#I feel like he’d be into slow burn too weirdly?? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pear1escence · 11 months ago

Text

I miss what you’d do to me

Keegan P. Russ x Reader

Content Warnings: angry man idk

Might be a little messy cause the original draft with this fic got deleted yesterday and suddenly came up on my blog again so I’m just trying to fit some of it into what I’ve rewritten.

He’s a piece of shit in this, oops. (not really tbh) 1k+ words

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Keegan’s hands force the glass of water out of your grip, slamming it down on the kitchen counter. “I’m trying to talk this out, can you just fucking listen to me?!” He yells, hands waving around him to try and further express his anger.

He’s scary like this. You’ve never seen him in this state before. The way his body language gets more aggressive, his voice raw with frustration. “You’re so fucking frustrating, telling me you miss me when I’m gone and ignoring me when I’m home? Huh? Why the fuck do you act like this?!” His fist slams down on the counter, punctuating his words.

The anger is so familiar it hurts. Harsh, raw voices tearing at you and hate so burning hot you’re sure it’ll bruise. That scary, tall figure of a man towering over you. Fear, straight fear of what could happen to you if you didn’t keep your mouth shut and your eyes on the floor.

His words are spoken in a different language, the only thing you register is how jarringly hateful he feels. How scared you are. How it seems like at any moment, he could pick up that cup and throw it at you, or kick you to the floor, or do something, anything to hurt you.

Keegan’s warmth all around you when you wake up, too direct and unexpected. Confused, hurt glances when you refuse to stay, slow, aimless walks during the evenings, cold dinner and missed calls. Your pit of loneliness filled with adoration so suddenly that you have to pull away.

Your mind is a fucking mess, thoughts and emotions dragging around in a swirl of words and images you can’t possibly put to words. Keegan’s only making it worse, and you can’t bear to feel like you did before once again, and everything your mind has fought to keep away is forcing itself back into your body, so you have to slip away from yourself to make room for it.

Your body curls in on itself. Your eyes staring intently at the floor to avoid looking at him, and your arms wrap around your body and squeeze as hard as you can to try to make everything real again.

‘Look at me when I’m speaking to you.’

He’d said that to you when he was angry. You remember the way he got angrier when you wouldn’t look at him.

You force your eyes to move back to Keegan, even though his seemingly unstopping anger only makes it harder to tear your memories away.

It’s all so fucking unfair. You don’t want to have all this shit to deal with. He’s long gone. Out of your life, yet all the anger he’d thrown at you all those times still lingers in your mind.

Keegan’s love feels foreign. Kisses all over your face, a warm body wrapped around you as if to shield you from all the bad in the world, sickeningly sweet words coated a thousand times in love being whispered into your ear. You have no idea what you’re supposed to do with it. What you’re supposed to give him in return. It’s all wrong.

It’s weirdly comforting. The way he’s yelling at you. You’ve had it before, and you know how to navigate something like this. Keeping yourself out of the way, not being a bother, shutting the fuck up. You can’t feel guilty when Keegan’s an asshole, when he’s a piece of shit, cause if he’s not perfect all the way through and too good for you, you don’t have to be perfect either, and you don’t need to feel bad about pulling away and distancing yourself.

You almost forget any of this is even happening. It’s all gray and lifeless and fucking dead. There’s a bubble around you, keeping you separated from your emotions and making it impossible to explain anything to him. Keegan’s outside the bubble, his words are muffled and it’s like you’re underwater. His hands keep moving around, and he keeps shouting. Your body feels stiff and awkward. You can’t open your mouth, can’t dig a single word out of your throat to explain why you are the way you are.

“Did I do anything wrong? Anything for you to treat me like this? You’ve gotta tell me about these things, we’ve talked about it before but you keep fucking repeating this behaviour!” You hate the way he’s scolding you and you want to scream at him to stop, to get out, to shut up or just about anything to get rid of the ugly feeling in your stomach.

Keegan stops, his jaw clenched and his fists squeezed tight. He looks at you with so much anger, confusion and frustration you feel like you’re about to vomit. Something inside you finally breaks when his hand slams down on the counter again, harder than before, the sound deafened by the curse he shouts in frustration.

It’s like you slam back into your body, and you’re suddenly confronted with the trauma, the hopelessness, the shame you’ve been pushing away for years, and you have absolutely no possible way of keeping yourself together.

You’re so far from being in control of your body it scares you, sobs and tears pouring out of you while you can’t do anything other than feel the mess of emotions stirring at a furious speed inside you. Your legs give out, so you’re limply tucked into the corner where the kitchen counter meets the refrigerator. Metal handles dig into your skin, everything is too much and you can’t live like this.

You cry harder when Keegan’s arms wrap around your body, he lowers himself to the ground till he’s sitting next to you, pulls you into his lap and turns your body so you’re facing him. His words are unintelligible, but his tone is so different from the harshness and hate he’d thrown at you less than a minute ago. His big hand weaves itself into your hair and guides your face into the crook of his neck, his other arm wrapping around your body and shielding you from anything else.

Warm skin against cold fingertips, a mess of hair tickling your forehead, his lips pressing kisses to your head again and again. This is all wrong, it feels wrong, and you want him to yell at you again, you want to see him angry at you cause you deserve it for treating him like shit. You want the hate in his eyes to hurt you, selfishly, so fucking selfishly, because it’s the only thing you know and the only thing that would make you feel better about yourself.

You know the chaotic anger he showed, and it felt good because everything else about Keegan feels foreign. The warmth that comes with his touch and his gentle, sweet words, things you can’t force yourself to accept.

His fingers massage your scalp as he rocks you back and forth on his lap. “I’m sorry. Im so fucking sorry, I’m sorry.” He murmurs, his voice back to what you know, comforting, familiar because it’s all him, all Keegan.

He keeps rocking your body back and forth in his lap, talking to you softly, stroking your hair, and it feels good to be taken care of like this. To be treated like a baby, like you don’t have any responsibilities or problems.

You don’t look at him. When he begs you to look at him you shake your head, pushing yourself even closer. He talks but you don’t listen, whatever comfort he wants to give you is mirrored through the deep murmur of his voice, which is comforting enough to listen to on its own. You want to melt into him, stay with him forever, never have to talk. He’s all warm. You cry till your breath runs short and your throat feels hoarse, you cry until you’ve cried out all your years.

“It just feels so different. Like, foreign. The way you treat me.” You whisper against his skin, your hands slipping underneath his shirt to grip at his bare skin, feel that he’s real and human and here with you. “I don’t know what to do with it. I feel like such a fucking-“ your breath hitches, your words interrupted by another sob forcing its way up your throat. He holds you tighter and you’re practically buried inside him, your hands squeeze at the skin on his back.

He shushes you, kisses the hair that falls over your forehead. His hand moves to cup your cheek, lifting your face so that he can see your tearful, red eyes. “I’m sorry.” His thumb moves across your cheek in repeating motions. “I know all this is hard for you, I’m just..” his breath hitches, and his hand squeezes the chubby skin of your cheek. “Don’t let me yell at you like that again, never.”

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

If you enjoyed this check out my other Keegan fics, I have a bunch😭😭 all in my pinned!!

#keegan p russ #keegan russ x reader #cod keegan #cod ghosts #keegan russ #call of duty ghosts #call of duty keegan #keegan p russ x reader #cod

184 notes · View notes

oopsiedaisiesbaby · 23 days ago

Note

Clegan but John did something to land himself in the dog house and he's been groveling for days trying to work his way back into Gales good graces and begs for just a scrap of attention. Just something other than his own hand. And Gale offers his leg. John thinks he's joking but Gale just raises an eyebrow and repeats the offer "this is what you'll get. Take or leave it" and John is burning red but takes him up on the offer and it's the hottest thing either of them have done/seen in a while

Yesss 🥵😍 This is exactly the distraction I needed after today ❤️

Unedited quick fic under the cut 😘 Disclaimer… it got weirdly sappy during the smutty bit, clearly I’m in my feels today 😅

“Please?”

Gale refused to let his gaze flick over to John’s undoubtedly pouting face.

“You have a right hand,” Gale told him, refocusing on the book in his hands.

It was impossible to ignore the obnoxiously frustrated groan next to him as John threw himself back on the couch. He could hear his head hit the arm a little too hard and Gale hoped John felt the lingering remnants of his dramatics for at least 24 hours.

“It’s been a week!” John whined, nudging Gale’s side with his toes.

“And whose fault is that?” Gale asked primly, turning the page of his book even though he hadn’t read a single word.

“Yours,” John muttered under his breath darkly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Arching an eyebrow, Gale waited him out wordlessly. It was several beats before John sighed in defeat.

“I’m sorry, doll.” John sat up, going to his knees next to Gale. “I shouldn’t have been flirting like that, not on date night. Will you please at least look at me?”

Considering his options, Gale flipped the page again. He knew John needed to flirt with women to keep up appearances. It kept them safe.

Date night had always been and would always be off limits though. Watching John flirt with that waitress had been like a punch straight into his solar plexus. Especially because she looked like the female version of Gale.

Exactly John’s type and safe.

He knew John hadn’t meant anything by it. Flirting was practically his native language. However, all of it put together had left Gale feeling itchy and irritable.

It’d unsettled him enough that he’d been warding off John’s advances since the moment they’d gotten in the truck to go home. Had tried to ignore him to the best of his abilities despite John growing increasingly more insistent and loud with his begging.

Gale couldn’t deny that he missed John terribly. They never went this long between touching each other.

It wasn’t even just the sex either.

He missed talking about their days, hearing John’s vivid stories about the pilots he was training or something funny he’d heard on the radio while doing paperwork. Missed holding and being held by him.

“I know you read faster than that, Buck,” John drawled. “You can quit pretending for my benefit.”

Maybe Gale didn’t miss him all that much, actually.

“You wanna get off?” Gale asked, closing his book and setting it on the coffee table.

“Of course,” John answered easily. “But it’s not just that, I -”

“You’re really sorry?” Gale cut him off, turning so that his knees were bumping against John’s.

“Yes,” John whispered, voice full of earnestness, ocean blue eyes wide and pleading.

A plan rapidly started forming in Gale’s mind as he looked at John’s sad, wet eyes and the words were tumbling out before he could stop them.

“Then you can hump my leg like the dog you are while you tell me just how sorry you are,” Gale ordered.

John’s face crumpled in an appalled frown as he sat back on his heels.

“What the hell, Gale?” John asked, slow and confused.

“You heard me,” Gale snapped, digging his heels in.

It probably wasn’t fair, but Gale wanted John to prove just how sorry he was.

John’s expression slowly bled from slight horror to amusement as he let out a quick, sharp cackle.

“You’re hilarious, Buck,” John huffed, rolling his eyes.

“This is what you’ll get,” Gale offered, quirking an eyebrow and challenging John to not take him seriously. “Take it or leave it.”

They stared each other down for an achingly long time. Gale had to fight the urge to fidget and he could tell from John’s twitching muscles in his peripheral that he too was struggling.

Once the waiting became unbearable, Gale leaned forward to pick up his book, done playing the game that he was unsure of who started.

“Oh, to hell with it,” John hissed as he pushed Gale back against the couch and straddled his thigh.

“I’m sorry, baby doll,” John whispered as he started to gently grind his dick against Gale’s leg.

His face was flushed a bright pink, his eyes downcast and unable to meet Gale’s.

“You’re the love of my life and I never should have disrespected you like that,” John murmured low and halting, although it was no less earnest despite his obvious embarrassment.

Even though he had been the one to demand it, Gale too felt himself burning with bashfulness at John actually doing it.

“Doesn’t matter why I did it, I shouldn’t have flirted with her on date night and I won’t do it again,” John promised, his voice growing stronger but breathier as he continued to roll his hips.

They were both still in their pajamas and John’s careful grinding had Gale’s thermals rubbing against his soft cock in an oddly pleasant way. He could feel John hardening against his thigh despite his obvious shame and it had excitement tingling in Gale’s belly.

“Was she prettier than me?” Gale questioned, his own secret shame desperate for an outlet.

“No!” John insisted, grabbing Gale’s chin and forcing him to look him in the eye. “You’re still the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Gale nodded minutely, letting the information sink in as the rolling of John’s hips grew more insistent. There was a slight whine to John’s exhales as he spoke again.

“Prettier than any dame I’ve ever seen,” John promised, squeezing Gale’s cheeks in between his fingers for a brief moment. “Even prettier than Lana Turner.”

It was a stupid line, but it had arousal zinging through Gale’s veins quick and staticky.

“I’m serious,” John breathed pushing their foreheads together as he shifted forward the slightest bit, his knee wedging up under Gale’s other leg and putting pressure against his dick.

“You wish I was a girl?” Gale hedged, hesitant and unsure.

John could marry a woman the very moment he pleased. He wasn’t completely wrong, like Gale, he had the opportunity for a normal life.

“God no,” John scoffed like the idea was ridiculous. “Love you just the way you are, wouldn’t trade anything about you.”

Every word brushed their lips together in the most electric way. John’s grinding grew more frantic and in turn pushed his leg further into the V of Gale’s, giving him something to rub against too.

“Even though I’ve been a cold fish this week?” Gale checked, peering up through his lashes in the scant space between them.

He couldn’t truly see John’s eyes with the way their foreheads were pressed tighter, but he just knew John was looking back at him as he answered.

“Especially because of that.” He moaned as he stole a kiss Gale wasn’t quick enough to avoid. Gale wasn’t sure he wanted to avoid it anymore. “Love how stubborn and passionate you are.”

“What else?” Gale asked, finally letting himself rest his hands on John’s thick thighs.

“Love how witty you are,” John listed as he nudged his nose against Gale’s cheek before licking into his mouth for a brief moment. “Love how big your sweet heart is.”

The moan Gale let out as John really started going for it with his grinding was powerful and involuntary. He hadn’t realized just how much going a week without getting off would affect him.

“Love the sounds you make,” John whispered hotly against his lips before they both groaned into each other’s mouths, all humid panting breaths.

Static was building dangerously in Gale’s belly, growing electric and overwhelming quickly.

“Love how competent you are,” John whined, his hips stuttering out of rhythm as he grinding grew desperate. “So fucking hot when you fly, did you know that?”

“Uh huh,” Gale couldn’t help but to whimper.

He might doubt himself sometimes, but flying was never something he thought twice about.

“Oh Christ, doll,” John moaned, his hand moving from Gale’s cheeks into his hair and tugging in just enough to have him gasping against John’s mouth. “Love how you feel, even when I’m just jumping you like a filthy dog.”

“Yes,” Gale groaned, fighting to keep his eyes from rolling back in his head as John tugged at his hair again. “Yes, yes, yes!”

“Fuck!” John shouted before he made a choking noise, his panting breaths cutting off for a moment as he trembled against Gale’s thigh.

Glancing down, Gale saw an obscene wet spot spreading across the front of John’s thermals. Lightning bolted up his spine making his fingers and toes tingle.

A shout tore its way out of Gale’s throat as his hands flew up to tangle in John’s shirt and he felt sticky warmth spill inside of his own thermals. They shook against each other, holding each other tight as they both panted through their come downs.

Eventually, tense, gripping hands transitioned into soothing petting. Kisses were placed to necks and hair as their breathing evened out.

Gale considered everything John had said and how painfully honest he’d sounded the entire time.

“I love you, baby,” Gale whispered, stealing a slow, sweet kiss to help soothe the shivering of their overstimulated bodies.

He knew everything was going to be alright when John replied, soft and easy.

“I love you more.”

#oopsieanswers #clean #mota

11 notes · View notes

words-after-midnight · 8 months ago

Text

Finally making progress on this "new" (actually very old in concept) chapter of Act I. Here's a (very unpolished) scene featuring weirdly suggestive marshmallow roasting + general suggestive (mutual) roasting. I often miss Gabriel's young and relatively unjaded self, so it's been nice to spend some time with that version of him in some of these early scenes.

Tagging my beta readers if interested, even though I feel lowkey bad for bestowing this cursed content upon you (but I'd also feel bad for not showing you a new scene lol): @ananarchie @sunset-a-story @catchingbigfish @joeys-piano

cw: suggestive (as mentioned)

The third night, unseasonably balmy, finds Jeff and I sitting alone by the campfire, Daphne and Kyle having hit the hay uncharacteristically early. Apparently, they thought we wouldn’t notice the both of them slipping into Kyle’s tent – which, to be fair, I didn’t notice until Jeff pointed it out, but I can’t believe they didn’t think he’d notice. He notices everything. It’s one of many things about him that I’m both baffled by and deeply envious of.

I watch him roast a marshmallow with the precision of a surgeon, his features bathed in the soft glow of the flames. He’s fresh from a shower, still wearing the plaid fleece jacket, but with – visibly – nothing underneath above the waist. His hair, warm and glistening in the light of the fire, hangs damp and wavy to his earlobes. He doesn’t seem to notice me staring at him, but I know he does. Like I said, he notices everything.

I force myself to break the spell. “How are you wearing that?”

His sharp focus doesn’t waver. The marshmallow’s flesh is now of a deep, golden brown, the burn spread more or less uniform across its surface. “Hm?”

I laugh softly. “The jacket. It’s like sixty degrees out.”

“Fifty-six and going down,” he says, in that haughty tone that drives me crazy. “I checked.”

“Sure doesn’t feel like fifty-six. Especially with the fire.”

I watch as the corner of his lip lifts into a smirk, the light and shadows accentuating that perfect little dimple. He finally looks at me, then, in mischievous playfulness, eyebrows raising just a twitch. “Would you like me to take it off?” he asks, feigning politeness.

I inhale sharply through my nose as the familiar, fluttering burn of desire settles deep in my core. My every nerve is burning to touch him, to close the distance between us – barely log-length, yet impossibly great – but this isn’t the time or place. With a forward jut of my chin, I redirect him to the marshmallow. “Are you trying to char that thing?”

He cackles. “Stop backseat roasting.”

“Says the backseat fucker,” I mutter, shaking my head.

“What was that?”

“You heard me.”

Pulling the jagged stick from the fire at last, he slides the marshmallow from the tip and tosses it to me in a fluid motion, leaving me scrambling to catch it – it lands in my palms scalding, nearly black and oozing burning, sticky goo. I wince.

With an amused grin and a quirk of an eyebrow, he says, “Too hot for you?”

I shake my head, trying to recover the marshmallow from my palm as intact as possible, though most of the escaped liquid remains smeared on my skin. “Just right,” I say, popping what remains of the marshmallow into my mouth as I watch him install another onto the roasting branch and set it aflame. It melts white-hot and bittersweet on my tongue.

