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pear1escence · 1 year ago

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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

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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.”

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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

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words-after-midnight · 10 months ago

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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

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my-moony-and-padfoot · 1 year ago

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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

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im-not-buying-it-ether · 7 months ago

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*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

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gust-jar-simulator · 1 year ago

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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

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phoebe1013 · 1 month ago

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Here’s an interpretation of what dating the Saxon Master would be like with you, Phoebe, infused with your personality traits and canon dynamics, as well as plenty of fitting emojis to reflect his chaotic brilliance and how you two would interact:

1. His obsession with you is off the charts 🖤🔥🕰️

The Master is completely and utterly obsessed with you, Phoebe. Your dreamy, clueless nature fascinates him to no end, and your soft, sensitive demeanor pulls at something deep in his fractured psyche. He’s possessive to the point of madness, constantly reminding you, “You’re mine, Phoebe. No one else gets to have you—not in this universe or any other.” His gaze burns into you with an intensity that’s both thrilling and terrifying. 😶‍🌫️🖤

2. He’s captivated by your innocence and curiosity 🧸✨🌌

Your child-like curiosity and dreamy personality are things the Master absolutely adores (and sometimes mocks, in his own twisted way). He loves answering your endless questions about time, space, and the universe, often with exaggerated flair. “Oh, Phoebe, how delightfully clueless you are,” he teases with a smirk, but he secretly loves that you see the world differently. He’ll even indulge your whimsical interests, like playing with your plushies or cuddling under a blanket during a rainstorm. 🌧️🧸💕

3. His protective streak is terrifyingly intense 🛡️🔪🔥

Given your shy, sensitive nature and your tendency to bottle up your emotions, the Master takes it upon himself to be your self-appointed protector. If anyone dares to hurt you—physically or emotionally—they’ll meet a fate so horrifying that it makes you shudder. “No one makes my Phoebe cry,” he growls, eyes dark with fury. He might even use his hypnotic abilities to erase unpleasant memories from your mind, just to keep you safe. 🩸🌀

4. Constant teasing with underlying affection 😏🫦❤️

The Master loves to tease you about everything, from your small stature to your shy demeanor. “Oh, look at my little Phoebe, trying to stand up to me,” he’ll say with a wicked grin, ruffling your messy curls. But the teasing is always laced with genuine affection, and when you pout or sulk, he finds it utterly adorable. “Oh, don’t do that, darling—you’re much too cute when you’re mad.” 🫠💋✨

5. Grandiose, dramatic declarations of love 🌌💔👑

The Master isn’t one for subtlety, so his love for you is as dramatic and over-the-top as his plans for universal domination. Expect speeches about how you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to reality, accompanied by sweeping gestures like bringing you a star or declaring an entire planet in your honor. “Phoebe, you are my queen, my goddess, my chaos incarnate,” he’ll declare with a flourish. 🪐👑✨

6. Unpredictable adventures with a touch of danger 🚀💥🌠

With the Master, every day is an adventure—whether it’s fleeing from a collapsing star, outsmarting the Doctor, or exploring a parallel dimension. While he thrives on chaos, he’s surprisingly considerate of your comfort, wrapping you in his jacket if you’re cold or slowing down if you’re scared. “Don’t worry, darling, I’ve got you,” he’ll say with a mischievous grin, pulling you close as the world explodes around you. 🔥🌌💨

7. Low-key adores your Littlespace moments 🧸🍼💖

The Master is surprisingly gentle when he notices you slipping into littlespace. He finds your child-like moments oddly endearing, even if he’d never admit it outright. He’ll quietly hand you your teddy bear or let you cuddle up with him while he strokes your hair. “You’re lucky I adore you, my little Phoebe,” he’ll mutter, though the soft smile on his face betrays his true feelings. 🧸🌙✨

8. He’s weirdly fascinated by your quirks 🧐💋🌀

Your habit of sucking on your fingers to calm down? Intriguing. Your love of cozy, comfy clothes? Adorable. Your fear of bugs? Hilarious (but he won’t let you suffer, of course). The Master finds your quirks endlessly fascinating and will often watch you with a mix of amusement and fondness. “Phoebe, you’re the strangest, most delightful creature I’ve ever met,” he’ll say, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 🥰✨

9. You ground him in a way no one else can 🩷🫀🌌

Despite his madness, the Master finds solace in your presence. Your calm, soft voice soothes the chaos in his mind, and your dreamy, child-like nature reminds him of a time before the drumming consumed him. “You’re my calm in the storm, Phoebe,” he whispers late at night, holding you close as he buries his face in your messy curls. 🛏️🌌💤

