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gutsby · 9 months ago

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Homemade

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: While your dad’s watching a movie downstairs, you and his best friend decide to make one of your own.

Warnings: 18+. Sneaky sex tape fun with dbf!Joel ;-) Unprotected p-in-v. Age gap. Daddy kink. Facefucking. Joel being the world’s worst cameraman. Shower sex. Overstimulation via adjustable shower head. Dirty talk. Screaming ‘daddy’ too loud, and your father shows up.

Translations: In Chile, pico is slang for penis. Joel’s is big.

Part of the Waiting Game series

“If this ever ends up on PornHub, I’ll kill you, Miller.”

Joel knew you meant it, too.

The only reason you’d agreed to make this dumb little ‘home video’ at all was because you were headed back to college tomorrow and wouldn’t see him again until May. Doing long distance was tough, but doing long distance while simultaneously trying to keep a risqué, torrid, and totally-not-age-appropriate love affair with your father’s best friend under wraps was infinitely more difficult. This was the safest way to keep desire alive in the meantime.

Immortalized on a Sony CCD-TR70—because neither one of you trusted iCloud to keep a sex tape secret.

It had also been the only video camera you could find in the closet before your dad had plopped down on the couch just outside your room and announced he would be watching Oppenheimer for the third time. You’d had to scurry off fast before he could invite you to join him.

“I’ll be damned—this thing’s gotta be as old as I am,” Joel mused as he stood at the foot of the bed, camcorder pointed at your semi-nude form.

“I didn’t know they had cameras back in the Stone Age.”

Your smirk didn't flinch, even when Joel flipped you off.

You were lying on your side, head propped up on one hand while the other picked at a few loose strings from the comforter. The lacy, pastel pink bustier holding your tits in place was currently making breathing feel like a chore, and your skin was on fire from the warmth of the room, but you tried not to show it. Joel twisted a dial.

“Alright, now...flash ‘em for daddy,” he grinned as soon as the lens focused in where he wanted: your cleavage.

You rolled your eyes.

“A little closer, please,” you said, patting the space in front of you.

Joel didn’t need to be told twice. With one hand still cradling the camera, he clambered over the bed so fast he nearly tripped and took a nosedive in the headboard. You had to cover your mouth to contain a shriek of laughter—and terror—as his frame barreled into yours.

“JOEL!”

Fortunately, your cameraman was quick to recollect himself, planting a knee on either side of your chest once he’d knocked you onto your back. Then, from above, he angled the grey-black hunk of metal just a foot away:

“Anything you’d like to say to the folks watching at home, ma’am?” Joel inquired, suddenly assuming all the poise and matter-of-fact elocution of a news reporter.

You stuck your tongue out at the camera and blew the wettest, fattest raspberry you could muster in response.

Joel hummed, zoomed in on your lips, and nodded.

“Fascinating,” he said, pretending to make sense of the fart noise you’d just made with your mouth, “Have you ever given thought to maybe...sucking cock on camera?”

The swiftness with which he was able to dodge your kick was remarkable. He swayed the camera just out of reach before you could shove it away and say, ‘Joel, quit being GROSS’ and he promptly replied, ‘Ain’t that the whole point of a sex tape, sweet pea? Bein’ a little bit gross?’ And you playfully tried to kick him again, only this time, he caught your foot and yanked you closer to him. He turned the camcorder back to your face and grinned.

“That’s my little pornstar,” he murmured with affection. Then, zooming in again, this time to find your panty line, “Riiiiight there.”

You knew giving Joel Miller recording privileges for an occasion as momentous as this was a bad idea. At the rate you were going now, you’d be seeing the sunrise through the window before you ever got a glimpse of his dick. You needed to take matters into your own hands.

Literally.

You crawled on all fours to get to Joel across the bed.

The man, kneeling with the camera pointed in your direction, looked up to cock a brow at you.

“Sweetheart, hey, can ya do that one more—”

“Hush,” you muttered, closing in on his crotch.

Your head was lowered so you could undo the front of his jeans. Because of this, your back was arched, and your ass was pointed up just the slightest bit. For a second, Joel seemed torn between tilting the lens to your lower half or your face, which was inching ever closer to the bulge in his trousers. In time, he landed on the latter.

He swallowed. That sight never got old—and seeing it displayed on the camcorder’s semi-grainy screen only made it that much hotter. Joel shifted on his knees while you worked him out of his boxers, watching the nimble movements of your fingers as you wrestled the fabric.

“Wanna—” Glancing to the side of the bed, “—maybe—”

“Yup.”

Both of you liked it better on the floor: you on your knees in front of Joel, chin tilted up to see his reactions as you sucked him off. You loved to sink between his legs and then see and feel nothing but him, brain going blank the moment his cock filled your mouth. Joel slid a pillow under your knees before widening his stance some.

“Is it on?” Your hand was wrapped firmly around the base of his cock and your lips were hovering an inch from the tip. You resisted the urge to lick the precum off just yet.

“Darlin’, it’s been on ever since you stepped outta the bathroom in that— that—” Joel seemed to be searching for a word when the head of his cock was enveloped in a kiss. You dragged your tongue across the slit of him and collected the hot, salty beads with a muffled moan.

Then you pulled off.

“Teddy,” you said, reminding him of the name for that pretty little tulle and lace getup you currently had on.

“Teddy,” Joel echoed, his mind a million miles away from any lingerie jargon at the moment. He held the camera tighter as you took him back into your mouth and sank deeper on his cock. He struggled to keep it steady.

It was strange, watching Joel and the rounded glass of the lens as you did this dirty thing that was only meant to be shared between you and him. Knowing it would be recorded, saved for future viewing, displayed on some dimly lit screen in Joel’s bedroom maybe one, twice, or more likely than not, several dozen times over the next three months. You wondered how you might look from this new point of view; though, you weren’t so sure you needed to know what sight Joel was made privy to while you sucked and hollowed your cheeks around his cock.

As it turned out, that uncertainty wasn’t meant to last you very long, because Joel flipped the camera’s screen around two seconds later. Some sepia-tinted, pixelated rendition of your face, framed by the date and time and a bright red flashing dot beside the word ‘REC’ were the first to greet you. You flinched back just a little.

“Joel,” you said, almost bashful, “Flip it back.”

Joel just grinned. Then he laced his fingers through your hair and tugged you closer to him, thumb stroking over your scalp, “C’mon, darlin’, don’t ya wanna see how goddamn pretty ya look on your knees for me?”

You didn’t think you looked pretty at all. In fact, you reckoned your features looked something more like an alien utility funnel than a real, human face as you tilted your chin inward and seemed to be nothing but eyes and a hollowed-out expression, but you let Joel guide you back onto him all the same. You heard a low rumble of pleasure take shape in his chest as your lips slid over his shaft. Your gaze remained glued to the screen as you did.

Wet with saliva and a few faint traces of precum, you continued to bob your head up and down. Joel’s groans grew louder, and your drive to take him further and further surged as well. By the time his hand was tightening into a white-knuckled fist in your hair, you’d nearly taken him all the way to the back of your throat, and your nose was no more than an inch from the soft tufts of hair on his belly. Joel let out a shuttering breath.

“Fuck me,” he heaved. You might’ve smiled if your lips weren’t otherwise occupied. Then he clenched his hand even harder and murmured, “Can you— can I, please—”

Again, you didn’t need him to finish the rest of the question to know what he wanted. You moved your head back just slightly to nod, a low, ‘Mhmm’ reverberating down the length of his dick as you gave him permission. Joel swallowed and set the camera aside immediately.

He placed it on the nightstand, perfectly level with your head, to the side. Then he rotated the device just a bit, took one glance at the screen, and shortly returned to where you were watching him with wide, glossy eyes.

“Ready?” he asked. His right hand now joined the left at the back of your head, but not before thumbing a quick touch over your cheek to get a feel for your approval.

You hummed once more. You watched Joel’s hips move forward, hands secure around your scalp all the while, and you felt a gentle nudge at the back of your throat. Then another. You couldn’t help the impulse to gag, but thankfully, it was short-lived. Joel peered down at you, eyes searching yours for any plea to stop or slow down, but he found nothing. He sheathed himself deeper until your lips were brushing the base of his dick. He groaned.

“That’s a good…fuckin’ girl,” he managed, voice strained, “Takin’ my cock so deep.”

He shifted his hips to move an inch or two out, then slid his cock forward again, bumping that spot at the top of your throat. This time, you were better adjusted to take him and felt your muscles expand and contract around him without activating your gag reflex. Your eyes stayed trained on his face while he dragged his cock back again.

“My pretty girl and her—” Joel stabbed back into you, somehow tender in the way he did it, “—pretty fuckin’ mouth…Sweet thing likes gettin’ facefucked, does she?”

With the increased pace of his thrusts and the grip he had on the sides of your head, you couldn’t quite answer, but Joel could tell from the glint in your eye that you loved when he manhandled and fucked your throat like this. Watched the light sear gently behind those irises as you swallowed every inch of his cock, back and forth, and let your brain break down to little more than a happy, mindless mush. Joel was always keen to oblige you on that front—aroused to no end at the sight of all your thoughts being fucked straight out of your head—and within the next few thrusts, his gut was giving a familiar clench. He pulled halfway out of your mouth, paused, felt the pinch again, then withdrew from your lips fully.

“Get on the bed.”

You straightened back up and made it over to the mattress, quickly. Before you could assume the position you’d been hoping to take on all fours, you felt yourself flipped on your back. Joel yanked your hips to the edge of the bed and kneeled down between your legs. Hooked his fingers under the waistband of your panties and had them shuffled down your thighs and past your ankles in no time at all. Then, when he lowered his lips to your wet, aching core, you pressed a touch to the crown of his head.

“Joel, wait,” you said. All of a sudden your chest felt tight.

In spite of the fact that your airways were open and completely free from any obstruction—namely, Joel’s big ol’ pico—you still found it difficult to inhale. Some murky, amorphous sense of anxiety weighed over your chest.

When your hand didn’t move from his head and instead pushed him further, Joel furrowed his brows, perplexed.

“What’s’a matter, darlin’?”

You shook your head, more to yourself than to him.

“I haven’t…just— haven’t washed down there today…o-or shaved,” you stammered, “Don’t want you to taste it.”

That was largely a lie. You’d bathed, shaved, and prepared for this just fine, but really were more concerned about the novel optics that loomed overhead. Being filmed in such a singularly vulnerable state without knowing how to act. You were fine when the attention was focused on Joel and his pleasure, but something about having your every whimper and moan laid bare before you on film felt daunting. Unnerving, in a way.

Joel frowned while rubbing your thigh. His brow pinched inward again, as if he were considering something.

Then he moved across your body, and your muscles eased with relief at the thought that he’d just let it go and get to fucking you exactly how you wanted. You reached for him, ready to wrap your legs around his waist, when a yelp clawed out of your throat. You found that you didn’t get to touch his chest, or his cheeks, or his big, broad, beefy shoulders, as you were promptly thrown over the latter of the three body parts and lifted when Joel stood up from the bed. He started carrying you across the room, heedless of the startled, ‘What the FUCK, Miller?’ you’d cried the second he took one step.

Hardwood floors transformed to tile before your eyes, and shortly, you realized you were being brought into your bathroom.

You heard the squeak of some metal knob being turned, then a brief sputter, then a spray of water raining down on your shower floor. You were still being held hostage over Joel’s shoulder, try as you might to bite at his lower back or smack his ass in an attempt to break loose.

He set you down a second later, seemingly unfazed.

“Get in.” He nodded toward the shower.

Before you had a chance to respond, he left. You stood back in disbelief—refusing to go into the shower and let Joel have his win—but just as you opened your mouth to call out and tell him as much, his form slipped back in through the door. Naked, now, and wielding that stupid, goddamned camcorder with a devious glint in his eye.

“Will you—” You held out a defensive hand in front of you, cheeks already heating, “—stop with that?!”

Secretly, the corners of your lips were fighting a smile as Joel drew closer with the camera held up to your face.

“There she is, folks,” he announced, as though speaking to a crowd, or else reading off of a script from the world’s most cheesy porno, “My dirty, dirty girl says she needs a shower—don’t ya, sweet pea?”

It sounded so ridiculous and dumb that neither one of you could keep from laughing. Even as you lifted your middle finger in response, Joel grinned and smacked your ass. Steadied the camera out in front, nudged you closer to the shower, and watched you somewhat begrudgingly obey his orders. Once you’d stripped what little remained on your body, you stepped into the tub.

Add to ‘ridiculous and dumb’ just wildly unsexy as well—who the hell needed a soapy interlude to a sex tape?

Joel Miller, apparently. He constricted his grip on the camera and followed you in, tongue already skimming the backs of his teeth in anticipation. You turned away to step under the shower’s stream, and he wasted no time getting a shot of your derrière. You leaned forward and sighed.

