also great for reducing anxiety. I really should start doing it, what method do you use?” Spencer says while pressing the button to the elevator

“Ummm breath in, breath out i think” You say, unsure how to respond

“That's actually one of the best ways as it oxygenates your brain and helps it work better, it can also help you feel more calm since deep breathing activates the parasympathetic nervous system that sends a signal to your brain to tell the anxious part that you're safe and don't need to use the fight, flight response” He says, doing the little smile and head nod thing he always does after info dumping.

You smile back at him, as you both enter the elevator and press the button to the BAU floor.

“I brought you something” You say, handing him the coffee shop bag

He opens it and smiles at you “I can’t believe you remembered my favorites, thank you so much” You love that smile so much, all you can think about is how perfect he is and how there’s no way you can continue on without dating this man.

“Actually, I need to tell you something spence… I was thinking, maybe we could go out together as like, a date or something” You say, already blushing from the embarrassment you felt and how scared you were that he did not reciprocate the feelings.

“Really? Of course i want, to be honest i’ve wanted to ask you to be honest but i thought you’d never see me like that”

“Are you kidding me spencer? I’ve had a crush on you since we first meet”

The elevator gets to the office, and you both walk in blushing and joking about how you two were so blind to each other's feelings. As you get in, garcia passes by you two stopping to stare

“There’s something happening here…” She says, pointing between you two and pressing her eyes together as if she’s profiling you two

“I asked him out”

“Oh my god finally, you see? I’m always right, I don’t even need to ask what he said, look at Reid, he’s glowing, ohh i’m so happy” She says, walking out to probably tell the news to everyone on the team.

[hahaifolded]

141 x POC!GN Intelligence Operative - The Contract (Long Drabble) Author's Notes: Once again playing with something new. Not gonna lie, hated this because this was more work than I had expected. Next one will be more narrative for my sake Warnings: MDNI, Angst (ALSO PUT YOUR AGE IN YOUR BIO CAUSE I DO BLOCK)

Contract of Employment - Intelligence Operative Name: [Retracted] Address: [Retracted] The basic terms and conditions of your employment are outlined in this Contract of Employment and the Employee's policies. Duration of Contract: Your employment with the Employer under this Contract started on [Retracted] and will end after 12 months after the initial date. Contract can be renewed after the Employee ends in good standing with the Employer after the 12 months and the Employee deems it a good fit.

Job Title and Hours 3.1: You are employed as INTELLIGENCE OPERATIVE for [Retracted] reporting to "the Captain." 3.2: You are expected to perform all duties outlined below starting at 0800 (8:00am) to 1700 (5pm) Monday through Friday. 3.3: You must be available for any extenuating circumstances past these hours. All emergencies will be informed by "the Captain" and "the Captain" only.

Price: Need you to review the plan for the next mission before the meeting tomorrow.

Ghost groans after reading the message. Price just had to ruin his Sunday night. Realizing that his plan to sleep in was just ruined, he decides to text you. Seeing that you normally got in around that hour, maybe you could join him?

Did he deserve that? God no. But, he missed you. So he sends the text and waits... and waits... and waits...

Next thing he knew, his alarm was ringing, signaling the new day. He checks his phone and sees there are no new messages. It didn't matter. He'll see you around soon enough.

But soon enough comes around and you're nowhere to be seen. Were you running late? Shit, your car. Maybe you were walking again? He sends you a text, but again, no response. He's so worried that he can't even focus when looking over the plans. It's not until he sees you walk in for the meeting exactly at 0800 that his mind eases. Surprised to see you walk in late, he decided to check up on you after the meeting.

Knock, knock

You glance up from your monitor. "Lieutenant?"

Lieutenant? Sure, that was his title, but you always called him Ghost. Something didn't feel right.

"Sorry, I just wanted to check up on you."

You stop typing and completely turn towards him. "Why?" Your tone is accusatory.

He stumbles a bit. You were never short with him. "C-cause you came in late toda--"

"I did not come in late. If you look over my contract, you would see that my start time is 0800, exactly the time I clocked in today." You turn back to your monitor and continue to work.

Ghost takes a big gulp. "Oh. I- uh... I sent you message last night and this morning."

You let out a heavy sigh and stop typing. "Was it an emergency?"

"No, but--"

"Good. I can't waste any time here, have to make sure I put all of my energy in my work. So if you don't have anything else of importance, you can leave." And with that you continue to type.

Ghost walks out of your office and closes the door. Why did it feel like it wasn't just your door that was closed here?

Job Responsibilities 4.1: You are responsible for all work that requires intelligence which includes analysis, gathering of intel, and presentation of said intel. 4.2: You will not participate in work that falls outside your jurisdiction.

After today's meeting, Gaz was weary of the plan. Despite being checked by Ghost, he couldn't help but feel like it needed to be discussed further. He kept in his thoughts during the meeting as he wanted to process them further.

Now after thinking about it all morning, he realizes he needs one more brain to help finalize his thoughts. Not just any brain, however, yours. If he wasn't so caught up in his thoughts, he would have realized that he no longer had any entitlement to your help. But alas without a second thought, he rushes to your office.

He knocks on your door and walks in before you have a chance to say anything. "Hello, hello!" he chirps. And, instead of being greeted by your warm smile, he is greeted by nothing. You don't even bother to glance at him.

Without removing your eyes on the screen, you say with no emotion, "Sergeant Garrick, what do you need?"

Sergeant Garrick? Ewe, that sounded so wrong coming out of your mouth. You always called him Kyle... Gaz if you felt cheeky. Feeling nervous now, Gaz hesitates to speak.

"Sergeant, I really don't have time for your shenanigans. Do you need something?" You quickly glance up and shoot him a sharp look.

That look brings Kyle to the present. "Sorry, yes. I was hoping you would..." You finally look at him, but instead of easing his nerves, it only exacerbated them as you looked at him with annoyance. "If you can, obviously, help me go over the plans for the next mission. Something about them just seem off and I could really--"

You interrupt him. "I have to stop you there. No." And just like that, you turn back to your monitor.

"Why?" he asks without thinking. He catches the way you took in a sharp breath.

Without looking at him, you respond, "I have never been in the field so what use do I have for you? Besides my job is in intelligence and in intelligence only."

He cringes at his own words. He tries to get another word in, but you're clearly not listening. Feeling defeated, he walks out your door.

"Sergeant?" you call after him. He quickly whips around. Maybe you changed your mind?

"Close my door."

Job Responsibilities 5.1: You have jurisdiction over all work that deals with intelligence. 5.2: You have complete authority to discipline officers of lower ranking or similar rank if their actions interfere with your responsibilities.

Soap doesn't know how it happened. He has been in his office all day, working. Sure, maybe he spent more time than he should have thinking about you, but everyone else does it. Now he was scrambling, trying to finalize the schematics for the explosives needed for the next mission.

Low on time, he rushes to your office to beg for your help. He knew he was in deep water with you, but he really had no choice. He hoped your caring heart would pity him this one last time.

He barges into your office, calling your name out. You immediately shoot up from your seat, worry apparent in your face. You hurry to the front of your desk to reach the panting Scotsman.

"Sergeant MacTavish, is everything okay?" Johnny can hear the worry in your voice. Good, you still might care.

"It's an emergency. I need to finish these blueprints by today or Price will kill me! Help your favorite Scotsman out?" he begs. Soap nearly whines when you take a step back from him.

You scoff. "Are you being serious right now?" Okay, maybe you don't care.

"I know, I know. But I wouldn't ask if I wasn't desperate," he cries. His entire body shudders when you scoff at him once more. You shake your head in disbelief and return to your seat.

"Please, get out."

"Please, it's not even a lot. Just go over--"

"No, Sergeant. I have my own work to do."

"It won't take a lot of time, just--"

"NO!" you stand up again, slamming your desk. "Sergeant MacTavish, it is not in my contract to babysit fools like you." He winces. "If you cannot handle the work that comes with being in Special Forces, I recommend you to consider other careers. So leave my office before I write you up for insubordination," you hiss.

Soap quickly apologizes and leaves your office. He bumps into Price on his way back, but it doesn't phase him. Your utter disappointment in him plays back in his head over and over and over again.

Breach of Contract 8.1: If Employer deems the work of the Employee as unsatisfactory, contract will immediately be terminated. 8.2: If Employee deems the Employer is breaching any of the parts outlined above, Employee has the right to terminate the contract without any repercussions

John didn't take Soap crashing into him personal. It was clear his sergeant was lost in his thoughts. What did pique his interest was where he walked out of. It seemed like every member on his team had a chance to pop in your office today, but him. Refusing to let any of those muppets get in your good graces before he does, he decided to pop in.

Since Johnny left you door open, he just knocks on the doorway before letting himself in. "Hopefully, I'm not disturbing?" he jokes. The clacking of your keyboard stops and you slowly turn to look at him. You take in a deep breath, almost as if you're trying to contain yourself.

"Captain Price," you announce plainly, "do you need something? I'm almost done with today's report."

"No, not at all. Just wanted to check up on you. See how you're doing?" He doesn't quite catch what you mumbled under your breath. "Sorry?"

You roll your eyes. "Nothing," you pause. "I'm fine. Just trying to get my work done before 5pm."

"5pm? Have an appointment or something?"

You stare at him for a bit and remind him of your contracted hours.

Assuming that you were worried about not finishing on time, John assures you that you can always stay in late or pick up again tomorrow. "It happens to the best of us."

Your eyes go cold. "It wouldn't have happened to me if your men and yourself weren't adamant in harassing me with matters that frankly do not pertain to me." You readjust yourself in your seat. "I advise all of you to go over my contract to avoid further misunderstandings. I would hate to leave mid-mission."

John goes cold. You... leaving. He looks in your eyes to see if there was any hesitation. There’s none.

Employer Signature: [Retracted] Employee Signature: [Retracted] Date: [Retracted]

After that day, the 141 realized what they had done. They had completely crushed your spirit and pushed you to be the epitome of professionalism. You were still a phenomenal Intelligence Officer, but you were just that. You were no longer their team mate... their friend.

But you're still here so that's fine... right?

Word Count: 1732

More Thoughts - Next Thought

[tan1shere]

I'm Sorry

Billie Eilish x female reader !

A/n: saw this video on tiktok of this girl accidentally breaking a gift her bf got her and her being so apologetic, and I can just imagine how bill would be with you:(

Summary: Billie reassures you when you accidentally break her gift.

Warnings: none just fluff ! Kinda angst tho ??

Masterlist

It was time again. Your birthday, just another year of getting older. You were currently laying in bed, half asleep as the sun was shining through the curtains. You then feel hands on your shoulders. "Babyy, its your birthday!" Billie sings as she says that. You cover your face. "Does it have to be." She plops down on the bed. "Oh come on, it's not every day you're 21!" You open an eye to see she had a few gifts. Your other eye opens as you look at her. "Bubba, I thought we agreed on two at most." She puts her finger up to your lips. "I couldn't help myself."

You sigh with a bright smile, sitting up to prepare for her little gifts. She hands you the first one, some clothes you had been wanting. Next up, some skin care. She was always so thoughtful of the things you needed. And lastly, maybe your favorite. You open up the wrapping revealing a glass red rose. You marvel at it. "I know how much you love roses and how upset you get when they start to die, but this way you can have it all the time." She smiles at you. Your eyes meet hers as you almost have tears in them. You leap over to hug her tightly.

"Thank you baby! I love it so so much." She smiles. "Knew you would." Her hands grab your face, thumb swiping over your cheek. "Happy birthday angel." She leans in to kiss you softly, so glad you like the gifts. "Some of them came from your mother. I put them in a vase already for you." You then kiss her cheek, placing the glass rose down on the bedside table. "Thank you babe, I'll go smell them soon."

A few days pass and you honestly had the best birthday ever, Billie was spoiling you like crazy. Took you out for a nice meal too. Today you were working from home, doing some needed chores along the way. Bill was at Finneases working on some stuff in his studio. You did take a small break though. Getting into bed and scrolling for a glass case to put around your new gift. Just to make sure it's safe. You go to grab your water, but as you do. Eyes glued to your screen. You hear a shatter. Uh oh. Your head turns slowly.

Panic rising within you. "Fuck. No no no." You say frantically trying not to freak out. You get on the floor picking up the pieces. Shit. It was really broken. You cry. Cry because you broke the sweetest gift, given by the sweetest person and you broke it. You curse at yourself. You feel so stupid. You're an idiot your brain tells you.

How.

Could.

You.

You grab the pieces, but as you do you accidentally cut your finger. "Shit!" You winced. How could this get any worse. You pick up any remaining shards. Standing up and contemplating. She was gunna hate you. You thought. You don't blame her, you had only just got it. Your hands go to your hair, all these bad thoughts rushing through. You were going to have a shower after you got the case. But now you don't even need the case because you stupidly broke the rose. So. Stupid. Your tears still streaming down your face, you felt so awful. The image of Billie being so hurt right after she was so excited giving it to you.

You get into the shower, sliding down the wall. All you could think about was how she was going to react when she comes home. The hot water ran over your crying form. You hadn't even heard the front door open and Billie calling out like she always does. Until you hear faint footsteps and the bathroom door open. "Baby?" Had she seen it yet...

"Y-yeah.." You reply, she opens up the curtain to see you in the position you were in. Confused as anything. "What's going on love?" She always knew when something was bothering you. "I'm so sorry." You pathetically cry out. "Baby, talk to me." She says stopping the water from running. You just shake your head, lip quivering. "Sweetheart, please." You take a moment. "Don't hate me." You weakly say. "How could I ever?" Her bewilderment made your heart ache more for what you are about to tell her.