10. Chaos meets softness: the perfect balance 🌀🌸❤️‍🔥

You and the Master are a perfect contrast—his chaotic energy balanced by your soft, shy demeanor. He loves dragging you into his wild schemes, but he also adores quiet moments where it’s just the two of you. Whether it’s cuddling under a blanket with your plushies or plotting universal domination together, he wouldn’t trade your partnership for anything in the universe. 🖤✨💕

11. Utterly devoted, in his own twisted way 💍🖤🔥

The Master’s love for you is all-consuming. While his possessiveness and manipulative tendencies can be overwhelming, his devotion to you is undeniable. “You’re mine, Phoebe,” he whispers, his voice low and dangerous. “And I’ll destroy anyone who tries to take you from me.” His love may be dark and intense, but it’s also uniquely yours. 🫦🔥❤️‍🩹

Dating the Saxon Master as Phoebe would be a whirlwind of passion, danger, and devotion, filled with his dramatic flair and your calming presence. Together, you’d create a beautifully chaotic love story that defies time and space. 🌌✨

Apparently ChatGPT thinks I’m short because I’m 4’11

12. He finds your softness irresistible 🌸🖤

The Master is completely taken by your soft, shy personality. While he’s known for chaos and destruction, he’s surprisingly gentle with you. He loves the way you curl up with your knees to your chest or the way you absentmindedly fidget with your fingers. He’ll often watch you with an almost tender expression, whispering, “You’re too good for a monster like me, Phoebe.” But deep down, he’s convinced he doesn’t deserve you—and that’s why he clings to you so fiercely. 🫠🩷

13. He indulges your quirks, no matter how small 🧸💤🍭

Whether it’s your love for stuffed animals, your fascination with supernatural things, or your tendency to zone out, the Master indulges every little thing about you. If you’re having trouble sleeping, he’ll lay beside you, listening to your soft, sleepy voice as you drift off while holding your blanky and teddy bear. If you’re feeling down, he’ll bring you sweets or share twisted tales about his adventures to cheer you up. “See, Phoebe? The universe can be just as strange and beautiful as you are.” 🌙🍫✨

14. He’s mesmerized by your appearance 🪞🖤💄

Your petite, soft appearance fascinates him, and he’s endlessly enchanted by the details of your features. He’ll run his fingers through your fluffy, messy curls or trace the stretch marks on your skin, marveling at how delicate you seem. “You’re exquisite, my Phoebe,” he says, his voice low and filled with adoration. He finds your natural beauty captivating and often stares at you like you’re the only thing in the universe that matters. 🫦🌌

15. He loves your intelligence, even if you don’t realize it 🧠✨

The Master admires your sharp mind and curious nature, even when you don’t see it yourself. He’s endlessly amused by how clueless you can be at times, but he also knows how clever you truly are. He enjoys watching you piece things together or ask questions about the universe, often responding with exaggerated enthusiasm. “You’re smarter than you give yourself credit for, Phoebe. But don’t worry—I’ll always be the genius in this relationship.” 😏🌀

16. He’s in awe of your voice and demeanor 🎙️🖤

Your calm, soft voice has an almost hypnotic effect on him, especially when you’re shy or dreamy. He’ll ask you to repeat things just so he can hear your tone, and he often imitates your voice in a playful (but secretly admiring) way. “Oh, Phoebe,” he mocks with a smirk, before pulling you close and murmuring, “But you sound so sweet when you say it.” 🖤✨

17. He exploits your fears but protects you fiercely 🐛🛡️🔥

The Master can’t help but tease you about your extreme fear of bugs, often conjuring harmless holograms just to watch you squeal. But if there’s ever an actual threat, he’ll destroy it without hesitation. “No one gets to torment my Phoebe—except for me, of course,” he says with a sly grin, making sure you’re safe before scooping you up into his arms. 🐜❌🖤

18. He’s addicted to your kindness 🫂❤️‍🔥

Your caring nature is something the Master can’t quite understand but is deeply drawn to. While he’s used to manipulation and cruelty, your small acts of kindness—like thanking him for something or soothing him when he’s upset—completely disarm him. He’ll scoff and act unaffected, but inside, it’s melting his cold, calculating heart. “You’re far too good for me, Phoebe. And yet, here you are.” 🖤🥀