The water worked wonders to get your muscles to loosen some, but still, you were nervous. You could clean up now, stall a little longer, maybe even offer to give Joel head again—but what if he really wanted to eat you out on camera? You couldn’t put off the conversation forever.

Or another minute, it seemed.

You let out a shriek when you felt Joel’s fingers sneak up between your thighs. You hardly knew what he was doing, just folding limply when he spun you around to press your back against the shower wall. Your eyes widened to see him descending your body once more.

“I lied,” Joel said, smirk painted clear across his features, “You’re not dirty—I just wanted to eat your pussy in the shower ‘s’all.”

Chivalry was evidently alive and well in Austin, Texas.

No truer words could have been spoken, and yet, you felt wildly uncomfortable the second Joel’s head dipped between your legs and that big, dumb, handsome face started licking stripes up your sensitive core. You cast a glance to the side and saw the camcorder perched on the sink—just through the open slit in the shower curtain, you could see it pointed directly at you.

You shivered and started to push Joel away.

“Can we maybe just—”

“Sweetie?!”

Joel’s lips tore out of your cunt quicker than a sneeze through a screen door. His eyes were wide.

“Y-Yeah, dad?” you squeaked, tone almost fearful.

“Everything okay in here? I heard ya scream,” your dad returned shortly.

You could only imagine the expression of confusion and distress painting his every lineament in that moment. Probably just barely sticking his head through the crack in the door and blinking anxiously through the steam.

Your dad was caring like that.

He just never knew the right times to show up.

No, there were very few times where you would’ve liked to see him less—apart from that one time you’d sucked Joel’s dick under the table at your dad’s birthday dinner. Your heart was thudding a wild, erratic beat in your chest, and you could only imagine how Joel was feeling. Probably seeing visions of a Size 11 boot being shoved up his ass if his friend happened to slide the shower curtain to the side and see him nose-deep in his daughter’s box.

That would be bad. So very, very bad and probably ten times worse than when Tommy had caught you blowing his brother at the aforementioned birthday party. You just couldn’t seem to catch a break these days.

You sucked in a breath and answered anyway.

“I thought I saw a spider.”

“Really?” You could already sense the embittered tinge to your dad’s voice, harking back to the war he’d once declared on all wolf spiders in the home, “Want me to kill it?”

The next thing you heard was two boots thud on the bathroom floor outside the shower, and you could’ve sworn you saw Joel’s whole soul leap from his body. He shot a frantic look around him, spotted a window above, and seemed to wonder for half a second if he might be able to shimmy his 188-pound frame through a space that probably wasn’t big enough to fit a fat raccoon. He slumped his weight against the shower wall and winced.

“No! I— It wasn’t even a spider. Just a…roach.”

Shortly, Joel’s eyes widened even more and met yours, as if to ask, ‘Why the FUCK would you say that?’

“A roach?!” your dad cried simultaneously.

Apparently, you’d forgotten that any derivative of the word ‘cockroach’ was like a sleeper agent activation phrase for middle-aged fathers who wanted to keep their homes free of all household pests. The look on Joel’s haggard, world-weary face communicated as much to you, and for a second, you remembered that he, too, was built the same way as any other semi-old dude you knew.

Just bigger and beefier and…harder below the belt than you would’ve expected most men around his age to be.

You quickly chided yourself for ogling Joel’s dick at a time like this and replied to your father, shrill, “No!”

Then, slightly more composed, “No, no— I already took it out with some hairspray and told it to fuck off to hell.”

An attempt at humor was the last leg you had to stand on. Fortunately, it worked.

Outside the shower, your dad chuckled, and his footsteps started to shuffle off toward the door.

“Ah. Atta girl,” he beamed, ever the advocate for brutal cockroach killings, “If you see another, just holler, okay?”

“Okay.”

You heard the sound of the bathroom door closing, and you almost fell to the floor. Joel probably would’ve been facedown just as well—fear seeping out of his body along with every last ounce of willpower to stand—had he not made a dive for you as soon as your dad had left.

The force of his push sent you straight into the wall, legs forced to wrap around his waist as he buried his face in your neck.

“Thank fuck,” he breathed.

“You’re welcome,” you murmured, swiping the water out of your eyes with a grimace.

Then, just as you were about to request that Joel lower you back down to the floor and out of the shower’s spray, you felt a nudge between your legs. Luckily not a tongue this time—just Joel, or the tip of his leaking cock. The man below you grinned, and for the first time in a long time, you felt a wash of relief. Could it be?

“I’ll still eat you out if y’want,” he started, though speaking with a little less conviction this time around, “But after all that I, uh—kinda jus’ wanna fuck ya stupid.”

Well thank fuck for fake spiders and cockroaches, too; you’d just averted a dreaded tonguefuck, thanks to that detour.

You’d worry about your pornstar moans and on-camera charisma another time—now you could just sit back and let Joel do all the work while he took you against the wall.

Really, there was no need to concern yourself with anything at all from that point forward. Once you’d given Joel the green light, he was sinking you onto his cock with a grunt and making sure you felt nothing but him. His hands found your hips and held you firmly in place as he rutted into you from below, your own fingers latching onto his shoulders for some much-needed support. Both of you knew that you needed to be extra quiet now—seeing how sound seemed to carry in that tight, tiled space—so Joel snagged your lips in his for a kiss.

He was practically panting in your mouth by the time you started meeting his thrusts. His fingertips slid some and must’ve seared ten perfect crescents into the flesh of your ass as he fucked you into the wall.

“Look so pretty like this,” he whispered in between kisses and short, shallow breaths. His cock parted your insides with an excruciating welt of pleasure, and he hardly even seemed to realize it, “Look so damn pretty takin’ cock.”

Then, lips kicking up in a smile when it seemed he’d remembered something, he added, “Can’t wait to play this tape back home and watch us fuck all over again.”

Again. Again. And again. Shit, you could just see it now.

Your eyes traversed the compact shower space once more to find the video camera—still perched, still live, still perfectly implacable and silent atop the sink as it recorded your every grunt, groan, and shuddering moan. You were nearly as curious to know what Joel’s bare ass looked like rutting into you like this as you were to hear yourself getting railed against the shower wall. Maybe you’d beat this fear of secondhand embarrassment after all.

Maybe.

Joel’s teeth snagged your bottom lip and bit it, lightly.

“Every chance I get, you can bet I’ll be thinkin’ ‘bout this…sweet pussy while you’re away,” he said, voice low and occasionally punctured by a groan, “Say one more thing f’me and I’ll…cum every time I watch this part.”

The kinks at the corners of his lips were endearing. You would’ve liked to supply them with just about anything they could’ve wanted, so when they leaned into your ear and murmured just what it was they needed to hear, you only hesitated a second.

Or maybe two or three, because, well…it was risky.

Moaning ‘daddy’ out loud at a time like this? It might get Joel off quick, but it might send your real dad running even faster. You weren’t crazy about the thought of anything that might draw the man’s attention again.

Joel seemed a little less risk-averse than you, notwithstanding the window-leaping fear he’d felt when your dad had rushed in before. Leave it to a criminally horny man to have the memory of a goldfish, though.

At present, Joel was blinking and gawking a bit like one, too, waiting for you to enunciate that one magic word.

You couldn’t deny he made a damn cute desperate sex fiend when he wanted to be. And you needed to cum.

You figured you could cut a deal with him just this once.

“Alright,” you mumbled against the top of his stubbled lip, “Make me cum and I’ll say anything you want, Miller.”

You weren’t sure if it was a chuckle or a strangled moan that jumped up in his throat when Joel squeezed your sides tighter. All you knew was that he was lowering you to the floor in the next instant, spinning you around, and walking you forward, swiftly and with purpose, toward the opposite end of the shower. Right where the crack in the curtain made you most visible to the camcorder.

Joel’s hand snaked around your front and gently eased between your legs. Then, pressing his chest to your back and nudging you to bend just slightly at the waist, he tipped your bodies closer to the camera’s line of vision and stilled. From the LED screen, you could see the ghost of a smile crossing his lips as he shifted his head beside your own. Next, they were kissing across your shoulder, your neck, that sensitive spot behind your ear, and finally the shell of it, brown eyes trained on the camera lens as he murmured to you, “Stay real still.”

You didn’t know if you could. But you tried. And you damn near cried when his fingers started working circles over your clit. Your body was raised on tip-toes, and your hand was bracing the wall as Joel fucked you from behind and made a mess of your wet, writhing body. In no more than three or four strokes, your fears of looking or sounding stupid on camera trickled away with all the rest of the silent, sizzling liquids circling the drain below. Your cheek pressed against Joel’s rougher one, and with the push of each new thrust, you came more unraveled.

When Joel’s hand closed over the front of your throat, you didn’t flinch. Didn’t move—couldn’t move, as the man was holding you still in such a taut, rigid grip.

“What do we say when we get fucked this nice, baby?” Joel whispered in your ear, words almost entirely masked by the sounds from the shower. You still heard it, though.

“T-Thank you,” you stuttered, cockdrunk and faint.

“Thank you, what?”

Your eyes were fluttering closed, but you could feel the smug expression just over your shoulder. You clenched around him and felt him snap his hips ahead even harder.

“Thank you, daddy,” you whimpered.

“Say it again.”

“Thank you, daddy!” you whined, still scared to be too loud.

Joel wasn’t scared. His hand ascended the column of your neck to pinch your chin between his fingers, jerking your head to the right.

To the crack in the curtain. To the camera.

You could’ve cried with how fast he was fucking you now. You opened your eyes and cast a pathetic look to the recorder. Joel made sure you maintained that gaze, too.

“Who’s makin’ ya feel this good?” he seethed, shaking your whole frame with the breakneck pace of his hips.

“You, daddy.”

“Who’s fuckin’ this sweet cunt like no one ever has?”

“You, daddy.”

Joel seemed sated and somehow not fully satisfied at all. Like he was pleased to see you falling apart for him like this, but needed to hear more. Feel more.

He withdrew from you, and you nearly collapsed with the absence of his arms holding you straight.

You pressed a shaky palm to the wall and almost moaned for him to get his ass back over here, you weren’t done, when Joel returned in a second. To your relief, his muscly arms found their way around your front once more, and his clock plunged back inside you, too—only this time, you sensed you were missing something else.

Water.

It wasn’t on your back anymore.

It was fanning between your legs.

Blasting the full force of its stream toward your most sensitive parts as Joel held the shower head up between your thighs. You would’ve jumped back and screamed were it not for his hand clamping tight over your mouth before you could, his lips grazing over your ear again.

“Try it one more time.”

You released a hoarse, muffled squeal into his palm when he lifted the stainless steel to your clit and started rolling his hips. The strokes themselves were relatively gentle, but paired with the ruthless spate of the water, your eyes were nearly rolling to the back of your head at the pulse.

You couldn’t breathe, much less speak. Joel hummed almost apologetically into your hair but didn’t seem sorry at all as he lowered his hand back down to your throat and squeezed. He continued rocking his hips into yours.

“You’ve said it dozens of times before—what’s’a matter?”

Joel Miller knew what the fuck was the matter. He just liked to see you desperate, fucked-out, and teetering on the brink of going feral before he let you reach your peak.

“D-D-D—”

Damn, you sounded stupid.

“D-D-Do you wanna cum? Is that it?” Joel said, mocking your struggle to articulate words as he fucked you.

In spite of your normal no-bullshit attitude toward him, you weren’t in quite the right frame of mind to be talking back to him. You just nodded and moaned, movements constricted by the grip of his fingers on your neck.

“Use those big girl words for me, honey. I know ya can.”

Again, you parted your lips and started to speak, but the oscillation of the water, the brush of his cock, the patently deprecating lilt in Joel’s string of praises, made it nearly impossible. You ended up sputtering again,

“D-D-ah-fuuuckfuckfuck.”

“That ain’t the word I’m looking for.”

But, just as you ventured to say it once more, he cut in,

“Here. Lemme help ya find it.”

Before you could blink, Joel was pistoning his hips against your ass like he had before, only this time, he held the shower head stationary between your legs as you seized and nearly fell to the floor with the force of all the pleasure coursing through you. Your body seemed to act of its own accord, head dropping to Joel’s shoulder and stomach giving an alarmingly fitful pinch as an orgasm tore through you. You couldn’t control how it came or where it went—or how your tongue jumped up and cried,

“Daddy!”

Joel nodded, fucking you through each violent spasm with all the composure and aplomb of a seasoned pro. While your eyes cycled back in the throes of delirium, he held firm and didn’t slow his hips—or the shower head.

