Climax - Blog Posts

Make snow Angel's or make self creampies... guess the world will never know! Hehe! If you all wanna see more let me know and I'll make some more gifs!

Can you write some Emily x reader sickfic

one with Emily sick and then one with reader sick

one of them ends up in the hospital in one of them

lots of cuddles and forehead kisses maybe even a nice bath(with soft slow orgasm)

Sorry for the late response!

In Sickness and In Health…

Summary: Emily gets sick first, and then, when her girlfriend gets sick too, Emily coaxes her back to health.

Emily Prentiss wasn’t one to go down easily, but when she did, it hit like a freight train. Fever, chills, body aches that made even sitting up feel like a mountain climb. And somehow, her girlfriend Y/N managed to look completely unbothered by the whirlwind she’d stepped into… calm, steady, warm.

“Water,” Emily croaked from beneath a pile of blankets on the couch, and without a word, Y/N was handing her a glass, kneeling beside her with that small, reassuring smile.

“You’re burning up. Drink this, then I’m putting on Sense and Sensibility. You’re due for some emotional regulation,” Y/N teased softly, brushing sweat-damp strands away from Emily’s forehead.

For two days, Y/N became everything Emily didn’t know she needed: soft socks, forehead kisses, cold compresses, soup just the way Emily liked it, blended smooth with way too much pepper. Her favourite tea brewed just right. A heated blanket warmed in the dryer before being wrapped around her. When Emily shivered, Y/N curled up behind her, letting her body heat soothe where words couldn’t reach.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered, every hour, without fail.

And slowly, Emily did get better. But Y/N… didn’t.

Emily knew something was wrong when she woke up to the sound of retching and the unmistakable thud of someone hitting the floor.

“Y/N?” she called, heart racing.

No answer. She threw off the covers and stumbled into the bathroom.

Y/N was collapsed on the cold tile floor, curled in on herself, her skin pale and slick with sweat, breath hitching in shallow, panicked gulps. Her lips were dry and cracked, and her hands trembled uncontrollably.

“Baby… hey, hey,” Emily dropped to her knees beside her, gently turning her over. Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, unfocused. Her voice was barely a rasp.

“You were cold,” she mumbled, confused. “You were so cold—I… I couldn’t find the blankets—” Her body shook violently.

Emily didn’t hesitate. She wrapped her arms around her, holding her steady. “Shhh. You’re burning up, sweetheart. We’re going to the hospital. Stay with me.”

The paramedics came fast. Y/N was too weak to sit up on her own, barely coherent by the time they got her onto the stretcher. Emily held her hand in the ambulance, whispering soft reassurances as machines beeped around them.

At the hospital, Emily stood beside the bed in her sweatpants and hoodie, jaw clenched as the nurses hooked Y/N up to IV fluids and cooling blankets. Her fever had spiked to 40°C, her body drenched in sweat and trembling under the weight of it. Her lips moved now and then, soft murmurs that didn’t make sense, childhood memories, Emily’s name, something about fig trees.

“Is she going to be okay?” Emily asked one of the doctors.

The answer was kind, but cautious. “She’s young and healthy, so we’re optimistic. It’s a nasty viral infection. The fever’s just doing a number on her system. But we’ve got her now.”

Emily didn’t leave the room. She sat on the little reclining chair, feet tucked under her, never taking her eyes off Y/N. She held her hand through the delirium, murmured stories about old cases, about Italy, about their first kiss in the rain outside a jazz bar. She wiped down her forehead every hour and kissed her knuckles when no one was looking.

And when Y/N’s eyes finally focused on her, truly saw her, Emily smiled for the first time in days.

“You came back to me,” she whispered, and Y/N blinked, confused but comforted.

“Where else would I go?”

- - -

The Slow Return to Softness

It had been a week since Y/N came home. She was stronger now, colour back in her cheeks, voice steadier, even if she still got tired walking from the bedroom to the kitchen. Emily didn’t let her lift a finger.

When Y/N asked for a bath, Emily lit candles. Dimmed the lights. Eucalyptus oil in the water, lavender soap on the edge. She helped her undress with slow hands and gentle eyes, not like she was stripping her down, but like she was unwrapping something precious.

She stepped into the tub first and guided Y/N between her legs, letting her lean back against her chest. Emily wrapped her arms around her waist, warm water rippling up over their skin, steam rising around them like a cocoon.

Y/N let out a long, deep sigh. “You make everything better,” she whispered.

Emily pressed a kiss behind her ear. “That’s the plan.”

Silence stretched between them, soft and easy. Then Y/N tilted her head back just slightly, her voice low and hesitant.

“Can I ask for one more thing?”

“Always.”

“I want to… feel good. With you. Nothing fast. Just… soft. Like I’m still here. Still real.”