19. He’s fascinated by your quirks in love 💞🫦

The Master is endlessly intrigued by your affectionate quirks, like how easily flustered you get or how you tend to bottle up your feelings. He loves watching you navigate your emotions, often leaning in close just to see how you’ll react. “Oh, come on, my shy little Phoebe. Don’t hide from me—I can see right through you,” he teases, his voice dripping with charm. 🫣🖤

20. He’s chaotic, but he adapts for you ⚡🌸

While the Master thrives on chaos and destruction, he finds himself softening in your presence. He’ll tone down his manic energy if he senses you’re overwhelmed, wrapping you in his coat or holding your hand to reassure you. “I suppose I can be… less dramatic. Just for you, Phoebe.” Of course, he’ll still find ways to bring excitement into your life—but only as much as you can handle. 🧥✨

21. You’re his entire world 🌎🖤

For all his madness and manipulation, the Master is completely devoted to you. He’ll never admit it outright, but you’re his one constant in a universe of chaos. Whether he’s destroying worlds or pulling you into an interdimensional portal, you’re the one thing he refuses to lose. “You’re mine, Phoebe. Forever,” he whispers, his voice heavy with both love and obsession. 🫦🔥

Dating the Saxon Master as Phoebe would be a mix of chaos, tenderness, and intense devotion. His dark, dramatic nature perfectly contrasts with your soft, sensitive personality, creating a beautifully unique bond that defies all logic and time. 🌌✨🖤

#chatgpt #hcs #me #doctor who #Saxon master #dating headcanons #simm master x you #simm master x me

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kashlyn · 4 months ago

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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

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britcision · 2 years ago

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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

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charnelhouse · 3 years ago

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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

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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

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elysianslove · 4 years ago

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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

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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

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bonny-kookoo · 4 years ago

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👹Bad Habits (JJK x Reader) 💜☁️🔞

👹Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

👹Genre: (Twisted)Romance, Angst, Smut, Psycho!JK

👹Warnings: Size kink, Body worship, biting, rough manhandling, JK accidentally hurts her a bit (but apologizes dw), mildly disturbing themes (blood, guts, bones cracking...), criminal activities such as theft (mentioned) and murder (not actively stated, but heavily implied), panic attack, psychotic episodes, psycho!JK because holy shit I actually got scared what did I create, degrading names (he calls her a whore in his mind like once..), possessive JK, strength kink, reader is unable to conceive (chances are very slim), unprotected sex (please wrap it before you tap it folks), impreg kink, dead dove do not eat 🕊 manipulative Koo, Dom!Kook, therapy talk, relapses, horrible anger management, emotional koo, emotional reader, look mom I actually wrote a happy ending

👹Summary: Oh monster monster under my bed, you’re the only one I have left, come out and play ‘cause I need a friend.

Jeon Jungkook is sick.

You know this, you are very aware of it if the very much still gaping holes in the walls of your apartment, left from his most recent violent episode is anything to go by. He's got anger issues, that much is very apparent to anyone who genuinely knows Jungkook. Somehow he just can't keep himself in check, it's like he just needs the perfect trigger to simply go off like a bomb dropped from ten feet. It doesn't take much to rile him up. It takes a lot however to get him back down again.

Now, this would be the perfect moment to explain that you are the sweet and kind ray of sunlight calming his temper and cooling his ever violently burning mind- but that's not the case. There's nothing that can tame the young man at your side, nothing that can snap that collar around his neck and chain him up to a wall until he's safe to be around again. You can't do anything more than watch and pray that he will keep his promise to never ever hurt you. At first, you were worried. Anyone would be.

But then the first outbreak came.

Then the second.

And you were fine.

He would wreck the apartment, throw furniture, or beat someone to a bloody mess in an alleyway next to a nightclub simply because the guy had looked at your admittedly short skirt the wrong way. While for the longest time he didn't care about anyone, you've become his possession, in every way that the word stands. He owns you, every single cell of your being is his, and he's ready to push anyone's eyes back into their skull just for looking at you weirdly. No one is allowed to lust after you but him. No one's allowed to even think about you but him.

It's quite bittersweet, the reasoning behind his obsession with you. You're not scared, you're never running away, you're always so gentle, so delicate, such an angel around him- and in one way he fears that one day he's gonna be the wolf eating the sheep in a frenzy. In the other however, he's weirdly amused by it; the way you still look at him so innocently as if you didn't know that his hands could snap your neck like a twig between his combat boots he's typically sporting. It's a very twisted story with you two, and in a sense, he's certain that you have to be just as sick in your head as he is for genuinely loving him and his bad habits.