"Go look on my bedside floor." Your voice was hushed. So incredibly worried as she goes to do so. Her eyes land on the last little bits of glass, looking at the shattered mess on your table. Her heart breaks, but not because you broke it and most definitely by accident. It was because you were so upset, she hated seeing you upset. She comes back in the room to you still in tears. "Bub, hey. It's ok." - "it's not. Im so sorry I'm so-" She stops your apologies. "Baby. We can fix it. It's fixable. And if not I'll just buy you another. I swear to you. It's all ok."

Her voice was tender. So soft and reassuring. Your crying settles just a bit. "Are you sure?" She nods. "So incredibly sure. I'm not mad my girl, never ever would be." Her hand extends out for yours. You take it and get out of the shower. "Are you hurt?" You pout at how sweet she was, you loved this woman to absolute death. "What?" She chuckles. You just shake your head. "Youre just so kind, I love you." She brings you in for a hug, you wrap your arms tightly around her. She couldn't give a single fuck that your body was dripping wet.

It lasted for a long time, before she pulls back and looks at you. "I did just a tiny bit but I'm ok." You state. "Where abouts?" You show her the red mark on your thumb, she grabs it. Bringing it to her lips as kissing it gently. "Like I said before if we can't fix it I'll buy a new one, this time with a case."

"Great idea."

[backinmyphase]

Not alone

Synopsis: After your horrible introduction to each other, Satoru and you have finally time to get to know each other on your honeymoon now. That's everything that is happening - surely right?

Or: Satoru Gojo doesn't even know how attached he will grow to his wife yet.

Pairing: Gojo x reader, 2800 words

Series Masterlist

I want to thank all of you for the support and the comments, I'm so happy other people like my writing <33 Anyway I hope you like it!

"I can't believe I really listened to you. What am I doing?"

Gojo grinned to himself and went on as if he didn't hear you.

"To the trainstation, please." He handed the cab driver the destination and sat next to you in the back instead of the front.

And suddenly his body was so close, his presence became impossible to not notice.

"I'm so happy to be able to convince you." He looked out of the window.

He sat so relaxed, legs stretched apart and his body lying comfortably in the seat. How could he be so relaxed?

"They'll freak out. Kill me. And then wipe out my clan. In that order."

Gojo laughed. "Sure they will."

"They really could." You shook your head and looked out the window on your side.

"No, they couldn't. They don't dare do anything to you." His voice was full of confidence.

'If only you knew what they dare to do.' You thought about the letters. 'If only you knew.

"Just forget about them, okay?" You felt his body turn towards you. "It's always just higher ups this, clan that. Just try to relax."

"Yeah, yeah." you whispered and look outside. You could see the pitiful look of the driver from the side mirror outside the car.

What were you thinking? This morning you somehow thought that it wouldn't be so bad to just leave. And Gojo looked at you so full of expectation that you didn't want to disappoint him.

But now?

The only thing you could see as you closed your eyes was the disapproving face of your mother. She wouldn't have done anything that would damage the clan's reputation.

And on top of that the panic began to settle.

You were on your honeymoon. Alone. With your husband. It the higher ups don't kill you, well, they will at least expect a child. Or expect you to expect a child. Doesn't matter.

You couldn't even breath near Gojo out of panic, how could you sleep with him?

He yawned loudly, breaking you away from your thoughts. His eyes half lidded open, he stretched his arms.

Maybe it wasn't just the panic.

You looked outside again to hide the on creeping redness on your face. It just wasn't fair. You weren't made for this, weren't made to be Gojo's wife. He just was so… Gojo and you were… Well you.

The two of you just don't make a good pair.

And surely not a good heir, which will be your doom.

"You look tired." his voice was since yesterday really soothing somehow. "When we are in the train you can sleep."

"Are you sure?" you looked at him as he smiled.

"Yeah, I will wake you up."

You smiled hesitantly back. "Thank you."

~

"What were you thinking? I mean-" your mother paced through the room of the arrangement. "Have I taught you nothing?"

Her voice was loud, piercing, ready to hurt you. As she stood before you, you made yourself ready. "You have to inform the higher ups! Is that to much for you stupid brain?"

"I know mother." your voice trying it's best to be steady as you looked at the ground. "But Gojo…"

She shook her head. "Don't come me with that, it is ridiculous! As if he would be soooo passionate about going with you to the honeymoon! Do you think I'm dumb?"

She looked you in the eyes. "You two are not that close. You prove that every time you talk about him."

"But he was really excited to see…"

"God, stop with your excuses! We are not mad you are on your honeymoon and you know that!" she raised a hand to shut you down. "We are mad because you didn't provide us with information like promised."

You hung your head a bit lower, the guilt pushing you down. You didn't feel guilty because messing up, you felt guilty because you seem to have disappoint her yet again. After she gave you all these chances.

"Yes, mother."

She sighed. Her voice becoming unsteady for a second. Suddenly you felt a cold hand creeping up your back making you shiver.

"You have to get yourself together."

The hand caressing your cheek while wind blew inside your ear. Was there someone beside you?

"All of Jujutsu Society is counting on you right now. A new heir is needed to keep the world balance right. And you are the one needed right now."

The cold fingers went down to your throat. First careful, then more forceful. You wanted to stand up and scream, kick around yourself, but you didn't want to seem that crazy in front of your mother.

"Do you understand?"

Carefully slow your head rose. The hand now pressing down and chocking you slowly.

"Yes, mother."

She smiled. But it wasn't sincere. No, it was her mask smile, the one she kept on when the arrangements occurred. Steady and stern, not revealing anything.

"Well then you can say it to them directly."

The room around you began to spin and transform. Dizziness flooded you, but you were unsure if it came from the sudden change or the deficit of air. Or both.

When you could see through the spinning, a room full of nothingness became clear. The only thing you could decipher was-

"Mrs. Gojo. We thought we were on the same page."

The presence of the higher ups.

You couldn't speak, no everything was blurry and dark and just… Just unbearable. Your body seemed like a prison that kept you there, your mind trying to push out of it.

"Didn't we make ourselves clear?"

You didn't get any air anymore, tears started to dwell up in your eyes. When was the last time you let yourself cry like that?

"Mrs. Gojo. We THOUGHT you knew now of what your importance your marriage to Gojo Satoru is. Why we have to know your decisions."

You hiccuped and almost choked on your tears.

"So WHY did you just LEA-"

A sudden push and pull of your body made you jump. Your eyes now blinking wide open, while the world seemed to keep spinning.

"Hey… Hey! What's wrong??"

You kept your eyes open and the only thing that didn't spin were the eyes in front of you. The sunglasses pulled down, Gojo's blue eyes were wide open. The world around you seemed to stop spinning and you started to feel his close presence.

"Nothing, I'm okay." you looked down and noticed his hands on your shoulders. His grip on you was steady yet still soft.

"Are you kidding me? You were crying in your sleep just now." He tried to look you in the eyes as you looked stubbornly onto the ground.

"I just had a nightmare." you winded yourself out of his soothing grip. "Are we there yet?"

You looked him in the face with your usual mask on, trying to hide the panic in your head. Gojo frowned and looked almost concerned.

"Next station. But are you sure you're okay-"

"Alright, perfect. Thank you." hastily you cut him off, not wanting to go deeper into the topic while you smiled your best 'everything is alright' smile at him.

He swallowed it. For now.

But his hand was still close to your shoulder. And he didn't pull it away. While looking outside he spoke again.

"We will sleep in the little hotel of Hinas Grandmother. It's not far from the train station."

You nodded while trying to calm down from the roller-coaster of emotions you were just on.

"Okay, then let's get our things now. We are almost there."

~

"Gojo, let me carry on thing please." you pleaded while following your husband as he shook his head.

His hand on your suitcases and an additional backpack on his back. "No chance. I'm not letting you carry anything. You are exhausted enough."

You looked around seeing the stares of other people in this small place. It must have been a really odd picture. A big man carrying two suitcases behind him while his wife was just following him. Oh god…

"Please Gojo, people are staring." you whispered to him but he just whistled with a smile on his face.

You sighed and embraced your fate. He was really something.

"There it is!" he nodded in direction of a small old, building. It had charm and you couldn't help but smile.

You opened the doors for your stubborn husband and adored the older structure of the house. And at the counter stood an elderly woman smiling at you. You couldn't help but smile back.

"Good day to you two. Sleeping here for the night?" she spoke calmly and slow. And still had that glint in her eyes.

"Yeah, we have reservations on the name Gojo." Gojo smiled and leaned onto the counter while holding his ID. The woman looked at it and gasped.

"Oh, you were the lovely couple Hina told me about! Of course we have a room for you two. Honeymoon, wasn't it?" she smiled at you.

You wanted to disagree but slowly it dawned to you. She thought you were married. Well, you were married, but she thought you were married because you wanted to.

"Yes, Honeymoon. Took awhile to convince her to go here." Gojo laughed while taking the key.

"Oh, really?" the woman looked at you surprised.

"Well, that's just not right." you gasped while taking your own suitcase before gojo could take it. "I didn't want to leave immediately, but he wanted to just go, go, go."

"Well, Darling, I just couldn't wait." He grinned at you with that sparkle in his eye. "Is that so bad?"

"You know it is-"

The woman laughed and shook her head. "Oh you two…" she swiped a tear away. "Young love is so refreshing."

You couldn't help the blush that was creeping up again, for the second time this day, and just wanted to hide your face forever before he saw you like that. You looked at the stairs.

And there stood Gojo ready to go upstairs. Smiling at you.

You cleared your throat, while hoping to get a grip on to yourself and pulled your things behind you. "Thank you for the lovely Hospitality."

"Oh, any time." she waved as you stood before the stairs. "Just make yourself at home. Just like Hina has a home at yours."

You waved back, while smiling, before pulling your things up. You forgot how heavy it was, since Gojo carried it till here. But you didn't want to give him the satisfaction of asking for his help and proving that you were just as exhausted as he thought.

As you stood before your room you raised an eyebrow at him. "Darling?"

He smiled and turned around to open the room with the key. "Oh, you know. Just slipped."

"Really?" you pulled your things into the room, while following him. He chuckled lightly.

"Yeah. And, well, we are here just a married couple. Not an arrangement for the future of the jujutsu society. So we should act like one."

"Suree." you looked around. And horror began to settle.

You were registered as a married couple. So you had only one big bed. And a normal married couple wouldn't have problems with that, would it?

"I will take the couch." your voice was much more quiet now. It was like they were here, chanting that they need a heir. And you shouldn't be so irrational.

"No way." he shook his head. "You look like you need days of sleep. I'm not letting you sleep on the uncomfortable couch."

"It's not a problem." you walked over to the couch and sat down. It wasn't comfortable, he was right. But who would hurt a little lie?

It was his turn to raise an eyebrow at you. "Let's make a deal."

You looked him in the eyes, in those beautiful eyes. "I'm all ears."

He grinned. "You lie down in the bed for now and sleep till evening while I explore the town. You need the sleep. And later we can discuss who sleeps where."

"I don't have to sleep nooooo-" a yawn interrupted you. "hw. Forget it. Let's do it like you said."

He grinned even wider while handing you the backpack with water inside. "Then make yourself comfortable."

He stood up and took his things and the key. But while pulling the door handle down he stooped.

"Oh, and one thing." he took a book out of the backpack and handed it to you. "I read this before sleeping. Helps me. Even for nightmares. Just in case."

You looked at the title of the book and it said 'Before the coffee gets cold'. A black cat on the cover and you couldn't help but smile.

You looked up at him and chuckled to yourself.

"Thank you, Gojo."

~

You did have problems sleeping. It wasn't that the bed was uncomfortable.

But you couldn't help but think of the things that the higher ups expected you to do on it.

The covers laid heavy on you, while your hand reached for the book Gojo gave you. A chapter couldn't hurt. And maybe he was right and it really helped.

He was really nice to you. He seemed to make an effort right now. And you appreciated that he wanted to make this arrangement easier (since he was really making it hard in the beginning).

And he was so nice and open to you. And he helped you with the luggage and while sleeping. And his eyes were so-

Oh no.

Oh no no no no no no no.

No that wasn't happening right now. Not after you just had a couple of conversations. It couldn't be.

But as you read a couple of sentences and felt yourself relaxing to the story, you knew that it was. You couldn't fight the smile that made it's way onto your face.

God dammit.

~

Satoru was worried about you. You looked like you didn't sleep in weeks even though it could have only been last night. You were stressed.

And as much as he wanted you to relax, he couldn't force anything that would just stress you more.

But it was so nice to see you smile from time to time. After all the silence and hiding was it like fresh wind.

"Oh, Mr. Gojo already going out?" Hina's grandmother smiled at him while going through the oages of the visitor book.

"My wife is tired, and I wanted to explore the town." he made his way to the counter again. "Do you have any advice for good restaurants? Or cafés?"

"Oh, I do." she smiled at him. "Sato's kitchen down the street is lovely. And the atmosphere is perfect for a romantic dinner."

She sighed. "My husband and I went there a couple of times, when we were younger. It's a lovely place. Not cheap. But lovely."

He chuckled at that. "Thank you, that sounds like something we have to check out. And anything for take out? I don't want her to have to move again today."

She laughed. "Aren't you a gentleman! Well if you look for good take out, we have a good ramen shop in the main street."

"Then I have to check it out." He made a little dramatic bow. "Thank you for your wisdom Mrs. Sato."

She made sure it wasn't a problem as he left. And if he has any questions of what to do here with his wife he could just come to her.

And he wouldn't forget that.

~

Your body felt heavy as you heard a quiet creak. Your eyes were shut and your head felt a bit dizzy. You still held the book in your hands as you heard a couple of steps.

"You back, Gojo?" you mumbled, your eyes not wanting to open.

"Yeah, but it's not important just keep sleeping."

You wanted to sit up but your body felt heavy. You groaned as you realized what that meant.

"You tricked me…" you weren't sure he would even understand your mumbling. "I'm sleeping now in the bed, and I can't do anything about it…"

You heard a light chuckle that made your traitor of a heart jump.

"I didn't trick you, we had a deal. And now we decided that you sleep in the bed and I sleep on the couch."

