what's really illogical is how they can speak with their mouths closed

anonymous asked:

If you're still taking prompts how about FS+ 34) things you said in your sleep please. Love your writing!

Aww, thank you! Normally this type of prompt would lead to 100% angst coming from me, but instead here’s more fluff than I ever thought possible. Shoutout to my husband for brainstorming with me for this, even though his ideas were terrible. Just truly awful. But it did lead to this haha!

——

Jemma wakes freezing, goosebumps dotting her skin. Fitz has rolled away from her at some point in the night, taking the blanket with him. She frowns, grabbing a corner and attempting to pull it back. She’s certainly survived much worse sleep deprivation before, but at fifteen weeks pregnant she’s gotten a bit prickly about having her sleep disrupted. It doesn’t help that in about three hours she’ll be sick, like clockwork.

Fitz has the blanket wrapped all around him somehow and her gentle tugging only causes him to twist further away from her. She groans in frustration.

“C’mon, Rosie,” he mutters. Jemma’s mouth drops open as she gapes at her still-sleeping husband. So first he steals all of the blankets, and now he’s dreaming about another woman? She’s going to kill him, she really is. She just needs to think of an appropriate punishment.

She waits for a moment, holding her breath, but he doesn’t say anything else. Suddenly inspired, she leans over until she’s hovering right over him, whispering into his ear in a way that always makes him shiver when he’s awake. “What about Jemma?” she breathes, placing a kiss to his earlobe. “Won’t she find out?”

He shifts, burying his face in the pillow. “No,” he mumbles. “We’ll keep…secret.”

Jemma snaps from annoyed to devastated in half a second. She bursts into tears before she’s even aware of what’s happening, and she hates herself for it. She’s always kept careful control over her emotions, but the pregnancy hormones flooding her system have brought everything to hover just under the surface, ready to push through at the slightest provocation.

Her wracking sobs startle Fitz awake, and he rubs at his eyes groggily in a way she normally finds adorable but which only serves to splinter her heart even more.

“Je-Jemma?” he asks, face lit up with concern. “Jemma, what happened? Are you okay? Is the baby okay?” He stumbles over his questions and the blanket, trying desperately to reach her, but she just holds her hands up to stop him.

“We’re fine,” she spits, “not that you would care.”

He looks so hurt that she almost takes it all back. She knows she’s being illogical. She also knows that Fitz would never, ever cheat on her. It’s not like he can control his dreams, and just because she’s never once dreamt of being with anyone besides him doesn’t mean he’s done anything wrong. Maybe he has certain desires that his subconscious brain enjoys exploring. Maybe…maybe he’s feeling different, now that her body is changing. He never looks at her with anything but his usual reverence, but still, it’s a possibility.

She knows all this, but it’s three in the morning and she can’t forget how easily he had told someone else they’d keep whatever happened a secret from her. She and Fitz don’t have secrets, not anymore.

“Please,” Fitz whispers, holding his hands toward her placatingly. “Jemma, what happened? You’re scaring me.”

Jemma grabs a pillow and hugs it to her chest, a poor substitute for her husband. She leans forward and inhales his scent as she shudders through more sobs, and she feels a hand on her back, hesitantly rubbing soothing circles beneath her shoulder blades.

“Did you have a bad dream?” and it’s the sweetly protective way he asks, as if he would fight to banish her nightmares, that breaks her.

“How could you?” she cries. “And who’s Rosie?”

His hand stills suddenly against her back. “Uh…wh-what?”

The fact that he doesn’t immediately admit to anything burns. “I heard you,” she says. “In your sleep, I heard you.”

Fitz doesn’t say anything, and when she’s finally brave enough to look up, he’s staring at her with wide eyes and he’s…blushing?

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Bound By Chains - Chapter 21

Pairing: Eric/OC
Fandom: Divergent
Rating: M

She’s bound to a monster. And he has personality issues.

A/N: Thanks to everyone still following the story. There’s only 1 more chapter left! Can’t believe we have come so far already! Grab yourself a cuppa and get comfy for this emotional ride!

I just want to say a huge thanks to everyone who has helped and listened to me ramble on! You’re all stars!