You probably could’ve torn a hole through a cinder block if you’d happened to have one between your teeth just then. That was how fervid and merciless the aftershocks of your climax were pulsing through you, exacerbated to the nth degree by the continuity of Joel’s movements. You managed to grab the forearm that was holding the metal nozzle and plead a wild, slightly stifled, “JOEL!”

In truth, you didn’t really want him to stop. It felt too good. You could tell that Joel sensed this, too, because in the instant after that, his lips were sponging kisses to your shoulder, cock working steadily between your walls.

“One more, sweet pea.”

“Joel—”

“And say it louder this time.”

Were you in your right mind, you probably would’ve chided him for being so reckless and stupid about it all. How the fuck could he expect you to scream out loud when your dad was lounging right outside of your room? Did he really think the drone of Cillian Murphy’s smooth, American-ized tone would mask your unbridled moans? Honestly, you couldn’t be sure—and more importantly, you couldn’t be stopped to consider for much longer. With one last trembling vibration from the shower head and a thrust from Joel, you were cumming all over again.

Squeezing his arm, sinking into his sturdy frame, clenching over his cock in what felt like a hundred convulsions, and casting caution aside, you screamed:

“DADDY!”

You might’ve blacked out for a second or two.

Even a minute, as it was, because the next intelligible thing that reached your ears was the thunder of footfalls. And the thrum of Joel’s own hammering heart as he yanked you into his chest and stilled frozen inside you.

The door swung open on its hinges so hard it hit the wall.

“What is it, sweetie?!” your dad yelped.

“I—”

“Are you hurt?”

Just fucked raw by your best friend and shaking, Pops.

You sucked in a breath when Joel nudged your head with his nose and slowly pulled the shower curtain closed to move you out of view of the camera. But it was still there.

Your dad was still there.

The shower walls seemed to be closing in on you, but somehow, you managed, “No, dad, I’m fine! Just…coulda sworn I saw another spider in here, but it was nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

Your dad sounded unconvinced, pacing closer. You could’ve screamed, but Joel was likely holding you too tight to make any such sounds possible in that moment. The two of you recoiled, still stuck chest-to-back, away from the edge of the plastic shower liner when a boot thudded just outside the crack between curtain and wall.

You swallowed. Joel squeezed. Neither of you breathed.

“If it’s another roach, I gotta call the extermin—”

“No! No, it wasn’t a roach. I’m just seein’ things, I think.”

That didn’t seem to make your father feel any better, because he didn’t retreat like he had before. A tense moment fell over the compact, fog-infested room, like the man was chewing away at some thought in his head.

Then he sighed.

“Alright.”

Blissful footsteps away from the shower. You smiled.

Unfortunately, the grin was destined to be short-lived, because in the next instant, you heard boots screech to a halt on the tile. Pivoted, then paused where they stood.

Another gut-wrenching dozen seconds passed, and for one short, chilling moment, you could’ve sworn you felt your father’s gaze sear through the curtain and see you.

But he didn’t see you. Or Joel. Or anyone.

Instead, his gaze was fixed someplace else.

Suddenly, his voice rose above all the awful noises of clamor and panic in your brain, and broke out, loudly,

“What’s my camera doin’ in here?”

#TO THE CREATIVE MINDS WHO BROUGHT THIS MAN’S BUSH TO TELEVISION…..I OWE Y’ALL MY LIFE #it took COURAGE and TENACITY to decide that showing the happy trail was essential to the narrative #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #tlou #the last of us fic #joel miller x you #dbf!joel #dbf!joel miller

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euthymiya · 4 months ago

Text

disease ridden (not) — ft. ryomen sukuna

yuuji may or may not have gotten his uncle sick with the flu, but you don’t really seem to mind having two sick boys to baby at the same time

before you read: fem reader ; non curse au/modern au ; established relationship ; uncle sukuna and nephew yuuji ; grumpy sick sukuna and sleepy sick baby yuuji <3

notes: read more unckuna and bbyuuji here and here!

Yuuji’s pre school is fighting flu season. Which means that one by one, tiny, sniffly noses are dropped off onto the premises despite parents being properly warned by teachers not to let sick children come to school.

(Parents never listen, anyway—they’re stubborn and difficult sometimes. Not missing a day of school is just far more important than ensuring the health of other’s. Who cares if their kid spreads germs if perfect their attendance is maintained, right?)

It’s not surprising that eventually, Yuuji starts his own round of sniffling (it’s inevitable), but you didn’t expect the same from Sukuna, either.

He’s…not happy to say the least.

“This is why I hate when you let that brat come over so much,” a nasally voice grunts at you, groaning as he tosses and turns in the sheets, trying to get comfortable. “Now he’s out here bringin’ diseases.”

“They’re not diseases,” you say exasperatedly, “it’s just a common flu.”

You like to think that Sukuna is kind of cute when he’s sick. (You don’t tell him that, of course—you enjoy keeping him as less grumpy as possible. It’s good for your mental health.) But he pulls at your heartstrings a bit more when he’s under the weather.

His cheeks are flushed, his nose is red, his hair is messier, he’s a tad bit whiny even if he doesn’t realize it, and his voice is less gruff and deep when he’s all congested.

He’s cute.

You don’t like for your boyfriend to be sick, but if there are a few benefits…well, it’s not like you mind having them for the time being.

“Yeah so a fuckin’ disease,” he snaps, grabbing the pillow from under him and chucking it across the room when he finally loses his temper at not being able to get comfortable. “As if the kid isn’t a disease himself—now he’s spreadin’ ‘em, too.”

You laugh, earning a massive glare from him as he lays propped up on his elbows, grumpier by the second. Finally, having a little mercy, you hold your arms out.

“Come here, you big baby,” you giggle.

“Stay away from me,” he grunts. Still, he doesn’t exactly fight it when your arms wrap around him and bring him to lay against your chest, and if he nuzzles a bit into you, he expects you not to voice it.

You’ve already caused him enough issues, as is.

“You’re extra grumpy when you’re sick,” you murmur, stroking back the messy bed hair as your fingers weave into his locks and scratch away at his scalp. “You’d think being sick would quiet you down for once, but I guess not.”

“I’m not fuckin’ grumpy,” he clicks his teeth, “I’m rightfully pissed because the runt couldn’t keep his boogers to himself. And why am I the one who’s sick and not you, anyway? He’s always attached to your hip.”

“Because I’m nice and karma has a way of biting back assholes,” you giggle, poking the tip of his flushed nose as he huffs. He snaps his jaw at you to pretend to bite at your finger as you squeal.

Finally, as though exhaustion has weathered away at his temper, he collapses against your chest, muttering under his breath about the unfairness of it all as he gets comfortable against you.

It’s infinitely better to lay on your tits than that stupid pillow—and he might have even teased you about it, too, but he doesn’t want to risk being shoved off now that he’s finally situated himself in an actually nice position.

Sick Sukuna is also a much less obnoxious Sukuna. You kind of like it when he mellows out a bit from being so tired.

“Where is the brat anyway?” He raises a brow after a few moments.

“Sleeping in the other room,” you hum, smiling fondly at the thought of Yuuji. Sukuna’s nose wrinkles in irritation. “I put him down for a nap.”

“Good. He better stay there.”

As if right on cue, a tired, sleepy Yuuji shows up at your door, rubbing his eyes as his hoarse little voice mumbles, “uncle Kuna?”

“Dear god,” Sukuna groans, making you snort as you gesture Yuuji over, slapping at your boyfriend’s shoulder lightly when he gives you an incredulous look. “You can’t just invite him in here after he got me sick—”

“Come here, Yuuji! Did you nap okay?”

“Uh huh,” the small boy nods, making you smile warmly.

Sukuna doesn’t like it. There’s no way you can properly split your attention between two sick people, and Yuuji is going to have to just accept the Sukuna was here first. Literally. He was here walking this god forsaken planet long before Yuuji was born, and he was here stealing your attention way before Yuuji came around, too.

There’s no compromising on this—you’re Sukuna’s, and Yuuji is going to have to learn that one way or another.

And then, as if testing his uncle’s patience more than he already does, the brat climbs right onto Sukuna and lays over his chest. You watch in amusement as a purely bewildered expression stretches across Sukuna’s face.

“What’s he doing?” He looks up at you incredulously, gesturing at the child curled against his bare chest. You giggle as you roll your eyes.

“He’s cuddling you, of course.”

“What? No. Get him off this instant.”

“I’m not doing that,” you gasp, glaring at a pair of eyes that glare back equally as intensely, “look at him! He’s gone right back to sleep, you can’t disturb him when he’s resting.”

“What about me? I’m resting too,” he hisses. You hum, pulling the covers over the three of you, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead as if that’ll calm him. (It does.)

“You’re resting too,” you nod in agreement, wrapping your arms tighter around him as you pull him closer into your chest. One hand finds his hair, curling the strands around your fingers as he groans exasperatedly. “There’s plenty of room for both of you to rest.”

“I hope you get the diseases next time,” he mutters quietly. (He doesn’t mean it—he’d get sick in your place next time too, if he could.) His arm curls around Yuuji to keep him secure, eyes darting to narrow in your direction when you let out a tiny aw. “It’s just so he doesn’t slide off and wake me to get back on. Don’t get over your head.”

“Right,” you snort, “of course.”

“You think I’m lying? Because—”

You cut him off with a small kiss to his lips. Brief and gentle—and yeah, maybe you’ll risk getting sick yourself from that, but you can’t resist. Not when Sukuna looks so soft and sweet with a tiny body curled in his arm.

“You should sleep,” you murmur, stroking through his hair, “you’ll feel better. And then you won’t have diseases.”

“I don’t have fuckin’ diseases!”

Sick sukuna is soooo cute I just know it. Naps on your chest 24/7 and then acts like you dragged him there against his will

#writing tag #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #sukuna fluff #ryomen sukuna fluff #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x you #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #sukuna x y/n #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #ryomen sukuna x y/n

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livelaughlovesubs · 3 months ago

Note

Omg omg for the prompt thing making Fyodor and/or Sukuna beg and kneel pls 🙏

KEKEKEKEKE YES YES YES one fedya and one sukuna right away! (Edit: I really like how fedya’s turned out?)

Dom!reader x sub!fyodor/ sub!sukuna (separate)

Warning: begging & kneeling (both) ~light size kink, monster fucker (sukuna’s true form hehe), marking, biting, nipple play, groping, teasing~ (sukuna)

Anniversary event

Fyodor

“What a pleasant surprise, the demon Dostoyevsky is looking for my humble self?” You sat back and got into a comfortable position, voice dripping with fake politeness as you sneakily eyed him up and down. It was well-known that he’s a dangerous individual, you had to be careful. “Oh please, no need to use such flattering words. I’m here to ask for a favour after all.” Fyodor smiled gently, if you didn’t know better you’d think he was a kind and innocent man.

“A favour? I’m not sure I have anything worthy of your standard.” How you wished he’d just leave and never come back, you didn’t like this pressure one bit. “You are too modest, y/n. I’m aware of how knowledgeable you actually are.” He commented. On the surface it looked like a compliment, yet you understood the implications behind it. “Is that so? Because I’m not sure what you are talking about.” You continued playing the naive card, it was the safest bet for now.

The male chuckled, his posture was straight as he stared right into your eyes, maintaining eye contact. “Then, I’ll get straight to the point,” he said, his tone shifting from a distinct softness to a rather serious one. “I want information about the book.” You knew about his ambitions, and his goals, which is why you knew what he wanted from you. As such, his request didn’t come off as a surprise, and it didn’t show on your face neither. But fyodor already took that into account, he knew it as well.

Someone with infinit information and someone smart enough to predict the future, what a match.

You had to think carefully, even if you weren’t as intelligent as this genius in front of you, you had an advantage. Because it’s him who’s asking for a favour. “What will I gain out of telling you?” For a split second, his dead eyes lit up, as if you peaked his curiosity. “A future rid of sinners, mankind in its most glorious form. One where order and harmony spreads across the world.” What grand endeavours he had, but it didn’t concern you in the slightest.

“How do I put it, your offer isn’t enticing enough.” You thought you had won, keeping a collected face to mask your small victory. Though it seems it wasn’t over yet, since his next words send a chill down your spine. “I expected so, that’s why that’s not everything.” He then got up from his seat, getting dangerously close to you. His eyes bore a determined and prideful look, one that pierced your soul, that made him seem all knowing.

“You aren’t the only one who did a background check.” Fyodor sneered, now standing right in front of you, staring down at you with those violet eyes. “I wonder if you’ll still refuse me if I do this?” Somehow, you had a bad feeling about this, your stomach curled as you hesitated. Each movement seemed so difficult due to the pressure, it was suffocating. You knew he was great at manipulation, at using others, especially their desires, and he understood human emotions so well it was terrifying.

Since you knew all of that, you were prepared, no?

Nothing could have prepared you for what happened next.