“Good,” he says, sounding awfully pleased with himself. “Eat that and calm down, yeah?” Teasingly, and with a quick, smoldering glance in my direction, he adds, “Maybe, if you behave, I’ll show you something later. How’s that sound?”

My stomach flutters in heady anticipation. “What is it?”

He smiles into the fire, the flames slow dancing in his eyes. “It’s a surprise.”

#libaw #snippet #amediting #new scenes #writeblr #minors dni

23 notes · View notes

my-moony-and-padfoot · 1 year ago

Text

It's going to be okay

TW:

nothing too graphic, But, the whole fic is basically about suicide and dealing with your loved one doing it. There is also a scene where a character cuts themselves, but it's not graphic, just a few sentences

If you get triggered easily, find something else to read, or think before reading

Sort of modern au

Word count: 3 800

“Sirius?” Euphemia said, as she opened the door to the guest bedroom that had been made to be his room now that he lived with the Potters. He looked at her, sitting up on the bed as she walked over. “I have some news for you.” She said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. She didn't sound like her normal self, but Sirius couldn't quite tell what it was, something was just off. She had this look on her face that Sirius couldn’t really place.

“Okay.” He breathed out, some panic slipping into his tone as he started to think about what it could be.

“It's about your brother.” Euphemia started, not sure how she could say something like that, she just didn't know, but she knew she had to deliver the news, it was only right. “Regulus has- he has passed away.” She said simply, a small tear almost slipping out from her eye, but she blinked it back.

Sirius just stared at her, his eyes widening, probably in shock. “Oh. Okay.” He whispered slowly. Euphemia hadn't expected this kind of reaction, she had thought Sirius' would've started crying, or something like that, but he didn't seem to have any other response than that. He just looked at her in disbelief, for several minutes, before looking away, staring at the wall across from his bed.

“Sirius -”

“How do you know?” He asked, still not believing what he was told. How could he be dead? They had talked over the phone last night, and it seemed like everything was okay because usually Sirius could tell if something was bothering his little brother, and he was usually pretty open about those things, to Sirius. But last night he seemed happy, he was laughing and joking, so Sirius just didn’t understand.

“Monty got a call just now, he didn’t say who, but I’m guessing one of your parents.” She explained gently, repeating what Fleamont had just told her. Sirius nodded, but didn’t look at her. He felt weird, like all the air had been forced out of his lungs suddenly, but he was still able to breathe. Weirdly, he didn’t feel like crying, he didn’t feel the tears in his eyes because they weren’t there. He was supposed to be crying, right? “He said that they found his body this morning in his bedroom.” She said, thinking Sirius would like to know, she wished he could tell him more, but she just didn’t know.

“Okay.”

“I'm so sorry, Sirius.” He nodded again, leaning his head against the wall and looking up at the ceiling.

“Don't be Effie.” Sirius whispered, glancing at her only for a second, but enough to see her sad expression and the tears threatening to fall. She was almost crying at this, but still, he wasn't. He didn't understand the whole point of apologizing when someone has died. It was stupid in his opinion, he didn't even know why he hated that phrase so much, he always had. “Can I-. Can I be alone?”

She hesitated for a moment before answering. “Of course.” She said, getting up from her spot. “I'll be back later, okay?” Sirius just nodded before she left his room.

He just sat there without really thinking of anything, staring up at the ceiling. He didn't know what he was supposed to think about, it was like his mind had just gone blank all of a sudden and everything had slowed down. It felt strange, that was about the only word he could think of to describe this feeling. He was feeling so many feelings at the same time, but nothing at all, his eyes burning, but no tears came out. It felt unreal, like a nightmare, and he’d soon open his eyes and he could sigh in relief and reassure himself by saying it was just a dream. But that moment never came, meaning it wasn’t a dream but reality, which he definitely didn’t want it to be, he never wanted it to be.

When he heard a knock on the door, he jumped slightly, but didn’t move to look who it was, he already knew it was Euphemia. Sirius knew it was her, firstly based on the gentleness of the knock, secondly on the fact that he remembered that she had said that she’d come back later. Euphemia slowly opened the door, peeking his head into the room, frowning when she saw that Sirius had barely moved. He was still sitting with his back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling, though his knees were now tucked up to his chest.

She went to sit down next to the boy on the bed, leaning her back against the wall, Sirius turned to look at her, laying his head on his knees to look at her better. “Do you want to talk?” Sirius shook his head. “That's okay.” She smiled softly, reaching to brush a loose curl behind his ear, wanting to provide him with at least some type of comfort.

“Effie?” Sirius whispered after a while, and she hummed, smiling at him. “Can I get a hug?” He asked, looking at her with hopeful eyes, he wasn't used to asking for it when he wanted a hug or something. But he had been told it's okay to ask for comfort from both Euphemia and Fleamont, and his friends, so he asked, hoping he wasn’t doing the wrong thing. Her expression softened even more at his question, the sixteen-year-old looked really young there, asking to be comforted.

Euphemia didn't say anything, but just opened her arms, and wrapped them around Sirius when he leaned against her, his head resting on her chest. “It's a bit confusing, isn't it?” Sirius nodded, closing his eyes. “It's okay, though, whatever it is that you're feeling, I promise that it's okay and normal.” She said, knowing how Sirius had probably already convinced himself that he was doing something wrong.

“You can cry, Sirius, if you feel like it. But it's okay if you don't or can't. It's all okay. There’s nothing wrong about not crying, just like there’s not with crying.” She said, and Sirius nodded, feeling his breathing hitch just slightly at her words. “You know there's no wrong way to feel about it, it's all okay.”

Sirius nodded, letting out a shaky breath as he felt her hand rubbing down on his upper arm, comforting him just like a mother would. It was quiet for a long time, there were no words to be said in, no words would help the ever-growing sadness that had made its home in his chest, making it feel tight. It felt like it was hard to breathe, even though he was breathing fine, just like normal, but it didn’t feel normal.

“What-?” Sirius asked quietly after a while, coughing to get rid of the dryness in his throat, so he could get the words out. “What happened?”

“I don’t know that much, Sirius, I wish I did.” She said sadly, and Sirius nodded, screwing his eyes shut again. “If I knew, I'd tell you.” She whispered, starting to play with his hair to comfort him the best she could. Sirius nodded again. “Maybe you should call your mother.”

“N-no.”

“You don’t have to, but she knows more than I do.” Sirius didn’t answer, but leaned closer to her, just a bit. “But you don’t have to do it now, or ever. I can call her for you and ask if you'd like.”

Sirius lifted his head to look up at Euphemia, she smiled gently. “Really?” He asked, looking at her with his eyes wide. She nodded. “Thank you, Effie.”

She nodded again, pulling him for a hug before getting up from his bed. “Do you need something? Someone?” She asked knowingly, Sirius blushed slightly, and nodded. “First thing tomorrow, okay? It’s already late.” He nodded again, looking at her before she left the room.

Sirius grabbed his phone from the bedside table to check the time, he swiped away all the notifications, not feeling like talking to anyone or checking any of them, then he set his phone back down. He laid down onto the bed, pulling the blanket over his feet, continuing to look up at the ceiling.

He traced along the oak planks with his eyes, going over every single different colored spot he could find in the semi dark room, there was a small lamp turned on, but it didn’t give that much light. Then he looked out of the window, it was a clear night, and he could see some stars, very little but still some. He traced along the few constellations he could see, trying to remember every star and their meaning, he did remember most. As he went over each one, his eyes started to fall shut without his permission, Sirius jolted awake every now and then, before finally falling asleep around one in the morning.

Sirius opened the door of Regulus’ bedroom, peeking his head in. He saw Regulus sitting cross-legged at the foot of his bed playing with something in his hand, but he didn’t seem to notice Sirius walking in and over to the bed. He never looked up from the object, just kept twirling it in his hands. Sirius looked down at it, recognizing it as the small knife Regulus had kept hidden under his mattress, it was the one he usually used when he-

Sirius was pulled out of his train of thought when Regulus’ head snapped up, and he looked directly at Sirius, right in the eyes. Sirius' eyes widened as he looked at his brother, or this version of him. It didn’t look like his sweet and kind baby brother. His eyes were bloodshot with dark circles, like bruises underneath them, he looked as if he hadn’t slept properly for weeks. His cheekbones were sticking out more than usual, and Sirius felt something sting his heart when he noticed that his collarbones did the same thing, like he hadn’t eaten in weeks either. Regulus’ skin looked sunken and more pale than Sirius had ever seen it be.

He just continued staring at Sirius, not blinking or looking away. He didn’t say anything but kept playing with the blade in his hands. Sirius swallowed thickly, trying to speak, but no words came out. He looked down, seeing Regulus’ sleeves stained with blood, dark spots appearing on the green knit fabric, staining and dampening it even further. Sirius looked back at him, seeing that Regulus’ hadn’t still shifted his gaze, still staring at him in the eyes. Sirius shuddered at this all too familiar sight, trying to speak again, but either the words didn’t come out at all or Regulus just didn’t hear him.

Without looking away from Sirius, he pulled the blade up to his wrist, and he screamed, looking at Regulus and crying out. But his silent begging and pleading did nothing to stop the blood from flowing down, staining the white bedsheets with red. He cried and screamed and sobbed and begged him to stop, even tried to help, but nothing he did helped, and still Regulus didn’t tear his gaze away, just kept looking at Sirius.

“It’s your fault, Sirius.” He heard Regulus whisper softly. His sounded so soft and delicate, just like normal, it sounded like Regulus, his Regulus. But the words cut deeper than any knife ever could, Sirius stared at him in disbelief, begging him to stop again as Regulus brought the blade up, slowly.

Sirius opened his eyes, letting out a loud sob as soon as he realized it had been a dream. He hid his face into his pillow, trying his best to muffle the cries and sobs he was unable to hold back. Even after he was calmed down enough and back in this reality, he wasn’t able to wipe off the image of Regulus and the blood staining the white bedsheets. He couldn’t wipe off the words either, they kept echoing in his head even though he tried his best to will them away.

“It’s your fault, Sirius”

“Your fault, Sirius”

“your fault, Sirius”

“Your fault”

“Sirius”

The soft, quiet whisper kept repeating itself as he got up from his bed without even really realizing that he was doing it. He wiped his eyes with his sleeves as he reached James’ door just across the hall, as if on autopilot as he lifted his hand to knock quietly. He stared at the door nervously hoping his dream wouldn’t repeat itself somehow, he hoped he wasn’t dreaming again. He didn’t want to see that, ever again.

The door opened in a matter of seconds, and he was immediately pulled into a hug by James. He cried into James’ chest, who wrapped his arms more tightly around Sirius’ shaking form, rubbing his arm, trying to comfort him the best he could. He had heard the quiet whimpering and pleads of wanting something to stop from across the hall, but he didn’t want to go over, knowing Sirius liked his privacy and he’d come out if he wanted to.

“I’m so sorry.” He cried, though it was muffled by the way his face was hidden in James’ t-shirt. “Wasn’t my fault, I promise. I-I didn’t mean to, I didn’t. James I swear.” Sirius said, frantically shaking his head, looking up at James to show that he was being honest, though more tears just kept spilling out.

“It’s okay, Sirius. You didn’t do anything wrong, don’t worry.” He soothed, swaying them back and forth just a little. “You haven’t done anything, none of this is your fault, padfoot.” Sirius just nodded, wiping his eyes, trying to get rid of the tears, but they kept falling. “Wanna come to my room for the rest of the night?” He asked, and Sirius hesitated, before shaking his head, not wanting to bother James, it was a stupid idea to come here i n the first place.

“No, m’fine.”

“Sirius?” he whispered, rubbing his arm to get his attention. Having known him for years at this point, he knew in times like this Sirius thought he was a bother, a burden to bear, even though he wasn’t and James definitely didn’t mind being there for Sirius when Remus couldn’t be. Because he knew Remus was the one Sirius wanted to go to whenever something came up, or he was upset, James wasn’t sure why, but he had his guesses. “It’s okay if you don’t want to be alone.”

“But y-you need to sleep.” he reasoned, pulling fully away from James and shaking the hand off from his shoulder. “I-it’s almost morning anyway, it’s alright.” he said with a small ingenuine smile, as he wrapped his arms around himself.

“It’s four in the morning, we don’t have to sleep, let’s just talk, or not, we can watch a movie or a show, whatever you want. But maybe not alone, yeah?” he suggested, making Sirius look up at him again.

“No, no, it’s fine, Jamey.” He whispered. “I’m sorry for bothering you, but I’ll just go back to bed.” He said, quickly leaving from the doorway and shutting himself back into his bedroom before James could say anything in protest. He turned on the bedside lamp to let light into the room, then he sat down on his bed, tucking his knees up to his chest and hitting his forehead on them.

The dream wouldn’t stop repeating, Sirius wasn’t even sure if he was remembering it correctly anymore or had his mind made the images even worse. He thought about Regulus as he sat there, Sirius couldn’t quite wrap his head around the thought that he simply wasn’t here anymore, but that he died. When the shock from waking up from a nightmare died down, so did the tears. He felt so stupid for not crying because of Regulus but because of a stupid dream.

It didn’t take long until the door of his bedroom opened slowly with a quiet creak, he looked up from his knees, seeing James peek in. “Can I come in?” He asked hesitantly, and Sirius nodded, leaning against the wall as James shut the door and came to sit next to him on the bed. “I can go away if you really want to be alone.”

Sirius shook his head, leaning it against James’ shoulder. “Do you want to talk about your dream?”

“No.”

“That’s alright.” He whispered. “I’m guessing you don’t want to go back to sleep?”

“Can’t”

James nodded, trying to think what to say, though he was pretty sure there was nothing he could say or do to make it better, even if he wanted to. But still, he felt like he had to say something, just something, it wouldn’t matter what, but still, he couldn’t think of what to say. In the end he found nothing to say and just stayed quiet, eventually falling asleep, though he didn’t mean to.

Sirius kept his eyes closed, but he didn’t sleep, he was just thinking. The thoughts would not leave him alone, no matter how much he tried to will them away, when one awful thought went away, another one came in. He slowly got up from bed, trying not to wake James. He made his way down the stairs, grabbing his jacket as he went outside. He sat down onto the porch, pulling out the pack of cigarettes and his lighter.

He watched as the sun rose, painting the sky in beautiful colors, hiding away all the stars and taking the darkness away. Sirius watched the first light pink colors turn into brighter ones, and then into red and from red to orange. He wanted to scream and shout and be mad at someone, or something. But there was no one, no one he could blame, no one he could be angry at, just no one, he felt like crying too, but still no tears would fall.

When the orange colors started to turn into yellows, he got up, stuffing the much emptier pack of cigarettes and the lighter into the pockets of his jacket, and putting it back where he took it as he got inside. He looked at the stairs, not feeling like he wanted to go back into his bedroom, so he turned the other way and went into the kitchen, starting to make tea for himself.

When he was done, he sat down at the table, continuing to watch the sunrise from the window. He glanced at the clock now and then as he drank his tea, it was a little over seven when Euphemia came into the kitchen too, making coffee for herself before sitting across from him.

“Did you get any sleep?”

“A bit.”

“That’s good.” She said. “Do you want something for breakfast? More tea? Anything.” Sirius shook his head. “Okay.”

“Is-?” He said after a while, but stopped to rephrase his thoughts. “Can Remus come over today? Because last night you said.”

“Hope is dropping him off while she's going to work, don't worry.” She smiled, and Sirius nodded. “Should be soon, I think she said she has to be at work at eight or eight thirty, I'm not sure.”

“Okay.” He smiled slightly, glancing at the clock on the wall. “Thank you Effie.” He whispered quietly, and she smiled back at him.

“I'm going to call your mum later today, if you still want me to.” Sirius nodded. “Is there something you want me to ask?”

“Just um, what happened.” She nodded, Sirius tried to think of what else he wanted to ask, there were so many questions running through his mind, but he knew that his mother wouldn't answer any of them. Especially not if she knew it was he who asked them.

James came downstairs just as someone knocked on the door, Sirius got up, going to open the door. He immediately wrapped his arms around Remus' neck, hiding his face into his chest. “Hi love.” He whispered, rubbing Sirius' back.

“Hi.”

“C'mon let's go inside, it's freezing out here.” He chuckled, taking a few steps in, though Sirius still didn't let go of him, just walked backwards. “You gotta let go of me, so I can take off my shoes. Just for a moment, there you go.”

“Can we go upstairs?” Sirius asked quietly as Remus shook off his jacket.

“Yeah of course.” He smiled, taking Sirius' hand and letting himself be led upstairs into his bedroom. “Cuddles?” He asked, sitting down onto the bed, dropping his bag onto the floor, Sirius nodded.

Remus sat with his back against the headboard, and Sirius climbed in next to him, resting his head onto Remus' chest. “I missed you, moony.” He whispered, they hadn't seen each other in a while, and he had just missed him.

“I've missed you too, baby.” He said, kissing Sirius' head, before starting to play with his hair, trying to gently solve out the knots. “Do you want to talk?” Remus asked after a while, but Sirius shook his head. “that's alright.”

Eventually, Remus ended up reading the book out loud to Sirius he had brought with him. It was calming, having something to listen to, it didn't stop the thoughts but slowed them down at least a little.

It was a few hours later when Sirius heard his name being called from downstairs, he lifted his head up, looking at Remus when he stopped reading. He looked scared, and Remus didn't really know what to say, so he just gave him an encouraging smile and a small nod. Sirius nodded back, getting up from bed and walking downstairs.

When Sirius came back up into his bedroom, he leaned against the door once he closed the door, wiping his eyes though the tears kept falling. “Come here.” Remus whispered softly, holding his hand out for Sirius to take, when he took it, Remus pulled him into the bed and into a hug.

Sirius cried, clutching Remus' jumper tightly, as if to make sure that he wouldn't go away too. He just stayed there, holding Sirius close and rubbing up and down in a slow rhythm. They didn't say anything, there just wasn't anything to be said.

When Sirius looked up at Remus, he gently wiped away the tears and leaned to kiss his forehead. “I love you, Sirius.” He whispered, as Sirius hid his face back into Remus' neck. “it's going to be okay, eventually.”

AN:

Hi, I hope you're well. But anyway, wow I posted something, hopefully it was good and you liked it :)

The ending is not the best, but I was just struggling with it and really wanted to post this today, and I hope the whole story makes sense, but anyway

See you

43 notes · View notes

im-not-buying-it-ether · 5 months ago

Note

*revives again*

I'll be soon going to sleep, but anyways

Thank you btw! <3 I'll still be a bit hesitant as of now to write fics but i'll definitely will keep making ideas, boredom does that to ya'

Now i'm like, wanting to write a fic about cryptid Hal especially after reading a one shot with this topic, but i think i'll just write down ideas so i can talk about them with someone who is willing to listen! :3

I'm now like: Hal slowy turning into a cryptid without realizing it.. bird Hal...(I have the perfect bird for him, even though i would probably make my own little species for him), lots of hurt before comfort, it gets worse before it gets better, lots of whump.. nomnom😈

Body horror too since the wings would have to, literally and im not even joking, rip apart his back since he didn't originally have them.. painful back pains before the wings actually come out, gotta love some good old fashioned "it gets worse before it gets better"

Also him hiding out of either fear or denial, or fear of being judged by the League because God that man needs therapy!!