Tags: @dauntlessmetalmom @equalstrashflavoredtrash @badassbaker @red-diary @pathybo @murmelinchen @insertamazingwords  @feminamortem @halefiresurvivor @suchlonelymuchsoul @elaacreditava @lauraaan182 @synnocence @jcause @glittergiirlgg @platitudinise @frecklefaceb @mimigemrose @sparklemichele @beltz2016 @ariwolff14 @queensoybean @impalalala6799 


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nerdalay  asked:

OH My gosh, please write 12 for Spirk!

12. We were pretending to be lovers but I’m not pretending anymore and I have to know if you feel the same way

hoo boy


It was Jim who had the idea. The old man was sick, and dying slowly, Jim had said. It would be logical to give him some peace and act like he’s succeeded in getting us together, Jim had said. 

Spock had been inclined to agree; there was nothing his older self missed more than his Jim Kirk, Spock knew that. So, when they were invited to spend two weeks leave at Selek’s house, Jim had made the suggestion and Spock had, for some reason even he couldn’t name, agreed. It started out innocent enough, Jim told Selek to just give them one room instead of two and when they ate dinner together Jim sat closer than usual and bumped his knee against Spock’s. Selek had been overjoyed. 

A week into leave, Spock wished he had stayed on the ship.

Vulcan kisses, contrary to popular belief, were not so innocent. They were… well, they were personal, and special. Jim’s way of doing those was messy and warm and gave Spock a strange tingling sensation in his gut. Maybe those were what had done it, made him get addicted to Jim’s touch. 

He’d dreamed (dreamed, ugh) of Jim’s hands last night. 

This morning, as he sat in meditation with Selek, he had to work to keep his focus on himself. Jim was disrupting his meditation now. Great. 

“I must say,” Selek was saying “It pleases me to see that you are so comfortable around Jim at such a young age. He is- was- always illogical when it came to displays…” The old man smiled the tiniest bit “I always felt them unessesary, at least when we were young. You have become quite tempered to them however.”

“Jim is a very tactile person.” Spock muttered, and Selek made a noise not dissimilar to a chuckle. “Agreed.”


Selek was, at the end of the day, not a fool. Spock had a feeling he wasn’t as convinced as Jim thought. 

But Jim was happy. And Spock, for some reason, cared about Jim’s happiness perhaps more than his own dignity. So the first time Jim grabbed him by the collar and kissed him on the mouth, Spock kissed him back. 

Selek was pleased.

That evening, they went to their shared bedroom. Spock had offered to sleep on the floor, but Jim had insisted that they just share the bed. Jim was warm, Spock slept well, and no one suffered. 

well, Spock did. But Jim couldn’t know that. if he deveolpoed romantic feelings for his very straight very your a pointy eared bastard captain, it was none of Jim’s buisness. Mostly because Jim would probably have him court martialed. 


They left Vulcan, Spock got his bed back, and the feelings did not go away. Spock felt a little sick. he was dstracted, and afraid. he wished he could call Selek, but it would ruin their act if Spock called his counterpart and said we lied to you but now im not lying Jim makes me feel things help me. 

He manages to keep his work up to standard, despite the fact that Jim is right there feet away from him and Spock knows what his lips taste like now and he’s like an addict craving his second hit. 

Perhaps that’s why he requests to join the next landing party even though the planet is cold, because he just needs to be away from Jim for a while.


Three days in a jail cell, and he supposes he’s gotten his wish. the three other landing party members are dead, having been unable to survive the torture. They were being punished as invaders, and the aliens didn’t speak english. Through a haze of pain, he waits for the Enterprise to come for him or death to come for him. 

Another torture session, and Spock is back in his cell. His ears are ringing. 

He swears he hears engines, and phasers.

he’s probably dreaming when he feels those hands that he dreams about constantly now hoist him up. he knows he’s dreaming when he hears Spock Spock Spock please I need you to stay you have to stay please wake up you have to be okay Spock Spock please Bones help him-!


He’s on a shuttle, but it doesn’t look like one of the ones from his ship. It’s close but not exact.

“Oh good, your awake.” comes a voice, and Spock turns his head-

Jim Kirk has hazel eyes, and his uniform shirt is a different shade of yellow from the Jim he knows. He smiles a bit “How do you do, Mr. Spock?”