Just like now.

You're not saying anything. Even when you can hear the young mans ribs cracking underneath the steel toed black boots of your boyfriend, you're quiet, watching, unable to tear your eyes away from him- and you don't even know who exactly you're watching. You have already forgotten what the young man looked like- your eyes unable to reconstruct his facial features back to what they were before Jungkook had thrown his fists into them until the stranger couldn't even open his eyes anymore, face bloody and bruised to the point where you're hoping he won't survive it. You're also simply watching as Jungkooks pretty long hair, drenched in a mixture of sweat and rain from above whips around violently as if to mimic the way his muscled leg stomps into the man's chest over an over again, face holding a determination that should scare you. It's all over after a moment however, as your boyfriend seems to grow a bit tired now, slowly calming down as his anger ebbs down, waves finally evening as he breathes heavily. He runs a hand through his hair as he looks at what's in front of his feet; unable to quite realize that this was actually him. He turns, looking for you, and his entire facial expression suddenly changes.

While he looked absolutely terrifying just moments before, he's suddenly holding such a sweet and calm glint in his eyes as he takes off his jacket, putting it over your head as he smiles down at you, inner demon now fed again as it seems to crawl back behind his actual soul it consumes daily. You smile back, and he leads you out of the alley, giggling like a teenager when you playfully start to run towards the car, calling him a sore looser when he doesn't let you win like he usually does.

Jeon Jungkook is sick. But he's just a young man as well, deep down.

He's got you sat on his lap as he greedily licks at your neck, teeth suddenly clamping down on the skin as you mewl underneath his touch and actions. He's grinning like the devil in person, his large-in-comparison palms holding your behind as they suddenly sneak underneath your shirt; his shirt, actually, and the main reason he suddenly got hungry to devour you. Your hair is still slightly damp, but he doesn't care as he lifts you up, placing you underneath him on your shared bed, hair falling into his eyes as he pulls the dark grey carharrt shirt over your head, immediately kissing your collarbone, hands kneading your breasts needily as he seems too eager to slow down anytime soon. He grabs your ribs and its as if he doesn't know where to touch- he wants it all, wants to feel it all, all at once, because it drowns out all the bad things he usually does. You're an outlet for his pent up aggression, only that he lets loose differently with you. He's got no hunger to make you suffer, to give you pain or to have you look at him in fear. No, he simply craves the way you writhe underneath him, ready for him, wanting, needing him. Such an angel, such a whore, so needy for his love and affection.

Something he wasn't sure he was capable of.

But he is, and it shows; while he usually moves with his jaw clenched, his brows furrowed, ever so agitated by the simplest of things, his face is calm now, relaxed, eyes however still feral- his gaze enough to make your core ache and your skin tingle. He's chuckling as he moves you around, suddenly impatient as he noticed your panties won't leave your legs as fast as he wants them to. It irritates him to the point where he just rips them as the seams, the fabric now ruined, but neither of you care as his hand instantly finds its way down to cup your heat, ring- and middle finger collecting your slick to bring it upwards to your clit, thumb running in circles over it as you squirm and whine, making him smile.

You're so sweet like this, and he can't help but move your legs, pulling you closer to him in his usual rough manner- he's not capable of being all gentle and sweet, after all. He tries, he really does, but Jungkook is like an overgrown puppy; he doesn't know how much strength he actually has. And it shows, as you squeak, painfully so, as he had gripped your legs a bit too tightly; fingerprints already an angry red on your skin, and he cooes at you, apologizing. "I'm sorry, so sorry.." He hushes against your skin, placing sweet kisses on the pulsing marks on your leg. "can't help it baby.." He muses, and you simply nod your head, hands reaching out for him as he smiles again, kissing your lips, finally.

He's never been fond of the gesture before, not understanding why something as unsanitary as this could be meant to signify any romance at all. But eventually he's gotten to know the intimacy of it, and had decided for himself that he'll never kiss anyone but you in his life. He doesn't want anyone but you anyways. You're his, for now, and forever.

"You're so sweet angel, you know that?"

He humms it against your neck as he finally rids himself of his own clothes, erection hard and proudly waiting to bury itself into your sweet cunt. "Hmm.." He humms again, amusement in his voice as he continues to draw patterns over your sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs. "I still can't believe how I fit inside that pretty body of yours." He says, as you suddenly feel the hot skin of his length against your middle. "Can't believe you can take it so well princess." His hand leaves your core finally, as he slowly enters you, making you mewl as he groans.