"We didn't decide anything…" your voice became more of a whisper as you felt your consciousness drifting away.

"Well," his voice was suddenly really close. "You only have a say if you drop the last name."

Your eyes opened and looked into his. He sat at the end of the big bed, head on his hands as he looked at you.

"I'm Satoru. We are Gojo." He smiled.

"And as Mrs. Gojo you are not alone."

Your eyes fell shut after that. And maybe you were just imagining that. But it still made you feel traitorous warm inside.

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[cloudzoro]

Star | Dracule Mihawk ♡

one piece materlist | mihawk masterlist

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“Not a star in the sky could compare to you”, He groans as he guides his cock to your entrance. His words get caught in his throat as he pushes inside you.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

genre: smut (minors dni), fluff? it's very romantic smut

wc: 2.3k

pairings: mihawk x reader

cw: fem!reader, unprotected sex, oral, mirror sex, praise, so much praise, squirting

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You finish putting in your earrings and step back, examining yourself in the bathroom mirror. You have a vanity that your husband built for you, but he was currently getting ready in your bedroom, and you wanted to surprise him. You had bought a new dress and didn't want your Husband, Dracule Mihawk, to see it until you were ready. You know you look good, smiling at your reflection. You think now is a good time to show your Husband the absolute stunner of a dress you've chosen. Maybe he'll like it so much he'll be too distracted to take you to this boring dinner. You grab your necklace from the bathroom counter, a subtle but gorgeous piece he'd gifted you on your first anniversary.

“Mihawk?” You call from the other side of the door. You crack open the door to see he's turned away from you, assessing his own formal outfit in the mirror.

“Yes, Darling?” he says, turning to meet your eye. He's quiet when he first lays his eyes on you, scanning you from head to toe. There's a faint smile on his lips, one that's reserved for you, as he wordlessly takes the necklace from your outstretched hand. You stand between him and the mirror, watching his reflection as he delicately clasps the necklace.

Mihawk wraps his arms around you from behind, hands roaming over your waist and hips. He kisses the left side of your neck, pressing his tongue against the skin. His lips trail across your shoulder and over the sleeve of the dress, all the way to your left hand, where he presses the most delicate of kisses to your wedding ring.

“You look gorgeous, y/n”, he compliments, turning you in his arms so he can peck your lips. “so beautiful”. You can't help the smile that spreads across your face when he speaks to you like this.

“You look handsome,” you say now that you're able to get a proper look at him in his suit, though it's not too dissimilar from his everyday attire. He rolls his eyes; despite all the years you've been married, he's still unable to take a compliment.

“Thank you, Darling,” he says, trying to brush your compliment off. “ But I fear bringing you around the guild may be dangerous when you look the way you do. Especially Crocodile and that stupid clown.”

“Then don't.”

“Excuse me?”

“Don't take me to dinner”, you say, matter of factly. Your hand reaches up to unbutton his shirt, and he lets out an amused huff once he realises your intentions.

“And what do you suggest I do instead?” he says, eyes not leaving yours as he waits for you to tell him what he wants to hear.

“You can lay me down right here and fuck my brains out.” Your words are sharp and clear as they hit his ears. He knows you're referring to the bed by' right here', but he has slightly different plans.

“I still would like to take you dancing, though, my dear”, he says, starting up an old record that blares throughout your room. He pulls you impossibly close, one hand placed low on your waist and the other holding your hand. He slowly starts to sway the two of you.

The dance is intimate and full of passion - as your private moments with your husband typically are. Mihawk is actually quite fond of dancing, having learnt it when he was young; it's one of his favourite pastimes to partake in with you. The way he's holding you has his leg pressed between your legs, and he opts for a dance style much more sensual than a traditional waltz. Dancing is such a simple act, yet it inspires Mihawk.

He admires the grace with which you move as he leans down to whisper filthy things in your ear. He's teasing you, pulling you close to him and riling you up until you're tearful and desperate for some kind of contact. He takes a step back to guide you into a spin and then back against his chest. He kisses your shoulder, light as a feather, and compliments your dance skills.

You're sick of the teasing now, so you turn in Mihawk's arms to face him again and pull him into an aggressive kiss, which He returns with equal force. Your Husband might bend to your every whim, but he is still a feared man throughout the world, and you're reminded of this when his grip tightens on your waist, and he lets out a terrifying growl against your lips. He pulls away from the kiss, chuckling at the way you try to chase his lips. His strength and power are attractive to you, and the force with which he holds you in place has you melting in his arms. He just stands there, keeping you until you start to whine about the sudden lack of affection.

“Oh, you're not enjoying our dance anymore?”

“Of course I am, but I need you so bad.”

“Need me to do what?” he asks, still holding you. He knows precisely what you want but wants to hear you say it. Mihawk is proud and secure, but he still likes to hear how badly you need him. You struggle momentarily in his arms, frustrated by his lack of action. Your frustration is amusing to your Husband, who smirks at you until he finally gets what he wants.

“Need you to make me cum. Please. I want you to fuck me,” You say, there's a slight wobble of need in your voice, and Mihawk eats it up. He offers you a genuine smile, one that you see more often than others assume, and guides you over to the vanity, turning you around so you can see yourself in it. His touch is delicate as he tilts your chin up so you can look at your own face.

“Keep your eyes on your reflection, I want you to see how gorgeous you look when I make you cum”, he says. In an act that would shake the world if anyone were to see it, Dracule Mihawk drops to his knees. Being able to bring a man as respected and feared as Mihawk down beneath you makes you feel like the most powerful woman on the globe.

He bunches the skirt of your dress up to your hips. He holds the skirt with one hand as he tears your underwear down your legs so he can get at your pussy. He leans forward, skipping any warm-up, and goes straight to burying his tongue in your hole. He licks at your walls as you moan his name. Mihawk listens for every gasp and little noise that leaves your lips, committing them to memory. He drops the skirt, allowing it to cover him, and uses a hand to rub your neglected clit. He seems dead set on making you cum as quickly as possible.

You're doing as your Husband asked, keeping your eyes open and on the reflection before you. His tongue is driving you closer and closer to the edge. Mihawk has told you several times that his favourite positions are ones where he can clearly see your face, and now you're starting to see why. This is the most at home you've ever seen yourself, you're basically glowing. You're hot and bothered and oh so desperate to cum, but you're happy and satisfied. The slurping noises from beneath you insinuate that Mihawk feels the same way.

A few more well-placed flicks of his tongue have your legs shaking and your orgasm washing over you. Your first orgasm is energising, it leaves you with all of your nerves alight and sensitive but eager for your Husband's touch. He pulls away, letting your dress fall behind you and stands up. He's pleased that you listened to him and watched yourself.

He orders you to keep your eyes on the mirror for a little longer to let him appreciate the dress a little longer. You obey, soaking up the praise he showers you with.

When he grows impatient, done with ghosting kisses over your neck, he helps you unzip the dress. He delicately pulls the dress down, offering a hand to steady you as you step out of the garment. He lays it over the ottoman so that you can hang it back up when you're finished and then returns his attention to you.

He kisses you, his usual intensity ever present as he walks you over to the bed. He pushes you gently, not enough to cause you harm, and you follow along. You lay on the bed, leaning on your elbows to watch as he slowly removes his clothes.

Watching Mihawk strip for you is like watching a god show vulnerability. You feel special knowing you're the only one who gets to see him like this. You're so busy appreciating the new exposed skin that you barely register that he's talking dirty to you. Mihawk stalks towards you like a panther, kneeling on the bed and crawling over so he's hovering on top of you.

“My pretty girl” he hums, taking your nipple into his mouth and squeezing your other boob. He shows some love to your chest, kissing across it to take your other nipple into his mouth. He could go on like this for hours, kissing over your body, leaving marks and praises as he goes. You squirm beneath him, his intensity suffocating you. “If you want me to give you more, you're going to have to help me out first”, he says, rolling so that he's beneath you now. He guides you down to his cock, and you take it into your mouth as far as you can without gagging.

You hold your head still, encouraging him to move his hips. You let his taste settle in your mouth as you tongue over the veins on his cock. He's happy to place his hand on the back of your head and gently thrust into your wet mouth. He's careful not to go too far, though you wouldn't mind if he got a little rougher with you. Mihawk moans as you swallow around him, encouraging you to repeat the action. The next flick on your tongue against his cock has him pulling you off him. You look so good, staring up at him with hazy eyes and a drooling, open mouth, that he almost cums just looking at you.

Mihawk is happy to praise and talk you through sex, but when it comes to receiving, he's very reserved. The sighs and moans you do manage to pull from him with your tongue have pride rising to the surface of your skin. The low whimper he gives you as you lick at his tip is pretty enough to have you releasing moans of your own around him.

“I wanna cum inside you”, he states, pulling you up for another kiss. You nod into the kiss, and he flips you over, so now you're beneath him once again. Mihawk sits back on his heels, admiring your body. “You look beautiful in that dress, but Darling, you are breathtaking without it”, he says, running calloused fingers along the plush of your thighs.

“Not a star in the sky could compare to you”, He groans as he guides his cock to your entrance. His words get caught in his throat as he pushes inside you. He takes in the feeling of your pussy enveloping his cock, the feeling makes his brain go fuzzy. He's cursed you out jokingly, of course, for the way your body shuts off his brain, but it's different seeing it in action. His gaze darkens, and his breaths come out in sharp growls. You flinch as his teeth graze your neck when he leaves a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss there. It would be so easy for him to sink his teeth into your vulnerable skin, and it wouldn't be the first time he's done so. You've seen his aggression on the battlefield; this is a different beast you're facing.

Mihawks thrusts start heavy; there's no build-up of strength. He reaches places you never thought possible and angles your hips so he can have you kicking your feet at the intense pleasure. He's an expert in the field of your body, years of experimental research have led him to be able to have you soak the sheets in minutes. He knows exactly where to aim his thrusts to have you gushing. He grinds himself inside of you between thrusts, complimenting you through gritted teeth as he tries to keep his sounds of euphoria to himself. One of his skilled hands reaches down to play with your clit. Mihawks movements are practised and deliberate, an inherited skill gained from being your husband.

“Play with those beautiful tits for me”, he instructs, keeping his hawk eyes glued to your chest. He watches as you obey him, squeezing your tits and playing with your tits. The sensations are all-consuming, and you find yourself teetering on the edge of your orgasm. You're overwhelmed and unable to tell him you're about to cum. You don't need to tell him, he knows. From the rapid spasming of your pretty pussy to your incoherent whimpers, he can read you like a book. “Go ahead, sweet girl. Make a mess for me”

Your legs shake, and your torso tenses as you cry out your husband's name. Your release feels white-hot beneath your skin, and you can barely register the way you're gushing all over your husband's abdomen. Mihawk is unbothered by the mess, in fact, he encourages it. His orgasm follows closely behind as he fills you with his hot cum. When you've both come down from your highs, chest heaving and lazy smiles reserved only for one another to see, he peels himself off of you to assess the damages to the sheets.

“We may have to sleep in the guest bed tonight while the mattress dries,” he says. “For now, though, let's get you to the shower”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!!

tag list: @bloodfixnd @sexysapphicshopowner @beachaddict48 @lem-hhn

[mehiwilldoitlater]

Previously... "How you wished your phone hadn't died few days ago"

Me: Gentlemen,Ladies and Enby's. I have an solution >:)

OKAY OKAY SO,The party fights Yellow Loong and after defeat,they get their thunder staff,yeah? Reader thinks it's so cool and then it clicks to them to CHARGE their phone by the use of the staff!!! Which does work HAHA instantly goes %100 in span of 5 seconds lmao

And reader shows the destined one some photos (like their family,friends of school/college,time they went to zoo and hold finger monkey,yes. It's a thing,look at it up hehe)

At last,reader takes selfie with The destined one and Zhu Baige cuz they don't want to forget them c:

Also drink water,gotta stay hydrated! 💜🫵🏻

"This will never work."

"And if it works, you'll be so sorry you had doubted me, old man!"

Bajie, sighing, Just pointed out the destined one, who was holding that small black tablet in his right hand with the nail of his pinky in the small hole at the base of the same object.

"Kid, stop indulge her! Be the rational one here!"

"What can I say?" He said, shrugging his shoulders, "I'm quite curious too about this phone thing."

"Oooh, yes, of course! Cuuurious, he said. Well, if it's turned out to burn at a crisp, do not come cry to me, young lady!"

You just laugh it out; even if it were true, you knew that the old pig was a soft heart for you and would surely comfort you.

"Ok so," you started to explain for the last time, "go really low on the voltage, enough to the cilinder with the green liquid to appear. Once Is full and made a sound, stop!"

"It seems simple; sure, is it going to work?"

"Well, maybe? ... Anyway, it doesn't matter! Just go!"

So, what were you up to this time?

A few days after your arrival, your phone, as you suspected would have happened, had died since the lack of electricity.

Between a deadly danger and another being eaten attempt, your mind completely forgotten about the device's lost usage until, after the fight against Yellowbrow, the idea of using that newfound power struck you.

You weren't sure that it could work; you were prepared to lose forever your phone, to be fair, but a small try never hurt anyone, right?

And fortune favorite, the bold!

After the small sound front the phone, you started to jump in happiness, finally with the last connection of your original world in your hands.

"AH! YES! IT WORK IT WORK! AHAH!"

The other two laughed a little, noticing how your fingers were able to move in the device with knowledge and security.

"All right, all right," said Bajie, sitting next to you when you decided to calm down. "Now, what does this little thing do?"

"Okay! Basically, we use It tò call people, message them...communication in general!"

"Oh so..." Yuán Fèn seemed startled when, after touching one of the apps on the screen, the color changed "is like... a bird or... and Messanger?"

"Well yes? Everything happens in seconds instead of hours or days! Unfortunately, without connection, it's useless for that part."