The deep seated fear of becoming inhuman bc of the rings is so scrumptious, MMMM

I’m reminded of that one nightmare JL:U episode where that GL was stuck in a nightmare where humanity became alien to him and he progressively got taken over by the ring until he couldn’t understand English and was scaring people away.

Specifically with Hal and this bird transformation imagine the slow creep into it tho.

His appetite gets weirdly fast and suddenly he’s catching up with Barry or Wally on their snack breaks to carb up, eating way too much until he feels like he’s going to be sick but then it passes and he’s hungry all the same, not knowing he’s fueling the fire of his body burning up calories to shift. His skin gets weird and prickly in places that’s mostly covered by his suit or loose clothing as a civilian, his fingers seem longer and thinner, his hands and palms too as they stretch out to an appropriate wing span but it just looks slightly unproprtional for the time being so he’s not worrying too much other than his skin. His lips thin and there’s a sharp pain at the front of his gums, like something is trying to force itself out and his teeth are feeling ill-fit in his own mouth.

He gets knee pains and during a fight with a heavy hitter, maybe Lobo, multiple bones are broken and they stick him in some sort of med pod to expedite the healing process but that does him in. His broken legs bend backwards and the change forces a talon from his heel as his feet cover in scales over flesh, his arms grow and fingers combine into those misshapen wings that take up so much space in the med pod he’s curled in on himself in comatose agony. His teeth rot and are replaced with the beak that had been forcing itself out until his lips stretch around the outline of it and are covered by the feathers just starting to take proper form.

When someone checks in the next day what’s inside isn’t Hal anymore, he can’t do little more than scream in harpy cries at the agony he wakes up to. He can’t walk, can hardly lift himself up with his hands gone and replaced with winged arms that hardly have the feathers needed to fly after his bones stretched and broke into this new misshapen body of his. His head pounds because his eyes have shifted from front facing to more on the sides of his head like a prey species, not entirely but enough that he can’t physically see the world the same anymore. When the pain subsides and he finds his voice it’s more shrill and improper because his mouth isn’t the same anymore and he has to learn how to speak again with this new speech impediment.

Arugh! Love this

He’d have to be physically bigger too, bc yes, and have to come to terms with the fact he’s got hollow bones now. After all the angst is done his biggest sad factor is that he can’t enjoy food the same anymore bc he can’t really eat much of it depending on what beak he grew in

#body horror #body horrow cw #hal jordan #green lantern #dc #asks #ask me anything

4 notes · View notes

gust-jar-simulator · 1 year ago

Text

So I’m writing the goddess Din as an active character in this one fic, and I did not expect her to be chatty. That’s Farore, if any of them, but Din just keeps going.

•🌒🔥🎇🔥🌘•

Shadow wanted to scream. Most importantly, he wanted to shove his dad’s head through his massive, hideous desk, then whine at his mother, and then find the Mirror of Dawn.

He couldn’t stay here. Not after reading those notes- soul transfusion? Literal shadow siphoning? Homunculi, ushabti, something called the “golden power” and the son of the green goddess.

He could’ve guessed that Vaati probably didn’t birth him, though Shadow tried not to assume limits about what the man could and couldn’t do. It was a good way to get cursed. If he was honest with himself, he wasn’t entirely sure if Vaati and Ganon were actually married or just weirdly intense about arguing with eachother. Shadow shapeshifted, like Vaati, and he was naturally a bit purple and red, like Ganon. But he also had the smooth, angular face of a Hylian, and he’d never seen one outside of Vaati’s glamors.

The notes said he’d been born of Ganon’s magic and the shadow of a divine hero. And here he already thought the man sucked at naming babies.

But that meant he was part of something, part of someone, part of a family that wasn’t just moblins and stalfos and fae imprisoned in iron cages. A family that breathed air that didn’t belong to his old man. A family that might actually fucking look at him, if they knew he existed.

He was going to break every piece of pottery in this hideous palace, and that’s if Ganon was lucky. A little respect and acknowledgement shouldn’t be that much to ask for, but if he wanted a warrior son so bad Shadow could deliver a fucking war to his-

Well hello there, little firecracker.

Shadow froze in the middle of packing his bag, and blinked. What?

Lynel got your tongue? Strange warmth flickered against his skin, shoulder and back and stomach, dry heat ghosting across his cheek like the stirring of desert wastelands. It was hard to say if the gasp was surprise, or a natural reaction to the feeling of parched earth cracking wide. The laughter came with the faint scent of cinnamon and sandalwood. Surprising for such a vicious little spider. I’m surprised there’s only one of you, but maybe he wouldn’t have survived more. After all, there’s no guarantee he’ll survive you.

“What?” It felt like someone was hugging him, from behind. “Who is this and why are you touching me?”

There comes a time, said the voice of blood and incense, when a son must… disobey his father. You will graduate from pet to brother- and I, little shadow that could, am your proctor.

He bristled, seething in the vague direction of the phantom chest burning through the back of his tunic. “I’m no one’s pet.”

Only pets have to ask nicely to be let outside, hummed heatstroke and shifting sand. Breaking pots isn’t too much different from peeing on the floor, from my perspective. If you’re not a pet, my dear, I suggest you get to work.

“Who are you,” he hissed, “why are you in my head, and why do you even care.”

He had the very clear impression of someone else’s smile curling against his cheek, possessive arms squeezing gently around his waist, and they burned like the sun. Those notes referred to a green goddess. I am the red goddess, serpent and steel, thirst and hunger. And you, my child, are hungry enough to swallow the world. I want to see what you do next. She hummed, slow and thoughtful. Perhaps I might even help, if you fix your attitude.

“I’ve had two gods try to fix my attitude on a daily basis, ma’am, I’m afraid you’ll have to get in line.” Still, his shoulders relaxed, even if his skin felt stretched and too-tight, the strange goddess’s blazing attention edging very near pain. But he was used to pain. He could work with that. She definitely didn’t sound trustworthy, but he would’ve trusted her a lot less if she came at him promising cozy comforts.

Hunger and thirst were something he could believe in.

He sheathed a knife in his boot, summoned an orb of darkness and ran it through a few shapes- spear, sword, shield, bow- and capped it off with the slow, thorny sprout of a rose between his knuckles. A green goddess, he thought, watching false petals slowly unfurl. What would green be like?

A potential sponsor, if you like. One of many.

Black sparks flew off of the flower in a burst of distracted pollen. “Sponsor? Other people know I’m here?”

Of course. Warmth that made his skin go tight, rigid like a scar, slid against the back of his palm. The edges of the rose flickered with red light, sharpening the thorns, strengthening the stem, pushing the petals out until they looked almost plush in the gloom of the Palace of Twilight. He could smell it, thick and heady and strange, lush like some sort of odd fruit. Could you eat real roses?

The goddess wrapped around him like a pleased cat moved again, phantom touch tracing a triangle on the back of his hand, and he found himself listening carefully. We come in many forms, with many proxies. Use them or don’t, as you like. Use me or don’t, as you like. My sisters are very curious about you, yes- but I’m the only one that can reach you here.

That sounded a little too convenient for his tastes. She clearly caught it, because she laughed again, and a dry wind swirled through his suite.

Your father belongs to me. Dust to dust, little shadow- someday he will return to me, whether he likes it or not. And I will clean him, and swaddle him, and deliver him to the world of blood again, as I have done since gods first learned to die. She kissed the top of his head, tugged lightly at the end of his ponytail. Your father belongs to me, but the way of favorites is that I can only have one. Do try not to mention that I said hello. You’re strong, but far from ready for the consequences of that.

#my writing #shadow link #loz din

8 notes · View notes

nabtime · 1 year ago

Text

Our Empty Graves IV

Fandom: Danny Phantom / Batman: Under the Red Hood

Pairings: Danny Fenton/Jason Todd (Dead on Main)

Rating: Mature

Tags: batfamily, hazmat AU, Nobody Knows AU, Mute!Phantom, potential ghost king danny, slow burn?, DC means Disregard Canon, AU means AU nothing is exactly the same, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, more than canon typical violence, danny is a Halfa and also a Fetch, no beta we die like basically everyone

Summary: They say that Red Hood has a loyal mutt. The man rules his territory in Crime Alley with an iron fist and a guard dog at his side. They say that Hood calls him Fetch, sometimes Fetcher. No one's ever heard him speak. Anyone who's ever seen him says he looks like an experiment gone wrong, that Hood picked him up somewhere unspeakable. They say he'll do anything Red Hood asks of him and he'll do it well. That he's strong and fast and probably inhuman. The girls say he's sweet; quiet but charming in his own way. Rival gangs say he's vicious; that he'd sooner rip your throat out than let you go.

Jason just wants to help him.

Chapter 4: sing to me (cause i can't hear myself)

Chapter Summary: Red Hood and Danny have a talk over soup

Chapter Notes: title from Sing to Me by MISSIO Links: AO3 // Chapter 1 // Chapter 3 // Chapter 5

What the hell had he gotten himself into now?

Danny hadn’t laid on a couch in what felt like years. Graveyard benches, tree branches, and mausoleum roofs were very poor substitutes for cushions or mattresses. The couch was rank and decrepit and leaking stuffing all over the place and it felt heavenly. There was also a weirdly abundant supply of ectoplasm just floating around the place. Ancients he hoped that didn’t mean what he thought it meant. He better not have invaded another ghost’s Haunt. He did not want to deal with a territorial asshole trying to fight him off when he needed to heal. He was not leaving this couch for anything.

Warily he gathered up the ectoplasm telekinetically and wrapped it all around himself like a faintly glowing blanket, soaking it in with a small contented churr from his core. He still thought it was weird-all the animal like noises he could make. Noises that were instinctual and part of Core Speak, which was a lesser form of Ghost Speak. Ghost Speak itself was less about words and more about emotions and the vague intention of thoughts. Like when sounds and colors could convey a certain feeling or impression. He’d used a bit of it to talk to Red Hood even though Ghost Speak was something humans couldn’t understand or even perceive. It was an unconscious habit- Ghost Speak was the only way he could communicate with the other ghosts (not that they cared much for what he had to say most of the time) and he couldn’t even try to talk to anyone else usually.

It was nice that Red Hood still seemed to be able to understand him, it felt good to ‘talk’ with someone willing to play charades.

But, Ancients, what an embarrassing conversation. He’d been so delirious from being punch drunk and having blood loss. He was lucky he couldn’t talk because he couldn’t imagine what kind of filth he would’ve been spewing, waxing poetic about Red Hood’s juicy ass or something, if he could’ve. Just because it really was a juicy ass didn’t mean Red Hood had to know. Although, he probably already knew that. Man couldn’t walk around with that much cake and not know it. So, Red Hood didn’t have to know that Danny knew about and appreciated his ass. And thighs. And arms. And tits. Aaaand- he really needed to think about something else.

Red Hood being surprisingly hilarious? He called him Ghostbuster Reject and he didn’t even know Danny was a ghost. Not to mention all the names for Batman like Goth Furry Man and Mr. Dark and Stormy Night. He could tell that Red Hood was keeping back more of them too. He’d take any silly nickname Red wanted to give him if it meant he didn’t have to go by the stupid name he’d given himself.

Fetcher the Fetch. Red was right, it made him sound like Moon Moon. It would have to do though. He couldn’t spread the name Phantom around, couldn’t risk the GIW or his parents trying to find him in Gotham. The city had enough of its own problems without the property damage and disregard for by-standers that came with either group.

He felt bad that he’d only given Red Hood the partial truth. He was a Fetch, but that wasn’t exactly a term well used outside of ghosts and the Realms. Fetch- the apparition of a being yet still alive. The ghost of a living person. Both alive and dead. Half ghost and half human. Not that Danny felt all that like a human anymore. He hadn’t changed in a long time and the only reason he knew he still had a side of himself still alive was the faint heart-beat that thumped just under his core.

He still felt a tad guilty about hiding the whole “dead guy” she-bang from Red, but he didn’t need some weirdly nice Gotham Rogue knowing his entire being was against the law. That he could be turned over to the government for a hefty bounty. Didn’t matter that the guy had saved his skin, he’d been betrayed more than once and he wouldn’t risk it with a stranger. He also didn’t want to cause trouble. Red Hood looked like a guy that could handle himself but also someone who would protect his own to the last. He didn’t need anyone getting shot on either side because of him. The GIW didn’t care about collateral damage and they really wouldn’t care about hurting people they thought didn’t matter and destroying homes already falling apart. It was unfair and maddening, but it was how they worked. Ruthless and unforgiving.

Was it sad that the ghosts he used to fight to protect the town were now the least of his problems? Most of them had been scared off by the GIW after they’d gotten more competent and started experimenting. After the Anti-Ecto Acts got passed, most of the regular ghosts had made themselves scarce. Only the more powerful guys had dared to step foot into Amity, and then they became Danny’s problem. And then the whole mess with Pariah had happened and then none of the ghosts wanted to go top side. No, Danny’s post in Amity, stuck as it was in the zone, had become more about preventing humans from entering the Zone than the other way around. He had to stop the occasional reckless spirit, but for the most part they stayed scarce.

He hoped the Realms would be okay while he was gone. Who knows what his parents or the GIW could get up to in his absence.

He dozed on and off for a good bit, sleep light as it always was in ghost form. He could avoid eating when he was Phantom by absorbing ectoplasm, and he could get by with much less sleep in this form as well. But when he was injured, especially as injured as he was now, he needed to rest to get better. Needed to conserve energy and soak. Like a nice bath. A ghostly hibernation.

He started to feel better each time he blearily woke before going back down.

One of the times he could hear clanging and shuffling, like someone making food in a kitchen. He figured Red Hood would have gotten take-out. Was he making food? Maybe he was just dreaming. Dreaming of a better time in a more familiar kitchen…

It was all vague sensations and feelings. Just the warm light of the sun streaming in through the kitchen window. Just the suggestion of a fresh breeze blowing through and stirring up the scent of spices permeating the cramped space. The susurration of curtains in the wind. Just the faintest sound of humming and soft laughter. Like he’d fallen asleep in the kitchen and he was hearing everything through a drowsy fog.

It was warm. The oven was on. There was something giving off steam on the stove. He could hear pots clanging and utensils clinking. He could hear murmuring and rustling. There was the sensation of closeness and a sort of comfort and togetherness he rarely felt. It felt like contentment. It felt like love.

“Hey, sweetie,” his mom said, voice soft and dulcet. He could feel a warm hand rubbing his back. “It’s time for dinner now, sleepy-head.”

He said something in reply but he couldn’t hear it. He felt dizzy, like the room was spinning and everything he’d felt started to distort and spiral. His mother said something again but her voice came out cold and distorted and angry.

“What did you do with my son?”

“Hey,” a gruff voice, still staticky from being filtered, spoke as he was shaken awake. He blinked as the dream he’d been having floated away from his mind, forgotten as he rose from Nocturn’s hold into the realm of the wakeful.

“Black-white-and-green-all-over,” the voice said again, a hint of amusement lacing the words, “time to wake up and smell the bacon.”

“Food’s ready,” Red Hood said, straightening from where he’d been hovering over Danny to wake him.

Mrrp?

His core let out a little sound, much like a cat just being woken. Cats and ghosts had a lot in common, sounds wise, and he was discovering new sounds he could make all the time. Most ghosts could just talk and Core Speak was considered something more intimate, to be used with close friends, lovers, and allies. But for him, it was the only way he could communicate until he could find a way to learn sign. His core seemed particularly talkative around Red Hood, too. Strange. Maybe because Red was the first person he’d encountered in ages that didn’t want to immediately kill him?

“Hohmy-god.”

He blinked, stretching and tilting his head in question. What was that about?

“You’re adorable, kid,” Red answered, teasing.

Red Hood had his hands on his hips, arms bare in all their glory without his jacket, and was wearing an apron. A red apron with frills and a cute little skull printed on it. Who was this man to call Danny the adorable one?! Clearly he hadn’t seen himself in a mirror. It didn’t matter at all that Danny couldn’t see his face- the personalized apron was more than enough. Did he make that? Did someone else make it for him? He had so many questions he couldn’t ask.

Danny chose to just flip him off instead.

Red shook his head and headed back into the kitchen. “Get your ass in here and eat this soup already. You look like you’ve healed enough.”

If Danny could groan, he would. The thought of moving was not appealing. He had already told himself that he wasn’t moving from the couch for anything and that included whatever soup ‘The Red Hood’ decided to shovel into him.

Could Red even cook? He had a whole apron thing going on, but that didn’t really mean anything. Maybe it was a gag gift because of how bad he was at cooking. He shuddered. Well, no one could be worse than his parents. He’s pretty sure sentient food beats out burnt to a crisp any day. There wasn’t any smoke or sign of fire so that was encouraging at least.

He was mostly healed at this point, scrapes gone and bleeding stopped. He could move his arm again and he didn’t need to channel all his ectoplasm into healing alone. His thigh and his shoulder were still throbbing from the shitty Bat-a-rangs but they were on the mend. Honestly, for how bad off he’d been he was healing pretty well and pretty quickly. The benefits of being a dead guy. And landing in a city rich with the stuff that helped him. He had enough he could probably go invisible and freak out Red, but he’d refrain for now.

Still, he flopped over the cushions, debating on whether it was worth it to move or not. He didn’t need to eat and its not like his senses were the same in ghost form as they were in human form. He didn’t smell the same way and while he’d never tested it, he probably couldn’t taste the same way either. So what did it even matter-

And suddenly there was a mass of looming Red just hovering over him and then- still very suddenly, he was being lifted up from the couch. Cradled in very warm, very nice arms.

“H-up we go-,” Red Hood mumbled, very very close to Danny’s ear and making him shiver. He was carried princess style into the kitchen and plopped down into a rickety wooden seat. He stared dumbly down at the, frankly, delicious looking bowl of chicken noodle soup as he tried to process what the hell just happened. Everything was tingly and his mind was blank. He had phantom (haha) sensations of warmth where Red had held him. When was the last time he’d been touched without being hurt?

“Like a handful of grapes,” he heard Red mutter as he settled into the seat across from Danny. Wow, rude.