He dropped onto his knees, the gaze in his eyes shifted, though still prideful, it was more.. docile now. As gracefully as ever, he placed his hands on his lap, staring up at you with the same tender expression as before. Meek smile and big, carefully planned puppy eyes, though you knew it was an act, it stirred emotions you didn’t want to feel. It made your heart soft.

If you were still resolute, hanging onto your willpower, then you were gone after the next sentence from the male. Fyodor did his homework very throughly. That sickly sweet and addicting voice, laced with a hint of need, whispering in a tone that made your insides tingle, “please fulfil my little request, I’d do anything for it. I… beg of you? Moya lyubov?” A faint blush crept up his pale cheeks, adding even more flavour to the already fantasy-like show laid out before you. Now, you couldn’t help but grin all sadistic, for you have fallen into the temptation of the devil itself.

Sukuna

Oh how he treasured you, it was beyond the grasp of his other supporters.

With how things stand, you were his only weakness, and they couldn’t let that be. Yet, their lord, the king of curses, was too smitten with you to care. All they wanted was a reason, an answer to their question: why?

It goes all the way back to when he was like any other human. Not with four arms, and four eyes, not even when he was the strongest sorcerer. No, back in time where he was simply human. From that point onwards, you’ve always accompanied him, stayed by his side and cheered him on. It was only a matter of time until he’d eventually become soft with you. And now, even after his body mutated into his current state, you stayed by his side with the same conviction like decades ago.

But due to him being used to killing, and him just being so much stronger than you, a part of him was afraid of crushing your delicate body into pieces. That’s why he refused to touch you until he was sure he had full control over his strength. What if a simple hug ended with you dying in his arms? He couldn’t let that happen now could he.

Even so that didn’t hold you back, rather, you were amused by his dedication. At times it was annoying how he saw you as a frail porcelain doll, though you were mostly enjoying this peculiar circumstance. Especially when you are sitting behind his massive form, kissing his neck and leaving hickeys while your hands trail around his body, exploring every single inch. And he couldn’t stop you at all.

You pulled back to admire your own work, then made yourself bigger and leaned over his shoulder, “you don’t mind if I continue, right?” He didn’t answer you, only giving you a half-assed glare as he stayed put. You took it as a yes, since, if he didn’t want to, he could always just standup and leave. That’s why your eager hands wandered to his full breasts, cupping them with your palm as you smirked perversely. Wasn’t it just so much fun? Doing whatever you wanted to the strongest men alive?

After squeezing them to your hearts content, you used your fingertips to circle around his pink nipples. He had such a tough body, and high pain resistance, so it’s the gentle touches that make him lose his mind. “…really? You like my chest that much?” Sukuna sighed, despite how much he’d complain, he never objected to your antics. “Yep, they are awesome.” You answered almost immediately, he was almost impressed by how shameless you were.

“Huh, I don’t get the appeal.” He said, though he liked having your attention on him. “I just like feeling you up with my hands.” You admitted, and, as if to prove your point, slid one hand down to his mouth-tummy. “Mhm..” The male coughed, acting as if he was clearing his throat. Seeing as you finally drew a reaction out of him, you began to fondle his body again. One hand stayed around his pecs, rubbing his hardened bud, the other one jumping from one place to another. As of now, you were using it to grope his inner thighs.

“Hmmm- haaah, y/n, you really are something.” He panted, closing his eyes, immersing himself in the sensations you gifted him. “No need to hold back, we are by ourselves.” You whispered, before going back to sucking and biting his shoulder blades. Even though that’s what you said, he didn’t need your words, until you began tugging on his sensitive nipple. “Nghh, ah… damn it.” When he realised what noise just slipped from his lips, he cursed under his breath, an almost invisible blush covering his cheeks and shoulders. It was the most noticeable around his ears.

When you glanced over his shoulder again, you noticed the growing bulge in his pants. Now you really couldn’t hide your grinning anymore, stopping whatever you were doing with your hands and instead hugging him from behind. He didn’t object at first, but got annoyed after a while, taunting you, “..aren’t you going to continue? What, suddenly feeling embarrassed?” To which you replied, “it seems like you don’t enjoy what I’m doing, so, of course, I stopped.” Liar, that’s what you say whenever you want something from him.

“And how can I prove you otherwise?” Sukuna feigned a groan, though you saw how the corners of his mouth twitched. “Get on your knees and beg, then I’ll believe you ♡.”

You must be the luckiest human on earth, for surviving after asking him to do something like that, and that he’s into this power tipping thing as long as he gets to do it with you. So, without much delay, he popped down from the bed and smiled confidently, as he basically demanded, “touch me more,,, please?”

“…”

you had to teach him how to really beg

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n0thingbutlov3 · 5 months ago

Text

need you now | 2 |

in which readers true feelings are revealed.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader warnings/tags: angst again (whoops) miscommunication (it’s short dw) fluff, reader is hungover lol, spencer is handsomely disheveled (moans) mentions of blueberry muffins being readers favourite type of muffin (sorry for not being vague but also if you don’t like blueberry muffins??? why) some tears, some swearing, some kissing, suggestiveness at the end of you squint (WHOOPS *evil smirk*) no use of y/n!! wc: 2.1k a/n: call me slim shady because i am back!!! i procrastinated writing this because i was scared everyone was secretly judging my writing and actually hated it and a second part would be a stupid idea but THEN i realised that was a little bit silly so im here B) part one got over 1000 notes (INSANE) all the support has been so so lovely—every note, reblog, and comment means the world to me, thank you!! i hope this part is okayy, feedback is always appreciated :) i hope you enjoy it you choose to read!!! <3 p.s kissing scenes are so difficult to write, i think i done absolutely awful!!!so let’s ignore that…. if you haven’t already and you’d like to, you can read part one here!

Your eyelids twitched as the early morning sun filtered through your bedroom. What was usually a calming wake-up call now felt like being blinded.

You burrowed your face into your pillow, squeezing your eyes shut in an attempt to dull the throbbing in your head. This is why you didn’t drink often.

Asides from the obvious headache and nausea, you always seemed to wake up with a sense of dread; ‘hangxiety’—a friend had called it once. It was creeping up on you now, and even though you weren’t sure exactly what you had done, you knew it was bad. You flipped onto your back, fixing your gaze to the ceiling as if it could tell you what irreparable mistakes you had made last night.

It couldn’t, of course. The only thing you had realised is that you should probably coat it in a new layer of paint soon.

“How’re you feeling?”

You shot up, eyes widening at the sight of a man in your doorway. A man whose sleepy voice and disheveled hair threatened to make you melt, but a man who should not be in your doorway, nonetheless; Spencer.

Your brain was quick to supply you with information then, your memory coming back in hazy remnants. You were upset so you…called Spencer for the first time in months. Yikes. He didn’t answer so you turned to a bottle of high end whiskey instead—yikes, again—and passed out on your couch, only to wake up to your ex-boyfriend in your apartment. Cue more sobbing, a pathetic attempt at asking—no, more like begging—him to get back together with you, and that was it. Well, mostly. There was also the promise of discussing your breakdown in the morning. The morning, which was now.

What the fuck.

“Like I’ve been napalmed.” You weren’t sure you were just referring to your raging hangover.

That prompted a raspy kind of chuckle from him and Jesus Christ—you really shouldn’t have called, because it was going to be infinitely harder to watch him leave when he inevitably told you you were sad loser who needed to get a grip and move on—except, he’d be a lot nicer than that, wouldn’t he? Because even if things were over between you, he was still the sweetest person you had ever met and he’d never say anything to intentionally hurt you. Maybe things would be easier if he did. If he wasn’t so sickeningly perfect—if he just insulted you in the way you were certain you deserved, then maybe you’d get over him quicker.

“So, I-ah-uber’d breakfast—“

Your inner turmoil came to a screeching halt at those words.

“You uber’d? You?”

He scoffed, a light blush dusting his cheeks.

“The team’s been very into it lately and I always finish my paperwork first so it only makes sense that I—stop laughing! I can uber!”

“Sorry! I just can’t imagine the great Doctor Reid stooping to the levels of a fast food delivery app. Do you ever order to the wrong place?”

“No.” he said, unconvincingly. “Well, only once—“

You were laughing again.

He whined, turning on his heel.

“Just take your aspirin and hurry up!” He grumbled petulantly as he left the room, but you could hear the smile in his voice.

After a quick freshen up and taking the pills placed on your bedside table—as per his request—you padded through to the living room, joining Spencer on the couch.

You gasped delightedly as he pulled out muffins from a brown paper bag. To be more specific, blueberry muffins; your favourite.

“Did you know that blueberries are good for fighting hangovers? They’re rich in vitamin C, which helps break down and metabolise blood alcohol. Muffins too, they—what? Do I have something on my face—“

“No! No, sorry,” You had been caught staring—ogling, more like. “I just missed…that.”

“What? My incessant rambling?” He was joking, but you could hear the insecure twinge in his voice—the one that told him he was too much. Over the course of your relationship, you had showed him that he didn’t have to think like that around you—that he was never too much; he was perfect in your eyes. You hated that he doubted that now.

“Yes, actually.” You tried to keep your tone light, unserious. But there was nothing unserious about just how badly you had missed the man sitting beside you. How you could hear his voice in your mind when you drove late at night, giving you statistics on accidents. Or how on other late nights, you swore you could feel his hands ghosting over your skin—only to find out it was your imagination.

If he could see how truthful you were being, he didn’t acknowledge it, turning his attention back to the coffee table.

“I’ll, um, save you the facts on how beneficial coffee is for hangovers, anyway.” He smiled awkwardly, shuffling a paper coffee cup to where your muffin sat.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, “for the coffee, not the withholding of information—i’m a real fiend for coffee facts…especially when they’re related to curing hangovers!” You said a little too cheerily, trying to alleviate the awkward tension. Although, that only seemed to make it worse.

Spencer just huffed out a little laugh in response, taking the wrapper off of his muffin.

The rest of breakfast went by in silence. Not the comfortable silence you always seemed to have with Spencer—when you were together, you reminded yourself—but a strained one. The kind of silence that occurs when there’s something left unsaid, and you’re just waiting for someone to spit it out.

Spencer broke first.

“So we should probably talk…about last night.”

You finished the remainder of your coffee, setting the empty cup down before turning your whole body to Spencer, tucking your legs up underneath you.

“Right, yeah…”

A beat passed, Spencer’s eyes darting around your face—assessing you.

For someone who had imagined this conversation in your mind countless times, you certainly weren’t saying much.

“I—uh…was very drunk.”

Something in him shifted, like he was putting up imaginary walls.

“So you didn’t mean…any of it?” His brow furrowed, his nose twitching slightly.

“Well no, but I—“ You what? Meant every word you said and more? You couldn’t just say that. You had just got a small part of Spencer back and you didn’t want to ruin it by coming on too strong.

He waited for you to add something, anything, to show him that maybe, maybe there was a tiny part of you that still wanted him as badly as he wanted you. But you didn’t. You just sat there, playing with the fabric of your—his—t-shirt.

He couldn’t do it.

He was so tired of loving people only for them to leave like he had meant nothing to them. Was that all he was to you? Someone you could call when your inhibitions were lowered, looking for comfort? He would do anything to be back in your life again, but he couldn’t be a person of convenience; someone you only wanted when you were lonely.

He ran a hand through his hair, swallowing down the tightness in his throat.

“You were drunk and you got carried away, I get it. I think I better go though—“

“What? No, I—“ You bobbed your mouth like a fish, trying to find the words necessary to keep him here. There were too many of them and yet none at all. None except for three. Three words that you wished you had the courage to say months ago, or weeks ago, or last night. But you never claimed to be a courageous person, and you weren’t about to spill your heart out again only for it to end up in rejection.

Spencer stood, making his way to your bedroom to grab his shoes and coat. He didn’t care about his other clothes, he could buy more—he just needed out before he broke.

You sat dumbfounded on the couch, willing yourself to do something, say something. It was like you were frozen. And you stayed frozen. As Spencer shuffled around your bedroom, as he returned to the living room—completely avoiding your gaze—even as he searched for his keys. You hadn’t realised he had driven over here. He didn’t usually drive unless he had to get somewhere urgently. Were you someone worth seeing urgently to him?

He picked up his keys, heading for your door and only then did you realise how dire the situation was. If he left now you weren’t sure he would ever come back.

“No—wait, Spencer!” You stammered, lunging off the couch to try and stop him. He unlocked the door, moving to leave when you grabbed onto his jacket sleeve.

“Please don’t—I love you!”

“What?”

He turned to face you and you noticed just how wrecked he looked—not at all dissimilar from how you had for the last few months. Had he looked like that the whole time?

You must’ve been staring because when you came back to your senses he was calling your name exasperatedly.

“Do you mean it?”