"Ah! So I was right! "

"Buuuut It can do something more intriguing for you!"

Once you shot the camera, your two friends, after a brief moment of surprise from their own faces showing up inside that small box, seemed more interested than before.

"Is that a mirror?"

"Nope! It's a camera! We use it to make photos!"

"What's a pho-u-toh?"

"Photo! Or photograph!" You laugh after Bajie misspells "it's like a panting, but far more precise. Using light, you can press the image on paper. Now, a phone camera doesn't exactly work like that, but you get the idea."

You stod up and put the device in front of the pigface.

"Now smile! I'll show you!"

After you took the picture, with the image of a still confused Bajie on it, you showed it to him. After a moment of silence, he started to laugh about it.

"You are surely full of surprises!"

///

"HEY! Is that a baby?!"

"Baby, aren't you that small, you dork!"

"Yes, they are! They smal like your brain!"

Once again, you have to save yourself and your phone from another monkey's fist fight between the children. Now that you had shown them your small magic box, like they like to call it, they were always eager to make one with you or ask you to make one for them, only to laugh about their own faces or what was happening. You even make a few videos of them, which just make them go more crazy than before. 

But then they discovered your other photos.

They seemed to enjoy, especially the ones that you had taken the day you had decided to help your auntie in her school trip at the Zoo. They loved the ones that you had taken at the monkey enclosure; they loved to see that you were familiar with their kind even before the change of world!

Well, they weren't the only ones that enjoyed the device. Once, you decided to show it to the youngest of the spider sisters, showing her the video that you took of her while dancing, and she laughed all the time, enjoying it to see her own performance.

You even took the chance to use it to make ohotos of every place that you and the Destined one were able to visit. Yellow ridge, the snowy fields, the mountains...every place was a new set for one of your photos, and every time he was inside too.

He had never shown quite the interest like everyone, but he seemed still happy to know that you wanted to cherish the memories that you had there with him. But what he really loved were your own memories, the photos of your past, and your family. He loved sharing them with you, knowing you deeper.

"This is your..."

"Cousin. My cousin."

"Oh yes, yes...and this is your cat, right?"

"Sorta, it shows up now and then. I like to leave it some food for it, so it doesn't starve."

"Ah, got it..." then another photo, that you tried to pass fastly, had passed under his eyes of you near someone.

"And that one? The one with the guy?"

"Ah, it was nothing." Your tone seemed almost off, like to avoid the discussion.

"Nothing?" He raised his eyebrows. "I saw you smiling! How was it nothing?"

And soon, you get back on the photo and delete it.

"As I said, nothing."

It seemed that he still needed to know you better.

@sun-jglim @crimsonflameproxy @everlastingmoonlightsworld @biankanoir

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@cleverfeststarlight

[willowrites]

𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐞 ✦ 𝐬𝐚𝐦 𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐡

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬. where sam was there to help y/n when she had a rough day and resorted to unwinding in a not-so-healthy way.

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭. okay so i was just thinking for a sam golbach fic reader relapses (self harm) cuz their mind has been getting too much lately, and maybe sam helps them clean up and then helps take care of them and makes them feel loved nd just like lets them know that they don't need to do that because he's there from now on?? if that makes sense. also maybe not an established romantic relationship but maybe it ends up that way? like sam tells reader he doesn't know what he'd do with himself if anything happened to them he just cares a lot about them and yeah

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. ANGST ! third person pov, talks of self harm, relapsing, descriptive literature, friend!sam, friends to lovers.

𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬. if anybody needs anyone to talk to i’m here! 🤍 sorry this took so long to post & write! this one hit really personal for me but id okay to say ive healed & im continuing to heal from my past. if anyone is going through similar hardships, you can get through it! i believe, love, & support you always.

y/n told herself she wouldn’t put herself in this position again. she wouldn’t.. but sometimes things don’t go as planned.

she had tried to stay strong, to stop letting her mind control every action she took; it just became too much. she sat on the cold tile floor of her bathroom, tears making their way down her flushed face. she gripped the item as she took the first swipe, lightly but firm enough.

just stop. she told herself. her hand shook as she went to repeat the action. she looked at her skin i just need to feel something, she thought. something other than what im feeling now.

she had been doing so good but somehow found herself back at square one. all that work that she had done was all gone. she felt hopeless, as if this never ending black hole of despair would stay with her for the rest of her life.

she took a minute to think on her life and what could have went wrong to cause her to relapse. all those thoughts had no specific effect on relapsing, its just her brain had begun to spin a web that caused her to get stuck in her head all day. what else can i do? she thought as she took another swipe at her skin. she planned on continuing until she heard her bedroom door open.

her heart dropped to her ass. “y/n..?” the voice had confusion laced in their voice.

sam.

it was sam.

the blonde boy was one of the things that y/n had in her life that truly made her happy. he was her best friend. she never told him that but she truly meant that with every fiber of her being.

y/n quickly wiped her tears when she heard the footsteps come closer to the bathroom. wiping the tears would make the tear stains disappear but the thing about breaking down, you’re left with that struggle of trying to catch your breath.

she couldn’t stop gasping, trying to breathe calm and collectively. that’s why as sam stopped right beside the bathroom. he heard a small gasp escape her lips that caught his attention.

his eyebrows raised in confusion. he put his head beside the door trying to hear something else. “uh.. y/n? you in there?” he knocked. he received no answer. multiple questions and thoughts ran through his mind before he opened the door.

sam had seen many things in his life, traumatic even, but this — it was like his heart had jumped, dropped, did a tumble, and self destructed all in the span of 3 seconds. he instantly became nauseous at the sight of y/n holding a blade to her forearm. the small cuts that had caught his eye before she covered her arm and hid the blade had his blood run cold.!

the second y/n had been caught she felt guilty and embarrassed. she felt pathetic, like she wasn’t strong enough to handle the hard reality of the real world. immediately, she stood up and faced sam. “i-im sorry you weren’t supposed to see that.. it’s not what it looks like.” she sniffled trying to contain her tears. “i… it just, lately everything has been so crazy and i haven’t … i haven’t done this in a while but… but everything has just been… too much.” she rambled out, trying to explain herself.

sam’s face of confusion faltered. he thought about her words. the way she mentioned in a while had him wondering what caused her to relapse and fall back into this situation. he scanned her face. she’s too pure to be suffering like this. he paused thinking of what to say but truly all that he wanted to do was give her a hug. so that’s what he did.

he pulled her in, wrapping his arms around her protectively. she melted into his touch. her lip quivered as she wrapped her own arms around him. her body shook as more tears cascaded down her face.

sam felt his own eyes sting with tears. “i’m sorry.” he choked up. “i’m sorry you’ve been going through all of this alone.” he rested his cheek on her head closing his eyes trying to stay strong for her.

y/n hasn’t said anything, still feeling guilty. sam pulled away and looked down at the floor seeing the blade and a tissue beside it. he picked them up and threw both away.

he turned back to y/n who had a tired look on her face. “as long as i’m here nothing will hurt you, okay? i will be here for you. you can depend on me. you don’t need to do this anymore to yourself y/n, i won’t let you.” he took her face into his hands. “i promise, i love you and im always here for you no matter what.”

y/n’s heart raced as sam’s words really effected her. she nodded pursing her lips and biting her cheek.

he brought her head to his mouth and pressed a light kiss on her forehead. “i mean it y/n. i don’t know what i’d do with myself without you. you complete me.”

y/n’s eyes scanned sam’s face noticing how his own eyes began to water and become puffy. the scene before her causing her throat to close. “m’sorry i promise i wont do it anymore. i love you sam and… fuck — i know i shouldn’t be doing that. i just didn’t know what else to do.” she leaned against his chest.

“i know, i know baby but from now on you can talk to me about it. about anything. i care so much about you. you truly have no idea how much i…” he stopped himself not wanting to overwhelm her. “just know you mean the world to me. you are and have been my priority since we met and that’s never going to change.” the reassuring words causing y/n to relax.

y/n started to get inside her head, wondering what if he got tired of her, if he’d leave her, what she’d do or how she’d feel if that happened — or even worse; if she would be a burden to sam.

sam noticed y/n zoning out. “hey, tell me what you’re thinking please.” his hands reached down to grab her own.

she took a deep breath. c’mon y/n. she blinked a couple times trying to sort her thoughts. “don’t wanna be a burden to you.” she admitted to which sam immediately shook his head.

sam brought her hands to his mouth kissing her knuckles. “you could never ever be a burden to me. you keep me pushing through every day because i want to be the best for you. to be the best friend you deserve and… and whatever the future may hold for us — i want you there always, okay? don’t ever forget that.”

his words wavered through the air and stood there so you could process what he truly meant. you thought on it, picking up some hidden message that you’d both communicate about later but as of now, he truly helped you feel understood and seen. as long as you had him you’d feel physically, mentally, and emotionally secure and protected.

© willowrites

[beevean]

If I’m being honest, you are all getting way too hung up on fake diseases and attacking a writer as if he personally attacked your family. It’s a strange obsession you have and you guys always come at any small nitpick as if it’s the end of the world. It’s a weird obsession and you have all been doing it for years. Maybe you liked Sunset Heights getting a remix but you also play victim when people don’t like the 2010s games. You can see Sonic is more successful now and doing things much better but you just like to sit in your anger towards the series for years. I’ll add that you’re much more sane in your reactions than RandomtheFox, but this whole side of the fandom here is so pathetic. The endless loop of anything new coming out for Sonic, and your little posse hating on it because it isn’t the meta era or because Ian Flynn has his name on it makes me glad you guys are a small minority in the fandom.

Do you want to know why we're discussing this?

If you go back and read our discussions, see how much we brought up with this little detail!

I looked up the effects of low gravity on the human body: I learned something new about science. I tried to put into words why this detail is harder to accept than Sonic breathing in space: this is about stories and world building. I immediately found a replacement idea. We discussed about SA2, its gameplay mechanics, its cutscenes. Someone even brought up the idea of drawing parallels with AIDS and how it would affect Maria. Negativity can stem from a place of reasoning, "how would I do that?", and it makes me use my brain in a fun way. I'm aware it's a inconsequential detail, but I'm having fun!

As for the rest of the message, yeah, we are a minority. Which makes me wonder why you care so much about a group of, what, four people?

Why don't I get any engagement when I'm positive, but suddenly people are up my ass when I talk about something negative? I didn't even tag most of my posts. Bro half of the Sonic fandom blocked me already because I'm a dirty sinning IDW non-enjoyer. I am not bothering anyone.

By the way, my negativity about IDW once even resulted in me writing a fic about it. Again, creativity and genuine discussions about writing a story and its downfalls. It nourishes the brain.

I don't like this new direction for Sonic. There, happy? I don't feel catered to, as a 2000s fan, by all this "REMEMBER WHEN WE WERE COOL????" stuff, not to mention I'm just not a Shadow fan so seeing him with wings and shit does nothing for me. I am annoyed because this used to be a franchise dear to me, but the current environment, both games and fandom, alienates me. I am also aware that, precisely because I'm in the minority, I'll just have to wait until ST changes trend again.

If my writer side activates when I talk about a writing decision I don't like and I'm having fun dissecting it, let me, alright? You can find me cringe, if you want to, but I'm not doing anything different than other fans, just directed towards a less acceptable target and in the privacy of my blocked blog.

Also: to be perfectly honest, if it only takes me one day of mild bitching to get anons yelling at me that I'm a joyless bastard doomed to be sad because I refuse to be happy, it kind of makes me want to be saltier out of spite. I'm already a bad person, might as well, right?

[youcouldmakealife]

Stuff that Helps me Write: Pacing (no, not that kind), and burnout avoidance

So this was supposed to be about something entirely different., but every time I started making a point, I got distracted by a second, bonus idea (ways to trick your brain when it's not cooperating with you! things I've tried (I will try everything) and what worked and didn't! what to do with writer's block!) and then start writing about that, and I've got half a dozen unrelated paragraphs going in my drafts, so I think I'm just going to make this a mini-series of 'stuff that helps me write and may also help you (or maybe they won't, I don't know, this shit's all subjective)'.

If there's anything in particular you'd like to hear about, or something about my process you're curious about, absolutely feel free to reply or shoot me an ask and I'll do my best to address them as I go.

But yeah, pacing. And more specifically, not burning out. I figured it was important I hit this one first, because I think it's the most important one, or at least, the one that makes the biggest difference.

With the caveat that I am someone who has repeatedly driven myself into burnout, I'm also someone who now knows why that is, and have been teaching myself how to, you know, not do that.

So. Here's how I, you know, don't do that.

Will preface this by again mentioning that most writing advice (and advice in general) never seemed to work for me, and I mostly thought I was just Bad at Doing Things, until I learned my brain's literally wired differently, and that I'd been trying to apply processes that didn't actually work for said wiring.

So instead, I figured out what worked for me. And what works for me isn't necessarily what will work for you, or even what will work for me a month or five years down the line, but it's going okay right now.

I'll straight up say that, contrary to all the Writing Advice, I don't write every day, and I don't think it's necessary, or even necessarily a good idea -- I have at times, but I no longer do, because if I write for more than six days straight I find the proverbial well dries up and I write less than I do had I just taken a break when I needed it.

Cognitive energy and the sort of ephemeral ~inspiration (work that's been done on a subconscious level) are fundamentally no different than physical energy: if you don't replenish it, you will run out. If you overdo it, you will run out. If you consistently overdo it without replenishing it, you will burn out.

Taking a page from hockey players here: if you did an intense workout right before a game they'd ask what the fuck was the matter with you. You need a nap and a meal and to get some stretching and light work in. Running at 100% all the time will burn you out in every single field, including this one.

That's not me saying not to run at 100% at all. I generally try to pace myself now, but if I'm really in it, and the words are coming easily, I don't stop until they stop -- I wrote just shy of 4k of later scenes for SAIT last week (my 2024 record!), all in one sititng, by hand, when I was supposed to be sleeping, because that's when the inspiration came. I didn't fall asleep until past 6am that night, and my hand is still mad at me.