He doesn't have much self-restraint, but every time you're together like this, you're both amazed by how much he can control himself. The way he plays you like an expensive instrument makes you hang from his hands like a puppet on its strings. And you love it- the simple fact that he's able to do anything he wants with you, yet he'd never use you just to throw you away. He'd never hurt you. You know this.

He grins as he places his hand over the slight bulge forming underneath your skin where his cock is moving inside you, all warm and swollen, impatient as he can't help but move more vigorously, harder than before, as your body moves along with the beat he's giving you. He's in control, its impossible to lie about that and you don't see any problem with that. Your mind is empty, only pleasure remains as he bites down onto your skin again, hands roaming as if they can't decide where they want to stay; because it's the truth after all. He can't decide what he loves most about you, if your body is whats the most desirable or if its your soul locked inside of it and chained to his own like a prisoner. He gets a kick out of this feeling, out of the way you're speared on his cock like the doll you are, and if he desired to, he could simply snap your bones like those pepero snacks you always eat, and it would be just as sweet as they taste. Yet he doesn't- he's being oh so generous with you, letting you live beside him, keeping you as safe as he could at his side, never to let anything come close to you. You're his.

Jeon Jungkook is sick. But he's also head over heels in love with you.

You don't know what it was this time.

You only know that he's currently in your shared apartment, having returned from Job hunting, and by the sounds of crashing glass, he's probably having another one of those days. You know you should just leave him, but ever so often your own curiosity gets the best of you, and you sit up on the bed, dressed in nothing but a shirt, your panties, and socks to keep your feet warm, since the heating in your apartment broke months ago. You carefully open the bedroom door, peaking around the wood to spot him as he currently kicks his shoes off in an ever so violent manner. He spots you, eyes dark and feral, but this time it's not lust in them. "Get back inside." He barks out, and you know why he does it.

He wants to keep you safe.

Against all odds he knows what he is. He knows he's sick, knows he's a danger to himself and others, and that's why he's always telling you to stay away from him whenever his anger is boiling over like this. It's his way of keeping you safe, keeping you protected and you know better than to go against his own judgement. He knows himself best, after all.

Only as you can hear him hiss in pain do you go against him.

As the apartment grows quiet, you slowly step outside the room again, eyes searching for the form of your boyfriend, before finally spotting him near the kitchen table, one hand on it, while the other is held close to his chest. You can see blood on the white cracked tiled floor close to him, and you immediately grow worried for him. You slowly creep inside the bathroom, retrieving some stuff from the first aid kit, as you walk back outside, spotting him on the couch now. "..kookie?" You carefully ask, wary of any signs of his body that he's not yet down to earth yet. But he doesn't move at all. You slowly walk around the couch, squatting down in front of him as your hands carefully reach out for his inked arm, and he lets you, his eyes eerily not looking at anything at all. You hiss a bit and sit down on his lap as he doesn't argue with you, almost delicately treating his wounded skin. He's probably somehow cut himself on the broken glass from the photo frame he broke. He seems awfully exhausted, which isn't a new sight to you. He usually is after a day like that.

"We're gonna loose the apartment." He says darkly, yet you don't stop what you're doing, simply humming an acknowledgement at him, while you don't look up at him. "Are you even listening?!" He suddenly barks out, grabbing your wrists as you look at him; not in fear however. You simply wait for him, like you always do, until he suddenly looks down onto his hands, letting go of your now red wrists with a look on his face like his favorite puppy has just been killed. "They simply said because of my criminal record they can't employ me-" He began, already getting riled up again as you kissed his cheek to distract him before he could slip again. With you situated on his lap like that, it could prove fatal.

"I'm gonna get a job, from home maybe. We'll figure things out." You softly say, and he doesn't seem like he quite believes you. He doesn't need to, at least not yet. It takes time, but you'll take yourself the time you need, even if its someone else's. Its not like he ever really cared about whats who's after all. "I still love you, you know?" You say, and that's when he breaks.