You were fed up living like this; harbouring so much love for someone and not being able to express it. Even if he didn’t love you back, even if he was over you, you couldn’t go another moment without at least telling him how you felt.

“Yes,” you heaved, “I love you—I never stopped loving you, I was just…” You knitted your brows together, unsure how to phrase what you were feeling.

“I’ve never loved someone the way I love you and that’s…terrifying. I thought the way I felt was wrong, like—when you were on cases, I missed you so much, more than I thought humanely possible and—well, I never wanted to be the kind of girl to base her happiness on another person because that’s how you get hurt. So, I thought the only way to combat that was by…distancing myself. I thought if you weren’t in my life anymore then I’d be able to get a grip and become more independent—“ you huffed, trying to stop the wobble of your voice. “but it didn’t work, because then I was just missing you twice as much, except I couldn’t see you at all—“

“You could’ve answered my messages, we could’ve—“

“So you could return your key? Then things would actually be over. Why do you think I ignored your messages?”

“Why do you think I kept messaging? Angel, I was never going to return that key—at least not willingly—I just wanted to see you, to see if you were doing just as horribly without me as I was without you. You know, I couldn’t even focus on cases—Hotch even suggested I take some time off.”

You frowned, your voice impossibly small. “I’m sorry.”

He took a step toward you, cupping your cheeks in his hands.

“Don’t apologise, you were dealing with your emotions in the best way you knew how. I just wish…” he swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing. “I wish I hadn’t let you go so easily.”

His eyes were shining and—God, you wished you could take it all back. All the pain you had caused him, caused yourself, just because you were too scared to talk about your feelings.

“I wish I hadn’t left.” You blinked away the tears that were threatening to spill from your eyes. “Y’know, I read a book on astrophysics because it reminded me of you. I didn’t understand any of it but I couldn’t put it down. I still—“ you let out a watery chuckle. “still have it in my bedroom somewhere.”

Spencer smiled, swiping under your eye at a tear that must’ve escaped.

“Yeah? Maybe I can read it to you—help you understand it.”

“I’d like that.”

You didn't know much about celestial bodies or the ultimate fate of the universe, but you could've sworn you'd seen the stars pictured in that book in Spencer’s eyes when he looked at you.

“Say it again.” He mumbled, tilting his head down so that your faces were just inches apart.

“I love you.”

And then his lips were on yours, impossibly soft and everything you had been missing since you had broken up. He kissed you like you were the oxygen he needed and all you could do was sigh into him because you knew the feeling.

He leaned back all too soon, resting his forehead against yours.

“Well, I should probably go—“ He smirked, but you cut him off before he could continue his teasing.

“You’re not funny.”

He narrowed his eyes, sucking his teeth.

“I don’t know, I—“

You pressed a firm hand on his chest, bunching the cotton of his t-shirt into a fist.

“Stop. Stay—we can have a pyjama day and maybe for dinner, you can show me just how tech savvy you’ve become and uber us some food—“

He rolled his eyes, kicking the door shut before pressing his lips to yours with more force this time.

“Stop talking.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds

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kennedyhateskanye · 4 days ago

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Jinx dating head cannons

because i unfortunately developed a deep and uncharacteristic attraction to her.

Warnings: angst, f!reader, writing of drastically poor quality probably, codependency,

Jinx isn’t all there, you knew it very well going in, both of you, which is why her intelligence, depth, and capacity for love shocked you. Of course her mental illness rises and falls. Flaring up and resolving itself several times each day. It’s not uncommon for her to be extremely lucid and seemingly resolved of any mental block for a few hours, behaving so “normally” you’d forget she struggled at all if you didn’t know her so very well.

Of course the longer you loved her, the more resilient you became to the emotional roller coaster she dragged those around her on. You learned not to take it personally. And even more importantly, to never hold it against her, after all, if it was hard for you to deal with her mental anguish, it must be infinitely more difficult for her.

However, what most people don’t know about loving jinx, when they picture it, is that all the work it was seemed minuscule in comparison to the pay off.

She was a force of nature, complex and beautiful and unforgiving, to witness her was to be put in awe. Any struggle she gave you was collateral. You’d walk through fire through her love. Enormously more warm and sweet and all encompassing than that of any of the smirking pilties that turned their nose up at her.

She’d wake up in the middle of the night. To watch your chest rise and fall, and to thank her lucky stars that you were here with her.

She thought of you in everything, saw you in everything she did, evrey task she carried out, every tool and trinket she built

It was near constant you’d walk into your shared room to find something she’d crafted for you with her own two hands and her remarkable genius. Welded flowers, jewelry boxes, wind up toys, hell sometimes you didn’t even know what they were supposed to be, all painstakingly painted in great detail with her signature colors.

That and the notes, oh the notes. all scribed in her chicken scratch with her special quill fountain pen. You’d find them everywhere. Under cups, in your journals, on the walls, hidden beneath pillows. Some were proclamations of love, some were slightly nonsensical. Some were drawings of you two, or sketches she did of you while you weren’t looking, ink strokes depicting you distracted with a task, face scrunched in concentration.

You guessed all her little tendencies were not only small acts of love, but also reminders, that she was there, even when she was away. Jinx struggles with abandonment, scratching grading voices telling her you’ll leave her, storm off and forget about her without a second thought. So, Subconsciously she reminds you, tries to entertain and to please even in her absence.

You are her first thought in the loneliness of the morning when you’re not yet awake, she often feels a pang in her heart at the thought of you and wraps herself desperately around your body, nuzzling her face into your neck or chest to capture your scent and your presence.

She lets loose for you, lets her hair down, lets her hips sway to the music while she’s working, lets her foot tap absentmindedly, lets her subconscious train of thought out, and finds herself loving nothing more than when you reply to each bit of her ramblings as she goes.

She has never felt such relief as she has for the duration of your relationship. Someone to stay, to rub her temples and hum for her when the voices swarm hurting her head. Someone to disarm her when she hallucinates, using practiced exercises to help her check reality. Someone to bandage her hands when she chews at her cuticles and skin absent mindedly

The care absolutely goes both ways, though, and jinx truly does dote over you in endless ways.

She can sense when you are even slightly altered in any way, frustrated, sad, doesn’t matter. She can tell, and she uses her supercomputer of a brain to make a mental bullet list of the most effective ways to make your uncomfortably dissapear

Sometimes jinx looses herself in her scattered mind and forgets to come up for breath. Forgetting to bathe, to eat, to sleep. You take the burden off her shoulders, slowly and tediously washing all of her long blue hair, braiding it back into a wearable style. Scrubbing days old makeup of her face with a washcloth and a gentle hand, taking turns biting out of something you cooked for her.

After these sessions you dress her in your clothes and lay in bed together for hours wide awake, while she stares at you with wide beautiful eyes, saying very little, iorn grip on your arm or your hand, her heart racing with immeasurable love and affection

That’s a whole other thing, jinx has a very serious staring problem, your not sure what it is, but you’ve come to accept it, she often goes selectively silent and stares with her eyes blown wide. Taking in evrey facet of your being. It’s unmistakably affectionate

Jinx wants to be buried with you, jinx wants to see you through evrey season of every lifetime. There’s no question that girl loves you

#jinx arcane #jinx #arcane #arcane 2 #arcane act 3 #jinx league of legends #vi arcane #vi x reader #vi and jinx #jinx x reader

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karlachismylife · 2 months ago

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Spot on the Mark || The Queen of the Clan pt.5

CW: fem!chubby!reader, mentions of animal marking/pasting, some piss mentioned again, dead animal mentioned (no descriptions).

A lot more work goes into a wildlife documentary than you thought. It was obvious that it’s not as simple as just grabbing good quality cameras and riding off into savannah blindly, but the amount of tricks and different ways to get enough shots for a compelling and educational storyline you’re learning about seems infinite: from studying animals’ trails and routes of migration to hauling senior operators up into the trees to film fluffy and feathered stars of the future documentary as up close as possible without disturbing their natural peace.

These people have done it time and time again, telling you about the months-long stakeouts on bigger productions, the ones that can afford to simply wait every day for an animal to come and do what the script requires; the masking of carefully placed hides that can still be not enough to trick a smart bird into thinking it was all alone and perform a beautiful mating dance; the difficult hikes that test everyone’s endurance and result in barely ten seconds of footage in the end cut. You can’t help but feel excited yet intimidated when your turn comes to participate in one such trick, intended to shorten the waiting time your smaller production just can’t afford. It’s not that difficult, but it’s smart and elegant – at least in your opinion.

This is how you find yourself stuck in your Rover with Kir, wrapped in a small blanket for additional warmth, while he meddles with the sound equipment: speakers mounted on the hood of the car and a knot of wires connecting them to a laptop, screen covered up with a scarf to muffle its light. You’re holding your night vision camera pointed at a spot just several meters ahead, a fresh carcass placed under a tree to attract a carnivore, two more cameras planted at different angles on the ground and one more strapped to a branch right above the “dining table”.

A switch clicks, and the night fills with triumphant hyena whooping, a whole cacophony of different voices celebrating a kill. This is a dinner bell for lions – no matter what the public’s perception is, it’s often the big cats coming to steal hyenas’ fresh kills, not the other way around. You hold your breath, misty clouds of steam coming out of your mouth dissipating in the loud, poorly lit night. You wait.

Time doesn’t stretch as much as you would think. This isn’t a boring, monotonous wait of a text back in a stuffy big city apartment, the only “wildlife” sounds seeping through the closed windows – revving engines of nighttime dumbass street racers or neighbours yelling at each other over hysterically loud TV.

Compared to what you’re used to, savannah seems peaceful. Somewhere in the vast darkness big predators avoid each other’s paths, unwilling to start unnecessary fights. Grass rustles in a rhythmic pattern as little springhares jump through the night, stopping to glance at the huge, imposing shadow of a human car just once and continuing on their way. The wind breathes quietly and calmly with the cooling ground, welcoming a lively picture of a complex system, each part of which is perfectly in tune with others.

You feel like you could be a part of it – like it’s a place you can actually belong to, care for and be taken care of in return, unlike the constant hectic hostility of a city. They call it concrete jungles, but none of the brutal ways of nature you’ve witnessed in the wild so far can compare to the ruthless, pointless cruelty human kind inflicts on itself and everyone else.

There is a hopefulness inside you that was completely snuffed out previously, and it sounds like a smooth, lulling chirping of insects hidden in the wet grass.

Loud baboon yelling alerts you before you manage to clock any movement or hear an animal approaching your little spectacle. Insane luck. Before gluing yourself to the camera, you glance at the time and it’s barely an hour after you put the recording on – it’s hard to contain your excitement, but you manage to keep your hands steady as you scope the area in search of your guest. Kir shifts in his seat next to you, picking up his simple night vision binoculars and following the same trajectory as your camera lens.

When you see a distinctive hunched silhouette sniffing at the bait, you almost feel the tiniest bit of disappointment – no lions today, huh? – that quickly gets replaced with surprise.

The hyena doesn’t even touch the food you placed to lure animals in and turns its back on it, instead staring straight at you and Kir. Its ears twitch, clearly determining the direction where other hyenas’ noises are coming from, and slowly, almost leisurely, it moves towards you.

“It’s coming here, Kir,” you whisper, still keeping the camera rolling, too fascinated with the elegance of each silent step the huge, dark form with devilishly glowing eyes in your night vision tape takes. “Didn’t even try the meat… what do we do?”

“Ah, shit, that’s a first one.” He sounds more surprised than concerned, and after a moment of hesitation, reaches out to turn the luring sounds off. “Maybe it’s already killed and got territorial? Worst case scenario, we just scare it away. You getting the footage?”

“I… am, yeah… it’s pretty.” Somehow you aren’t even surprised anymore, when the hyena ignores the fact that the calls of its peers or more likely rivals stop abruptly – there’s something deeply wrong with them here, you decide, too much human contact or something. Maybe these ones were released from the sanctuary? But no one in their right mind would let such domesticated animals back into the wild, right?

While the myriad of possibilities swarms your mind, the camera keeps recording, and you, quite well-trained already, don’t even seem to realize that you’re following the hyena’s steps, turning the camera more and more to the side as the animal approaches your Rover. Wait-

“Tsk, hold up!” Kir’s hand hooks into your back belt loop and pulls you slightly back into the car. When did you even stand up to lean over the car door? “Let’s not diversify its diet today with soft city cookies, alright?”

“Sorry, sorry,” you whisper, sitting back down. For a moment – just a moment – you lose the animal out of sight while you pull your pants back up, and the next thing you know it’s already right in front of you.

Standing on its short hind legs and resting front paws on the car side to lean inside.