But you know how much writing I got done the follow day? (None, I was busy transcribing 4k of handwriting). The rest of this week? (Not much more than that). Those bursts of energy are awesome, and honestly can make you feel like a writing god, but the well's the well, and I've learned my personal well is about 5000 words a week deep.

Before my most recent scrape with autistic burnout, which I'm still sort of climbing my way out of, that well was closer to 7500 words. But honestly, it probably wasn't; I was likely just siphoning words from future wells and then it all caught up with me when I was looking at a horizon of dry-ass wells ahead of me. (I'll admit this isn't a perfect metaphor.)

But seriously, my advice for basically everything, not just writing (and something I wish I'd learned before I hit my 30s), is 'figure out what pace you can work at sustainably'.

Please note that 'sustainably' is not 'without literally dying'. Because my literal ass thought when people said 'give everything 100%' they meant, you know, 'give everything 100%' (I know! absurd of me), rather than 'give the best effort you can give in this moment considering your current resources'. So I gave it my all (also interpreted that one wrong I guess?). And then I wondered why I kept hitting a wall all the time. And why, eventually, I stopped being able to climb that wall entirely.

I don't think I'm ever going to reach that 7500 word threshold again. There will be weeks I'm so inspired I write that much, but the next week I probably won't manage more than 2500. Or maybe I'll have two 7500 weeks in a row, but I'll need to take a whole week off after that, or spend several weeks working at a lower tempo while I let the well replenish itself.

I've been tracking some metrics quite closely as I sort of tweak my life into its new shape (said shape being 'do the best you can given your resources') , and during my most productive month of this year I wrote 3x as much as the worst (writing wise, I was finalising publication at the time), my current weekly average is about 4800 words. Sometimes it's a bit higher or lower, sometimes much higher or lower, but that's what I can sustainably do right now.

Frankly, I'm a little cranky about this: I know I can do more, because I did do more. But my priority now is not to send myself straight back into burnout again, so when I sprint, it's just that, rather than my previous 'trying to run a marathon at the pace of a sprinter'. I'm writing less than I used to, but it's honestly not that much less: because the pace is sustainable rather than boom and bust, I don't run myself ragged enough to desperately need a break.

I'm aware this advice only works if you have control over your own time, and a schedule that doesn't force you to focus on writing say, one day a week, or around other obligations, but the only real workaround for burnout is consistency, and that consistency cannot be your maximum.

Or, it can, but I guarantee you that will bite you in the ass at some point, and the pain of not getting enough done is nothing compared to the pain of not being able to get anything done because your nervous system threw up its hands and decided if you weren't going to listen to their clues (feelings, symptoms) or their warnings (Feelings, Symptoms) that you were overdoing it, they were going to shut your ass down until you listened.

0/10 do not recommend.

Next week: how to trick your brain into doing shit that it doesn't feel like doing, even though it's onto all your tricks by now. Or at least, how I trick mine.

[laurentidal]

Confundus

Ginny sat alone in the stacks trying so hard to remember the spells she'd need to pass her exams. She knew that she'd learned everything. But ever since that spell backfired, her brain had been a little… scattered.

That awful Malfoy had been causing a scene again and she so wanted to shut him up. But something happened when she'd cast her spell. The wanted to Confund him. Make him think he was a chicken or something. But he must have been ready, and she ended up hitting herself instead. She shook it off, but in retrospect she probably should have gone to see Madame Pomfrey. Every now and then she would have strange thoughts. Like she was someone else. Her brain must have gotten more rattled that it seemed at first.

Tori - no. Ginny. Ginny got to her feet and sighed. She'd never pass at this rate. None of the spells she tried to cast were working. Not even that basic ones. It's like all her magic had disappeared. But that was impossible. It had to just be in her mind. Maybe once she went home and got some sleep.

Wait, home? She wouldn't be going home until school was done for the year. Why did she think she was going home tonight? What she needed was to find her friends. They always had a way of getting out of trouble. Maybe they could help. But where would they be?

Just then, Harry rounded the corner. Perfect.

"Ginny," he said with a wicked grin. "I've been looking for you."

"Oh yeah?" she asked. They hadn't been together long, but all that time pent up and waiting for it, Tori hadn't waited long to fuck him. Ginny. Ginny hadn't waited long. "And why were you looking for me?"

He reached out and ran his hands along her side, brushing her breast. "No real reason."

Her nipples stiffened at his touch. What had she wanted to talk to him about? It mustn't have been very important. That was another thing. Thoughts were sliding out of her mind with some regularity. She was in danger of becoming the new Neville. And it seemed to happen more around Harry. It must have just been her horniness taking over her brain.

"You want to go back to the dorms?" she asked running a finger slowly along the bulge she saw in his pants.

"Why wait?" he said. "I do have the invisibility cloak. We could do it right here."

He pulled up a large sheet that looked a little different from the cloak she'd seen him use before. But she must have just been wrong. She was so silly. It was his cloak after all. He'd know what it was. She giggled softly.

"People will hear."

"I'll just hex you mute."

That was a good point. She was soooo happy he was so smart. Especially since she couldn't do any magic at all right now. He walked over and hung the blanket across the door to their little room.

"There. Now no one can see us in here."

That wasn't how it worked! Tori had read enough to know that. You had to put it over yourself. Right now it was just a curtain in the door. But. But. Ginny wasn't Tori! She wasn't! And Ginny trusted Harry. Harry knew how his own invisibility cloak worked. He was the smart one. She was just the silly girl with no magic or brain.

"So," he said expectantly. "Strip."

Ginny smiled happily. He was always so direct. So commanding. Ever since they'd met yesterd… Ever since they'd started dating. He told her what to do and she did it. She was a good girlfriend. He pointed his wand at her.

"Muffliato."

She knew that one. It made her quiet. Harry often liked to cast that on her when she was annoying him. It made her so wet that he had so much power over her. She couldn't even defend herself without magic. So hot. She stood there, voiceless and naked as Harry looked at her.

"l can't believe this really worked," he said happily. 'You really think you're her, don't you? And you think this is Hogwarts. And I'm him. This whole fantasy I built for you… Amazing."

Ginny looked at him questioningly but content. She didn't know what he was saying but he was sooooo much smarter than she was. It would have been so silly to ask him anything. She wouldn't have understood it anyway.

"Alright 'Ginny,"' Harry said, pants falling to the floor. "We're going to fuck now. It's going to be ~~magical~~. And maybe when we're done I'll let you come back to reality. Tori's friends will be missing her eventually."

Ginny nodded eagerly at the word fuck and didn't really listen to anything else. If she could speak, she'd have squealed with excitement. Ginny loved to fuck. And after all, they were invisible. She'd been so worried earlier. Why? As long as she had a dick inside her, there was nothing else to worry about. She let her wand fall to the ground as she took a new length of wood and what little was left of her dumb little brain burst completely.

Thanks for reading! If you are a fan of my work, consider buying me a coffee. Any contribution is insanely appreciated. 💖

[fisheito]

*rings the service bell* hi um i was wondering.. if there's any yakumo temperature play in here? sounds silly but i only realised after i circled the building a few times... that i haven't seen it at all. Seems to be common practice, actually- to not have it. i've visited several other buildings and there's been no sight of it.

which is... strange? if i think about it, it's surprising that i haven't encountered it yet! it sort of makes sense to have them together, you know? considering that temperature is so vital to a snake's perception of the world. and how sensitive reptiles are to temperature fluctuations.

so there's a lot of control to be had here. can you imagine controlling someone's energy level just by adjusting the thermostat? er- well, i guess we already do that. but imagine you put yakumo in an ice bath and he immediately falls asleep. brumation happens instantly now, sorry. and the only way to snap him out of it is to stick a flaming dildo up his ass

what?. no, i mean, restore his regular energy level with a soft warm-up. a heated blanket and a gentle steam. hahaha.

people plunge themselves into ice water before jumping into hot tubs and vice versa- for fun! they do this recreationally!! they call it a "spa treatment" and pay a premium for it! what's wrong with giving yakumo a spa treatment? who are we to deprive him of such sensory luxury?

i'm JUST SAYING that since he naturally gravitates toward heat, you could put him in a hurt AND comfort scenario he could be naked and cold, banished to the distant corner of the room.. but when you offer him a source of warmth, whether that be a hot rock or a warm hand or 20 lit candles suspended above him dripping wax on him at random intervals,,, wouldn't he have a tough time turning down your generosity?

i mean, he certainly would if he was tied up.

see, here's the other thing i cannot quite comprehend-- it's that--- how has a snake yokai not featured bondage scenes yet? i guess there was that one time with the.. hm. no, we shan't talk about the cellar. besides, ONLY ONE TIME is unacceptable for a sentient rope!! although yakumo would love to wrap up his prey and squeeze the cum out of em, i feel like we're missing out on a lot by not OutSnaking the Snake. tie up and restrain the Restrainer. it's just a liiiiittle step farther than putting him in a pillowcase! so mild!!!!

here's a guy who is always worried about losing control/// about being free to wreak havoc on his loved ones, despite his best intentions. so how about we give him a moment of peace? a moment where he believes he's subdued and unable to cause harm? just tie him up! keep him under TIGHT lock and key. (or some nice soft cloths for his sensitive skin, if we're being nice.) honestly, his brain will do the rest of the work. even if he's not truly incapacitated, his desire to BE So can fill the gaps in any questionable knotwork.

while he's half in the prison of his mind and half in the confines you've created for him, take some time to squeeze some whimpers out of him. although it pains me to cover up those soggy eyes, a blindfold may be an intriguing option. is yakumo the type of snake to rely on heat vision? WHY NOT FIND OUT! (if he's not terrified at his loss of sight, then i guess his pit organs are functioning . in which case, the blindfold doesn't really need to stay on. if he IS terrified and feels the loss of visuals acutely, this would be an excellent opportunity to soak in his panic. just for a bit though. we're not so cruel. guide him back with a warm touch. see? playing with fire temperature contrasts can bring such relief!)

maybe i'm getting ahead of myself. i don't expect yakumo temperature play to show up WITH bondage , why- that would be asking a lot, right?

but the basics are simple enough, yes? give the wretched creature the comforting warmth he wants, then perhaps inch closer to something bordering uncomfortable? Too Much? have him seek out what he craves, only to be burned (metaphorically and/or literally) if he indulges himself too much? oops! someone's become a slave to their senses!

i'm just saying that the sensory perception of yokai vs kink is (relatively) unknown territory. if temperature play already messes with humans, what could it possibly do to yakumo? he could experience it in facets unknown to others.-=- to levels others are incapable of appreciating---- like someone with synesthesia who can experience music with another layer of enjoyment.

if you give a snake ice cream, followed by a hot piece of meat [unknown origin], it'll really make him aware of the contrast, hmm??????

anyway. sorry about that. i'm not super clear on the specifics of it all. i just thought it peculiar that i haven't seen the yaku-hot-cold-sensitivity-finagling. out there, in here, nowhere as far as i've seen..

...or is it located in a part of the building i overlooked? if so, could you direct me there? i would really appreciate it.

if you don't have it after all, that's ok. i'll keep a careful watch now that i know what i'm looking for. maybe it's one of those things where, once i actively search for it, i'll notice it everywhere! wouldn't that be delightful!

with that, i guess i'll be on my way. thanks for your patience. yeah, i hope i find it too. have a good one!!

[kingofbodyrolls]

For this rainbow, I finally picked up my professional camera again. The last images stored there tells me that the last time I used it was the 1st of December 2023. Wild. But I picked it up thanks to this pretty rainbow, which was actually a double rainbow. So pretty. This image is made up of three into a panorama shot, and Lightroom was a bit funky with putting them together, so please don't mind the badly processed house in the middle; no, we're not looking at that 😂

For people who want a wall of text status update, it's under the cut.

How are you all doing? I'm hanging in there. Not active much, but I still haven't gotten myself into deleting my tumblr app. So I still see and get all your notifs, even if I don't reply right away! I'm still taking time off, trying to figure out what I want to do with the blog for the future... I have not written a fanfic in some time now, but I have two finished stories that are ready to be published, but I'm not sure. I'm not sure about a lot of things these days... I've had dark days, written a lot of sad and dark poems (that will go on my sub blog some time in the future), and I've begun to write an original story. It's really fun; about magic, witches and mages; about good and evil and all the gray in between. It will probably bore you, but it's fun to write, even though I don't think anyone would read it except for a few friends (even though this thing might be the longest thing I'll write, turning into either two or three books lol).

Serotonin boost I get happy when I get notifs with comments and/or reblogs of my stories; it really touches my heart. To be honest, this is why I left/taking time off. I've always felt that interaction was low, and my stupid brain will not let me stop comparing myself to others, so it slowly killed my drive for writing and posting. If no one interacts, what's the point of posting? If no one interacts, what's the point of writing? But I love writing, and it's one of my creative outlets, so I couldn't let that go completely, hence I started writing original stories instead; no ones gonna read them anyway, but I can still play with characters, world building and storytelling. Those are the things I loved about fanfics---and I still do, don't get me wrong. But I feel so discouraged being on here. But I'm happy to know that a few people still care.

The Downfall This also made it quite hard for me to read; because I felt so unmotivated... I haven't read much this month at all. I tried to read a fanfic this Monday, didn't finish it and haven't picked it up since. Honestly, I've just been watching documentaries because I'm in a (tumblr) slump. I feel drained though; I feel like I've given so much, and I love it. I love making people happy, leaving lovely reviews, and it's as much for myself as it is for making another person happy---but to be honest, it has drained me. I know I shouldn't ask for anything in return, but I feel imbalanced. Like I'm not being filled with much love, if that makes sense? I don't really feel appreciated, but don't get me wrong, I don't feel hated (yeah, I'm so good at being black and white), sorry---I know I sound very pessimistic. But you guess have always been so kind to me, and I love you a lot, and I have a few super lovely mutuals and friends that are lovely internet friends that I adore, so I wanted to be real with all of you. You can hate me for it if you want to. Go ahead.