“You-”

“Sh. don’t try to talk. Save your strength. you’ll need it when you wake up again. To answer your question; no, your not dead. Only mostly dead.”

Spock blinks, and Jim grins “The princess bride? No? fine. thanks for taking care of my husband, I was worried about him when he came to your universe.” He sighs then “that kid loves you, you know. your captain. You two have a shot, and you’ll get more years than me and my Spock got so…” His eyes were sad “Don’t waste it? please? and tell Spock- my Spock- that I said hello. And that i miss him. And that I’m waiting for him.” He grins again “Say there’s logic in the universe, He’ll get it.” 

Spock nodded once, closed his eyes, and he swore he felt Jim Kirk kiss his head before he


Jim was sitting next to him, chin on the edge of the bed. Spock blinked when he turned to look at him.

“you’ve been in a coma for 17 days and 3 hours.” Jim mumbled.”I counted them all. Don’t do that to me.”

“I think I might be in love with you” Is what Spock says “Since we pretended for Selek. Since you kissed me. I think I enjoyed it.”

“Oh. good.”

“…”

“… Can I do it again?”

“That and more, please.”

Jim grinned “It took you long enough.”

He vulcan kisses him in that messy, warm, scandlous way that would make his grandmother cringe, and Spock is content/


Despite being old and sick, Selek lives another few months. When Spock recives his things, there is a small note in the box.

I knew you two were lying. It says I appriciate the effort. I hope, more than anything, that you find true happiness with him. I will be in my true happiness, with Jim.

There is logic in the universe, young one.

Spock reads the note twice, closes the box, and goes to find his husband for Jim’s birthday party.


this got really out of hand sweet christ enjoy lissy

Vampire!AU

Character(s): all of the main ones + scholar
Plot: In a world where vampires are a very real threat, Scholar accidentally finds out the identity of one.
Warnings: Scholar is a girl

Note: this is purely fan work so none of the characters belong to me, just like their personalities may or may not be canon, i don’t know. 

(this is just a quick scenario i made because sudden inspiration came to me. it’s not complete and it’s not going to be continued unless you guys want more, then i’d gladly write a full fanfic out of it ^^ thanks for the amazing help, @ellliebean! @mcldrabblesforyou i believe you like to be tagged on things like this? :0)

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~ Why Worry? Be Happy! ~

Originally posted by bonesy-mccoy

Originally posted by all-ive-got-left-is-my-spones

Prompt: “I got you infected.”

Words: 2772

Warnings: Sadness, mentions of breakdowns and an abortion.

A/N: This is my first imagine. I don’t really know where it came from, but I just went along with, so it I hope you enjoy it nevertheless! 
English is not my first language (so there may be some upcoming spelling and/or grammar mistakes in my next imagines), but for this one: Thank you very, very much @outside-the-government for your help!  


Bones slumps down the wall beside the transporter pad, sighing and letting his head fall onto his chest. There are dark circles under his eyes, proof of his lack of sleep in the last few days. He doesn’t know what to do. He’s exhausted from pacing around the med bay all day long, with nothing do to other than to stand by and wait, relieved from his duties for the time being. As much as he hates himself for breaking down so easily and letting his duties wait, he knows that he would not be able to concentrate, not with your life on the line.

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What if: Tsuna grew up under Alaude’s care?

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

Tsuna is seven when he meets his Mist. Well, one of them anyway.

It’s spring break, he’s received decent grades in all his classes (although Alaude still despairs of his arithmetic skills, even if Tsuna did pass it), and Alaude’s already taken him stationary shopping for the next semester.

Tsuna’s never been anywhere but Namimori. He loves listening to Alaude’s stories of Italy, of France, of Russia and China and Singapore and Egypt, all the places Alaude’s been, for both work and leisure, but it just isn’t the same. Tsuna wants to go to all those places and see them for himself.

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anonymous asked:

18, souharu?

“Things you said when you were scared.”

I know people wanted more mer!haru and cop!sousuke so have Haru saving his boyfriend.

It wasn’t supposed to end up like this, Sousuke thinks, as he struggles for breath.  He gasps as he tries to keep his mouth above the icy water.