For the first time in those years you know him, he falls to the ground, crashes onto concrete with full force, and it wrecks through his entire body as he pulls you close, sobbing into your neck as he hiccups and chokes on his emotions, his hug painfully tight, but you don't complain. You're too shocked by his state to react much, other than running a hand over his back in a hopefully soothing manner. He doesn't stop for a moment, and you don't have a good feeling for time, so you cant tell how long you both sit like this, until he's finally exhausted to the point of simple slumping down, asleep as his body finally gives up. You carefully stand up, letting him somehow softly fall to his side as you struggle to pull his legs up to properly lay o the couch. Walking into the bedroom you retrieve blankets for him and yourself, as you crawl underneath his arm to lay against his chest, underneath the blankets, as you try and think of a way to help him.

You can't get a job. Not only because he won't let you, but because you get sick too easily. You're not allowed by doctors advice to work in any field that requires direct customer contact- and sadly that's all your educational level would allow you to work in. It never bothered Jungkook however, if anything he welcomed it as a good reason for you to stay at home, and at his side at all times. For him however, there were different reasons he didn't have a job. He couldn't keep one, with his short temper making him unfit for any job that required him to handle other people. He was a bomb ready to explode any moment at all times, and it was hard for him to land a job at any interview he somehow got. And nowadays, as word got around, no one simply wanted to employ him; stories of him going off at complaints and always being ready to throw hands made him the talk of the town in terms of who to look out for. He also had a criminal record- which didn't make the situation any easier.

Jeon Jungkook is sick. And it's a serious issue.

You somehow made it another month concerning rent.

With you selling some clothing you made yourself for a reasonable price, you somehow had at least a bit of an income, yet Jungkook didn't really seem like himself these days. He didn't leave the apartment much, and seemed much more grim to everything around him. You somehow thought that maybe he was just in a bad mood- but it seemed like this time things were a bit more serious than that.

"Princess?" He calls, as you rub your hand over the side of your neck, having laid on the couch weirdly as you had been taking a nap recently. You perked up at his call, walking out of the open kitchen to meet his gaze in the living room, his eyes serious as he pats his thighs; an invitation for you to sit down. He likes having you seated on his lap like this; it makes him feel all comfortable, knowing that you're so close to him. "I.." He starts, and visibly struggles with finding the right words for what he wants to say. "I want to get therapy." He states, and its quiet for a moment. You need to process his words for a second, as he never spoke about his issues like this. You never really thought about this option at all, and it makes you feel bad, deep inside, as you now realize that this was something you should've thought about as well, from the start on maybe. But you never wanted him to change for you; making you kick yourself in your thoughts. It never occurred to you that he wasn't changing for you, he didn't need to change for you, he needed to change for himself as well. You simply started to smile, and your arms snaked around his neck as he breathed in your scent, happy that you take this so well. He had struggled with the acceptance of it for a long time, and with you at his side, he knows he can somehow maybe change.

Even if its just a bit.

"I want to be a better man. For me, and mostly for you." He starts, and you attempt to speak, but he smiles, and kisses you instead, successfully shutting you up. "Don't say I don't need to. We know I do." He explains, and you nod. You're curious on why he suddenly realized it, but you decide not to dig too deep, as he currently seems vulnerable enough to you. So you simply let him hold you like this, quietly, calmly, while outside the thunderstorm continues, rain hitting the windows with as much force as the wind sees fit. Its ironic, really. Typically the situation is the opposite.

But somehow it feels like everything is changing, right in that moment. Just a few words have been spoken, but the ones that did make it out were a promise, a vow, a sentence of hope to finally get a hold on the future you both had dreamed about before, tangled in sheets and each others limbs. He's always said he wanted a family, as cheesy as it sounded to him back then, and then he'd laughed about it as if it was a joke. It somehow was, at least during that time it was; how could he be a better father than his if he was just the same? He didn't want his story to take a turn like that, to end up hurting you in the process of his own selfishness just to get what he wanted. No, he wanted something different in his life; he wanted his children to look up to him as a person they could be in awe of not because they were scared, but because they were proud to have them.

Jeon Jungkook is sick. But he's also finally realizing it.

Therapy never goes smoothly from A to point B. It's never a smooth ride, never a straight line connecting the start to the goal. And Jungkook is feeling that as he walks through the door, fuming after an in his eyes pointless session with his therapist. Why the fuck would they want to know about his childhood? That's his business and his own only, it doesn't concern anyone other than himself. Hell, he never even talked to you about it- and he sure as hell won't start chatting away with a stranger like this. He can't control himself as his fist connects with the wall next to the door, drywall cracking underneath the force as you stand in the middle of the living room, looking at him like a deer caught in the headlights. He's disappointed in himself in that moment; he was supposed to get better. He was supposed to have himself in check by now, it was supposed to end; yet here he is, just the same as a month before he started. You try and walk towards him, and he's ready to tell you to turn around and leave him alone, but he doesn't. For some reason, this is not pure anger he's feeling.