A big snout shoved almost into your face, coming into your darkness-shortened sight out of nowhere, is bound to freak you out – you drop your camera, luckily catching it in your lap, and pull back, pressing your back into Kir, who can only grunt quietly under the sudden weight and grip your shoulders protectively.

The hyena just snorts and tilts is head adorably, a soft, almost reproachful look in its bit wet eyes reflecting every little light on the car’s dashboard and your equipment. There’s something familiar to this slender, elegant snout, nodding in the air as the big nose takes in your scent, toned down by the contrasting savannah night cold.

“Chocolate?.. Is that you?” It’s a wild guess, honestly – you can’t see shit without your camera, only able to notice the hyena’s movements by the wet glistening of its eyes, nose and lips, and even through the night vision equipment you weren’t able to determine your guest’s colour – something that would definitely help distinguish Chocolate from any other hyenas; you doubt there are any others, who are already this big and grown up, yet still carry their childish dark brown hide. Maybe Chocolate is a melanistic variant? You’ve never heard of such mutations in spotted hyenas, but it’s not like you specialize in them, right?

A soft grunt tears through your thoughts again, a non-threatening pitch that almost sounds like purring – along with the repeated scratching of its claws on the steel side of your Rover, Chocolate seems like a cat more than anything. A huge, maned cat asking to be let inside.

“No-no-no, buddy, you’re not coming into the car. It’s humans only.” You try to sound stern – it seems to work on these animals, but it’s so damn hard, when your visitor whines quietly and flutters its rounded ears, staring at you hypnotically. “Come on, there’s food. Look!”

A nod in the direction of the carcass, attracting no one but some flies it seems, has no effect on the hyena. When you pretend to throw something there, Chocolate giggles quietly and lowers itself back on the ground – but when it realizes you won’t be throwing any of your real possessions for it to chase after, it stands up against, reaching its long, thick-furred neck to breathe a hot, steamy snort into your face.

And just like that, after you blink at the pretty muzzle in disbelief, trying to find an appropriate way to react to a wild, dangerous animal almost sneezing in your face, it leaves to inspect your car.

For a moment, you worry it’ll try and jump inside from the back, but it seems to have lost any interest to join a party it wasn’t invited to. Slowly, you scramble back into your seat, relieving Kir of your weight and earning a supportive pat on the back from him, and pick up your camera to watch Chocolate.

“What’s it doing?” Kir’s whisper suddenly elicits more of a reaction from the hyena than any of your stern talking – it lifts its head from the tire it was sniffing at and scowls, a striking killer smile flashing in your direction. Seeing its sharp canines nestled in the massive jaws makes a cold shiver run down your spine. This just was right in front of your face with nothing to protect you against a sudden attack.

“Shh, quiet… don’t agitate it,” you whisper back as soon as you manage to swallow the snowball-like lump in your throat. Kir shuts up, clearly a full-on believer in your hyena whisperer abilities now, and you watch on as Chocolate lowers its cute head back, sniffing and pawing at your tire.

After several minutes of looking between you and the wheel, sniffs and huffs growing more and more impatient and exasperated, it gives up on whatever it was trying to tell you – you could swear it rolls its eyes too! – and circles your car, flicking the fluffy brush on the end of its tail in what you can only assume to be a goodbye.

You’re wrong. A real goodbye is left a few meters away from the Rover on Kir’s side. Your curious night visitor stops abruptly, sniffs the air, tilting its head so far back that it almost rests on its shoulder blades, and then, without a warning – what warning could you expect though? – it crouches down to paste over a particular spot in the tall grass.

“Is that?..” – “Yes.” You tear yourself away from the camera to glance at Kir, just in time to see him sigh heavily and put his binoculars down, rubbing his hand down his face painted with disbelief, eyebrows raised high and lips pressed together. You’re still not sure – even though little snickers already start escaping your throat and roll down your nose in sweet snorts – so you pry again: “The spot where you went to-“ – “Yes.”

Even the need to hold your camera still to capture Chocolate marking its territory with a thick smelly paste smeared all over the grass Kir went to pee in several hours ago can’t prevent you from giggling. Anxious about scaring the animal and provoking it, you cover your own mouth and keep filming – eyes on the little black and white picture just in time to see Chocolate shake its plush butt, tail high up to assert dominance, and turn to look at you.

Or, perhaps, to look at Kir.

“Okay, okay, got it, no pissing on your territory. Jeez, buddy, no need to be so petty about it, I probably live here as long as you do.” Hearing Kir mutter under his nose as he gets stared down by a proud carnivore is hilarious.

“You disrespected it. What’s it like, to have a sworn enemy because of your bladder?” Your little giggles elicit two smiles at the same time – an embarrassed one from Kir, who threatens to snore into your ear directly once you wrap up this nightly stakeout, and another wide, toothy one from Chocolate.

You can’t be sure with the blurry image your camera shows you, but you once again feel like it winks at you. How likely is it for this hyena to have some eye problems that cause it to constantly dish out the flirtiest winks an animal is capable of?

“Oh, look, it’s leaving,” Kir finally turns away from the direction Chocolate left in, and just scoffs when you hear distant whooping slowly pick up in frequency before it disappears into the night. “Wanna try with the record again? I’m not sure we will attract anyone if there are actual hyenas around, though.”

“No, no, let’s try again,” you’re fully energized despite your arms feeling cold because the blanket slipped off your shoulders when you got spooked by Chocolate. Kir pulls it back up, wrapping you in a warm cocoon, and rubs your shoulder absentmindedly while he rewinds the recording and tries slightly different settings. “Maybe we’ll attract Stinky at least, these two seem to be buddies.”

“Yeah, right,” he responds, wrapping his own jacket tighter around himself. “Because that little shit will cause less chaos that the one we just saw.”

You can’t argue with that. If that was Stinky that came to the false call, it would have definitely jumped into the back of your Rover.

“At least that’s some good footage to post online. They’re cute. Will be good promo for the documentary.”

Kir grumbles something into the warm thermos, steam clouding the air between you, and hands it to you – to warm both your hands and your whole body from the inside.

Even if you don’t catch a lion tonight, you still caught something precious – right in your heart. You just have to find a way to define it properly.

Part 4 | Part 6

Series masterlist | Main masterlist

Tagging: @elaineiswithyou-blog @creepingeva @my-halo-is-a-little-broken @sillymanjaro @ihatethinkingofnames10 @ravensfeatheruniverse @yaminax @ljh861 @darkangel4121 @ginger-n-coco @grey-shadow6475 @cryingpages @mothsdrabbles @mc-glare-is-king @vixxie22 @aldis-nuts @terraantarctica @henhouse-horrors @blizzivy @perfectus-in-morte

Here's an illustration to Chocolate's visit:

youtube

Comrades, I think I'm too deep in this now, I started watching documentaries about filming documentaries, the docuseption is coming for me...

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taro-pdf · 1 month ago

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DCxDP: De-aged Danny is a Eldritch Little Ball of Mischief

This was not how Danny envisioned his evening going. Who knew that not only did an immortal ancient fae not only live in the infinite realms, but it also really didn’t like it when Danny told it that it couldn’t go around usurping other Kings’ kingdoms for funsies? Not Danny. Until about an hour ago that is. When the Observents observed the imbalance, they had told him about it. Apparently it was important enough to literally bury him in envelopes. Well, it wouldn’t be a bad thing to get away from paperwork for a while, Danny had thought. It turned out to be a much more difficult task than he’d anticipated.

Lucky for Danny, he’d just won the not-so-little spat and the fae capitulated in the end, agreeing to maintain but not expand the boundaries of its haunt. Unlucky for Danny, there was a different neverborn fast approaching, and from its posture, it was not wanting to just have tea. Taking just enough time to send out a “hurt/portaling away/talk later/careful” core message to his Fraid, Danny pushed the ectoplasm in front of him to the side and willed the Realms to take him somewhere safe.

The swirling green energy was a relief. The Realms all but pushed him inside, and he fell through time and space, getting smaller and smaller to conserve the little ectoplasm he had left. He slid to the ground with a sigh. All he saw before the world faded was an overcast sky framed by the edges of apartment buildings.

****

Danny slowly woke up. The first thing he noticed was the gravel he lay on. It shifted beneath as he rolled over, bits clinging to his skin where he had been touching the ground. The second thing he noticed was the smell. The third thing he noticed was that there was a lot of noise coming from somewhere. He wrinkled his nose and sat up, rubbing at his eyes with his tiny hands.

Tiny hands?

Danny looked at his hands. They were indeed tiny.

He opened and closed his tiny baby hands experimentally. They made adorable little fists, but weren’t they supposed to make big fists? How big were his hands supposed to be again? He looked at his body. His hands seemed to be the right size compared to the rest of himself, so he decided to not worry about it.

What he would worry about was his immediate comfort, and the thing bothering him most was Why Did It Smell So Bad. He pushed himself into a sitting position and then floated just of the ground. He frowned at the metal wall in front of himself. Taking a few steps back, he saw it was a dumpster… which explained the smell, at least. So what was the noise?

Peering around the dumpster, Danny saw a very small, colorful car, and the door opened to reveal a clown who shouldn’t be able to fit into such a small place. He laughed maniacally, just loud enough to cover the sounds of distress from nearby people.

“Well, well, well, Batsy! Seems your little Arkham fun house can’t hold all this FUN!” Arms spread wide, a clown extricated himself from the car and walked forward, eyes fixed on something above him. “I think someone needs to remind Gotham how to live a little, wouldn’t you agree? Why don’t you all SMILE for me?”

He threw his head back and cackled. The sound sent shivers through Danny’s body and made him flatten his ears. Ears? He glanced up and didn’t see anything. When he patted his head with his tiny adorable hands, though, he found that he did indeed have soft pointy ears. Which was… something that he probably should have feelings about.

The sound of confetti popping drew his attention away from his (maybe new) ears back to the events outside. The bystanders were smiling now, tears streaming down their cheeks. Another pop of confetti, and their smiles stretched wider. They didn’t seem to be actually smiling. Danny watched as less colorful clowns brought more people up the laughing one. He reached into the car and pulled out another confetti popper. Danny frowned. It wasn’t right to make people feel scared, and it wasn’t right to make them smile if they didn’t want to, either. Danny may be small, but at least he knew that! He started forward. The clown was big but no matter how big you were, sharp teeth still hurt. Danny licked his lips. His teeth were very sharp. Changing his tail to less noticeable little legs and little feet, he crept forward.

As he opened his mouth to BITE that horrible no good very bad clown, he was snatched up and yote! Yote from one pair of big hands to another! They wrapped up his writhing form in a firm, one armed hug and then swung him away from the clown, away from the ground, and onto the roof, where he was unceremoniously plopped down. He blinked.

He blinked again. There were other people on the roof. Some were crying. Some were smiling. Some were standing and looking over the edge. Person Who Grabbed him was one of those. Person Dressed Like A Traffic Light was another.

“He doesn’t seem affected, but he might bite,” said grabbed.

“Tt. I will be able to handle the small child. What do you take me for?” Traffic Light uncrossed his arms, pulled something from his belt, and threw it with practiced ease. Danny heard a “oof” and then thud as someone’s body thumped to the ground. Traffic Light had hurt someone!

“No! Don’t hurt!” Danny lunged for Traffic Light’s elbow, only to be grabbed by Grabbed again!

“Woah, little one!” Grabbed wore a mask, but Danny could still see his smile. “We’re taking care of the bad clowns. They are hurting people, and we want them to stop.”

“Ok,” said Danny. He didn’t like the clowns. They could get very hurt for all he cared.

(started a long time ago and unfinished)

#DPxDC #DCxDP #De-aged Danny #DCU #Danny Phantom #my writing

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p0orbaby · 4 months ago

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Squirrel? Squirrel!

summary: at this point, people just let you do what you want

warnings: nil

a/n: thanks for the request !

word count: 1.1k

You don’t remember the exact moment you decided that today was the day to catch a squirrel, but here you are, sprinting across the training grounds like a maniac. The squirrel, to its credit, looks mildly concerned, as if it didn’t sign up for this level of cardio.

Which it didn’t, but that’s none of your business.

“Why are you chasing a squirrel?” Leah shouts, barely managing to keep the exasperation out of her voice. She’s sometimes captain, which means she’s sometimes responsible for keeping things under control, a job made infinitely harder by your presence.

“I’m trying to help him,” you yell back, leaping over a stray football like you’re in some kind of Olympic hurdling event. “He looks lost!”

“Does he? Does he really?” Leah sounds like a woman on the edge, which is fair, because you’ve spent the last week convincing the new physio that the ice baths were secretly filled with pickled onions.

You’re aware that you’re the class clown of the team. If there were a formal title for it, it’d be embroidered on your jersey right under your number. The physio had been an easy target—too earnest, too eager to believe that a teenager could be trusted with serious information. You had explained with a straight face that, at Arsenal, there was a tradition of bathing in vinegar to promote circulation, and you had never seen someone look so horrified in your life. To your credit, you almost felt bad.