I don't think I'm going to make a recommend list this month. I haven't really read anything, so it'll be really small. And I don't like the pressure of it anymore... which is why for a long time I've thought about not doing them anymore. Maybe some day I will again in the future. But I'd still love to make rec list on the member's birthdays! And I think this will help me, take some pressure off myself (that I've created myself), so I'll still read and rec, it will just be slower---whenever I feel like it, and not because I have to read to make a monthly rec list. This isn't my job, I'm not getting paid doing all of this, and the amount of time I've been spending on both reading and writing is more than 37+ hours a week, sooo. I have to slow down.

A part of me thinks that I flew too fast, too high and too close to the sun, lol. I'm still gonna be here, you can still send in asks for rec list or whatever you want, all is welcome (except hate, because then I'll simply just delete my blog, my mental health can't take that).

To post, or not to post? Should I post the two stories that I have? Both of them are for the series Friendcation.

And for the unfinished mermaid stories I still have left, I hope I'll finish them in the future; when, I don't know. Maybe one day I'll feel love for them again, to finish them. I have them all planned out, but like I mentioned before, with low interaction, I'm really not motivated to finish them, even though part of me really want to for the like five people that are so sweet and invested, and always comments and reblogs (you guys know who you are, and I love you so fucking much 🥰).

To all the stories I'll probably never write...

I still have some other unfinished but planned stories, and I'm gonna list them here, just for the hell of it. Don't know if people would have found them interesting anyway, but here goes:

Words on a Page (a Namjoon x reader, idol!au where reader is a fanfiction writer and interviewer for a magazine and has to interview BTS). Author's comment: probably never gonna write it. It has been done before, and it was just a very very silly dream I had.

Songs of The Heart (a Jimin x reader, musician!au where Jimin is a single father and reader moves into the house next to his, hear his lonely songs etc, they meet, talk, very angsty, sad and nostalgic and 'Who' coded). Author's comment: this idea came to me after listening to 'who' and then thinking about Jimin being my next door neighbor, yeah, that's it. Don't know if this will ever get written.

IT Support (a Jimin x reader, office!au where Jimin is your nerdy coworker, but a freak in the sheets, lol). Author's comment: this has honestly been on my list for years, but I never written anything for it, and I probably never will, even though I've made the banner and all.

I do have a few more, but I've already scraped those, and then there's the four mermaid stories to add to the list. I'm probably mostly excited about the mermaid stories, and those would be my priority if I ever get back into writing fanfiction again.

I swear, I'm almost finished... Okay, this whole thing has gotten incredibly long. Sorry. Before I end this post, I just want to say how happy and grateful I am to each and everyone of you. I've met some incredible nice people on here, some really caring ones. I'll never forget that. And I'll never forget each wonderful and lovely comment, some people have really helped me, motivated me when I felt low, and when I wanted to stop writing a few months back. Thank you. I kept going, and I wish I could keep going for you, making something special, for the special people I met here. I actually really wanted to do requests for you guys in hopes that it would motivate me into writing, but I just don't know. I still want to give so much back to the people who have hyped me up, so I'm going to tag a few of you lovely people--- if you have a request for a story, you're welcome to message me or send me an ask. I don't know if or when I'll write it, but in case I get a bit of motivation, I have some things I could write from, so if you want to, you can send me a request (just keep in mind the story will probably be a one-shot from 10-20k max or maybe shorter, lol, you never know with me). You don't have to send me a request, I simply want to give back to some lovely people. I wish I could hug you.

@letjungcoook7 @honeybloomyyyy @babystarcandyjk97 @minpdrecs @bobathi @allie-is-a-panda @back2bluesidex @gimeow @antisocial-mochi267

These are but just a few of the people that have supported me on there, either by commenting, reblogging, ask, messaging--you name it. I could list many others, and one day I might make a post celebrating all mt lovely mutuals, that means a lot to me. Thank you for interacting; you've (as long with others) helped me when times were tough. Thank you.

I had actually planned to open a "recommend a fic" section/box, but I'm not sure about that. I still have so many fics on my to read list, and right now I don't want to pile more onto it. Might do it in the future, when I've finally made it through my own lists.

Okay, I have to end this post for real now.

I'm still on tumblr, I still have my app. I deleted my discord app on my phone, but I'm still part of the servers I was before, I'm just not active. It's better for me that way right now, because it all got to be too much. I was just reminded of how much of a failure I feel like (no, we're not getting into that not, store it away). But you can always contact me here. I'm lurking sometimes. I look forward to reading in a more leisurely pace and hopefully not feeling pressured to make the rec lists as I did before (even though just for the completionist in me I want to finish them for just this year, lol).

Okay. If you read this far---thank you, I adore you, I love you, you're nice, keep going 💜

[charliedawn]

Charlie, I don't know if you've watched it

But I've been binging House MD for a week now and I am curious

How would the slashers react to a nurse/doctor/caretaker that acts like House? Throw in the injured leg and popping painkillers if you want.

(course you don't need to do this, especially if you haven't watched it, but I suggest it, it's a really good show!)

(I love this show ! And I loved the idea. Maybe I went a little overboard, but I hope you’ll like it !)

Dr. Gregory House was not impressed.

He limped through the front doors of St. Louis Hospital for the Criminally Insane, his cane tapping against the marble floors, the sound echoing off the tall, institutional walls. The hospital looked like it had been plucked straight from a horror film. Looming in the shadow of a distant mountain range, the gloomy forest surrounding it, the structure was a mix of gothic and brutalist architecture, its jagged, imposing edges designed to keep people both out and in. The kind of place that whispered secrets in the wind and held darkness in its very bones.

House paused in the entrance lobby, taking in the security cameras, the reinforced glass, and the guards stationed at every corner like statues. A hospital, they called it. It was more like a fortress—a prison masquerading as healthcare.

"Well, this is cozy," he muttered under his breath.

Two security officers flanked him as they walked down the corridor, their eyes glancing nervously at every door. House smirked. Not even the staff feels safe here, he thought.

He had been transferred here after what his superiors at Princeton-Plainsboro had called "several breaches of professional conduct." To be fair, they weren’t wrong. Sure, he'd solved cases no one else could, but apparently there was a limit to how many patients you could verbally abuse, experiment on, or trick into revealing life-threatening conditions.

So now, after burning every single bridge out there, here he was—sent to St. Louis to deal with a different kind of patient: the criminally insane. Specifically, the violent ones. The ones who liked to stab, slice, and butcher. It wasn’t that they didn’t need medical care. They did—often after failing to finish the job on themselves or others. But these were the slashers, the ones whose names conjured fear and nightmares. Legends in their own right. And that made him excited.

"Dr. House," said a nurse as she advanced towards him with a smile. "Welcome to St. Louis."

He huffed.

"Really ? I feel like I should be checking in with my parole officer, not you," House replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He glanced at the directory on the wall: Intake, Ward A, Ward B, Ward C: Maximum Security. His eyes lingered on the last one. He bet that’s where all the "fun" patients were.

"Not many doctors survive long here," the nurse explained, ignoring his jabs. "Our patients... well, they have certain needs that require someone of your...unconventional skill set."

House raised an eyebrow. "Unconventional, huh ? Bouhou. You almost hurt my feelings."

He smirked.

She stared at him for a long moment before deciding to ignore him and continuing. "Your patients will be some of the most dangerous people in the country, Dr House. Murderers. Sociopaths. Many of them are mentally fractured in ways modern medicine still doesn’t fully understand."

House rolled his eyes. "Fractured brains, violent tendencies...sounds like a weekend with my ex-wife."

She smiled politely before gesturing down the hall, where a guard was stationed in front of a heavy steel door, the words Ward C etched above it in grim lettering. "This is where you’ll be assigned. Ward C—reserved for the most violent offenders." The nurse informed him and House tapped his cane on the ground, surveying the corridor. "And I get the pleasure of keeping them alive ? Lucky me."

He scoffed sarcastically and she nodded.

"They don't just need medical attention. They need to be understood. We need to know why they are the way they are, and more importantly, how to control it. Think of it as one long medical mystery, Doctor House. I know how much you love mysteries." She grinned—thinking he might take up the challenge and she wasn’t wrong.

House leaned in slightly, his face turning serious. "So, you're telling me I'll be working with slashers ? The 'legends' of the violent crime world ? Monsters who carve up people for fun ? Why, oh why, didn’t you lead with that ?" He grinned back.

Their lips tightened, unimpressed with his dark humor. "You’ll be given access to their medical histories and psychological profiles. If you’re good enough to figure them out."

He rolled his eyes.

"Toots, I’ve diagnosed people with diseases no one’s heard of and found cures no one believed in. Your little band of merry killers isn’t going to throw me off."

He didn’t hesitate before taking the files she handed him and leafing through them. His eyes widened on the little he was given to work with. Most of them were so classified all over that there was more black than white on them and House finally frowned before closing the files. Right. They were sending doctors in there with no idea about what they were supposed to do or what they were gonna face. No wonder they were short-staffed…

The nurse sighed. "Just don’t get yourself killed."

Too fast…, Dr House guessed she had left out by the way she looked away and bit her lower lip. Yeah. It seemed the cemetery he had seen on his way in wasn’t just early decoration for Halloween.

But, he still felt confide and smirked at her.

"Don't worry. I'm not planning on letting any of them get too close." He glanced at the guard by the door. "Besides, I always bring protection." He tapped his cane. "This thing’s more useful than it looks."

The nurse hesitated before sighing and nodding. A guard opened the door to Ward C, and immediately the mood shifted. The air inside was heavier, like the building itself could feel the presence of the patients it held. It was a long corridor lined with cells—each one sealed tight with reinforced glass, inside them dim figures pacing or sitting, their faces obscured. The sound of heavy breathing, the occasional murmur or maniacal laughter echoed faintly from deeper within. The first door they passed revealed a huge masked man hunched over on his bed, his eyes staring intently at Dr. House as he walked past his cell. His file—clipped to the door—read Brahms Heelshire, better known to the world as the ‘Nanny Killer’ or ‘Killer Doll’. Next to him was the infamous Freddy Krueger—his eyes fixed on him with a sleazy smile. Across from them was Jason Voorhees, his hulking frame slouched in a corner, his hockey mask reflecting the dim lights.

"This is like the slasher hall of fame," House mused, scanning the infamous names as if he were walking through a bizarre art gallery. "Do they give tours ?"

At the end of the hall was an empty room—empty except for a single metal chair, bolted to the ground, with heavy restraints dangling from the armrests. No patient. No file. Just an eerie, cold silence.

"Who’s this for ?" House asked, tapping the door with his cane.

"That’s for Michael Myers," the nurse replied flatly, the name hanging in the air like an ominous cloud. "He’s currently undergoing evaluation. It happens sporadically, but he always comes back."

House raised an eyebrow. "Ah, the Michael Myers. The boogeyman himself. I’ve read about him. The guy who never dies and never says a word. Sounds like an ideal patient—no complaints, no endless monologues about how their mother didn’t love them enough."

The nurse didn’t flinch at House’s sarcasm. "He’s unpredictable. Dangerous in ways you cannot possibly imagine."

House waved it off, still scanning the eerily quiet room with its empty chair. "Unpredictable ? That’s my bread and butter. Sounds like a normal day for me, minus the masks and machetes. Besides, I’ve been trying to kill myself slowly for years—alcohol, Vicodin, maybe the occasional slash-happy patient will speed up the process."

The nurse eyed him warily. "This isn't a joke, Dr. House. The patients here aren’t just disturbed—they’re lethal. You’re not dealing with people who want to be saved. They want to hurt. And they don’t need much of an excuse."

House rolled his eyes, tapping his cane again. "You don’t say. Well, considering this place looks like it could double as Dracula’s vacation home, I’m guessing safety measures aren’t exactly high priority. Where are the mood lights ? The potted plants ? You’re supposed to make hospitals inviting, you know. Maybe some soft jazz, something to make me forget I’m surrounded by lunatics."

The nurse ignored him, her patience visibly thinning. "You’ve been given full access to their records. Try to understand what drives them. They’re all damaged in ways that defy typical psychiatric diagnoses. If anyone can find out what makes them tick, it’s you.”

House sighed dramatically, the weight of the situation lost on him. "Fine, fine. I’ll crack open their skulls and poke around—metaphorically, of course—find out what’s rattling in there. Though I’d wager it’s mostly bad childhood memories and a fascination with sharp objects."

The nurse’s serious tone didn’t waver. "Be careful, Dr. House. This isn’t Princeton-Plainsboro. The rules here are different. These patients...they do not care about your brilliance. They won’t hesitate to hurt you if given the chance."

As they continued walking down the corridor, House’s eyes wandered over the slasher patients in their cells. He recognized many of them from headlines, documentaries, and whispered urban legends. The names alone would send chills down anyone else’s spine—serial killers who made a career out of violence, leaving destruction in their wake. But to House, they were just patients. Puzzles to be solved, however warped or shattered they might be.

House paused, his sharp blue eyes flicking down to meet hers, the smirk fading slightly. He let out a small, humorless chuckle. "You know, the thing about people like me ? We never really expect to survive."

The nurse ignored the comment. "These patients are unlike anything you've ever dealt with. Most of them are physically resilient, surviving injuries that should have killed them multiple times over. Their psychosis, in many cases, seems almost...supernatural."

"Supernatural ?" House let out a scoff. "That’s a fun word for 'We don’t know what the hell’s wrong with them,' isn’t it ?"

She didn’t answer, but her silence was telling. House could feel the weight of his new role settling on his shoulders, but it wasn’t the weight of fear. It was the thrill of the unknown. The mystery of minds so fractured, so broken, they seemed beyond repair. Seemed being the key word.