It's frustration.

And it leads to his eyes watering, as he lets you hold him close, your warm palms running over his back as best as you can with the height difference, and he simply lets his forehead rest on your shoulder, breathing while you softly count next to his ear. He concentrates and lets go of his emotions all at once, taking his time to feel them before he opens his mind up to letting them go. It sounded stupid to him when he was told that this could help him, but now that he's doing it, he gets why its being taught. It helps. Its like a bandaid being taken off after your cut has heeled. It hurts a bit as its being taken off, but the fresh air on the newly connected skin feels so good that the short sting before is more than worth it.

He sniffles, and you giggle, making him chuckle as well, as he runs a hand over your head, a silent sign that he's okay now. "Try again next week. You're doing so great now, Kookie." You say, and its this small encouragmenent that makes him grin brightly.

Because as you both stand in the kitchen, making homemade pizza for the first time in ages, he feels at ease with his surroundings. He calms down rather quickly even though some things don't go as planned, and laughs more freely at his own mistakes as you smile brightly at him. Sometimes you feel like crying, seeing him change like this, but you're strong enough to hold it in until he leaves during the day. You're still unsure how the future will be changing, still a lot unknown to the both of you, but for now, you'll continue to keep each others heads above the waves with your sewing, while he does his best at getting better. You know he can make it, you're certain he can, and will.

Because Jungkook is sick. But he's finally getting help.

You don't know what has happened when he bursts through the door, uncaring to either take off his shoes nor to close it behind him, as he picks you up, spins you around, grinning so much his eyes crinkle at their sides, and you laugh, even though you don't know why he's so happy. "I got a job! Baby, I finally got a job!" He yells, screams almost, and it makes your eyes water; not because he's taking a huge weight off your shoulder, but because this has been one of his biggest goals ever since he started this journey of getting help. He's so happy about it that this time you can't keep it in, you can't stop the tears as they flow out, making you hiccup and wheep into his shoulder as you struggle to get your words out. "Baby- Princess, hey hey-" He says, setting you down as his hands wipe away at your eyes, the letter confirming his acceptance still in his left hand as he worriedly looks at you. "Why are you crying angel? hm?" He cooes, admittedly a bit amused, because he can imagine what's happening.

"I'm so happy!" You squeeze out, before another wave hits you, and he kneels down, holding you tightly again, as he doesn't let go of you, his love for you overflowing inside his veins as it fills his entire body. He's so thankful for your existence in his life, and he will never be truly able to properly tell you that. It's impossible to put it into his words how much he appreciates you staying at his side through this entire endeavor. Every time he's asked why he does this, his answer is always your name on his lips, always spoken with a slight smile, nowadays a bright grin he's not ashamed showing.

You don't let him go until he chuckles. "Will you let me close the door at least?" He asks amused, as he feels the slightly cool breeze coming inside from the complex' hallway. You disconnect yourself from him for a moment, wiping your eyes with your sleeve as he closes the door, finally taking off his shoes at last, as he walks back, running towards you with a playful growl that makes you laugh as you try and run away from him. But he catches you easily, carrying you over his shoulder into the bedroom, where he bites and licks at your neck, hands pinching your sides making you squirm around and laugh, desperately trying to get away from him. He'll never let you, and you know this, so its unsurprising that he's suddenly pulling your sweater over your head, needing to be close to you. It's cold inside the apartment, and you shiver as the almost icy air around you nips at your skin. "Can't wait until we can use the heating again.." He murmurs against your skin as he shifts around a bit, carefully undressing himself before he crawls underneath the heavy covers with you. "then you can flaunt around in your pretty underwear all day without getting cold." He chuckles, as you hit his chest playfully at the remark. "What? Its always so cold I never get to see you in it." He whines, as he reaches between your legs, inked hand easily working you up as you squirm around. "I never get to see your pretty body properly because we have to hide away like this." He complains, and you simply whine at him, as he suddenly enters you. "For now I'll just warm you up like this, hm?" He humms out, and you nod, not really understanding what you're agreeing to, but you do it anyways.