Red picked up a spoon and used it to point at Danny’s bowl. “Eat.”

He huffed and slid down in the chair a bit but picked up the spoon anyway. If he could grumble he would. He made sure to look as petulant as he could as he dipped his spoon into the broth. He stared dumbly again as he tried to figure out how he was supposed to eat.

He heard a mechanical click and looked up to see that Red had retracted part of his mask somehow, leaving the bottom half of his face bare. A cupid’s bow. Hm. A cupid’s bow turned up into a smirk. Red pointed again.

“Eat.”

His voice was odd without the modulator, smooth and deep. And very clearly amused. And Danny really, really needed to think about other things. He had enough to worry about than to be distracted by a nice voice. One guy treats you like you’re not a monster and suddenly you go ga-ga for him. The thought made him sag further down into the chair, piercing the night with a shrill squeak. Fucking hopeless.

Danny sighed internally and went back to trying to figure out how to eat. Well, if he was healed enough to go invisible he was healed enough to go intangible. Partially.

He made the mask intangible but still visible, so to someone else it didn’t look any different from before. Then he brought the spoon up and let it pass through the mask unhindered. Oh Ancients. Chicken noodle soup. Good chicken noodle soup. He couldn’t smell it before but he could now, and it smelled divine and tasted even better. He would die a second time for this soup. Hell, he might kill someone for this soup. Red Hood wanted someone gone? He would do it. He’d do it for soup. He kind of wanted to cry about it. How long had it been since he’d had something to eat? Let alone something this good. And even less something that was home-made and this good. Yeah, if he kept thinking about it he would definitely cry.

He took another eager bite, willing to sink into the flavor- rich with things he’d almost forgotten about like garlic and onion and carrots and celery. Spices he couldn’t name giving it a taste like nothing else. He felt a deep warmth spread through his body and his core purred with contentment.

He blinked open his eyes that he hadn’t even realized he’d closed to find Red Hood staring at him.

“How the fuck are you doing that?” he asked, incredulous.

Danny tilted his head in feigned innocence. He had no idea what Red was talking about, no sirree.

“Don’t give me that, you know what you’re doing,” he said, pointing an accusatory finger towards him. “How the fuck are you doing it?”

Danny rolled his eyes and dropped his spoon . He held up his hand and then phased it through the table, waving his fingers in a little ta-da motion afterwards.

“Alright. Density-shifting,” he said, sounding just a bit exasperated. “Okay. That’s just a thing you can do, then.”

He didn’t know what density shifting was but figured it was close enough to intangibility that he nodded. He picked up his spoon but before he could eat the most delicious meal of his life, Red had another question.

“Anything else you can do that I should worry about?”

He paused (a tragedy, really) . It’s not like he could actually give a list. He could write it, yeah, but where was the fun in that. It also didn’t help that he couldn’t remember half of his powers on a good day. They were instinctual. Like a muscle he didn’t know the name of that he could flex . He could move the muscle but its not like he was aware of it. What it was called or how it worked.

He shrugged and continued eating.

“You know, glow-stick, there’s gonna come a point where I need answers,” Red said, voice wry. “I’ve let you get away with a lot already. Don’t think I’ll be lenient again,” he spoke with finality.

Danny regarded him seriously. Red Hood had let him move on without explaining things multiple times now. He was grateful for it honestly. He didn’t know how he would even start to untangle all that he was to this stranger. He couldn’t even do that with people he knew and trusted. And he didn’t want to go through being interrogated within an inch of his half-live again either. At least Red was being civil about everything.

He put his spoon down again (mournfully) and gave Red Hood a solemn nod. There wasn’t much else he could do to convey his thanks and his seriousness, but Red seemed to get the message.

“Good. Don’t cause trouble and it won’t be an issue.”

He wanted to laugh at that. Like he could ever stay out of trouble.

Red must have sensed his amusement because he made a motion with his head like he was rolling his eyes. Danny could tell even though he couldn’t see them behind the helmet. Looks like they were both able to communicate with body language pretty well, probably why Red was so good at reading him.

They ate in silence for a bit, the distant sound of sirens and gunfire lulling to a background noise he wouldn’t have thought he’d get used to so easily. But it was still somehow familiar, like a song he knew played on an instrument he’d never heard of. Police sirens instead of ghost attack sirens and gunfire instead of the odd electric crackle of ecto-blasts.

Danny melted into his chair as he finished his last bite, the warmth of the soup turning him into a puddle of goo. His belly felt full in a way it hadn’t in years. The last meal Jazz had made for him had been when he was what? Sixteen? Before she left. Before he left.

“So,” Red started, voice firm. Danny wanted to groan again. He didn’t want to have serious discussions, not now. All he wanted to do right now was become one with the table and savor his beautiful, beautiful soup. But Red Hood was relentless. Merciless.

“You said you fell from a portal?”

He nodded. Miserably.

“You got any way to get back through said portal?”

He stilled. No, he didn’t. He really didn’t.

He thought about what would happen next. Would he go back to his Haunt? Could he? He’d found his way topside and the only stable portal connecting the two halves was in the ruins of the place that Amity used to occupy. Both his parents’ portal and Vlad’s had been victims to the shift into the Zone, both weirdly inverting on themselves, collapsing and reforming- twisting reality in ways it should never have twisted.

Vlad’s portal never stabilized, shrinking down and imploding in on itself- condensing like a dying star becoming a black hole but bursting out in radioactive shock-waves instead. It took out half of Elmerton in the explosion as well. Thankfully the neighboring town had been evacuated the moment Amity disappeared so there weren’t any casualties. But it had definitely been a close call. His parent’s portal survived on a miracle, creating an exit for the townspeople when everyone realized that the city was stuck and there was no going back. Nobody died but- there wasn’t a single citizen who hadn’t lost everything. There was only so much that could be transported through the portal after all. It was the only time anyone ever let him near enough to help, if only to use his strength to carry the boxes of meager belongings through to the other side. Boxy knew better than to mess with them when he was around.

The truth was that he didn’t have anywhere to go. Anything to do. If he weren’t only half-ghost then the loss of his Haunt and Obsession could have Ended him, but as it were it just made him sad. Restless. Core-tearingly despondent. He’d already just been listlessly haunting the cemetery, fighting ghosts when they wanted to pick a fight with him. Skulker was really the only one that tried anymore.

The most he could hope for was a natural portal popping up that he could sneak into, and that was only if it didn’t spit him back out somewhere completely different instead of the Zone. While Gotham seemed to have an abundance of ectoplasm, that didn’t mean it had an abundance of portals.

Would he build a new place for himself here? Haunt a new graveyard? He could never be human again. He’d left that life far and long behind. Maybe he’d find a house to haunt, be a proper ghost and scare some people.

The thought left a bad taste in his mouth, but he elected to ignore it. He’d only just felt a little like a human again. A mistake.

He’d stalled long enough. He shook his head and waited for Red Hood’s reaction.

“ Anyplace to go?” he questioned, tone flat. Danny couldn’t begin to tell what he was thinking, he kept his cards close to his chest. But maybe there was a hint of concern there? Or maybe he was being too optimistic.

He shrugged, truthfully not knowing how to answer that. He could try to get back to Amity, but that was a long, long while to walk and a major fight with the GIW and his parents that he didn’t want to pick. Or he could settle back into the cemetery he’d been chased from. Visit his old zombie pal, Jason and dodge Batman again. It’s not like he needed human accommodations. Nothing an old mausoleum wouldn’t do.

Danny could see the black eye-cover of Red’s helmet narrow (and wasn’t that a trip). He could feel the other man’s stare, intense and analytic. He waited.

Red Hood sighed. “Well, for now, you’re staying here until you’re healed completely . Then we’ll figure it out as we go.” He pressed a button on his helmet that made it drop back down and recover his face, then stood up and picked up the empty soup bowls. “Don’t need Bold and the Bleakness trying to kill you over something stupid again.”

Danny nodded. He could agree to that. He’d stay until the Bat-a-rang wounds and his broken arm fully healed and then drift back to the cemetery. No need to bother Red Hood any further than he already had. He didn’t deserve as much kindness as he’d already gotten. The man might seem to be a crime lord, but he cared about his people and had a surprising amount of warmth. A man like that didn’t need to worry about a thing like Danny.

He would fade out when Red Hood left and go back to where he belonged. Some dusty old mausoleum he could guard. And then he would wait out the rest of his existence there, protecting bones no one cared about anymore for as long as he continued to walk this plane. Maybe someday he’d fully die and make his way back to the empty streets of Amity, maybe by then the ghosts of his neighbors would have repopulated the town. Maybe he’d see his friends again. Maybe, someday, he could rest.

It was as good a plan as any.

“Alright, kid, rest up for now,” Red said, rinsing out the bowls and setting them to dry on a rack by the sink. Danny just watched the man move about the kitchen, enjoying the view. Red ducked out of the apron and folded it up until it was as small of a bundle as it could go and stuffed it in a side pocket on his utility belt. Well, huh. So he just carried that around with him then. Fascinating.

He turned back to Danny and pointed a stern finger in his direction. “I don’t wanna see you anywhere but that couch until you’re fully healed.”

Danny rolled his eyes and nodded. He’d be fine. Red Hood wouldn’t see him anywhere but the couch, not once he went invisible.

Red pulled his gloves on, Danny watching with rapt attention. Maybe a little too much attention when he pulled his jacket back on and his arms flexed with the movement. Hmm.

“You need help back to the couch, glow-stick?”

Danny felt himself flush, face probably turning green under the mask as he scrambled out of the chair and stumbled back to the couch, shaking his head along the way. He plopped down onto the cushions and melted a little into the blood-stained fabric with a bit of intangibility.

Red Hood huffed and shook his head, making his way toward the window and throwing a leg out and straddling the sill.

“Rest up and I’ll see you in the morning, Fetcher,” he called, giving Danny a wave.

Danny gave a wave back, a little sad that this would be the last time he saw Red Hood. He’d be gone in an hour or two, ready to haunt one of the smaller cemeteries of Gotham into perpetuity. For now, however, he’d take another nap and rest like a human just one last time.

#naps fics #dp x dc #Our Empty Graves #dpxdc

19 notes · View notes

kashlyn · 2 months ago

Text

Oh my god, Klarion the Witch Boy is such a fascinating character, okay? So, he comes from this place called Limbo Town, which is like, an underground society that’s super stuck in its ways and all puritanical and magic-based. Like, imagine being trapped in some weird, old-timey cult where everyone does dark magic, and Klarion’s just like “nah, this is lame, I’m outta here.” He totally rebels against the elders and just wants to explore the world, you know? Like, "Let me be free, let me learn more magic!" He craves knowledge, and let’s be real, power too, because who wouldn’t if you grew up being bossed around by creepy old people?

But get this, Klarion is also super chaotic, like he’s that kid who just shows up, causes a mess, and bounces, but also he’s really curious about everything? So it’s not just about power, sometimes he’s just like “hmm, I wonder what happens if I set this on fire.” He doesn’t always mean to be evil, but chaos is his thing. Plus, he’s got this cat familiar, Teekl, and if anything happens to Teekl, he loses it, like, full-on rage mode. So, yeah, he’s got a soft spot there, but also, don't mess with his cat.

And honestly, he's TERRIFIED of being controlled, like, you know how some people are afraid of spiders or clowns? Yeah, Klarion's biggest fear is being under someone else's thumb, whether it’s his elders or some other big magical being. He's all about freedom, and if someone tries to put him in a box, he freaks out.

Okay, now onto Tim Drake, because Klarion bonding with him is SUCH a wild idea but it totally works, right? Like, Tim, especially when he was still just Tim before going full-on Red Robin, was this really desperate kid trying to prove himself, always pushing himself to the edge for Gotham. And Klarion would be like, "Oh, you’re desperate and struggling? Let’s play!" He'd totally tempt Tim with offers of magic to solve his problems. Tim, being the kid that grew up too fast kid he is, would try to resist, but you know he’d be at least a little curious, right? Klarion would definitely find that whole “I must save Gotham at any cost” vibe SO interesting.

And like, Klarion would mess with Tim’s moral code he'd set for himself to keep Bruce in. He'd be like, “Why are you so boring with your rules, let’s bend reality a bit, make things fun.” Tim’s super serious but Klarion would probably flirt and tease him just to see him blush or get flustered. Klarion LOVES getting under people’s skin. And I feel like Tim would secretly be into how free Klarion is, even if he doesn’t admit it right away. Slow burn potential, hell yes!

But then, when Tim becomes Red Robin and gets more confident and chaotic, Klarion would respect him more, you know? Like, Tim’s grown into his own, and Klarion would be like, “Okay, okay, you’re not just some boring hero, you’re smart and I like that.” They could totally team up on some magical mission, and Klarion would still be a handful, but Tim’s patience and persistence would probably earn Klarion’s respect. And Klarion would be like “Oooh, smart and handsome, what a combo.”

NOW let’s talk about Danny Phantom! Klarion and Danny would TOTALLY bond over being outsiders! Like, Danny is half ghost, half human, always stuck between two worlds, and Klarion is kinda like that too, being a magic rebel from Limbo Town. Klarion would be so into the Ghost Zone, like, "Wait, there’s a whole other dimension? I’m in!" He’d probably try to manipulate Danny at first, but then they'd connect because both of them deal with balancing two parts of themselves.

And Klarion would definitely flirt with Danny just to make him all awkward, because you know Danny would be like, "Uh, what do I do with this?" Klarion would LOVE that. But then, as they work together—probably against some crazy powerful ghost—Klarion would start seeing Danny’s sense of justice as like, weirdly attractive? Klarion would be like, "Why are you so GOOD, it’s annoying... but kinda hot."

Romantically, Klarion could really admire how Danny manages all that responsibility. Klarion’s all chaotic and free, and Danny’s like, “I have to save people, I have to protect Amity Park,” and Klarion would be like, “UGH why are you so heroic, stop making me care.” They’d have this whole opposites-attract thing going on, and I could totally see Klarion using magic to protect Danny in a fight, all while being like, “Not that I care, of course.”

Now, if you throw Tim, Danny, and Klarion together? Oh my god, it’d be chaos, but like, the BEST kind. Tim’s the strategist, Danny’s the heart, and Klarion’s the wildcard. They’d definitely have to team up to stop some big supernatural disaster, and Klarion would drive both of them CRAZY, but like, in a fun way. Klarion would flirt with both of them just to get a reaction, and Danny and Tim would probably bicker over who has to babysit him. And let’s be real, Klarion would probably develop feelings for both of them because he’s like, “Tim, you’re so smart and broody, and Danny, you’re so heroic and passionate, UGH, why do I like this?”

If they ever got into a poly relationship, Klarion would be that chaotic partner who’s always teasing them and pushing their buttons, but deep down he’d be super attached. He’d love that Tim grounds him with strategy, and Danny keeps him moral (or tries to), and Klarion would be the one constantly making them break their rules just for fun. But like, they’d all balance each other out so well, because Klarion brings the wildness they need, while they give Klarion some stability he doesn’t even know he craves.

So yeah, Klarion, Tim, and Danny? Absolute chaotic perfection

I'm not saying I'm going with it, but have at me people, tell me more about Klarion.

Anything about his relationship with Tim. How people think he could be with Danny. Give me your thoughts (and any arguments in support of) Danny/Tim/Klarion where Tim and Klarion both decide to peruse Danny (who's ghost king and Tim's magical patron) and end up badly flirting with each other in the process.

#GASP!#chaotic perfection #THAT COULD BE THEIR SHIP NAME!!#dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dpxdc #Chaotic perfection ship #you have fuelled the flames #I've been waiting for this moment my whole life #my time to shine

147 notes · View notes

britcision · 2 years ago

Text

Okay so I fucking adore “Jason feels peace around Danny as the pit shuts the fuck up”

Now give me the slow burn

Just two lads trying to help but keeping it as not-weird as possible

Weekly coffee dates where Danny and Jason just… go somewhere

Read in the park

See a movie

Hang out behind a mall doing kick flips, whatever

Danny doesn’t wanna take advantage of the warm fuzzies Jason gets around him cuz they’re not personal, this is just…

A weirdly fast friendship speedrun

Someone who finally, fully gets him, and yeah, maybe just getting to be himself feels pretty fucking good to Danny too

Jason doesn’t want to impose any more than he surely already is, this is the Ghost King, taking time out of his schedule just to hang out with him so he can have some self control

He’s always and only a burden, Danny’s clearly just being cool cuz he’s the only King Jason’s met who actually fucking cares

He’d do the same for anyone

And so Jason tries to make sure they’re always doing something convenient/easy for Danny, something Danny likes to do

And Danny’s Physically Allergic to asking for anything or telling people things he wants or needs, so this requires Jason’s full detective abilities

And Tim’s but shut the fuck up no one will ever no Jason caved and asked for help

So when Jason sets up their next weekly sesh and takes Danny to the planetarium (maybe he was scared to ask first, maybe he was prepared to wimp out, it’s a surprise stfu)

And sees Danny’s whole face just light up

And they go inside, and Danny’s glowing in human form, bouncing from one place to another, gushing about everything

Jason knows he’s even gonna accept a favour from B to get the whole place to themselves for an overnight viewing

Cuz all he can feel isn’t just the soothing calm of the pit being silent, isn’t just the satisfaction of a job well done

He can feel the joy, the excitement, the radiant enthusiasm pouring off of Danny as if it were his own (and maybe something soft and small and fond that’s truly his)

And Danny

Danny’s a competitive little bitch

If we’re playing “Find Each Others’ Secret Hobbies” he’s got the god of software and his lesser subject Technus both on the line

(Technus stays Tucker’s subject instead of Danny’s until he can hack the PDA, it was a dare)

So he brings Jason out of Gotham for the first time (maybe through the zone, it’s fast travel either way) and they do Shakespeare in the Park

And Jason knows exactly what Danny’s doing (the bastard, this is supposed to be how Jason thanks him for this clearly super annoying favour) but he’s

He’s not had the chance to be soft in so long

To be the literature nerd he’s never left behind

It takes literal years for them to realize they’ve been competitively dating each other and everyone else is absolutely betting on when they will finally kiss

Danny moves in and Jason makes a joke about “well I guess we won’t need our weekly hang sesh” and Danny stares him dead in the eye, full Eldritch Horror

“Does that mean I win?”