Emily’s hands tightened gently around her middle. “Okay,” she breathed.

One hand stayed splayed across Y/N’s stomach, the other slid lower, fingers gliding through the warm water, slow and reverent. She didn’t rush. She just touched, gently, rhythmically, as Y/N melted into her, every part of her body relaxing into safety, into closeness.

“You’re okay,” Emily whispered against her neck. “You’re so safe. Let go.”

Y/N whimpered, breath catching, body trembling, not from fever this time, but from the slow, rising tide that Emily coaxed from her with nothing but love. Her head dropped back onto Emily’s shoulder as she came, quiet and soft, a little broken sob of relief leaving her lips.

Emily kissed her temple, her jaw, her cheek. Held her through the aftershocks. Didn’t move a muscle as the water stilled around them.

They stayed like that long after, Emily gently washing Y/N’s skin, arms wrapped around her, soft hums low in her throat, like a lullaby for the woman she adored.

Haust!

Ich habe lange nichts mehr von mir gegeben, in diesem blog, da ich noch andere texte anderer längen verfasse, für“später einmal“, wie Frederick die Maus, erschienen in meinem Geburtsjahr letztes Jahrhundert, in einer meiner Lieblingskindergeschichten, in der eine stigmatisierte Maus Immaterielles sammelt(ich sagte es bereits früher in diesem blog, s. meine Kugelschreiberclipsammlung), anstatt zu funktionieren und in der Gesellschaft einen lohnenden und beLohnten Platz einzunehmen.

Heute glüht in mir eine Wonne der Erinnerung, von der ich oft und schon lange zehre und versuche, gleich Frederick der Maus, sie, wenn auch clandestin, diplomatisch und hier anonym, Anderen mitzuteilen.

Ich erzähle bei Gelegenheit vom Stroboskopgewitter der erwachenden, ignoranten Disco-Partykultur der Achtziger an der Kieler Goldküste, von den ersten Kieskuhlenparties der GOA-Szene in Norddeutschland(Sylt, Sprötze), vom fetten, beatberstenden Acidschuppen in Christiania Anfang der Neunziger und natürlich vom ewigen, treuen und vor Pisse und Kotze glitzernden Hamburger Kiez, über den ich oft auf dem Zahnfleisch gekrochen bin, ohne es(heute, haha!) zu bereuen und hinterlasse, glaube ich, manchmal ratlose, irritierte Gesichter, weil man eigentlich nur über das Wetter(oder über Konsum) reden wollte.

Auch hier ist Moral wandelbar und immer eine Qualität der Deutungshoheit von Funktionseliten des Kapuitalismaus, am Arsch.

Also, Jugend (bis 30 !?): Feiert Eure Parties nicht zu kurz und nicht zu knapp, womit Ihr wollt, scheisst auf die Lärmempfindlichen und lasst Euch den Spaß nicht verderben!

Allerdings muss man schon ein dickes Fell haben, damit man dabei nicht zu Grunde geht! Also, wenn Ihr den seht, den Grund, dann habt Ihr genug Grund, um umzudrehen und es gut sein zu lassen, damit ihr noch ein andernmal weiter feiern könnt, um Euch später, ja, es gibt ein Später, auch wenn es jetzt(!) nicht so wichtig ist, daran erinnern zu können, wie Euer Fratzi Frutdel jetzt, hier und heute(Die Rente des Diogenes)!

Analog dazu gebe ich hier einen schönen Housetrack-Text wieder, der mir über die Jahre immer wieder begegnet ist und das Ganze für die House-Kultur essentiell zusammen fasst, auch wenn der Track, den ich wegen der netten, trivialen Broilerroom-Videos aus Leipzig(nicht zu verwechseln mit dem flachen Leckmichfett-glänzenden Boilerroom) in meiner house-renaissance kennen gelernt habe(eigentlich geht mir da zu wenig kaputt), erst ab dem Vocal-house-sequencer-Text gut wird und auch auf Utube(natürlich)zu rezipieren ist und im folgenden von mir zitiert wird:

„ This one goes out to all the lovers of cheap house music -

I´ll tell U what it´s all about:

it doesn´t matter who the DJ is

it doesnt matter what the crowd is like

like african baba saturdays

its about peace, unity and love and havin´ fun

its about keepin the spirit alive

of house music

did u get it?

It´s about the beats

the pace

and the positive vibe

its about dancin´, screamin´

and enjoyin´ yourself

its about gettin´ together

every weekend

to celebrate life

and to be united to one groove

spirit that makes us move

and the music we love

now you know what its all about

it´s about housemusic!“

Quelle: "BROILER ROOM meets LENNY BROOKSTER at KITCHEN112" (House-Vocalism-Text ab Minute 23:45!:)

(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6qo4mLNpbl4)