He’s cold; so cold it’s a struggle to even to move his body at all. He stopped being able to feel his limbs minutes ago, and his vision is slowly growing more and more blurry.  He knows he’s going to lose consciousness soon, and that will be it…

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Pull the Thorns From Our Ripped Bodies

So I had a lot of 2x11 feels. I still have a lot of 2x11 feels. I’m not sure what this was supposed to accomplish but…I just have a lot of feels. 

Also nothing says OTP feels like Snow Patrol so the title comes from the song “Make This Go On Forever.”

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anonymous asked:

“Our co-ed dorm has this weekly movie night and we sat beside each other at the first one and made fun of the cheesy plot so now we seek each other out each week to sit together.” AU with any pairing you want :-)

(This prompt has been combined with mr-mcshipper’s prompt of “stydia movie night.)

She started wearing makeup to movie night after only four weeks.

The first time, Allison had insisted that they dress down because “dresses don’t go with popcorn.” Lydia’s argument that she didn’t like popcorn anyways, because she enjoys having a face not slicked with oil, had been shot down by Allison immediately. Apparently, movies are incomplete without popcorn with m&ms shaken into them, and anybody who says differently is kidding themselves.

Lydia’s new roommate is strong-willed, sure, but luckily, Lydia is too. She had given into the pajamas, but she hadn’t eaten any popcorn.

Which is how she’d ended up meeting awkward, sarcastic, and strangely sweet Stiles Stilinski when she was wearing pink pajama shorts and a white camisole with a sports bra underneath it. Surprisingly, he had liked her anyways.

She hadn’t liked him at first. At all. Allison had noticed his roommate and made a beeline for him, smiling sheepishly at Lydia as she introduced herself. And then they had started talking, and Scott asked Stiles to switch seats, and that’s how Lydia ended up halfway through the first Avengers movie with an absolutely obnoxious boy crunching on popcorn in her ear. He spent the entire movie going back and forth between whispering the lines and whispering sarcastic things about the lines, and it has taken more than half of the film for Lydia to realize that he was making her laugh pretty consistently.

The next week, she wore a skirt. Stiles, on the other hand, wordlessly plopped into the seat next to her with bright red cheeks and Star Wars pajama pants. He let her wipe her eyes on the sleeve of his white shirt when the dad died, under the condition that Lydia wear pajamas the next week. She suspected, as he quirked an eyebrow, that he would let her use the t-shirt regardless of whether she agreed or didn’t agree. Which is what makes her put her pajamas on the next week and head down to the small auditorium where movie night is held once a week, and what makes her spend extra time on her hair so that she will look glamorously ready for bed.

By week four, she’d bought new pajamas in the hopes that he’ll ask her to watch a movie anywhere but in an auditorium filled with 200 teenagers on their phones. And by week ten, he has yet to do so.

This is the slowest play of Lydia’s life.

She has spent ten weeks hunkered down in a chair next to Stiles, letting him make the stupidest and most perfect comments in her ear and laughing even at the ones that shouldn’t be so funny but somehow are to her. Maybe it’s because their senses of humor mesh so well together. Or maybe it’s because he smells so good that she wants to claw his shirt off every time he leans over.

Either way, Lydia is frustrated.

Tonight, they are sharing a bowl filled with starbursts and throwing the wrappers into another bowl. Stiles seems to find this vigorously entertaining. Lydia is pretending to pay attention to the movie instead of him, but it’s far more entertaining to watch the sour face Stiles makes every time he accidentally eats one of the pink candies.

On the screen, Natalie Wood looks hopefully up at her Tony and says, “When you come, use the back door.” Stiles almost spits a red starburst onto the floor in his eagerness to say, “that’s what she said!” In the most crazed, excited voice Lydia has ever heard him use.

“Juvenile,” she responds.

“Juvenile,” he repeats. “Huh. Any more juvenile than believing in love at first sight?”

“It’s a musical theatre retelling of Romeo and Juliet,” Lydia whispers back, throwing an orange starburst at his head. It falls into his lap, and he unwraps it and pops it into his mouth. “What do you expect?”

“I expect at least six years of character development before these two crazies can get together.”