So nah Date Night is permanent and eternal and every fucking rogue in Gotham knows to hold it sacred

#dp x dc #dpxdc #danny phantom #jason todd #slow burn #dp x dc prompt #i do not have the time or patience to write a slowburn but that doesn’t mean they don’t haunt me #jason x danny #bonus points if jason gets kidnapped once before date night and thr fucking ghost king comes for him #‘oh you were expecting batman? that’s adorable tell him hi when he gets here’#danny fenton dead and loving it

3K notes · View notes

charnelhouse · 3 years ago

Note

Is it too much to ask to get railed against a tree and creampied by Rick in the middle of a mission so I have to go through the rest of the day feeling him drip down my thighs

A/N: Rick Flag x F!Reader. Semi-public sex. Creampie vibes. Dirty talk. Nasty trash ahead.

It’s like he can smell you.

Fighting gets you wet and gets him hard and he never knew that he could just act on those impulses.

We have a mission.

Waller doesn’t give a shit about either of us. Block out the coms for ten minutes. You and me.

It’s not right.

You pin him with that look - that petal lip smile like you can read his damn fucking mind and know all the fantasies he has for you - what he jerks himself off to alone in the shower.

Give in, Rick. For me. For you. It’ll help get your head on straight.

Really - he wanted to ask when has pussy ever made anyone relax? Especially yours because he just knew it was probably pretty and soft and he wouldn’t be able to think of anything else for the rest of his god damn life.

He didn’t though. He just let you take his hand and lead him into some dense foliage and well - it had peeled him open.

It was very unlike him, but he found you inevitable. A sour-candy addiction in which your presence literally wound around his ribs and lungs and took him for a damn ride. It had started slow - your mouth on his cock or him fingering you up against the hull of the jet. A quick respite from the chaos and from Flag having to herd Task Force X with a straight face.

Things had escalated. He wanted more - needed more and that’s really what it had come down to. He had discovered that he required you in a very real way. The stress of trying to handle a troop of near-useless bad guys was getting to him. Their missions didn’t necessarily fail, but the fatalities were off the fucking charts.

“Isn’t that the point?” you murmured as you rested your cheek on his bare stomach - nails skating across his abdomen and making his breath catch. “We’re the suicide squad, Flag.”

He traced the shell of your ear - letting your warmth sink into his skin. This quiet moment just for them - locked away in his shitty apartment where Waller couldn’t find you.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “But one of these days it’s going to be you and I’m not going to be able to live with myself.”

“Way to kill the mood, Flaggy.”

“Nothing kills your mood.”

“You’re not wrong.”

You didn't mope over the possibilities - the statistics. You stuck to him and let him burn for you and that was that.

"Focus on me and then the mission and then all the dirty things we can do when we get home."

"You've turned me into a sex fiend."

"I know. It's fucking awesome."

***

So it's no surprise that Rick finds himself striding after you when they touchdown on another deserted beach - in another red-marked country. The intention in his steps is carved with that hunger - that near-panic he has until he's stuffed inside you.

It’s just the two of them and the air is soft with Spring heat - with the dull roar of the ocean rolling across their backs. The other teammates are scattered in different places and Rick knows Waller’s going to be too focused on her bigger villains. Her big dogs. You’re old news for her - reliable and sturdy as a Jaguar’s engine. She trusts Flag and she’s never had an issue with you so Rick is well aware that they’ve got time. Half an hour, maybe.

You glance at him over your shoulder - the telltale quirk of your lips. “Let’s use that cave.”

He stares past you - sees the dark maw disrupting the rocky canvas that hovers over the glittering blue of the ocean. Shadows and pebbles and it weirdly reminds him of sea-monsters. Starfish. One of the top missions he’d prefer to forget as his new robot-heart hammers beneath the shell of his ribs.

You’d saved him - your fingers firm around that shard of tile - preventing it from jerking a millimeter. “I’ve got you, Flag. You’re okay. You’ll live or I’ll kill you myself, you stupid big fucker.”

“Rick,” you call to him - the breeze ruffling your hair. “Come on, cowboy. We don’t have all day.”

There was that other step in their relationship - you calling him Rick. A habit you’d picked up post Corto-Maltese.

“I’m comin, doll,” he assures as he jogs toward you - chuckling at your pinched expression.

The cave really is a feasible option.

There’s just enough sand with the tide out for them to stand - just enough space for him to shove you against the craggy wall.

He presses himself to your back - his grip flexing around your shoulders as he noses at your hair. His nostrils flare at the scent of you - at the knowledge of how wet you probably are right this moment and how he’s going to be sinking himself into that velvet slick momentarily.

“Best get a move on, then,” he grunts as he gently pushes you forward.

***

I’ve become a total fucking perv.

Rick thinks this as he slides his fingers through your cunt - curling them over the band of your panties and yanking them up so hard the fabric rubs roughly against your clit. He smirks as he watches your palm smack against the cave wall. A hiss flaring hot from your mouth.

“Christ, Rick,” You push your ass out - grind it up against his crotch and they have so little time that he can’t treat you proper. He can’t do much of anything other than hitch your underwear to the side and bury his cock to the hilt. You’re wet enough - soaked and warm as he drives forward - as your perfect pussy spasms and sings around his length.

He curves his body over you - one arm banded beneath your tits while his other hand circles your neck - thumb stroking your jaw with each rut of his cock. He’s fucking you deep as he can - dropping his pelvis as he eases himself out before snapping forward. He does it again and again, the head of his dick deliberately knocking against the farthest piece of you to make you whimper and cry.

He nips your ear - his voice ragged and desperate when he speaks. “You gonna let me cum in you, sweetheart?”

You nod - pushing back against him with your own well-qualified strength. Your cunt is soaked - blooming blood-hot around his cock as he takes you. It’s noisy - the sound of slapping skin and the furious squelch of his thickness splitting you apart echoes long and loud through the cave. Your broken voice falling away before returning to knock him flat. There’s sweat at the nape of his neck - slipping down his spine.

He puts his fingertips against the bud of your sex - thumb circling in torturously smooth motions.

“Fuck, Flag,” you moan. “I’m close...I’m so close.”

“I know,” he mumbles - peppering kisses along your throat - your cheek. He’s wrapped around you - your shape small between his hands as he holds you flush to him. He likes it like this - whether he’s pinning you to a wall or a bed - he likes to cover you completely. He’s tender and sometimes too soft - even during their most brutal, kinky sex. He can’t not kiss you - cradle your face - tell you you’re perfect. He enjoys marking you - making you flush molten if he says something intentionally kind. But he also can be nasty - likes to be - and that was all shit you had taught him.

His grip on your chin tightens as he keeps you locked to his chest. He’s sliding right towards his peak - slamming close with the urgency of a freight train. Pleasure rippling up from the rod of his cock as it stretches your tight little pussy.

“I want to be dripping out of you all day,” he growls. “I want you fighting with me inside you - spilling down those perfect thighs of yours and then when we’re back on that jet, I’ll eat it out of your cunt.”

He feels you contract sharply around him - the urgent inhale from your lungs. He had never said cunt in his life - not until you. He had thought it - sure - but it had not left his mouth until he discovered it made you gush like a river.

“Jesus Christ,” he groans. “You liked that, huh?”

“Yes,” you pant. “Fuck - you’ve turned into such a bad boy.”

“Shit, darlin,” he wheezes - trapping your earlobe between his teeth. “Call me that again.”

Your walls flex around him - violently clamping down as your nails dig into his forearm. “Bad boy,” you repeat before the words dry out on your tongue while another softer climax winks through your core. “Bad...so fucking bad.”

His hips stutter - lose his pace as you milk him for all he’s worth. “For you,” he reminds - voice gone hoarse and ruined. “Only for you, baby.”

His cock spits deep - threads and threads of warm spend that bloom and swell. His grip on you is unforgivably tight - probably bruising - but you just shudder and tremble - pussy twitching with sensitivity as he grinds himself against your plump ass.

He can’t get enough and so he eases himself out of you - drops straight to his knees and spreads you open. The cool air stroking across your flexing cunt - the pearl-white of his cum oozing out of your fluttering hole as he breathes against it. You jerk - your flesh tender and puffy and too wet.

“Flag,” you warn. “Need - need a break.”

He slaps your ass affectionately - pressing a dirty kiss to your parted folds - tasting himself and you and fuck it makes him shiver all over - makes his blood scorch with an untouchable kind of hunger. A swing of adrenaline.

He’s ready to fucking go and he helps ruck your pants up - turns you around and lifts you against the wall before kissing you fiercely.

“You gonna be a good little thing,” he drawls. “Keep me in there?”

You laugh - lunging forward to latch to his mouth - your tongue sweet against his. “Yeah,” you sigh between kisses. “Only if you do what you promised after.”

“I’m nothing if not a man of his word.”

“Then challenge accepted.”

#rick flag x female reader #rick flag x reader #rick flag imagine #rick flag x you #rick flag headcanon #rick flag x y/n #dceu #dceu fanfiction #suicide squad fanfiction #suicide squad #the suicide squad fanfiction #the suicide squad #rick flag

1K notes · View notes

yeyinde · 2 years ago

Text

Godddddd, the way you write is insanely mesmerising. Not only do you craft such rich and immersive stories, but FFYC. Your prose, your plot, your characterisation, the romance, the smut, the drama, the angst, the mutual pining - it all reads in such a perfectly engrossing cadence that I often forget I'm not reading an actual novel I picked up from the bookstore.

As always, this was nothing short of perfection!

He tucks you away, hides you—keeps you purely for the times he can spare a second to truly think and consider you. Sometimes, it’s in the quiet—in the calm. A welcomed retreat, a safe haven. A person who populates a carved space in his mind, one you had barely needed to hack at to make. Because, in truth, he made it for you, found a place that he could store you in for when he felt safe enough to let you out, and he wasn’t sure what that meant.

This was absolutely gorgeous and I felt it in my bones. The slow release of his walls, dropping and falling as he lets her in (not that he has much of a choice because Luna is without a doubt a battering ram in her own right) is so perfectly articulated here.

Javi thinks you’re something more akin to a rain cloud—all set to burst and let whatever it is you hold close fall like raindrops. Maybe they’d be acidic, maybe they’d burn those unfortunate to be underneath, but he’d only care for the relief on your face.

AND AGAIN!!! Another immediate punch to my gut!! YOU GOTTA STOP RIPPING MY HEART INTO PIECES AND THEN MENDING IT WITH LINES LIKE THESE 😭

I love that he's aware of how everyone sees her—a looming thunderstorm, full of kinetic energy and ready to overtake the landscape; something meant to be admired from afar—and, admittedly, it's how he saw her initially, too, but now we get this. Approachable. And, like—sorry. This might just be me kinda weirdly obsessed with biblical imagery but the idea of him seeing her as a raincloud, as rainfall, reminds me so much of a baptism, of sorts. Not in the traditional sense, but more so in the symbolism. Baptism is a newness, a sense of change. It's meant to purge and clear and IDK. It fits where Javi is in his life, and I'm wondering if maybe he's unconsciously pushing her into that direction—as someone who can absolve him, cleanse him—because it's what he desperately needs.

And Luna does, too. ANYWAY. Feel free to tear this into pieces but I just love the idea of rain. Everything feels so new and clean to me!

AND!!! This whole exchange!!!!!

You let your words wash over him, before dropping your hand close to your mug, slowly pushing it toward him. A gesture, a bold one in a sea of eyes. Voice dropping, you flick your eyes up to his, “You can have one sip.” “And, if I take one more, cariño?” Your lips scrunch, a real smile—all teeth and lines in your cheek—so desperate to break out. “You wouldn’t want to know, sir.”

My love language is coffee and banter so this hit me so hard. It's this amazing blend of romance and flirting and AHHHHHHHH HOW DO YOU DO IT??? How do you make the little moments feel so elevated and enlarged?? Loved this!!!

I also adored the little trickle of jealousy flowing in when Luna was speaking to another man — the way Javi immediately gravitated toward her, prodding her for information under the cadence of just making teasing conversation. It bleeds through the lines as something that Javi, from the beginning, would not have done. He'd probably just watch, smoke, and pretend he wasn't thinking about it all day. Of course, that's just my musings, but I love the growth. The way they both unfurl in the relationship—Luna with the coffee (OFFERING HER CUP IN FRONT OF EVERYONE?? HER COVETED COFFEE?? STOP IT!!!!!!) and Javi with inserting himself into her orbit instead of remaining on the fringes.

The smut was incredible—as always!! I love that Luna is already so attuned to him, just knowing he needs comfort.

AHH, these two make me so mushy and gross and I LOVE THEM SO MUCH!!!

a new day - part v of nowhere to run

Javier Peña x DEA!F!Reader

Summary: Determined to do it better this time, Javier Peña returns to Bogotá to take down the Cali Cartel. With a new promotion, office and team, what he doesn’t expect is the pretty thing outside his office—or why they’re not allowed in the field. chapter warnings: season three narcos spoilers. no use of y/n. smut. oral sex (man receiving), angst. bit of emotions are coming outttttt. Wordcount: 6.3k AN: apologies for the lateness, my personal life has just been throwing things at me and I didn't want the emotions to bleed in when i was editing. also, if there's errors, i'm so sorry, i have had no sleep. pls forgive me. as always, huge thank you to @yeyinde who allows me to ramble continuously and to @guyfieriii who is on her way to get me a magazine and send it to me. I adore you both.

series masterlist

“I can’t believe you caught him?”

“Me neither.”

You lean back, eyes wide, twisting the cord around your finger.

“I did call you—last night. After we’d seen him. Rang your place, work...”

Swallowing, you smile. “I, um—“

Looking up as Peña steps out of his office, sliding his tie through the loop, eyes staring over you. Drinking you in. Making every part of you burn up under his gaze.

“—had a date.”

“Oh. How did it go?”

Biting your lip, you watch him. How his brows furrowed, letting your eyes descend down before noticing his tie. How it sat off-centre—all threaded in a rush.

You suspect he’s been ordered to attend a meeting. One likely about the day's events, one with a lot of Colombians, officials and higher-ups. So, you gesture.

The corners of your lips slightly rise, watching his smile slowly grow.

“It was good. Nice.”

Van Ness snorts. “You going to see them aga—actually, fuck this, I don’t think I wanna hear anymore.”

“Wasn’t about to tell you, Van Ness. Hey—I have to go, please be safe.”

“Always am.”

“Says the man catching Narcos—anyway, Stoddard is here, speak soon.”

“He best not be making you drinks…”

“Promise he isn’t.”

You place the phone down, standing up as Peña comes to a halt barely an inch away from you.

“That my name now? Stoddard.”

“Well, you’re struggling to sort your own tie, does seem a Stoddard thing to do, sir.”

He twitches his fingers at his side. Has been doing so since he guided Gilberto out to the flashing lights and clicks of cameras.

The significance of what they’d done—what he had done—crashed into him. Not knocking him off his feet, not even knocking him off his axis. But it kickstarted something.

It truthfully only slid over him when he slid into the seat of a car.

They’d done it. Proved that surrender wasn’t the only option—that they could be caught. Because they had caught one of them. The ones they all said were untouchable. Right in his fucking home, hiding away.

A new lease of life spreads as Javi swallows. A thrum of energy, one which has been missing since before he was sent back to the States, rippling through him as though it had never gone. Disturbing the regret he’d been feeling since…

They’d done it. The thought rolls around, his finger occasionally stroking his bottom lip—sometimes pinching his thigh as the streets flash past the window. Doing so even as his knee hits the door, needing to, just to be certain he’s awake, and not dreaming.

The truth it’s all a reality weaves into his muscles, the adrenaline bursting into his bloodstream—beautifully blending with the newly rejuvenated oxygenated cells that swim to his heart.

He knows there's a shitstorm waiting for him at the embassy. For what he’d done—but, then, they hadn’t really wanted him here for the accolades.

Stechner hadn’t vouched for him because he’d been a rule-follower. More someone to blame, to use.

And now, he’d shown them the sheer proof that it could be done—the surrender could be nil and void. They could get more.

That’s what he’d thought as he had hammered his knuckles into Martinez’s door, pulling on a string marked ‘do not touch’. Hoping he’d be forthcoming—that he’d trust him to work alongside him.

Javi hadn’t been sure if a speech on how much he wanted to do right would make up for what had already transpired. Less excuses spoken, and more acknowledged errors that he’d been determined—foolishly so. Blinded and only seeing through tunnel vision. Focused on the wrong thing; determined, but for what? None of it became clear even when he’d sat in his childhood home—or stood out in the field. The more he looked for answers, the less weight his reasonings had—the fewer excuses he could grasp at why he’d let things poison and ruin.

In the end, he was grateful he hadn’t needed to spout any of that. The sheer opportunity that Javi had brought it to him, had been enough.

Not sure any of his truthful ramblings would have made sense, anyway.

It was a true second chance. A hope which had been living in some recess, brushed off and placed front and centre at his feet. His hand outstretched, watching as Martinez shook his—a truce, of some sort, a promise. Maybe, in the smallest way, an element of forgiveness—not that Javi would allow it. It didn’t mean he’d squander or wreck it either, using it to stand a little taller and ensure his shoulders were a little more square.

It’s why he takes a moment when the car pulls up outside the building. Sitting, spreading his palms in long strokes over his thighs. Catching his breath.

He can already feel how things have changed. Already knows there will be faces turning when he steps inside, the burden of it meeting his shoulders again. Having temporarily moved it, placed it on the floor while he focused on what needed to be done. Now, the music was playing, and the true heaviness of what a second chance meant began to rest on his bones. The true power of doing good didn't just provide accolades, but gifted in moon-eyed agents and hopefulness he felt guilty squashing.

It begins when he steps down the embassy stairs, bodies stopping, turning. His cheeks warming, ears burning as they murmur and mutter. Focusing on it, while another part blindly wants to ignore it as he enters the office. It’s why the first clap doesn’t register.

It takes a moment, the applause slowly raining around him, covering him. Layering in thick noise that soaks into his skin and makes him feel cold, rather than joyous.

The worst thing is, deep down, he knows there’s an old version of him who would have smirked at all of this. Who’d have relished in it. Likely lifted his chin, and shook each hand—man or woman—rather than sinking his chin to his chest like he’s currently doing. Trying to shy from it, get through them all as they begin to move closer, ready to congratulate him—shake his hand.

A part of him knows he should be glad. Should be proud he has somewhat earned the notoriety he walks around with now. A slither of it, anyway.

Finding Stoddard’s hand, he’s the only one he shakes. Not sure what to do with the rest of his body as he lets his eyes move across the room, seeing the closing circle of those wanting to thank him, celebrate and pat him on the back. But, his eyes land only on the pair which pulls him to shore.

Yours.

The one person not clapping—leaning against your desk, head tilted to the side, doing your trademark smirk. The one Javi likes to think is just for him because he pulls it from you so frequently. The one which hits your eyes and shines like the sun on a cloudless day and warms him, even if he keeps trying not to let it.