As they reached the end of Ward C, House stopped to study the doors once more. He tapped his cane on the floor, looking at the empty room reserved for Michael Myers. A shiver of excitement ran through him, though he’d never admit it. Whatever the slashers’ issues were, House lived for this—the challenge, the chase, the impossible diagnosis. And in this new place, with patients who blurred the line between reality and nightmare, he knew one thing for sure:

It was going to be one hell of a ride.

"You sure you’re ready for this, Dr. House ?" the nurse asked, her voice a little quieter now, as if she too had second thoughts. House smirked again, twirling his cane once before letting it tap the floor. "Ready ? I’ve been bored for years. This place might finally give me something to care about."

With that, he turned, making his way down the dim corridor, passing the locked cells of notorious killers, his cane echoing through the silent ward. Ward C, the place of horrors, home to the most disturbed minds in the world. But House didn’t flinch.

This was going to be fun.

He smiled.

That afternoon:

Dr. Gregory House stepped into the dimly lit room of one of the cells of Ward C, and his eyes immediately fell on the the broad bloke curled up on himself like a child. Sitting quietly in the corner was Brahms Heelshire, his face obscured by the mask of a porcelain doll, but this was no child’s toy. Beside him, placed with eerie precision on a small wooden chair, sat a life-sized doll—a spitting image of Brahms himself, right down to the carefully crafted clothing and unnerving, glassy eyes.

House smirked, his cane tapping lightly on the tiled floor as he sized up the room. "So, I guess this is what passes for family around here. Must be nice having a twin brother who doesn’t talk back."

Brahms didn’t move. His posture was perfectly still—like a statue frozen in place. The doll next to him—his other self—seemed to mirror the lifelessness of its owner. The room’s atmosphere felt heavy, as if the very air had been sucked out, leaving only the tension between House and the bizarre duo.

"Let me guess," House continued, walking slowly around the room, his eyes never leaving Brahms or the doll. "He’s the talkative one, right ? You’ve got the looks, and he’s got all the charm. Am I close ?"

Brahms’s head turned ever so slightly, just enough to acknowledge House’s presence, but he remained silent. His hand rested gently on the doll’s shoulder, as though it were a living thing—a cherished companion. The porcelain doll’s eyes stared back at House, empty yet somehow filled with something unsettling.

"You know, I’ve had a lot of weird patients," House continued, leaning against the wall, his tone casual but his eyes sharp. "But this ? This is a first. A grown man hiding behind a doll. I’ve gotta say, your coping mechanisms are fascinating. Must be a hell of a childhood story to unpack here."

Still no response. House wasn’t surprised. He’d read Brahms’s file—how he’d spent his youth hidden away in a mansion, isolated from the world, how the doll had become both his protector and his proxy. House found the whole thing both tragic and ridiculous.

"So, what’s the deal ?" House asked, raising an eyebrow. "Is he your bodyguard ? Your best friend ? Your brother ? Or are you just using him to keep the world at a safe distance ?"

Brahms shifted again, his masked face still unreadable, but the hand on the doll’s shoulder tightened slightly. House caught the movement, his curiosity piqued.

"Ah, I see. He’s not just a doll, is he ?" House stepped closer, tapping his cane as he circled the pair. "He’s you. The version of you that never got to grow up, the one who never had to deal with all the nasty bits of being human—fear, loss, rejection. You made him your escape."

The room felt colder, the air thickening with the unspoken tension. Brahms’ silence was oppressive, but House was relentless.

"You’re not the first person to create a shield, you know," House continued. "You’ve just taken it to a creepy new level. Most people use alcohol, drugs, or a good old-fashioned mental breakdown. You ? You went full Pinocchio. But instead of becoming a real boy, you’ve stayed a puppet."

Finally, Brahms moved. He lifted his head slightly, his eyes visible through the slits of the mask, and for the first time, House felt the weight of his gaze. It wasn’t anger, nor was it fear. It was something darker—something far more broken.

"You think you understand me," Brahms finally said quietly, his voice muffled by the mask. "But you don’t. He’s not just a doll. He’s my protection. My family. My…other half."

House raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the response. "Protection from what ? The big, bad world ? Or are you just protecting yourself from the mirror ?"

Brahms’s hand clenched the doll’s shoulder harder, the tension in his body palpable. "He’s everything I’m not. He’s the part of me that’s strong. The part that doesn’t feel pain."

House leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "And what about you ? The real you, hiding behind that mask ? You think this little doll can keep you safe forever ?"

Brahms’s breathing quickened, and for a brief moment, House could see the cracks in the facade. This wasn’t just a man with a doll—this was a man torn apart by his own fractured identity. The doll wasn’t just a comfort; it was a prison. And Brahms had locked himself inside willingly.

"He protects me from people like you," Brahms hissed, his voice suddenly sharp. "People who think they can fix everything with their words. People who want to take him away from me."

House’s smirk faltered for just a second, and he tilted his head, studying Brahms more closely. "I’m not here to take anything away from you. I’m just here to figure out why a man who’s clearly smart enough to survive in a world that’s abandoned him is still hiding behind a doll."

Brahms suddenly stood up, his height more imposing than House had anticipated. He loomed over him, his masked face inches from House’s own. "You don’t know what it’s like," he growled. "To be trapped. To be hated. He’s the only one who’s ever been there for me."

House didn’t flinch and he kept staring at Brahms. "Maybe," House said, his voice low, "but he’s also the one keeping you trapped. You’re not protecting him. He’s keeping you from facing the fact that you don’t need him anymore."

Brahms recoiled slightly, as though the words had struck a chord. His hand hovered over the doll, but this time, there was hesitation. House took a step back, letting the silence settle in.

"I’ll tell you what," House said, turning toward the door. "You keep your little buddy here as long as you need to. But one day, you’re going to have to choose whether you want to be the man or the doll. Because trust me, living your life through a puppet ? That’s not living."

As House walked out of the room, leaving Brahms alone with his doll, the man’s gaze lingered on the figure beside him. The mask on Brahms’ face remained as blank as ever, but beneath it, there was a spark of hesitation.

What if the doctor was right ?

Meanwhile, Dr. House walked to the next cell. He step inside, the heavy door closing behind him with a hollow thud. He was no stranger to unusual patients—Princeton-Plainsboro had given him his fair share of weirdos—but this was something else entirely. The man sitting in front of him, legs crossed and a smirk plastered on his burned face, was notorious in ways that even House couldn’t ignore.

Freddy Krueger.

The infamous dream killer lounged in his chair, his signature bladed glove dangling from his right hand, the tips of his claws lazily tapping against the metal armrest. The sound was grating—like nails on a chalkboard. His weathered fedora cast a shadow over his disfigured face, but House could see the mocking gleam in his eyes.

"Well, well," Freddy said, his voice raspy and filled with dark amusement. "They sent me the famous Dr. House. Heard you were good at solving puzzles. You gonna fix me, doc ?"

House limped closer, his cane tapping rhythmically on the floor. He met Freddy’s gaze without flinching, his expression one of bored detachment. "Fix you ? I am a doctor, not a miracle worker. I am pretty sure whatever’s wrong with your face isn’t gonna be solved with a little Botox and a facial peel."

Freddy chuckled, low and menacing. "Oh, I like you already." He leaned forward, his gloved hand stretching out, one of the blades grazing the surface of the table between them. "But you see, Doc, I'm not one of your typical patients. You think you’ve got me all figured out ? All those fancy degrees and medical jargon…they don’t mean squat in my world."

House arched an eyebrow, unfazed by Freddy’s theatrics. "Your world, huh ? What’s that ? A world where people are dumb enough to let a burn victim in a Christmas sweater kill them in their dreams ? Yeah, sounds terrifying."

Freddy’s grin widened, showing off his jagged, yellowed teeth. "Ah, see, you don’t believe in me. You think I’m just another psycho. But trust me, Gregory," Freddy’s voice dropped to a whisper, "I live in the space between thoughts, in that part of your mind where logic can’t reach. You can diagnose diseases, figure out symptoms, but me ? I’m the disease of the mind. I’m what people fear when they close their eyes at night."

House leaned on his cane, smirking. "So you’re a glorified bad dream. Lucky for you, I am an insomniac. Let me guess, unresolved trauma, probable schizophrenia, homicidal tendencies. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re just another patient trying to sound special. But in the end, you’re just a guy who likes to kill people in their sleep because you’re too lazy to do it while they’re awake."

Freddy's eyes narrowed, but the smirk didn’t leave his face. "You think you’re safe because you’re awake right now, don’t you ?"

House shrugged. "Awake, asleep, who cares ? Reality’s overrated, and I’ve got enough Vicodin in my system to numb me to just about anything. So if you're planning on scaring me into believing your little Freddy Krueger bedtime story, you're gonna need more than some cheap theatrics."

Freddy leaned back, his blades gleaming in the dark. "Oh, I don’t need to scare you. You’re already scared. You’re scared of the things you can’t control. The things you can’t fix. I know all about you. The pain you try to hide behind that cane, the pills, the genius bravado. The people you push away because you don’t want them to see you falling apart. You think you're invincible because you don't let people get close, but deep down ? You know you’re as fragile as the rest of 'em."

For a moment, there was silence. House’s expression remained unchanged, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. The truth in Freddy’s words was too close for comfort, but House wasn’t about to let him have the satisfaction of knowing it.

"Great," House said dryly, "another psychopath with a god complex who thinks he understands me. How original." He stepped closer, leaning on the table, his face inches from Freddy’s. "But here’s the thing—you may get your kicks messing with people’s heads in their sleep, but you don’t scare me. I’ve already seen my demons. I look them in the mirror every morning. So if you’re trying to play mind games ? You picked the wrong guy."

Freddy’s eyes glinted with amusement, but there was something darker lurking behind them. "Oh, don’t worry, Doc," he purred. "I’ve got all the time in the world. You’ll fall asleep eventually. And when you do, I’ll be waiting."

House straightened up, giving a dismissive wave. "Yeah, yeah, I’m shaking in my boots. Until then, try not to claw up the furniture. I’m guessing the hospital budget doesn’t cover Freddy-proofing."

He turned to leave, his cane tapping the floor as he moved toward the door. But just before he reached it, Freddy’s voice followed him, soft and sinister.

"Sweet dreams, doctor."

House didn’t look back. He wasn’t going to give Freddy the satisfaction. But as he exited the room and the door closed behind him, a faint chill ran down his spine, despite his best efforts to ignore it. He wouldn’t admit it, but there was something unsettling about Freddy Krueger—a nagging sense that even in a world built on logic and reason, there were still things out there that defied explanation. Things that lived in the cracks between science and madness.

And House knew better than most how fragile the mind could be.

Still, he wouldn’t give in to fear. Not yet. Not until he had more answers. And he wouldn’t that half-burnt steak face scare him…

Dr. House shook his head and entered the observation room of Ward C with his usual limp and caustic wit locked and loaded, though this time there was no sarcastic remark that immediately sprang to his lips. Instead, he found himself staring at a massive, hulking figure sitting motionless in the far corner of a reinforced glass cell. The dim lights glinted off a dirty, weather-worn hockey mask, the only visible part of a man whose very name had become synonymous with terror: Jason Voorhees.

House stood there for a moment, letting his eyes travel over the patient’s enormous frame. Jason was unnaturally still, his hulking body more like a statue than a human being. The man’s breathing was slow, controlled, the sound barely audible over the hum of the hospital’s air system. His presence filled the room with a tension that made the hairs on the back of House's neck stand up, though he’d never admit it.

House tapped his cane against the glass, the sharp sound ringing out in the eerie quiet. "Hey, Leatherface reject. Got a minute ?"

Jason didn’t move. No flinch, no twitch. Just pure, unnerving stillness.

House sighed dramatically. "Oh, great. One who doesn't talk. Why is it always the big guys who never have anything to say ?" He tapped the glass again, louder this time. "What, you too cool to chat with your doctor ?"

Jason’s head turned ever so slightly, the hockey mask catching more of the dim light. House could feel the weight of those unseen eyes behind the mask, watching him. There was something unsettling about the sheer silence Jason exuded—it wasn’t passive like a normal patient, it was a charged kind of quiet. The kind that spoke of brutal, unstoppable violence lurking just beneath the surface.

House glanced at the file clipped to the door—full of the usual psych evaluations, medical records, and police reports detailing Jason’s infamous history. Brutal killings, seemingly unkillable himself, somehow always returning to life despite countless injuries that should have put him down for good. It was like reading a case file on a walking corpse.

"So," House said, leaning on his cane as he studied Jason through the thick glass, "you’ve got quite the reputation. A machete-wielding maniac with mommy issues. You know, I’ve met a lot of psychos in my time, but you ? You’ve really set the bar high."

Again, Jason gave no reaction.

House’s eyes flicked back to the file. "Let’s see…drowned as a kid, came back to life somehow, spent years haunting a camp, and then went on a killing spree. Then you died. Multiple times, apparently. But, like a bad case of herpes, you keep coming back." He looked up, raising an eyebrow. "You ever think about retiring ? Maybe trying out knitting or gardening ?"

Silence.

House’s smirk faltered slightly as he watched Jason, his eyes narrowing. He’d dealt with plenty of dangerous people before—hell, he’d even had patients try to kill him once or twice—but this was different. There was an aura around Jason Voorhees that felt less like insanity and more like inevitability. House could feel it, a raw, primal energy that radiated from the man’s massive form, a quiet promise of violence.

"What’s your secret ?" House asked, his voice a touch more serious now. "How do you keep coming back ? You get stabbed, shot, burned, drowned—and yet here you are, sitting pretty in your little glass box. Most people die once and they’re done. But you…it seems you refuse to stay dead. How do you do it ?"

Jason’s head tilted slightly, as if considering House’s words, but there was still no verbal response. House squinted, noticing something. The mask, weathered and cracked, bore deep gouges and marks—battle scars from years of violence—but Jason himself, beneath the mask, seemed untouched by time.