But not really.

Beth jogs up alongside you, her face equal parts amused and concerned, which seems to be the default expression of everyone when you’re around. “You know you’re gonna have to explain this one to Kim, right?”

“Kim loves me,” you reply, ducking as the squirrel makes a sharp turn towards the goalposts. “I’m like the daughter she never wanted”

“That’s definitely one way to put it,” Beth says, laughing as she matches your pace, which is not difficult because the squirrel is now dodging the goalposts with all the grace of a drunk toddler. “But seriously, what’s the plan here?”

The plan, if you could call it that, involves cornering the squirrel, giving it a lecture on the importance of proper nutrition (because that acorn it’s gnawing on looks suspiciously expired), and then setting it free like a wildlife warrior.

You don’t tell Beth this, though. You’ve learned that it’s best to keep your more ambitious plans to yourself until the very last minute, preferably right before they inevitably fail spectacularly.

“Improvisation is key,” you say instead, sounding like every PE teacher who’s ever tried to make dodgeball sound like a legitimate sport.

The squirrel skids to a stop by the water cooler, possibly considering hydration as a valid life choice, and you seize the opportunity to lunge at it. You miss by a good three feet, landing on the grass in a sprawl that would be embarrassing if it weren’t so common in your daily life.

From your new vantage point, you notice Lia sitting on the bench, watching the entire scene with the air of someone who has seen too much to be shocked by anything anymore. She’s eating an apple, slowly, methodically, like this is just another Tuesday.

“Need a hand?” she calls out, voice dripping with the kind of dry humor that you both appreciate and aspire to.

“Nah, I’m good,” you reply, dusting yourself off as you get back to your feet. The squirrel is now halfway up a tree, looking smug, which feels like a personal attack. “I’ve got him right where I want him”

“Yeah, sure looks like it,” Leah says, finally catching up to you. She’s slightly out of breath, and you make a mental note to tease her about her fitness levels later, but right now you’ve got bigger fish to fry, or squirrels to catch.

“Maybe we should let the squirrel go,” she suggests, putting a hand on your shoulder in a gesture that could either be comforting or restraining. You’re not entirely sure. “You know, before Jonas comes out and realises his star winger is trying to wrestle woodland creatures”

You consider this for a moment. The squirrel does seem pretty intent on staying in the tree, and you’re not sure how much longer you can keep up this level of enthusiasm. Plus, your last run-in with Jonas had involved a lengthy discussion about the dangers of free-climbing the goalposts after you’d tried to prove a point about your superior upper body strength.

“Fine,” you say with a sigh that’s more dramatic than necessary. “But only because I don’t want to give Kim another heart attack”

“Very noble of you,” Beth says, patting your back like you’ve just made a grand sacrifice.

You start to walk back towards the training pitch, the squirrel now a distant memory as you begin plotting your next escapade. Maybe something involving the team bus and a few dozen helium balloons.

As you’re contemplating the logistics, Leah pulls out her phone, probably to text Kim that the squirrel incident has been safely contained. “You’re a menace, you know that?”

“I prefer ‘misunderstood genius,’” you reply, grinning as you start jogging backwards, a skill you’ve mastered purely for moments like this.

“Sure, and I’m the Queen of England,” Leah retorts, finally cracking a smile.

“Does that make me the royal jester?” you ask, doing a little bow as you reach the training pitch.

“More like the royal pain in my-”

“Language, Leah!” you interrupt, mockingly covering your ears. “There are children present!”

“Yeah, one of them’s standing right in front of me,” Leah shoots back, but she’s laughing now, and you know you’ve won this round.

As the rest of the team regroups, you spot Kim making her way over, her expression a mixture of bemusement and something that might be resignation. You wonder how many more years you’ve shaved off her life expectancy.

“Y/N, do I even want to know?” She asks, though you suspect he already knows the answer.

“Probably not,” you admit cheerfully, shrugging like the whole thing is no big deal. “But I’m open to discussing it over lunch”

Kim sighs deeply, the kind of sigh that says she’s seriously reconsidering her life choices. “Just…try to focus on the actual training today, alright?”

“Absolutely,” you say with a solemn nod, crossing your fingers behind your back where she can’t see them.

As the team heads back to practice, you catch Beth giving you a knowing look. “What?” you ask, feigning innocence.

“I’m just wondering what you’ll come up with next,” she says, shaking her head in amusement.

“Oh, don’t worry,” you reply, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “I’ve got plenty more where that came from”

#awfc #awfc x reader #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso community

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ktaerssoi · 8 months ago

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same team, different goal

(pt.1) (pt.2) (pt.3)

summary: the three weeks leading up to the draft, or the three times you realize caitlin isnt all that bad.

(2k)

week one

march was coming to an end, and Iowa had made it to the elite eight. tomorrow you would play against LSU, and you were a little nervous. your nerves didn't ease up when you were practicing the night before on an empty court.

it was almost ten, but you hadn't eaten or even thought about anything but the game tomorrow until you heard someone enter the gym, and then you weren't alone.

looking up from the ground, you shot the basketball towards the net, your arm stretching out and your feet coming off of the floor for a moment, but to no avail, it hit the backboard and bounced back to you.

"you should ease up your arm, you're too tense to be playing to your full ability." you turn to see caitlin standing by the court's edge, a calculated look on her face. "clark, I really don't need your help, I just need to practice. you're not exactly helping with that by the way."

she put her hands up in defense, "Actually that was exactly what I was doing. Plus, this isn't your gym, I can come in and practice too if I want." and that's what she did. every time she threw the ball you heard a faint swish and turned to see her lazily going to retrieve the basketball. she's some freak of nature really.

"wanna run some defense real quick?" she throws the ball to you, which you catch with an annoyed look. "sure," the tone of your voice would be enough to turn anyone away normally, but caitlin was one to never quit.

you guys had been trying to block the other on and off for about an hour, caitlin having more success than not. "seriously caitlin, I don't get how you just walk in here and play so easy." you guys were over by the benches, getting some water and checking your phones.

she looks up at you, shrugging. "no I mean seriously, if I told you to stand anywhere on the court you could make it. you practice infinite hours and yet your grades almost never falter." you hadn't really realized that you were going on a rant, but you were nothing but amazed by her talent. well maybe a little jealous too.

"wow l/n, I didn't know you were that big of a fan, do you want me to sign a shirt or something?" you would usually be annoyed by a snarky statement like this, but something about the exhaustion of practicing and the smile on her face made you smile a little too.

you woke up the next morning feeling less nervous about the game. practicing with caitlin was helpful, even if you swear for the rest of your life that it wasn't. She had told you about herself, in between breaks you guys would talk about what it was like playing basketball growing up.

she was easy to talk to.

you had been warming up for a little, talking to kate and trying to relax, like caitlin said. by half, both teams were tied at 45, and you were trying not to stress. you knew that you had a good team, and you knew that even if we were to fail it wouldn't be the end of the world.

you had a short water break at half, and caitlin came up to you, leaning down and whispering in your ear. "hey just relax, we got this, just get out of your head." you nodded, looking up and her. kate had given you guys an odd look, along with the rest of the team.

once the third quarter started, you were trying to guard angel resse. she was a difficult player to block, but you had managed to stop a few points and by the end of the third quarter Iowa was up by 11.

you could tell caitlin wasn't happy that we were so close to the end of the game and we barely had a lead. "c, just play like you did last night, don't think just play. you're not the best at thinking anyway." she rolled her eyes at your comment but smiled nonetheless.

"That's not what you said last night," she said as the whistle for the fourth quarter blew. your cheeks had turned a light shade of pink, one that you hoped you could play off as a tough game. you hadn't been put in for the fourth quarter coach opting to put someone else in and give you a break.

"since when have you and caitlin been friends?" you turn to see jada, confusion written on her face. "um, we've always been friends, just, not like good friends." you say, taking a sip of your water. "not "good friends?" you guys fight like there's no tomorrow. something happened and I and kate will find out." you shake your head, a smile on your face as you picture her and kate in old-timey investigater outfits.

"you have fun with that."

the game ends quickly after that, Iowa winning by 7 points. you smiled as you saw the team celebrate on the court, still holding good sportsmanship to LSU (for the most part..), you walked by the other team, high-fiving and telling resse that she's a tough player to block. you guys chat for a little before you say goodbye and walk into the locker room.

"what were you talking to resse about?" you hear caitlin before you see her, but when you do see her she's in the middle of changing out of her jersey into some random shirt. "nothing really, I was just telling her that she played well." you shrugged, walking over to your bag to get changed as well, trying not to stare at anyone.

"yeah, she played well I guess, we still won though." caitlin grabbed her bag in a huff, seeming to be a tad annoyed. "if I didn't know any better I would say you're mad I talked to her," you mumbled, but caitlin still heard.

"I'm not mad I just don't get why you don't treat our team like that, I mean you didn't congratulate any of us and we were the ones who won." caitlin's voice was raised now, you weren't sure where this was coming from but it ticked you off nonetheless.

"fine, you need some praise? good fucking job caitlin, our very own lord and savior." you rolled your eyes, grabbing your bag, and walking out to the bus to head back to campus. sitting down in the seat next to kate you were silent, not wanting to talk to anyone.

one thing though was that you most definitely hated caitlin clark.

you had gotten to Cleveland earlier that day, you had talked to the UConn team, since you used to play for them it was fun to chat with old teammates and meet the new players. you knew that caitlin and paige were friends, they used to play together and were a great duo. That's why you weren't surprised when she came over and started making her presence known, shutting down the conversation you were having with paige.

"yeah and then she had the audacity-" you were cut off by caitlin, smiling as she walked over and hugged paige. "hey bueckers, you better be ready to lose tomorrow." you glared at her not so subtly, sighing. "clark I was kind of in the middle of talking." she looked down at you, rolling her eyes. "yeah because you always have to talk to the opponents?"

paige had turned away at that point, talking to ice because she knew it was bound to be awkward if she continued standing there. "what is your problem? just because I didn't feed your ego one time im a problem? you need to get a grip." her jaw tightened at your words, you hadn't spoken loud, not wanting to draw too much attention to you guys.

"me? I'm not the one with the issues, you just seem to hate me for no reason at all. seriously, ever since you transferred to Iowa I've been trying to be your friend but you've taken everything I've done as an attack on you. me getting you dinner was not meant to send you into an allergic reaction and get you out of a game!" she hadn't taken into consideration that other people were around and she was talking at a voice level far too loud for the small area you were in.

you had dragged her to a corner, deciding it would be the easiest way to defuse the situation. "okay I'm sorry, you're just good at everything, and it's kind of hard to be friends with someone like that. it makes me feel like I have to prove I'm better which usually doesn't go over well. also, it wasn't even about the allergic reaction I just don't know why you got me dinner. I was fine by myself." caitlin rolls her eyes at your words but nods regardless.

you guys had won the game against UConn the next day, and you and caitlin finally working well together and not arguing throughout the game. there was a sort of understanding between the two of you guys now.

week two

you guys had ulitamtily lost the game against NC state, it was close and you guys had played hard. caitlin was anything but happy by the end of it, and not even kate or gabbie could fix it.

"clark, like you said, its not the end of the world. there will always be another game." you had said it to not only help her, but yourself. you weren't exactly pleased with the outcome of the game, none of team had been.

for caitlin it was different, she was going to the draft next week and losimg her lat college game wasn't something she could live with. but she would have to.

even though you hadn't really meant to, you had cheered caitlin up. even if it was only a little bit, her mood had improved and she was able to talk to the team with out an undertone of anger. the ride home wasn't the best trip of your life but you guys had managed to make the best of it for everyone sake.

seeing caitlin sit quietly on the bus made you start thinking about what it wold be like on the team with out her next year. with out her it would be so different, not to mention you were losing a bunch of other great players. but with out caitlin who would you compete with? she wasn't just a teammate, she was a friend, whether you guys were fighting or not you would miss her. plus she was nice to look at.

half way through the trip back to campus you guys had stopped to stretch your legs. when you got back on, you sat next to caitlin before she could put her feet up and block the seat.

"hey c," you smiled at her, and though she didn't show it you could tell that she was okay with you being there. you had looked over at what she was doing on her phone and you saw she was looking at her possible outfits for the draft.

"i like that one." you had pointed to your favorite of the options, a sparkly cropped top with a white button down and a skirt. it would look good on her.

she nodded, and quickly sent a text to her stylist that that was the one she wanted to wear. you had just picked out caitlin clarks wnba draft night outfit.

"i don't know what im going to do next year. i mean, the wnba is going to be great but seriously this team is to good to not miss." caitlin was picking at her fingernails, a bad habit of hers. "even though im on it?" you laughed a little, you knew she hadn't always liked you.