His heart sinks, just a touch. It’s still floating on the surface of the day and is the only explanation for why it doesn’t fall to his feet. Because as he lets his eyes fall over you he realises it’s the first opportunity he’s had to think of you. To allow himself to think of you.

How he hadn’t had a chance to make sure you got home okay. The last sight of you had been in his office, lips swollen, eyes shimmering with post-lust bliss and your clothes a little off-pristine. Your hand on his wrist, sliding circles into his pulse—all thought-out and considered. You’re gonna get him, Javi. Your teeth chewed the skin of your lip as the words washed over him, a nervousness to you he rarely ever noticed—a slight discomfort in your forced expression.

But he hadn’t asked.

Swallowing, he releases the hand in his.

“–Where you going? C’mon, we want to toast you…”

Hearing Stoddard, but watching you. “Start without me.”

He never questioned the tight expression when you released his wrist, his hand grabbing at things from his desk—all set to walk out, to leave. Be safe, Javi.

It echoes through his ears as he crosses the room, watching as you take a deep breath as the gap between the two of you closes.

Javi could let himself feel it now—the spark and the concern. Could question it—let it fill him. He could find the words to ask why Cali undoes a part of you, why you always place one particular type of mask up when it's mentioned—when someone goes. Unpicking it all, seeing it all as though someone was showing it to him all on video.

Having been so laser-focused before, he’d missed it. Placed them all to the side, noticing the other things—the ones inflicted by others' words and actions, and not the looming one hovering over you as you worked.

Something had happened to you in Cali. Something that was left from the reports.

Now just watching in slow motion as you try to hide what he assumes is relief.

It’s a gift, how you keep people out. One he would admire if he wasn’t on the other side of it and wasn’t able to recognise how quickly and smoothly you were able to slide up the veil which isn’t breachable. While he doesn’t know what monsters live in your wardrobe or which ghosts haunt you, he knows there’s a reason why you can’t tell him too.

A reason why you talk in riddles whenever bureaucracy is mentioned.

A discomfort which ebbs and flows, but never truly meets the two of you, even if it tries to. It did so before he fucked you on his desk. A look so similar to the one you gave him in his office, all soft eyes he wasn’t sure if he could ever earn deserving.

He knows people consider you to be a storm. A restless bundle of anger and lightning—thunder rumbling with every step of your heel.

But, as he comes to a stop in front of you, Javi realises he hadn't seen you like that, not since the first day when you'd tried to convince him you were. Not even as you slide around your desk, using the wooden furniture as a barrier between the two of you.

Ironic, really. When the two of you used one similar as a surface for relief, hours and hours ago.

The one he’s sure is hiding behind the smile he’s being presented with.

“Congratulations, sir.”

He slides his shades from his shirt, nodding at you. Thanking you.

Continuing, you clear your throat, “I think the Ambassador would like to see you.”

You let your words wash over him, before dropping your hand close to your mug, slowly pushing it toward him. A gesture, a bold one in a sea of eyes.

Voice dropping, you flick your eyes up to his, “You can have one sip.”

“And, if I take one more, cariño?”

Your lips scrunch, a real smile—all teeth and lines in your cheek—so desperate to break out. “You wouldn’t want to know, sir.”

Each time he swallows, he tastes your coffee.

Desperate to find a mug, to enjoy one more sip in some silence—even light up a cigarette, if he could be spared. But, it’s one thing, then another. Almost feeling the flutter of anxiety and adrenaline merging into something unheard of.

From the meeting to the note in his file, right to the press conference he had needed to lead.

As soon as it ended, he was led to the staircase—practically shoved off. His feet all heavy, legs like lead as he steps down, ready to hide in his office and release many heavy, simmering breaths.

That had been his plan. His only focus—until he finds you waiting.

Then he thinks of the file room, his place, his desk…

It knots all inside of him—that thrum of disbelief that blends so disastrously with the sudden acknowledgement he doesn’t deserve you. Something he thinks a lot, yet is finding it harder to fight off under tiredness and waning adrenaline.

It isn’t just whatever it is between you—the fun, non-committal thing neither of you are likely to acknowledge—but your mere attendance in his life.

The way you make things brighter, shine something that makes the edges a bit more colourful and meaningful. Not quite ready to allow it closer to the centre, to let it touch the parts of him still tainted in darkness and regret. He doesn’t think even your shine can do that alone.

Wiping a hand over his face, he moves towards you. Absently wondering when you’ve snuck in, having not seen you arrive or between his meeting finishing and arriving here. He’d looked for you, met Stoddard’s eyes and nodded for him to come.

Yet, here you are, shaking someone’s hand as Javi moves past another person, noticing that you’ve removed your jacket, so that he can see the outlines of your bra straps through the back of your blouse. He spots the clipboard pressed to your chest, hand wrapped around another mug—one he soon realises is the one you always give him.

It diminishes, the part of him which wants to protect you from him. From the disappointment he tends to bring and the fact he’s so thoughtless. That even under your occasional frostiness and many secrets, you’re kind… sweet.

It’s why he should blink, and turn away—not that he can tear his eyes away enough to solidify his thought of walking away. Your presence practically demands his attention, even if you’re talking to someone else. Your leg crossed in front of the other, a white pen tucked away behind your ear and hearing, as he moves closer, the Spanish flowing from your tongue. It’s crisp, and clear—rolling beautifully to his ear as the conversation nears an end. The man’s hand in yours, another placed on your arm—squeezing—bidding you farewell.

Something unfurls, and stretches its legs inside of him. Only settling when the man’s hand leaves your arm, leaves the close proximity and is walking away.

“You making friends?”

Shrugging, you smirk. “Apparently so. You looked good by the way.”

“I did?”

Nodding, you hand him the mug. “Yeah. Like you were supposed to be up there. You know, before you get into your head, it should have been someone else.”

He nods, taking a sip, wincing at the strong taste of alcohol—frowning at you as you smile wistfully.

“Thought you could do with something stronger. Also, you doing the conference is smart, I like it—takes the heat off Chris and Dan.”

He nods again, taking another sip. More prepared this time to coat his throat in amber, staring, wondering how you managed to sneak a mug of bourbon to him. Not that he should be surprised. You seemed to manage to do a lot, keep things turning, keep things organised.

“So, sir. How do you plan on celebrating?”

He takes a long drag, raising his brows that hopefully says, I think you already know, and from the smirk, you shoot him back, you do. The two of you fall into a walk, one where your strides match, where your eyes can be on the other but not walk into a thing or soul. Not speaking, not for a minute, your eyes taking him in—raking over him, assessing him for something (or nothing) he can’t be sure.

“Are you waiting for an invite for that or…”

Shrugging, he watches you take the mug back as he narrows his eyes. “Never been one to wait to be asked to be somewhere, cariño.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me,” you comment, sliding closer as you press the button for the elevator. “So, what? You want to take me home and fuck the day away?”

He looks at you, flicking from your eyes to your lips. Watching as you swipe the tip of your tongue against your lower lip. Your body heat is almost smothering his skin—even through his shirt and jacket. “If I ever say no to doing that, cariño. I’ve got brain damage.”

Smirking, you nudge him, the ding of the elevator's arrival making you step back. “If we have a choice, I choose yours. It's fancier.”

“I don't know, I bet you have candles and decorative pillows.”

“That what makes a place fancy in your eyes? The amount of candles someone has.”

“I have no candles.”

Snorting, you shake your head as he presses the button for your floor.

As the doors close, he glances at you, how your expression is fixed on the metal doors.

“I’m glad you came back, Peña.”

He hears it, and conjures another set of words. Ones he heard, ones he had been meaning to acknowledge—until the phone rang. Until life hurtled a thousand things, and then he was flying to Cali.

Javi… I was worried. I was worried about you.

You turn your head, flicking your eyes over him. “Another night, I’d show you how unfancy my place is. Tonight, though…”

He knows. Knew even before the teasing had begun about his place or yours. His thumb strokes over his middle and index finger as he chews his cheek.

“Plus, someone must have come in and knocked all your files on the floor,” you say, a lightness to your tone, “Left your office in a right mess.”

The doors pinged open, only able to watch as you step out—not waiting for him, just leaving him behind, chewing his smirk.

The moment Martinez left his office, he just remained sat on the edge of his desk.

It had taken longer than it should to sink in. The power people had, the corruption, how it bled and rotted in every corner of the place. The enormity of it all, how without his sacrifice and him handing his notice in, it would have all been undone.

Martinez was the good one. The one who hadn't toed the line, hadn't stepped into the grey, hadn't even been selfish. Not like him.

He drained the glass, finished his cigarette—staring at a patch on the floor until his fingers wrapped around the edge, feeling marks along the wood. For a solid minute, he traces them, feels the lines, the deepness to them, until his mind wonders if they’re from you.

No, Javi. Just you. Only you.

It’s instant, the way he darts to his bottom drawer, rummaging through until he retrieves the file—the one marked with your name. The one he’d sourced before, now paying attention to the parts he had ignored then.

From the look on your face, you’re as surprised to see him, as he is that he knocked. A wine glass in hand, the red of it sloshing from side to side as he observes you process his arrival. That he even got out of the car.

“You… know where I live?”

He drops his hand from leaning on the door frame, wiping his mouth. “I know where you live.”

Opening the door, you step aside—hands tugging at your cardigan to wrap it around yourself. “Some could call that stalking, sir.”

“Y’gotta stop with the sirs.”

“Do I?”

You smirk—it spreads up your cheeks until it hits your eyes, before your hand pushes the door closed behind him, keeping your eyes on him.

All he can think is how pretty you are. How beautiful you look, even if you’re all undone—nothing on your face, a baggy t-shirt and some shorts, the thickest socks on your feet.

“Drinking alone, cariño?”

It’s slow, how you lean against the door. Not letting the two of them head further into your place. “Some days justify it. Don’t you think?”

He does.

More than he wants to say—not wanting to spoil your evening. Taint your home with talks of work and bureaucracy. Things he suspects you know more than you’re likely to share. The thick lines through your file are all an indication of it.

You take a sip, and then another.

Adding nothing, just letting him stand there, and he half wonders if you expect him to plead his case here—or whether you’re assessing whether to eject him out of your place as quickly as you left his prior.

Mainly, he focuses on the fact it smells like you. Floral with a hint of darkness—your decor not all that different from his, just with additional touches. Some candles, some colour—some attempt at making the place feel like a home and not somewhere to rest your head.

It’s only in the growing silence does he hear the faint sound of music, something low, involving a guitar thrumming in the background.

“Are you lonely, Agent Peña?”

He places his hand in his pocket, leaning against the wall opposite you.

“No.”

You nod, rolling your lips. “Just in the neighbourhood then?”

He wipes his mouth as his other hand rubs his palm against his index finger in his pocket. Suddenly unsure why he was here—why he’d found your address and come.

Javi wasn’t lonely. Didn’t have the time to be. A sea of paperwork on his desk, the guilt weighing down on him, hearing the colonel's voice over and over—the once pleasant taste of liquor now turning bitter in the back of his throat.

“You forget I know where you live, so I know you’ve come out of your way.”

A laugh escapes and falls from his lips as he dips his head.

It all of a sudden catches up with him, how the day has been a range of emotions. The delicate way things had needed to happen, the thrum of adrenaline—the joy, the meeting, the conference…

Lifting his chin, he finds you still watching him.

No smirk. No smile. All soft edges and a comforting presence—waiting. For what, he can’t be sure, but he kicks off the wall all the same. Sliding his hand from his pocket, softly wrapping it around your hip as he places his forehead against yours, walking you backwards, taking the glass from your hand and placing it down.

He tells himself he needs a moment. A stolen one that doesn’t bleed and change into others. A break in from everything, for a second.

It only shifts when he wraps each finger on your hip, pulling you close. He keeps your shoulder blades against the wall, the guitar strumming increasing as much as his heart is beating. It’s all rhythmic, a remix of a song he isn’t sure of—but one he is tuned into all the same.

It takes his breath away how you look at him. How it’s harder to stop himself from falling into them, worsening as your hand cups his elbow. At first, it’s all shared breath and waiting. Neither moving, his forehead just remaining against yours.

“Are you okay?”

It’s so soft. Barely audible if his body wasn’t pressed against you, as he shakes his head, feeling your fingers slowly sliding in gentle circles around his elbow. Cupping him, keeping him as close as his hands keep you.

“What do you need?”

He says nothing. Afraid that saying ‘you’ is too much. Having hoped the action would speak louder than the words as he stares into you—mixing brown with yours to make a colour artists dream of.

“Hey,” you say again. More demanding, assertive. “Javi, what do you need?”

He doesn’t think, doesn’t attempt to. Embodies the former version of him—the one which had gone to the Colonel’s home, to begin with—the one who takes and takes and takes.

“You drunk, baby?”

He hears you swallow, before slowly shaking your head.

“Good,” he whispers.

Closing his eyes, he lifts his forehead before dipping his head, his mouth captures yours. Javi merges the taste of sweet wine, whiskey and his cigarettes together, creating a taste so intoxicating and delicious he’s not sure he ever wants to come up for air.

Just need you, he thinks as his tongue slips past your parted lips.

Only want you, he urges as he feels your other hand sliding around his neck, deepening the kiss, his tongue able to taste that small whimper you do when he squeezes your hip.

It’s different—but then each time he kisses you is. It has been needy, and passionate. Another, it has been soft, almost meaningful. Now, this time, he’s able to feel how warmth consumes him as you kiss him more purposefully. He deepens it in search of more, kissing you more hungrily, full of need and want.

It’s only when he feels your hand skate over the back of his neck, fingers teasing the bottom of his hair, does he slow. In time, pulling back, pressing his forehead against yours—bruising your hip with his fingers as he takes a few deep breaths.

“Whatever it is…”

“We can’t fix it, cariño.”

It’s cold—the way he says it. Wishing he could retract it the moment he sees your brows scrunch. Instead, he shows no sign of letting up his grip on you. Hoping it’s enough to wordlessly explain that he needs you close, wants you—in fact. Needed to just be around you. Even if he shouldn’t, couldn’t…

He presses two fingers to the side of your cheek, curling them. Your mouth parts, words—likely reassuring ones, knowing what he knows about you—are all desperate to fall and heal over the cracks. But, he shakes his head, watching your lips close as quickly as they had opened, your fingers continuing to draw shapes at the base of his hairline, studying him—searching his eyes.

Then, like a light in a dark room, understanding spreads across your gaze. Illuminating everything, likely connecting the dots in that beautiful—but deeply fascinating—way you do.

“Martinez…”

“Cariño… not, not right now.”

Slowly, you smile, spreading your fingers in his hair—tugging on him, pulling him with far too much ease until his forehead presses back against yours.

“You did this… before.”

A breath escapes his lips. “Yeah…”

“Why’d you come, Javi?”

I needed you.

It wasn’t a lie. If anything, it was more truthful than he cared to admit or accept. Which is why he didn’t say it—didn’t let on that the moment the walls began to tremble, he thought of you. Looked through the blinds, bitterly disappointed you weren’t there to be witty and sarcastic, smirk in that way that gets under his skin and make some flirtatious comment that makes it hard not to kiss you.

He could tell you that. Be honest.

Instead, he says nothing, staring into your eyes until he feels your other hand, the one which has been continuing to grip his elbow, squeeze.

“Okay. Lemme look after you,” you whisper, before kissing him.

Brushing your lips against him, before pulling away and then kissing him again. Testing the waters, looking for some form of permission as he grips your hips, giving it to you. He doesn’t protest when you begin trailing kisses down his jaw. Your fingers sliding around his arm, to his waist, to the belt holding his trousers up.

Holding the base of your neck, he stares into your eyes, feeling your palm brush suddenly over his cock. “You don’t have to, car—“

“Shh,” you whisper.

Slowly, he watches as you lower yourself to your knees, his throat going dry at the mere sight of you. Watching as you grip his cock. All teasingly slow, dragging it out—your tongue sweeps across your bottom lip as you continue to stroke him.

Eyes closing, he lets his head meet the wall. Needing more—almost asking for it.

It’s what you want, he assumes. Because as soon as he reaches the point where he’s going to ask, you wrap your pretty lips around him. Taking note of the way you run your tongue around the head of him before licking a stripe along the underside of his cock. Finding that your eyes don’t leave his—watching what you do to him, enjoying it.

It’s endearing.

A desire building, suddenly wanting nothing more than to watch—how he wants an unrestricted view of such beauty—of you taking him down your throat, of your cheeks hollowing, even if your actions are compelling him to close his eyes.

You’re always pretty—but this is something else. You are on your knees for him.

Taking as much of him as you can, your hand working what you can't fit—his own hand tightening around your head as you wrap his cock in warmth.

He feels you smirking, your mouth pulling back as you swirl your tongue over the head of his cock, a hand grasping the back of his thigh as you hum around him.

“So fuckin’ pretty, cariño.”

The tip of your tongue slides over his slit, making him hiss again—making your name tumble freely from his tongue as he leans himself against the wall for leverage.

“I know,” you whisper, tracing your lips with his slick head, “Come down my throat, Javi.”

He grunts, nails digging into his palm as you take him down your throat. His other hand bites into your head as you take him deeper, his hips spluttering, thrusting against your tongue.

Your eyes have closed.

The window into your need to please him vanishes, and he wants to ask you to open them. To let him see. His finger strokes the top of your cheek, feeling the dampness from a tear at how deep you’re taking him.

How deep you want him down your throat.

His hand aids you, fucking into you as you hollow and moan—it vibrates all around him. It covers and smothers his own grunts and groans. The one you pull from him with ease, because everything with you he is slowly learning is easy. Not complicated—even if the situation is.

All he can think is you’re a fucking goddess, an angel—something he’s now one hundred per cent sure he doesn’t deserve.

He hisses out your name, feeling your hands clutch at him for balance, his moans filling the hallway of your place until he’s coating your throat in his pleasure. You lap up every drop of it, swallowing it—swallowing all of what he’s given you.

You don’t move, not for a minute. Him slowly pulling himself from your mouth, your hand wiping any spend from your lips to your tongue.

“You’re… fucking—”

“Something?”

He snorts, arranging himself before he fastens his trousers, shaking his head. His hand offers out to you, pulling you up from your knees as he adjusts your cardigan—as he places his lips against yours.

“I didn’t… this wasn’t why I came around.”

“Why did you… come round?”

His muscles tighten, swallowing as he stares at you.

Then you smile, placing a hand over his chest, palm flat, fingers spread. “You got anywhere to be, sir?”

Javi is frowning, before the rest of your words sink in. His hand captures yours, holding it flat against him as he shakes his head.

“Because you’re here, may as well let me toast you.”

Some mornings greet him loudly—sweat clinging to his skin, head hammering, and the world chirping.