House stepped closer to the glass. "You’ve been through more trauma than any human body could withstand, yet here you are. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve found the fountain of youth. Or at least the fountain of ‘I don’t die.’"

Jason’s hand twitched, just barely—a subtle, almost imperceptible movement—but House caught it. He stepped back, a smirk returning to his face.

"Oh, did I hit a nerve ? Does the big, silent killer not like being called an anomaly ? Come on, talk to me, Voorhees. What’s it like to come back from the dead ? Do you remember it, or is it just one long nap before you wake up and get back to slashing ?"

Jason’s breathing seemed to deepen, the sound now audible through the glass, like a beast waking from a long hibernation. House raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

"Ah, there we go. I knew there was something in there. You’re not completely gone, are you ? You can hear me, you understand what I’m saying."

Jason’s hand flexed slightly, the faintest of movements, but House noticed it immediately. He pressed the point, staring directly into the blank eyeholes of the hockey mask.

"You know, it’s funny," House mused, "you and I aren’t that different. You hide behind your mask, I hide behind my cane and sarcasm. You’ve got mommy issues, I’ve got issues with just about everything. We both keep people at arm’s length, and we both…well, we don’t really die, do we ?"

The room grew colder, or at least it felt like it. Jason’s form loomed larger in the silence, and House’s smirk faltered again.

"You know what the difference is though ?" House asked, his voice lowering as he stared into the void behind the mask. "I know why I’m still here. I know what keeps me going. But you ? I’m not so sure. You’re just a blunt instrument, aren’t you ? You don’t have a reason. You just are. And that…that’s what makes you dangerous."

Jason shifted in his seat, the sound of leather creaking as his massive frame adjusted. House felt the weight of Jason’s presence bearing down on him like a storm cloud, but he didn’t back away.

"You want to kill me, don’t you ?" House asked, his voice calm but challenging. "But here’s the thing—I’m not afraid of you. You’re just another puzzle to me, another medical anomaly that I’ll figure out eventually."

Jason’s breathing quickened, and for the first time, House could feel a hint of the violence that lay just beneath the surface. He was playing a dangerous game, but that was nothing new. He lived for danger, for the thrill of the unknown. And right now, Jason Voorhees was the ultimate unknown.

"Well," House said, tapping his cane against the floor, "I guess we’ll see who figures out who first."

He turned, limping toward the door. But as he reached for the handle, he paused and glanced back over his shoulder at the motionless giant.

"And by the way," House added with a smirk, "if you ever feel like talking, just let me know. I’d hate for all this silence to go to waste."

With that, he left the room, his mind already working on the impossible mystery that was Jason Voorhees.

…But then, he was accompanied to that very special cell—the one at the very end of the corridor. He leaned heavily on his cane as he limped forward confidently. The security guard walking beside him cast a nervous glance at each locked door they passed, his hand hovering near the baton clipped to his belt.

"You sure about this ?" the guard muttered. "He's...not like the others."

House’s lips curled into a smirk. "They say that about every psycho I meet. They all have their quirks." He glanced up at the flickering lights. "Must be exhausting, constantly being terrified of your own patients."

The guard didn’t respond, his hand trembling slightly as he reached for a large key ring on his belt. They’d arrived at the heavy steel door, which creaked ominously when he unlocked it. A plaque next to the door read: Patient 1A – Myers, Michael.

"He's all yours," the guard said, stepping back.

House pushed the door open and walked in, his cane tapping rhythmically against the cold floor. The room was sparsely furnished, lit by a single, buzzing fluorescent light overhead. Seated in the middle of the room was a large figure, unnervingly still.

Michael Myers.

The infamous killer, clad in a worn, gray jumpsuit, sat motionless in a metal chair, his broad shoulders hunched and his head tilted slightly forward. The white mask he wore—blank and expressionless—was a stark contrast against the shadows that clung to him.

House raised an eyebrow as he observed Michael for a moment. "So...this is what all the fuss is about ?"

No response. Michael remained utterly still, like a statue carved from shadow and silence.

House let out a small sigh of mock exasperation and hobbled closer, flipping open the thin file he had been given before arriving. "Let's see. Killed your sister at six years old. Spent the next few decades in and out of psych wards. Then you got bored, broke out, and went on a murder spree in your charming hometown. Typical family drama. If I had a nickel for every time a patient had a screwed-up childhood…well, I’d probably no longer be a doctor."

Michael’s breathing was steady and slow, the only sign of life in the room besides House’s persistent sarcasm.

"Silent treatment ? That’s fine, I’m used to it after my little talk with Jason earlier." House circled Michael, tapping his cane lightly against the chair’s metal frame. He leaned in, staring into the black void of Michael’s mask. "So, are you the strong, silent type, or is this just an elaborate way to avoid social interaction ? I gotta say, there are easier ways to skip the small talk."

Still nothing. House leaned back, his expression mildly amused. "I’m guessing it’s neurological. No real emotional response. Nothing to explain why you don’t talk, but you seem to like violence. That’s gotta be fun at parties."

He flipped through the file again, shaking his head. "Shot, stabbed, set on fire…Yet here you are, still standing. I hate to admit it, but that’s impressive. Ever thought about teaching a class on survival ?"

As House made another pass around Michael’s chair, the room’s lone light flickered, casting the room into momentary darkness. When the light sputtered back to life, Michael was no longer seated.

He was standing.

House paused, his cane frozen mid-step as he turned slowly to face the now-looming figure of Michael Myers. The masked killer stood mere feet away, his towering form casting a long shadow over House, who looked up at him with a mixture of curiosity and defiance.

"Ah, finally," House said, his voice unfazed by the sudden shift. "For a second there, I thought you might actually be catatonic."

Michael’s hand clenched slightly at his side, the only movement he’d made since standing. House’s sharp blue eyes didn’t miss it, but he didn’t step back. Instead, he cocked his head, scrutinizing the infamous killer like a puzzle waiting to be solved.

"You don’t talk, but you do respond. Interesting," House mused, taking a half-step forward. "So what is it ? Trauma-induced psychopathy ? Genetic predisposition to violence ? Or maybe you're just really misunderstood."

Michael’s hollow mask tilted down slightly as if acknowledging House's proximity, but still, he remained silent. The tension in the room thickened, like the air itself had turned heavier. House could feel it, but instead of fear, his lips curled into a slight grin.

"You know, people keep saying you’re some unstoppable killing machine. Frankly, I’ve met interns scarier than you," House said dryly, gripping his cane a little tighter. He glanced around the room, noting the locked door behind him, the sterile, thick walls. "But I’ve got to admit, I didn’t expect you to be so...tall. Do you go to the gym ? Do they even have a gym around here ? Must have. Seems like most of you guys are shredded."

Michael didn’t move, but his presence felt suffocating, a looming storm about to break. House, ever the gambler, took another step closer, his eyes flicking from Michael’s mask to his hands and back again.

"So, what now ? You gonna try to kill me, big guy ?" House asked, his voice dropping in volume but not losing its edge. "Or are we going to stand here in awkward silence until you get bored ?"

There was a moment—a single, charged moment—where time seemed to stretch. Michael’s hand twitched, ever so slightly, as if preparing to strike. House stood his ground, his cane pressed firmly against the floor, his eyes locked onto the faceless mask before him.

"Look," House said quietly, his voice now laced with something almost resembling sincerity, "I’ve faced worse odds. Hell, I’ve faced death before. But you ? I am not scared of you. You’re just another problem to solve to me. And I love solving problems."

The lights flickered again, casting them both into darkness.

The room plunged into complete darkness, the flickering light casting eerie shadows across the bare walls. House felt the weight of the silence around him, his heartbeat steady, his breath controlled. He was no stranger to danger, no stranger to the edge of death, but something about Michael Myers was different—something primal.

The room plunged into darkness, the flickering light overhead extinguished entirely. For a moment, all House could hear was the sound of his own breathing, punctuated by the soft, rhythmic rasp of Michael Myers’ breath through his mask. The darkness was suffocating, thick with the weight of something dangerous lurking just beyond sight.

House stood perfectly still, his cane pressed into the floor, his senses heightened as he waited. Michael was close—he could feel his presence, the looming menace of the masked killer’s proximity.

Then, a single sound—a metallic scrape—cut through the silence.

The lights sputtered back to life, dim and buzzing, but enough to reveal Michael’s raised hand, fingers wrapped around the hilt of a large makeshift knife made from shattered glass. The blade gleamed in the low light, casting a sharp, menacing glint across the room. Michael’s mask, still blank and emotionless, tilted slightly as if considering his next move.

House, in typical fashion, remained unfazed. If anything, the sight of the blade brought a small, dry smile to his lips. "Ah, there it is," he said, nodding toward the knife. "I was wondering when the stabbing part of our little chat would begin."

Michael’s breathing remained steady, his grip tightening on the knife. He took a step forward, his heavy boots thudding against the floor like the ticking of a countdown.

House didn’t flinch. "You know," he said casually, "most people who resort to violence are compensating for something. Repressed emotions, fear, insecurity." He gestured toward the knife with his cane. "This ? It’s a crutch. But then again, who am I to judge? I have one too."

Michael’s body language shifted slightly, an almost imperceptible tightening of his shoulders. He raised the knife higher, his body coiling like a predator ready to strike.

But House stepped closer, invading the killer’s personal space in a way no one else had ever dared before. His voice lowered to a near whisper, his blue eyes boring into the blank mask. "You don’t scare me, Michael," he said, his words deliberate, calm. "You know why ?"

For the first time, Michael hesitated. The knife, poised to strike, hung in the air, as if something deep within him was listening.

"Because fear is a choice," House continued. "And I choose not to give you that power."

Another beat of silence. Michael’s grip on the knife remained firm, but his hand didn’t move.

House tilted his head, his gaze never leaving Michael’s mask. "You’re not a force of nature. You’re just a man. A man with a lot of damage. Maybe I can’t fix that, but it doesn’t mean I’m going to run from it."

The lights flickered again, casting long shadows across the room. House could feel the tension coiled tightly between them, a fragile line that could snap at any moment. But he wasn’t backing down.

Finally, Michael lowered the knife. It wasn’t a surrender, not in the traditional sense, but it was a pause—a moment of stillness where the chaos that usually followed Michael Myers seemed to dissipate.

House exhaled slowly, the tension easing just enough for him to speak again. "See ? You can make choices too, Michael. You don’t have to be what everyone thinks you are."

For the first time since stepping into the room, House took a step back, his gaze still locked on the towering figure before him. Michael’s mask, blank as it was, seemed to follow his every movement, as if considering the words, weighing them.

"Don’t get me wrong," House said, breaking the silence with a smirk, "I’m not expecting a thank-you card or anything. But at least you’re proving you’ve got a little self-control left."

But then, Michael’s hand shot forward, faster than House could have anticipated. In a blink, his massive hand was wrapped around House’s throat, lifting him slightly off the ground. The doctor gasped, his cane clattering to the floor as Michael held him there, suspended, staring into the empty blackness of the killer's mask.

For a moment, House’s sharp blue eyes flickered with fear, but then—just as quickly—they hardened into something else. Defiance.

His voice was strained but unwavering as he choked out, "So...you do...have a...pulse after all."

Michael squeezed tighter, the air rushing out of House’s lungs as the pressure increased. House clawed at Michael’s hand, his vision starting to blur, but he refused to look away. He refused to let go of that connection, however thin, however dangerous it was.

And then, just as suddenly as it began, Michael released him. House dropped to the ground, gasping for air, clutching at his throat. He coughed, his chest heaving as he sucked in breath after breath, but even in his weakened state, he managed a hoarse chuckle.

"Guess...I hit a nerve," he rasped, his voice rough but still dripping with dark humor.

Michael stepped back, his breathing slow and deliberate, as if nothing had happened. The mask remained impassive, cold. But there was something there—something unspoken in the air between them. A connection. A challenge.

As if on cue, the door behind House creaked open, the guard from before peeking in with wide, terrified eyes. "Doctor...we need to get you out of here. Now."

House turned, glancing over his shoulder at the guard, then back at Michael. He gave a small shrug, his usual irreverence returning. "Well, this has been fun, Mike, but l guess our time is up."

Michael remained motionless, his gaze—or whatever lay behind that mask—following House as he limped toward the door. Before stepping out, House paused, glancing back one last time. "By the way, I wasn’t kidding about the gym thing. You’re in great shape. Keep it up."

The door shut behind him with a heavy thud, locking Michael Myers back into his cage of silence.

As House walked down the corridor, the guard looked at him in disbelief, shaking his head. "I... I can’t believe you just walked out of there alive."

House smirked, his cane tapping the ground rhythmically as they walked. "Please. Michael and I were just having a heart-to-heart. Nothing personal, just another day at the office."

The guard swallowed hard, clearly unconvinced. "He doesn’t have a heart, Doc."

House shrugged, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Maybe. But then again, neither do I."

He smirked.

Something told him he had chosen just the right job…

[pretty-dianxia]

Okay, but Imagine a Wuthering Heights Hualian AU.

A little Hua Cheng meets Prince Xie Lian. Then, he leaves to gather a fortune, to make a name so he can be worthy of the prince. Upon his return, the prince is now forgotten by all, fortune destroyed, and he is living under the care of Bai Wuxiang.

Xie Lian dies, and so Hua Cheng who couldn't bear to feel and see the ghost of Xie Lian in everything he loved in a place where he doesn't exist anymore.

[thekittyokat]

you ever just have a lot, a LOT of feelings all at once about a character and not even remotely enough words or brainpower to FORM the words to describe everything you're feeling. so it feels like you may explode. yeah

[seokmattchuus]

When Matthew tells you he's been a bit stressed with debut preparations, you help him get his mind off of things. With some handcuffs and a torturous, never-ending hand job.