He's awfully slow and soft, you notice, as he' way more collected as usual. "I love this." He suddenly presses out, eyes closed in bliss as he kisses the side if your neck, trailing down to nip at your collarbone, while his hands find yours, intertwining your fingers in a gesture you can only describe as awfully romantic. "I love being able to make love to you." He explains, as you open your eyes a bit, meeting his as he watches you underneath him. "Though I think you don't mind me being a bit rough with you, no?" He playfully suggests, and your cheeks grow a bit red at that, before he laughs, head dipping down to properly kiss your lips, tongue instantly searching for entrance as he doesn't pick up the pace. "Can't wait until you're all round with my baby." He suddenly suggests, and your eyes open wide as you open your mouth to correct him, but you shut up as his eyes meet yours, determination in them as he suddenly grabs the behind of your thighs, positioning them a bit differently to hit even deeper. "I know, I know-" He chants, as he picks up his pace. "I don't care." He presses out between his own heavy breaths. "I'll just-" He begins, loving the way you mewl under his touch, "I'll just fuck you over and over again until it works." He promises, and you simply nod, unable to deny him. The chances you'll ever conceive are slim- but as he states, never zero. "I'll just- I'll just fill you up until your body can't help but give me a child." He muses, as you start to clench. And he knows, notices, how much this idea is just as enticing to you as it is to him. "You gonna cum? Hm?" He asks, and you nod vigorously before you arch your back off the mattress, making him groan as he shoots his load as well, the visual image of your pleasure underneath him combined with the way you clench his aching length inside granting him his release as well.

As you lay on your sides, all snuggled up underneath the covers after cleaning up, he kisses your bare shoulder, eyes closed. "I mean it, you know." He says, and you humm a reply, before he explains further. "I want a family with you. Someday. When I'm ready." He says, and you nod. You'll somehow make it work, you know this. If he can overcome his demons, you can overcome your own cursed body as well. You deeply hope, at least.

Because Jeon Jungkook is sick, but he's starting to see a future.

"Jeon!" His coworker yells in the big hall he's working in. "Why, pray tell, did you never tell us your girl is that fucking pretty, aye?" He barks in a playful manner, as you walk inside beside the old man, carrying a small plastic bag with what he assumes is a lunchbox. The view of you next to that man stirs something inside him, as he slowly gets up, wrench still in his hand, brows furrowed.

"Because your filthy hands should stay six feet away from her." He responds, with his brows still furrowed, before he finally sneezes.

"Bless you, hah! I'll let you have your break earlier-" The old man winks at you, then gives Jungkook a firm hit against the chest, taking the wrench away from him. "But only because she's cute!" He laughs, as he walks into the hall, Jungkook now walking towards you.

You're proud of him.

Months ago, this would've never been possible; neither the simple fact that he had a job, nor the small incident with his coworker just now. He still got easily irritated, but he worked through these emotions way more easy nowadays. His coworkers and boss know of his past, know what he was like and know that he's still deep in therapy, but they don't judge. They simply accept him, tame him back into his cage whenever he's close to boiling over again. You love the fact that you can walk inside the breakroom with him, eyes sparkling with newfound childish playfulness as he peaks inside the bag you brought him. He's still very careful with you leaving the house, but its not anymore just for his own gain- he's more open to his surroundings, he's starting to think about how he and his actions can affect others. He doesn't care much still; but he's realized that pretending is enough for now. Small steps.

"The handyman was there today." You say, as you watch him dig into the fried rice you brought him, his interest now gained. "They turned on the heating again. Can you imagine? I didn't even know we had floorboard heating!" You exclaimed excitedly, and Jungkooks eyes widen as well.

"Really? I didn't know either. Fuck, can't wait to come home now." He says, swallowing his bite before taking a sip of his canned soda. "Did that label contact you yet?" He asks, and you shake your head. Recently, you had gained the interest of a bigger clothing label, who wanted to collaborate with you for this season's designs. "Ah, that takes time I guess. We'll wait, its fine." You know he's not only saying that for you, but himself as well. He still gets agitated over small things, but he deals with them a bit more easily. "I'll be home in a couple hours. Do you wanna wait here, or go home?" He asks, and you stand up, packing his now empty food container as you smile.

"I'll take the bus, don't worry." You say, and he furrows his brows playfully.

"Mask?" He asks, and you hold it up proudly, well aware of the precautions you need to take to make public transport safe for you.

"Good girl. Text me when you're home yeah? I'll get us takeout for dinner." He says, as he kisses the top of your head. You nod, and wave him goodbye as you two go separate ways, at least for now, until he's finally free of work.

Jeon Jungkook is sick.

But he's slowly healing.

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