The morning, it greets him gently, softly. The sun slides through open curtains, a calmer sound of occasional passing cars greeting his ears.

It’s only then that he registers he’s waking beside you. Your warm, soft skin curled against him—his own arm holding you close, keeping you close.

It takes a second for the sleep to flutter past his eyes, glancing at the clock on your bedside table—the one which ticks ever so loudly now he’s awake. It’s obvious the two of you have managed to catch a few hours, remembering how he’d brought you in here—thrown your decorative pillows to the floor with a smirk that you kissed immediately from his mouth.

He had told you he wouldn’t stay.

But, here he is. Now, though, he should move—even if he’s unsure if he wants to.

It’s never been his favourite thing, waking up outside of his own space. Never mind besides someone else. There were occasions and exceptions. He’s not prepared or currently capable of assessing whether you’ve slotted yourself there, either.

All he knows is… he likes it, being here.

Enjoying the fact he’s been allowed to steal a moment of this—of you. Letting himself enjoy it, the sound of your soft inhales and exhales, the way you fit against him—not in a way that looks perfect but simply feels it.

And it scares him. Just a little bit.

That thought returning, the one which bellows and beats the drum that you deserve better: than him, than what he can give you and the life you’d have being around him.

Pinching his nose, he knows he should go to the office. Should begin to unravel the highs and lows of the day prior. Make a start on the paperwork that is already mounting higher than he expected.

Instead, he turns his head. Selfishly admiring the way you sleep so peacefully, how he’d somewhat expected to find a creased forehead or a tightened jaw. A part had also expected to hear nightmares plague you, knowing there’s something there—living in your mind. A bad memory, a past which hammers at you to get out.

He’d half expected to have his own rear its head too.

Instead, he’s sure none had greeted the night air.

If anything, he slept peacefully, soundly. Almost oddly, for the most consecutive hours since way before Escobar was caught. He shuffles against the pillow, eyes widening when he realises and feels your head rolling ever so slightly on his chest. The smallest of movements that had rippled out into hearing you murmur.

Freezing, it dawns on him that he doesn’t want the bubble to burst. Studying, secretly praying he hasn’t woken you, as your lashes flutter and your lips don’t press back together. He’s a passenger, unable to stop the undoing as your brows dip, your fingers spread over his chest—

“J-Javi?”

It’s full of sleep, his name. And fuck, it has never sounded so nice.

He thought it bellowed or screamed as he fucked someone was good, but this… is something else. It takes a chunk from him, snatches it, and renders him thoughtless as you turn your head on his chest, looking up at him, blinking.

“Morning,” he whispers, thumb stroking your cheek. “I’m… I should go, cariño…”

You frown, not like normal—smothered in sleepiness that it doesn’t quite form.

A string is plucked in his chest when your fingers slide over his chest, watching them rub at your face. A desperation rises in him to kiss you, to taste what morning and goodness is like—even if it's coated in unbrushed teeth and last night.

But, it’s his moment to move—his chance. To relieve you of his presence.

Not that he takes it. Instead, he absorbs the moment he was robbed of the first night he took you to his—of seeing you without armour or walls.

“If y’give me…”

“—cariño—“

“… like fifteen, maybe twenty minutes,” you say, words monotone and low as your hand slowly drops from your face to his chest. “I need… really need a shower. Then can come wit’you.”

As soon as you sit up, cool air brushes over the places you’d been against him—goosebumps appearing over his skin as you stretch. His hand lightly grasps your forearm, keeping you from sliding out the sheets completely as he whispers your name.

Lets it slide into the air of your home, around the two of you—the room he secretly wishes could pause time so neither of you had to leave.

Not ready to face the fallout from Martinez, the look of ‘what’s next’ on everyone’s face. Never mind the note clearly from Stechner.

“You don’t… you don’t have to, I need…”

His fingers move to your cheek, sliding over your jaw, only managing a half-breath as you flick your eyes to look over him—stunning him in a shade, he’s not sure truly has a name.

“W-what?”

“Nothing,” he lies.

Following your suit, he sits up, your sheet falling to his waist as he marries his lips back to yours. Fingers finding your chin, keeping you there, stealing another moment, and another. Doing so until your hand wraps around his wrist, thumb stroking a line up and down his wrist.

“I need a shower…”

He snorts. “You don’t have to come with me.”

“I’m normally in an hour or two later anyway—plus…”

“Plus?”

Your lips slide, less of a smirk but more than a smile. “I have to come and ensure you don’t fuck with my organisational system. No other reason.”

“Not one?”

“No.”

He tuts. “I can keep things organised.”

You scoff, light and airy. “Peña, you’ve been here five minutes, and your desk already looks like it’s amassed ten years of files, so—I’m gonna call bullshit. Respectfully.”

“Respectfully?”

“Yes.”

He allows a laugh to escape, light and airy, it falling from him with far too much ease. Pulled from some depths he hasn’t allowed himself to explore.

Sliding from him, you stand, grasping at a t-shirt that begins to mist over your body—hiding your skin, your curves and the marks he’s left from view.

“I… I should say, I don’t mind that you showed up at my place, Javi.”

He traces his mouth with his thumb, looking at you. “Javi, huh?”

You smile, rolling your lips as you sigh. “You wore me down.”

“Go shower, I’ll wait for you.”

Pausing at the door frame, you glance at him, half your body framed in shadow and the other in the morning light. He’s not sure he’s ever seen someone look more beautiful in the earliest hours of a new day.

chapter six ->

#AMAZING #as always!!#javier peña x reader

230 notes · View notes

queen-rowenas · 3 years ago

Text

@starrynightdeancas and @drgarth’s advent calendar event day three: watch a hallmark christmas movie

“This doesn’t make any sense. It’s literally the same story over and over,” Dean complains, slumped back on the couch, face pressed into Cas’s shoulder.

They’re three movies into the Hallmark Christmas movie marathon on television. Cas and Jack had insisted on watching it when they stumbled on the channel. Much more enthusiastic than Dean, Sam and Eileen had fixed everyone hot chocolate before settling into the other couch.

Jack perks from his spot in the floor, leaning against Cas’s leg. “I like them.”

“I mean…Yeah, me too.” Dean feels his face flush. Because it’s still a chick flick. “That doesn’t mean they’re good.”

Cas nods. “Enjoying something isn’t dependent on the quality.”

“Yeah, exactly. But they could at least get a little more creative.” Dean waves around the arm that’s not wrapped around Cas. “There’s always like some big city lawyer and a small town that’s weirdly obsessed with Christmas and a business that’s about to shut down, but then they rediscover the meaning of Christmas and fall in love and save the family business or something.”

Cas sits up, dislodging a disgruntled Dean’s arm, and takes a sip of his hot chocolate. “I appreciate the storyline.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re a sap, babe.”

“Really?” Sam gives him an incredulous look over Eileen’s head. “Cas is the sap. You’re the one trying to merge into Cas’s side and actually getting invested in these movies.”

“I’m not as bad as these two,” Dean says, tucking himself into Cas’s side as the angel sits back and wraps an arm around him. He’s not gonna argue the cuddling thing. He can’t help that Cas is comfortable as hell.

“You were yelling at the movie earlier.”

“She didn’t know why he really left, Sam! She didn’t know he loved her!”

“Yeah, okay,” Sam says, not convinced, “You seem to feel pretty strongly about these movies.”

“The story is still compelling. That’s how they’re able to make millions of them.”

A chill has Dean shivering, and Cas reaches over him to pull up their blanket from where it had shifted down in his rant, tucking it around both of their shoulders. Ignoring Sam’s smug side eye, Dean nestles into his chest, the material of Cas’s sweater soft and warm under his cheek.

Once he’s settled in, he takes a moment to marvel at the fact that this is his life now. He’s watching dumb Christmas chick flicks with his family, his kid sitting cross-legged in the floor, his brother and sister-in-law signing to each other and trying to not disturb the movie with their giggling, his angel wrapped around him. If he were in one of those movies, he’d call it a Christmas miracle.

“I’m rather fond of these movies,” Cas says, contemplative, his chest rumbling as he speaks, “It’s very similar to our lives.”

Dean snorts. “What? How are these movies anything like our lives?”

Cas looks at Dean like the answer is obvious. “Am I not the big city businesswoman secretly looking to escape her busy life and intolerable law firm? And are you not the humble yet charming lumberjack with the heart of gold who shows the businesswoman what really matters in life?”

“Uh…I guess.” Dean is too dumbfounded to make a smart comment about Cas calling him charming.

“And then they work together to defy the law firm and save the Christmas tree farm and fall in love.”

“Yeah,” Dean says quietly, a slow smile spreading across his face despite his burning cheeks, “I guess we are a Christmas movie.”

It’s the cheesiest thing Dean has ever heard. Although most of the things Cas says are pretty cheesy. But Dean has spent years getting used to Cas being painfully earnest about everything, including Hallmark movies. And he loves it.

“I’d watch that movie,” Jack pipes up, adding more whipped cream to his hot chocolate.

Dean smiles, finding Cas’s hand under the blanket. “Me too, kid.”

They’re well into the fourth movie when the protagonist slips on a patch of ice and the love interest catches them. They share a tense moment, a heated look, the music swells, and then they’re kissing.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Dean scoffs, “That never happens. No one does that.”

“Dude, just enjoy the movie,” Sam whispers, careful not to jostle Eileen where she’s asleep on his shoulder.

Cas says nothing, pressing a kiss into his hair. Dean melts into his side under the touch and mutters, “Not realistic.”

Under the lull of the movie and gentle fingers running through his hair, Dean’s eyes start to grow heavy, his head dipping down into the blanket tucked around his neck, and his eyes finally drift shut.

When the marathon ends well into the night, Cas gently shakes Dean awake, and Jack helps Sam and Eileen put their mugs and blankets away.

Cas catches Dean’s hand as he starts to shuffle towards their room. “Jack wanted us to go outside before we went to bed.”

“Seriously?” Dean rubs his eye. “The kid’s already asleep. Can’t this wait until morning?”

“He was very insistent.”

Dean sighs. “Okay. Let me get my boots and jacket.”

Opening the bunker door, Dean sucks in a breath as the cold air hits his face. He blinks against the wind and his eyes grow wide at what he sees. Soft flecks of white flutter down, dusting the ground in white.

“Uh, Cas? Were we supposed to have snow tonight?”

Cas steps up to his side. “No.” He turns his face up to the sky, a slow smile growing on his face.

Dean tugs his collar higher and trudges out into the snow. The night is quiet, the forest softer with the layer of snow, every step muffled under his boots. It’s nice, peaceful.

Perks of having a god for a kid.

He chuckles under his breath and turns to Cas and—

His foot slips out from under him and he tips back, arms spinning to right himself. “Woah!”

A strong arm wraps around his waist and hauls him upright, pulling him in close. Dean’s hands fly up to grip Cas’s arms, his eyes wide, breath puffing between them.

They’re close enough for Dean to pinpoint the different shades of blue in Cas’s eyes, the gentle crease of laugh lines at the corners. There are snowflakes in his hair, giving him a soft halo.

The angel smiles at him, something small and soft and maybe a little smug.

Dean huffs. “Shut up.” And he kisses him.

Cas hums into his mouth and pulls him closer, wrapping his arms around him tighter as Dean brings his hands up to cradle the angel’s face. He’s warm, he thinks distantly.

After a few slow seconds, Dean barely draws back and murmurs against his lips, “If you tell Sam about this, I’ll kill you.”

“Of course,” Cas says, already leaning in for another kiss.

Maybe it’s cliche. Maybe it’s cheesy. But if Dean’s life is kind of like a weird Christmas movie where he gets to be swept up in Cas’s arms and kissed in the snow, he doesn’t mind.

writing tag list pt. 1 (ask to be added or removed)

@10x02 @alivedean @alex-is-a-boy-b-tch @bixlasagna @blue-eyed-cutiepatootie @blue-moon-elf @brokenyouth @butchnatural @carvereracas @casblackfeathers @castiel-for-lunch @castiel-is-a-cat @castielevermore @castielsbeeslippers @ccstiel @clouds-starlight @darthbecky726 @destieldisaster @destielfactory @destielinimpala @donestiel @donvex @dstiel @ensignabby @expectingtofly @feraladoration @folklorecas @fireghost-x @galaxies-of-the-heart @galaxycastiel @good-things-do-happen-dean @heller-swift @himitsutsubasa @how-the-feathers-have-fallen @ialwaysordericedcoffee @immortalcas @im-sam-fucking-winchester @itsshadowdancer23 @jackles-acting-choices @lalisfandoms @littlewolf2703 @llamasdumpsterfire @lookforanewangle @martymar1963 @miniaturereviewmaker @mishha @grinchdean @mostly-marauders-headcanons

287 notes · View notes

elysianslove · 4 years ago

Note

Okay what about part 2 for the recent poly ask asdskskdjdj where yuuji is ramming into reader and they be overstimming megumi? N they all be good cuz we all know yuujis the best at after care 👌

oh shit yes <333 had to think up something a little more creative and so,,, this is extremely filthy. read at your own risk lmfao. you don’t have to read part 1, but i linked it anyways!!

uhhhhhhhhh let me know if you would like more!!

warnings; sex with no proper prep ig? don’t do this irl you’ll probably get hurt. like badly.

yuuji hates foreplay. he’s not a tease, and he’s as impatient as it gets. he’s aware that he’s — big. at least, that’s what you keep whining about every time he fucks you. it’s cute, though, yuuji will admit. the way you flail around and tremble when he first sinks into you having barely stretched you with his fingers. it’s not that he doesn’t absolutely adore having you fall apart on his fingers or his tongue. of course he does. who wouldn’t when your cunt’s as sweet as it is? but those are main events of their own.

right now, yuuji just wants to fuck you.

you’re on his lap, leaning back on his thighs with one hand, while the other is buried between your legs. you’re fingering yourself, trying to stretch yourself open as much as you can for the cock you’re about to take. yuuji’s is more thick than anything, it has so much girth and it’s so wide and fat that every time he fucks you it’s a struggle taking him.

the said boy is sat up, barely, leaning on one elbow as he watches you finger yourself, your small fingers disappearing in your wet cunt with every push and drag of your fingers. megumi is behind him, his entire body trembling, curling in on itself as he shivers. he’s sat on his knees, legs curved inwards, hands resting before his knees as he breathes in deeply, and exhales shakily.

“babeee,” yuuji whines, hand reaching out for you. it settles on your thigh, squeezing thoughtfully. your breath staggers and you let out a shuddering gasp, pulling out your two fingers and adding a third. the fact that it makes you wince forces an eerie chill up your spine.

“hah— yuuji, please be— ugh— patience, baby,” you pant, pushing your hand up off his thigh from behind you and leaning forward. instead, the same hand finds its way to yuuji’s chest as you settle on all fours, continuing to fuck yourself.

yuuji huffs, falling back onto the bed, head tilting back as he glances at megumi. he grins, a little too mischievously for megumi’s liking. “come here, pretty boy,” yuuji urges, and megumi groans, facing him on with a deadpan stare.

“i just came three times, yu,” he notes, a full body chill overtaking him.

yuuji only giggles, hands outstretching above him to grab his thighs, quickly pulling megumi closer till he’s seated right by him. megumi’s half hard cock rests on his thigh, and yuuji cheekily leans up, rubbing his face against it. although megumi himself groans in annoyance and tries to pull away, his cock twitches at the contact, as if it hadn’t just been stimulated for over an hour.

“let’s make it four.”

instead of any warning whatsoever, yuuji grabs your waist, forcing you to fall properly on top of him, trapping you in his embrace. it’s alarming, but also weirdly arousing, how he manages to keep you completely still and unmoving, frozen above him, with only one arm. he’s so strong it’s dizzying.

his other hand reaches beneath him, grabs at his leaking, hard cock and brings it to your entrance. at this, your eyes widen, and your fingers fall from your cunt to try and grab at his cock, at his wrist, to slow him down with a, “no, yu, m’not ready—” you’re quickly silenced by the push of the fat head at your hole, stretching you even wider as he tries to stuff his cock inside of you. your body tenses, thighs trembling and entire body spasming as you clench your fists, eyes shutting tightly as he pushes more and more into you. “ugh, fuck, so big,” you cry, the stretch a burn, but fuck, of course it’s good. so good.

yuuji’s hand leaves his dick, allowing you to take the rest of his cock at your own pace, before both hands reach for megumi again. instead of teasingly caressing at his thigh or stroking at his dick, he grabs the back of his thighs, and lifts him up.

you watch, entranced, cockwarming half of yuuji’s cock as he lifts megumi up, effortlessly, and sits him down on his face, the dark haired boy’s legs on either side of yuuji’s head, facing you.

“yuuji, what the fuck—“

megumi’s forced to swallow his words when yuuji grabs at his thighs and ass, kneading roughly, pushing him closer, lowering and urging megumi to sit properly on his face.

“oh my god,” you hiccup, pushing yourself more along yuuji’s body till his cock’s fully inside of you, your eyes rolling back and back slightly arching, your mouth hanging open. “oh my god, oh my god, oh—“

megumi’s been given front row seats to the whole thing, watching with wide eyes as roll and grind your hips with yuuji’s cock nestled deep inside of your tight cunt. he knows— god he knows how tight you can be, and he knows how big yuuji is. he can’t imagine—

his eyes flutter close just as he first feels yuuji’s tongue flatten against him. how hadn’t he realized that yuuji’s been spreading him open? he’s sitting on yuuji’s face. yuuji’s eating him out. yuuji’s eating him out and you’re sitting on yuuji’s dick and— holy shit, your mouth is on his cock.

the whine he lets out is embarrassingly loud (fuck he sounds like a girl), but he can’t bring himself to care. he’s past the point of caring. he has to be. he’s sitting on yuuji’s face and you’re sucking him off as you ride yuuji. it can’t get more embarrassing than this. he whines again, instinctively rocking his hips and pushing his ass harsher against yuuji’s face, unintentionally and consequently fucking into your mouth.

you pull off of him for a second, grinning up at him through hazy eyes. he can’t really tell if it’s because of the situation you and yuuji have him in, or because of the feel of yuuji’s cock inside of you. either way, you look so fucking pretty. eyes glistening, you say, “you moan like a whore, ‘gumi,” and he keens.

yuuji’s hands keep him open as he sucks and licks at his hole, while you rock your body back and forth, fucking yourself on both yuuji’s cock and megumi’s. megumi’s hands are everywhere: in your hair, cupping your jaw, digging into your shoulders, scratching at yuuji’s chest and collarbones, gripping at yuuji’s forearms. it’s so beautiful how he seems so responsive despite the fact that he’d just cum three times.

does he even have any more to give?

let’s make it four, yuuji had said. you hear him loud and clear, and leaning forward, you swallow around megumi’s cock. the wail that follows is music to your ears.

for a moment, you wonder how long he’ll last this time.