“That’s illogical,” Lydia says. “You can only have two and a half hours at the most.”

“Hey, you know what else is illogical? Love at first sight.”

She definitely does not believe in love at first sight. What she does believe in is ardor at first sarcastic comment. There’s a very clear cut difference.

“Well, you’re about to be horribly disappointed, because they get fake married in a few scenes,” Lydia says casually.

Stiles actually groans out loud, making several people shush him.

“You wanna get out of here?” He asks, face illuminated only by the light of the screen.

“Sure,” Lydia says, heart quickening because she’s barely ever heard him speak above a whisper. Stiles nods and begins gathering up his things, standing up to reveal superman sweatpants and his ever-present white pajama top.

He’s not what Lydia usually goes for. Doesn’t have muscles or perfect teeth or blond hair. But this is college, and she isn’t going to be the same girl that she was in high school, and when she follows him out of the small little auditorium and watches his ass as they go, she decides that whoever she was in high school doesn’t matter. She’s here now. She got into this school.

She got here, and now she’s going to get what she wants in a whole new way.

“Where did you plan on going?” She asks, padding after him in her flip flops. They echo across the pavement on the quiet, empty sidewalk.

He checks his watch.

“The Dining Halls are probably still open,” he says. “Doesn’t Jefferson close at two AM?”

“Mhm,” Lydia confirms.

“Cool. I’ll show you how to make a coffee milkshake. Top secret recipe.”

He starts walking without asking her if she wants to follow. For a moment, Lydia stares after him. Then she follows anyways.

“Is that a breakfast food or a dessert?” She questions, grabbing his elbow briefly to stay caught-up with him. He walks quickly, blue blanket tied around his neck and trailing behind him like a cape.

He looks like a fucking idiot. She really, really likes him.

“If you have to ask, you’ll never know.”

“Okay, ghost in Harry Potter. Pipe down.”

“Damn, do you think we could convince them to do a Potter marathon?” Stiles ponders, tilting his head back towards the auditorium. “Man, that would be so fucking fun, I swear I haven’t marathoned those movies in, like, for-”

“Are you ever going to ask me out?”

He stops walking and blinks at how shrill she is.

“Uhh… What?”

“I have been waiting and waiting for eleven weeks, Stiles. For the love of god, the semester is basically over at this point! Are you going to ask me on a date or not?”

“Wait, wait.” He shakes his head like he’s a dog trying to shake water from his hair. “Are you asking me to ask you out?”

Lydia’s eyes turn to slits.

“You’ll find I don’t usually repeat myself.”

He swallows, hard. Ah. There’s the Lydia Martin she loves to bring out.

“So, um, you… You want to go out. With me. Like a date.” Stiles looks so paralyzed with disbelief, trying to find the catch, that there’s nothing Lydia can do but lurch forward, tug him down by the shirt collar, and press her lips against his. “Lydiawillyougooutwithme?”

He asks it in a rush as soon as she’s pulled away, swiping some of her lip gloss off of his upper lip as she pulls back.

“Yes,” she says, rolling her eyes.

“Um, okay,” Stiles replies, still seeming shell shocked.

This time, it’s Lydia’s turn to begin walking, leaving him to trail behind her.

She waits for him to catch up. When he does, he has taken his cape blanket off and proceeds to wrap it around her shoulders, hands a little shaky.

Lydia bypasses the cafeteria and heads straight for her dorm. Because, yeah. He’s a keeper.

Poison and Wine: A Sherlock x Reader Fanfic

Chapter 16: Say Something

You were only focused on getting back to your apartment as quickly as possible. You kept your head down, knowing that tears were still sliding down your face. You fought to keep your breath even. You glanced up at the street signs, seeing that you were nearing your flat. You forced your legs to move quicker, knowing that your bed would welcome you gladly.

Suddenly there was an arm around your stomach, pulling you into an alleyway. Instantly you feared the worst and began kicking at the person. The person pushed you against the wall, allowing you to see their face. There, holding you against the brick wall, was Sherlock. His eyes had turned a shade darker of blue, and he was glaring at you. You immediately turned your gaze downwards so he wouldn’t see your tears.

”Bit dramatic, aren’t you?”

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