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader #megumi x reader #fushiguro megumi x reader #megumi x reader smut #megumi smut #itadori x reader x fushiguro #itadori x reader x megumi #itadori x reader #itadori yuuji x reader #itadori smut #itadori yuuji smut #sal's thirst tag <3

1K notes · View notes

1kook · 4 years ago

Text

ZOOM CALL

⇢ meeting two

jeon jungkook x (f) reader

⇢ series masterlist

summary: Most notably, there’s one group project waiting for you, which leads you to Friday. Sitting at your desk, bright and early, absolutely dreading being assigned to your group. genre: fluff, slice of life, smut (tags tba) warnings: ITS A SLOW BURN OKAY...., sweetheart jk, campus crush jk, college crushes, social distancing, zoom -_-, jk owns a keroppi plush, oc thirsts over his hot bod, jk’s sweet attempts at flirting </3 he’s just 2 cute for his own good ratings: e for everyone <3 wc: 3.7k

notes: this took long bc i wrote one version but it was SO LAME u guys r lucky my friend and editor ( @kigurumu 🖤 ) stopped me from posting it. so then i had to reorganize my thoughts n b like girl. the ppl are waiting. get it together. anyway here’s zoom jk 😎

Being grouped with Jeon Jungkook (he/him) for your first class on the first day of your first Zoom semester truly sets the standard.

By no means do your other classes suck; they’re quite enjoyable, more relevant to your area of study. They’re familiar which makes them comfortable, your Zoom meetings filled with faces you’ve seen time and time again the last four years. The material interests you, so you definitely don’t have anything against them or your classmates.

That being said, no one is prepared for the awkwardness that comes with each and every Zoom meeting. You never thought you’d be embarrassed to turn your mic on— to speak in a class filled with your peers. And the meetings are all like that, filled with uncomfortable silences and endless black screens.

You wish there was a Jeon Jungkook (he/him) in every class.

Jungkook’s just got this bubbly aura to him, this magnetic presence that staples itself into the back of your mind with each passing day. No one fills a Zoom call like he does, making every person laugh and smile like him.

Wednesday rolls around and you find yourself a little disheartened when you don’t get sorted into the same randomized group as him again. Disappointment melts into annoyance when you find out how incompetent your other classmates are, refusing to speak in the small group or just completely clocking out all together. A lot of them didn’t do the reading— the one you stayed up all night doing —and your first partnered assignment of the semester finds you doing it all by yourself. Muted mics, black windows, complete radio silence; you hated it all.

You find yourself weirdly longing for Jeon Jungkook��s presence, even if he’s only there to talk about some movie he saw last night. No one is as much of a chatterbox as him, can’t even hold a candle to the way he draws everyone in with his mindless conversations. At least he speaks during Breakout Rooms, you think bitterly.

Anyway, the first week of classes ends and your brain is a frenzied mess. There’s schedules to memorize, professors to impress, assignments to plan out. There’s definitely no time to sit around and fantasize about the curly haired cutie in one of your general classes. The weekend is spent trying to organize your planner, filling in due dates and exam days ahead of time. It’s your last semester and you’re dead set on making it your best one yet. There’s a lot of written work this time around, analyses and research papers that need to be organized. The road ahead is manageable, but you’ll have to work hard to keep it that way for the next five months.

Most notably, there’s one group project waiting for you, which leads you to Friday. Sitting at your desk, bright and early, absolutely dreading being assigned to your group.

Jungkook is early this time, not like on Monday where he’d been one of the last to filter in, and he’s looking as chirpy as ever. Donning this horrendously hot pink shirt, completely unlike the neutral tones he’d worn during your last two meetings and that decorate his room, and the cutest pair of circle glasses sitting on his nose. He says his regularly scheduled ‘good morning’ to you all and receives a collective response from the rest of the class that not even your professor got.

Speaking of the professor, you’ve been giving him the stink eye this whole time. Not that he can tell, given the fact he’s probably miles away in his own home while you angrily glare at him through your webcam. It’s this old guy who’s decided to sort you all into semester long groups for the class, which is the absolute worst. These types of groups always go the same way: you make a group chat promising to study together, those plans fall through, and then everyone just leeches off of each other for homework answers. And in most cases, it’s you handing over your homework answers because no one else ever bothers to do anything. Sadly, it’s a routine you’ve had to suffer through many times in your academic career.

The thought makes you sick. Having to spend another semester being labeled as the bossy, nerdy dictator of the group? Not exactly how you wanted to spend the last few months of college, but there’s nothing you can do. Maybe this time around you’ll just let it be, won’t fight it (and by it, you mean your lazy classmates when they inevitably try to guilt trip you for homework) and simply let it run its course.

“I’m going to put you guys into Breakout Rooms with your new groups!” your professor claps excitedly, and then you and the rest of your classmates are forced to watch him lean too close to the camera as he begins clicking around to find the preset groups he’s assigned the class. “Remember, guys, this is it for the rest of the semester. So if something isn’t right, let me know by the end of today.”

Man, this was going to suck, you groan. The syllabus had said that the purpose of these groups was to keep you all connected with your classmates during these trying times, to give you the same opportunities in-person learning would. Frankly, you’re not too worried about making friends with everyone in this large class. Most of them are younger than you anyway, save for Jeon Jungkook (he/him) and a handful of others who are apparently in your year. Befriending lowerclassmen only to have to bid them adieu in a few months seems awfully sad, a little too heartbreaking. You really just want to get a good grade in this class, collect the last of your credits, and put this whole college experience behind you.

Your thoughts are wrapped up by the pop-up message that appears on screen.

The host is inviting you to join a Breakout Room: Group 12

You sigh, contemplate dropping this class for all of two seconds, before dutifully accepting the request. Worse comes to worst, you make up some lie to tell your professor that you’re allergic to group work and hope it works. (It won’t.)

You sit through the mandatory loading screen for a few seconds before being abruptly dumped into your new room, Group 12, or so the message had said. There’s no one else here yet, which isn’t really a surprise. A lot of your classmates are probably like you, scowling at the pop up message every time your professor sends you into small groups before accepting the request. So you chill by yourself, eyes tracing over your own mirrored image. The notes on last night’s reading are neatly laid out before you, your copy of the book off to the side.

Another beat and then, much to your surprise, Jeon Jungkook (he/him) is appearing in your room. “Oh,” he says, round eyes magnified by the thick lens of his glasses, the glare of the computer’s glow casting a funny shape across the lens that momentarily robs you of his pretty eyes. His pretty pink lips stretch into a smile, upper lip thinning out a bit when he flashes you those perfect teeth. “Hi, __,” he greets politely, bubbly.

It’s embarrassing how much his presence affects you, your back going ramrod straight in a terrible attempt to compose yourself. “Hi, Jungkook,” you manage to get out, fingers nervously reaching for something, anything, to ground yourself. They land on a pencil.

Jungkook doesn’t seem even the slightest bit aware of the commotion he causes within you. “I was really nervous for these groups,” he begins rambling right away, lips pushing down into an exaggerated frown as he shivers at the memory. “But I’m glad I got placed with someone hardworking like you!”

Despite how sweet he sounds, you’re not entirely sure if he’s buttering you up just to take advantage of your ‘hardworking’ attitude later down the road or if he’s genuinely being polite. The little information you know about Jungkook wants you to believe it is the latter; he’s very kind, sweet and nice in a way that makes everyone he speaks to feel warm. Still, for all you know this could be some elaborate ruse of his to make you trust him now and then convince you to do all the work for the rest of the semester.

Tentatively, you ask, “and how would you know that?” You try your best to keep your usual snappiness out of your voice, pose it simply out of curiosity. But everything you say or do feels like a stark contrast to Jungkook and his bubbliness.

His head tilts cutely to the side, imploring brown eyes looking at you for one hard second. And then, “I read your forum analysis from Wednesday,” he admits, breaking into a smile. Shy and tiny, bashfully looking down at his desk. “I thought your perspective on the piece was really interesting,” he says, lips pursing together as if he’s suddenly too embarrassed to admit such things to you.

Stunned, all you can manage is one slow nod. “Thank you,” you eventually choke out, trying to ward the heat away from your cheeks as Jungkook sheepishly nods back, cute smile still on his face.

“Oh, please,” he chuckles, raising his hand to rub at the back of his neck. “Don’t thank me!”

It is in this exact moment that you are suddenly made aware of two things.

One: despite his collection of soft sweaters and t-shirts, his bouncy curls and sweet smile, Jeon Jungkook’s body is neither as cute nor as soft as any of his belongings. In fact, Jeon Jungkook’s body is all hard planes and prominent veins. Arms beefy, biceps that bulge beneath the fabric of the short sleeve t-shirt he’s donned today. His shoulders fill out the material nicely, making him look broad and huge, but that’s not even the worst part, because—

—two: Jeon Jungkook is covered in ink. Dark streaks and swirls paint his forearms, curling around his elbow. Every inch of his pale skin is littered with tiny designs. They dance along the back of his hands, over his knuckles, and end at an unidentifiable point beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt. When he tugs at the neckline of his shirt in an effort to readjust it, you hope your eyes are deceiving you and that isn’t a hint of ink by his collarbone.

Your normal composure seems to slip away at the mere thought.

It’s Jungkook’s voice that brings you back, a soft timbre that asks, “aren’t we supposed to have someone else in our group?” You flinch as if you’ve been caught ogling him, never mind the fact he’s started mindlessly shuffling some papers around on his desk, not the slightest bit concerned with you.

“Oh— um, yes. I think,” you stammer, feeling like some creep for ogling your very cute, very sweet classmate. The memory of his inky skin nearly sends a shiver down your spine as you navigate back to the class syllabus. “We’re supposed to have at least three people,” you read off, glancing at the boy on your screen who frowns at the news.

“Do you think they dropped?” Given it was still only the first week of school, probably. There had been a fewer number of people in the call when it started, you remembered. Jungkook sighs, this rather light sound that ends in a hum. “Well, we can always wait a few minutes just in case.”

So you wait, nervously bouncing your leg up and down. It’s not awkward, or at least, not as awkward as it would be with anyone else. The other week you had silently sat with another classmate in a one-on-one discussion and hadn’t uttered a word for five minutes. It wasn’t because you didn’t care about the class, but because said classmate had been tapping away on their phone the entire time and hadn’t even responded to your simple greeting. That was awkward.

With Jungkook it’s more weird than awkward. You can tell the silence makes him uncomfortable because he keeps doing these tiny inhales like he’s about to speak, followed by a little head shake where he seemingly stops himself from saying anything at all. He wants to talk, very badly it seems, but holds back for some odd reason.

He’s scribbling on some sheet of paper, leaning forward to give you a view of the top of his head. From this angle, his shirt hangs forward and a silver necklace falls out from beneath the neckline, thuds against the table. And then your suspicions are nearly confirmed, and oh god, is that a chest piece—

You quickly look away.

Robbed of his handsome face and feeling like you’ll die if you look at his body any longer, you settle for your newly acquired favorite pastime: inspecting your classmates’ rooms over Zoom. Yes, you’ll admit it is incredibly nosy, but what else can you do? You can only look at your professor for so long until you inevitably grow bored, attention drifting off to your classmates tiny windows. And with no professor in sight, just gorgeous Jeon Jungkook, you quickly begin your examination of his bedroom.

Jungkook’s room is pretty much the same as you remember it, rather neat and plain. There’s not a lot going on in terms of decoration, which is a little surprising to say the least. Over the course of the week, you’ve watched your classmates’ dormitories and bedrooms gradually change, decorations and tapestries decorating the walls, mountains of pillows added to their beds. It’s only natural that everyone has an innate need to show off who they are now more than ever, and you thought Jungkook would be the same.

Apparently not.

Aside from the guitar you had spotted on Monday, his little dorm room remains unchanged. Blank walls, grayscale sheets. The same perfectly fluffed pillows and then—

A tiny Keroppi plush smack dab in the middle of his bed.

It’s adorable but a little out of place amongst Jungkook’s rather masculine decorations (or lack thereof). A tiny green doll sitting by his pillows, cute striped shirt and ridiculously dopey smile.

Leaning forward, you unmute yourself and conversationally say, “I love your Keroppi.”

At the sudden sound of your voice, Jungkook abruptly straightens up, glasses practically at the very tip of his nose. Eyes wide, it takes him a second to process your words before jerkily whipping around to stare at the aforementioned item. “Oh,” he jumps, slowly looking at his screen again, lips pulled into a tight line. “Um… it’s not mi—“

“It’s adorable,” you add, propping your chin in your palm, absolutely endeared with the rosy color that paints his cheeks, fades down the column of his neck.

He squirms, hurriedly pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He looks like he’ll deny it again, nervously nibbling at his lower lip, before eventually he settles with a sigh. “I won it from a crane machine,” he confesses with a sheepish huff of laughter, rolling backwards to the edge of his bed to snatch it from its spot.

(Of course he manspreads as he sits, dark jeans hugging his thighs as he rolls back your way. His arm looks so strong, covered in all that ink, you nearly drool.)

“It’s cute, isn’t it?” he says, abandoning his embarrassment as he shakes the little figure around, makes it look like it’s dancing for you. “My mom said it looks like me.”

At that, you laugh. Loud and boisterous because you were definitely not expecting Jungkook to say that, such an odd but weirdly fitting comparison that has you looking at the doll in his hands with renewed interest. And through the pixelated screen, you can see the similarities: Jungkook does have the same smile as Keroppi.

“Your mom was right,” you agree, wiping a faux tear from the corner of your eye. “Very cute.”

Jungkook’s got this big goofy smile on, shaking his head in disbelief that you would ever dare agree with his mom. Like he’s genuinely enjoying himself, you think, oddly proud to have evoked that reaction from him. Granted, Jungkook always looks like he’s pretty happy during class, but it feels nice knowing that you were (confirmed) the reason why.

A little caught up with the bumbling feeling in your chest, you’re not expecting his next words. “Does that mean I’m cute?” he asks, still with that same dopey smile on his face.

It’s a bold statement you wouldn’t have expected from him, someone who seems content being the world’s friend, but apparently Jeon Jungkook also craves compliments.

Slowly, you nod. “...yes,” you say, trying to keep the tumultuous emotions inside of you at bay while you grant him this one compliment. Outwardly, you give him what you hope is an obviously feigned look of disbelief, managing to lace it with a little amusement as you shake your head at his inquiry. On the inside, your mind and heart are a thundering racetrack, the roar of the engines and the screams of the crowd enough to momentarily make you lose your senses. “Very cute,” you repeat, hoping he can’t hear the same pounding of your heartbeat in your throat and in your ears as you do. “Like a little frog.”

Jungkook graces your robotic response with the most boyish laugh, head tossed back as one loud cackle (because, really, there is no other way to describe the sound that tears itself from his throat) escapes him, curls bouncing back from the movement. “Cute like a frog,” he wheezes, seemingly to himself as he shakes his head with a grin, scooting closer to the camera again. “That’s a new one.”

“You set yourself up for it,” you defend, busying yourself with the papers spread out in front of you before Jungkook can distract you any further. “Anyway!” you announce, neatly lining the papers up. “Our group.”

Jungkook does his best to wipe the glee off his face, but even as he reaches around for his things, it’s still there. “Right,” he agrees, “we have to, um—“ a huff of laughter “—group contract! Or, well, partner project.”

Briefly, you consider calling in your professor to inform him of your missing partner. He had said to let him know by the end of today if something was wrong. But, honestly, you didn’t see a problem with your group the way it was now. While you can only hope he’ll turn out to be as dedicated to his work as you, as it stands now, there weren’t any major red flags surrounding Jungkook’s character.

Besides, you didn’t mind being with him for the rest of the semester.

You nod, forcing yourself to ignore the glimmer in his eyes when he looks at you through the screen. “I think it’s safe to say it’ll just be the two of us, which I don’t mind,” you say, glancing at the time on the corner of your screen to see five minutes have passed since you agreed to wait. “Do you?”

On screen, Jungkook profusely shakes his head, curls bouncing all over the place. “Nope,” he hums. “I don’t mind at all,” he reassures you, resting his chin in his palm as he regards you, and then sweetly adds, “it’ll be nice with just us, __.”

Right.

You gulp, heart fluttering at the dreaminess he exudes through your screen, the soft strand of hair that falls over his forehead, tickles his brow bone when he flashes you another smile. He was so handsome. Before you say anything silly, you quickly attempt to move on. “But it does make us more of a duo than a group.”

Jungkook looks away from his screen for the first time in what feels like forever and you finally let your heart rest for a second. “A duo,” he murmurs, shuffling through his papers. “Like Mickey and Minnie?”

You nearly choke on your spit, coughing to hide the surprise from his rather cute suggestion. He’s not even looking at you, doesn’t even realize the absolute shock he’s thrown you in by comparing the two of you to one of the most famous couples— that’s what they are, a goddamn couple, not a duo! the words mean two completely different things! —in the world. Instead, Jungkook is humming the theme song to Drake & Josh.

This man was dangerous for your heart.

After having felt all the emotions in the world in the span of ten seconds, you eventually gather the courage to say, “sure,” and quickly try to move the conversation along. “We just need to, um, make some ground rules and responsibilities for us to follow.”

Jungkook nods, finally glancing up again, but not at you. He’s glaring at some point behind his computer, brows furrowed together as he begins brainstorming on his own. You try to, really, but his lips pout adorably when he’s deep in thought, and they’re just so pink and look so soft and would feel like—

“Well, we should probably exchange numbers first,” Jungkook says, interrupting your spiraling thoughts with a new topic to spiral over. He tilts his head to the side, brown eyes focused on you.

“Yes, of course,” you stammer, fumbling for your phone as Jungkook lets out a soft yay at your acceptance of his request. Quickly, he recites his number and you type it in with trembling hands into the number pad, giving him a quick call so he can have your number as well.

You save him right away, just his name followed by the class you share with him. Not like you know any other Jeon Jungkooks, and if you did, you doubt anyone could ever leave such an impact like this Jeon Jungkook.

“__, look,” Jungkook calls, that same excitement lacing his already lovely voice, and you raise your head up at the screen again. He’s waving his phone over his camera, so you don’t get to see his face when he says, “It’s a little mouse emoji and a pink bow— just like Minnie!”

Dangerous for your heart and, most likely, the death of you this semester.

#networkbangtan #bangtanhq #jungkook fic #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #bts smut #bts fic #jjk smut #jeon jungkook smut #jjk♡#mine

2K notes · View notes