"no i think especially because you're on it. you've really been my number one compeition and with you gone i don't know who's going to keep my ego in check." she smiles at you, and you shake your head. "trust me clark, someone is going to get fed up and humble you."

something about the way she smiled the rest of the way home made you feel good. you really were going to miss her.

week three

it was draft night, and you had been invited along with some other team members to attend for caitlin. she and everyone looked so good, and the outfit you had chosen definitely distracted some people. (you included)

the draft was about to start and caitlin had been standing with you, kate, gabbie, and jada for a while before she finally had to leave. your leg was bouncing with anticipation when the commissioner came on stage with the first pick, but instantly cheers erupted from your group and many others in the room.

you were surprised when caitlin didn't instantly get up and head to the commissioner, instead, she hugged her family, stepped down off the stage to hug you first, and then, kate, jada, and gabbie, and then finally went to the commissioner. that's going to be in an edit.

the night went smoothly after that, you were getting texts from her often, and one of the commentators had pointed out that you both both on your phones. when the cameras panned over to her and you, the crowd cheered and you both waved. you felt your phone buzz a few seconds later with a text from caitlin, "they're watching us 😉" the cameras were still on you, so you flipped your phone showing the camera her message.

later that night, at the after party you were talking with Nika when caitlin had excused you both and you walked over to some corner. "hey, you know I was tal-" you were cut off by caitlin's lips on yours. it took you a moment but you kissed back.

what the fuck was happening.

she pulled away after a second and you looked at her stunned, confusion evident on your face. "um, so like why did you do that?"

her face guys pink, and she looks confused as well. "I, um, i don't know why i did that. i just really wanted to kiss you." you nodded at her admittion, yet still confused.

"i think i've liked you since you transferred. i mean, i just like, i think that's why I've always competed with you, i just wanted to show off. It's why i got mad the other day, sorry about that by the way-" she was the one to get cut off this time as you kissed her again.

pulling away after a few seconds you smiled up at her, taking in your high difference for what seemed like the first time. "you're not all too bad either clark." you gave her one more peck and your smile widened even more if possible. "congrats on getting drafted by the way. I'll have to get you to sign a jersey for me."

CHAT I HATE THIS SO MUCH SOME ONE END ME. no like all jokes aside this is actual dookie. but i finally finished this little side blurb thing so yay!! making brownies rn i will update you on them! thats all chat, once again sos. - kate

#wcbb #caitlin clark #caitlin clark x reader #paige #kate martin #iowa wbb #iowa hawkeyes #i love her sm

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shivadh · 4 months ago

Note

Also also, how much of the language do you have figured out at this point? I keep on wishing it was something I could learn, because tavat as a concept has me in a chokehold. Do you only have what you've used, or is there a secret word document with a dictionary and grammar rules being put together?

I've got a little tiny bit of grammar and some vocabulary, but that's about it, and the vocab is basically split between "made it up because it sounds fun" and "nicked it off nearby countries". Like Naran Juice Box Company is a Shivadh company, and they primarily used to sell orange juice so they use the Shivadh word for orange, "Naran", which has an obvious relationship to the Spanish word "Naranja". The football team takes after the "giallorossi" (yellow-reds) of Roma and call themselves the "Levenaran" (blue-oranges) but Leve is just made up because it fit well -- and of course if you are a member of the team you don't just support the levenaran, you are considered "Levenaranh".

Tavat was likewise made up to sound dramatic. :D At least as far as I recall. I wrote most of Infinite Jes on my phone while traveling, across about three weeks, and usually after going to bed, so my memories of composing it are remarkably hazy.

I will eventually actually have a public webpage with all the Shivadh language stuff on it, though. I'm building a wiki for the books which is mostly just needed by me so I'm not constantly looking up shit, and one page will be what is canonical about the Shivadh language.

I know some things; the big one is that the language uses suffixes frequently, so you'd modify a word by appending a suffix rather than using an adjective. The -h on the end of Shivadh to indicate nationality isn't used super commonly but it's meant to indicate origin, like it's basically "of" but where "of" denotes being from somewhere ("I am of Shivadlakia" but not "It's full of stars"). I just recently included -ic in the last short story as a diminutive, so when Michaelis says "tavatic" he's calling his grandson a sweet little prince. He wouldn't use "tavatic" for Joan or Noah, they're too old; when he calls Joan "mio Ioannina" he's speaking Italian, and using a diminutive that's more appropriate to her age.

In the football novel, the protagonist Paolo is often called Paodet, which is a nickname Gerald made up for him when they were younger. Paolo didn't get a ton of Shivadh language because he left the country for football reasons fairly young, but he knows -det means "beautiful" so he's Beautiful Paul, basically. What he's not really cognizant of for a while is that -det has a specific connotation of a thing, so he's beautiful like a statue, not like a person, because he was always a little standoffish.

And of course "Dy" is boat, which gets the general intensifier -chev added to make sure it's the boatiest. Which is also how we get "Ejechev", the equivalent of the Italian "Daje" or the English "Go team!"

But yeah, most of it's just nouns, so I'll have a list up eventually. :D I'm about a third of the way done with the wiki -- all the notes have been taken and sorted into various files, but now I need to turn "a bunch of copypasta notes from the books" into cohesive profile pages on, say, Shivadh culture, or Gerald Dux Shivadlakia, or the RSBC, or Institut Alpin. It's not difficult, just time consuming.

#research #shivadh culture #spiritwildheartofachild

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violetsiren90 · 2 months ago

Text

Under the Hunter's Moon

Pairing: Yoongi x f!Reader (What the Moon Saw universe)

Genre: drabble; non-idol AU; friends to lovers; young love; autumn/harvest vibes, pure unadulterated fluff

Summary: A disappointment turns into something unexpected when Yoongi encounters you outside of your cliffside haven.

Content warnings: PG rating, but ALL my content is off-limits to minors; depictions of underage smoking; allusions to divorce; school bullying; Yoongi being a scaredy cat on rides lol; mentions of eating and food; allusions to a difficult home life; cuties at a carnival 💕; brief feelings of panic; riding in the back if a truck sans safety restraints.

Word Count: ~3200

Author's note: I spent my birthday today at a little pumpkin patch by the sea. I'd been wanting to go since getting the idea for this drabble a few months back. I felt like I got to ring in the next year with them, somehow. I felt them in the salty breeze and I heard them on the crash of the waves. They are so precious to me. ❤️

If no one has told you yet today you are loved and so worthy of it! 🧜‍♀️💜

He had found you sniffling under a sprawling valley oak that had tilted its way over the aged planks and posts of the two-rail fence and stretched out toward the naked expanse of the strawberry field and the last fiery rays of the late-October sun. He and Hoseok had broken away from the pack of boys he hung around with to find a quiet nook for a smoke. When he had seen you look up at him in surprise from where your face had been buried in your drawn-up knees, nose red and cheeks stained with tears, he had shoved a cigarette into Hobi's shirt pocket and sent the freshman packing. Now Yoongi was sitting next to you in silence, his back to the trunk, stealing furtive glances at you between drags. You heaved a sigh and leaned back against the tree, your shoulder brushing his.

"I'm okay," you murmured, drawing the back of your hand a last time over your eyes, mascara that you rarely wore smudging across your knuckles.

"Yeah?" he asked, his gaze trained over the mulched land that stretched from the tips of his Converse to where the dying light strained out to bathe his soft, porcelain features in a golden sheen. "You here with somebody?"

"I...was...I guess," you muttered despondently. "Don't really know why I ever let myself believe they would want to hang out with me. Should have just stayed home like last year."

You kept your gaze from his, your eyes instead catching the movement of his slender, athletic legs stretching out in front of him and kicking up little clouds of silt that caught here and there as they dissipated over his light-wash skinny jeans.

"What are you doing here, anyway? You hate crowds."

You felt his shoulder shrug against yours.

"It's the Fest," he remarked, "Everybody goes."

Every year on the Friday before Halloween, your high school loaded its coastal-dwelling autumnally-deprived students onto busses for a forty-five minute drive inland and into agricultural territory to attend the massive Fall Fest for which its hosting county was acclaimed. It was the highlight of the semester - more anticipated than the winter formal - and for good reason. Tickets purchased upon entry (and sold in homeroom two weeks in advance) could be traded for carnival rides and games and seasonal attractions, while a little cash could afford attendees delicious treats and festive souvenirs.

You had never really seen what all the fuss was about. But, then again, events of such a nature were infinitely more enjoyable when one had someone with which to share them - a novelty you had never been afforded until a week ago, when Miranda Dallet and another girl from her posse had asked you to sit with them at lunch. When they asked you to attend the Fest with them you had been surprised, a feeling which had given way to one much less pleasantly anticipatory when Miranda had begun asking you about your newly-divorced father's house - the one just a few miles into town from the Fest grounds, and the one he had apparently told Jacqueline Peters' mother had a hot tub and a 50-inch flat screen TV.

When your father had agreed to let the lot of you stay over at his after the big bash, the reaction of your new acquaintances had you feeling the tiniest bit proud, even if you knew you were being used...you had never really had girlfriends before. Their squeals of excitement and insistent vows that you were the best had lit a little candle in your heart you hadn't even realized existed. Its flame had grown brighter over the days that followed as you planned outfits and borrowed lip gloss and let the others style your hair. And then, half an hour ago, it had been snuffed out when your father had called to cancel last minute, and the news had seen Miranda call you a liar and a poser, thereby revoking her friendship, her crew, and the white puffer jacket she had insisted you borrow, to leave you crushed and alone beside a candy-apple cart.

Your heart sank at the prospect of recounting your pathetic tale to Yoongi...but, he never asked. He merely finished his cigarette, tossing the butt into the upturned soil, and then standing and brushing off his jeans, shoved one hand in the pocket of his bomber jacket and extended the other down to you. You took it and let him pull you to your feet. As you swiped away the smudges your tears had made of the supposedly waterproof eye makeup, you felt Yoongi's gaze drift over you. You blinked up at him questioningly.

"You look...different," he offered, shoving his other hand into its corresponding jacket pocket.

You wrapped your arms self-consciously around the bare inches of your midriff. A trip to the local mall with Miranda and company after school the previous day had resulted in the purchase of your current attire: a light-pink spaghetti-strap tank that hugged your torso, ruched sides pulling it well above the studded waistband of your snugly fitting lowrider jeans, accompanied by a pair of hoop earrings larger than you had ever worn and which were nearly as shiny as your lip gloss. Temperatures remaining in the low seventies well into the late days of fall allowed teenage girls across your county to continue their relentless pursuit of getting dress-coded in the name of Brittany Spears. At events like these, however, the chaperoning staff were wise enough to let it be, as such efforts would likely result in wasted funds and totally empty busses. You had decided to take the plunge and wear something rather decidedly out of character.

"Well," you huffed, "I couldn't come the way I usually dress..."

Yoongi's brow creased.

"What's wrong with how you dress?"

"Ah...I don't know...I just wanted to look nice, I guess."

He nodded, eyes on his shoes.

"Do I look...bad?" You asked quietly, smoothing your hands down over the denim of your pants.

Yoongi looked a bit surprised when his eyes flicked up to yours again, and then they softened as he answered.

"No...no, of course not."

You smiled gratefully and his dark eyes went wide like a baby's as he tilted his head down, glancing about as he drew his bottom lip between his teeth and raised a hand to scratch behind his ear. If you hadn't known better, you would have thought he looked a bit shy. Was he shy? Something inside you preened a bit at the thought. Your bashfulness having dissipated, you moved your hands to clasp behind your back. Yoongi cocked a brow, a little grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he stripped of his jacket and held it out to you.

"Looks a little cold though," he remarked, a teasing glimmer in his eyes.

"I'm fine, thank you," you huffed, feeling a bit caught, and crossed your arms in indignation.

He shrugged, still smirking, and tossed the jacket over his shoulder.

"Suit yourself," he remarked, "But it's gonna be a lot chillier when it's dark."

"I'm leaving anyway," you sulked, trudging toward the low fence and clambering over it.

"Why?" Yoongi asked quickly as he followed, nimbly vaulting the wooden structure and coming to land beside you.

"Because I got ditched. I'm not gonna wander around here alone like a loser."

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, and watched him physically swallow the joke that had formulated on his tongue about it being too late for you in that regard. Instead he reached up and poked you on the cheek.

"So don't go alone. Come with me."

You blinked at him. You had never once hung out with him outside the ledge. There had been the occasional brief wave of a hand across a parking lot or small affectionate smile when passing in a hall, but never so much as a word between you when at school. It had been an unspoken mutual agreement, keeping the worlds of your lives and the ledge separate. It kept your shared hiding place a haven from the rest of it all - one that you both desperately needed. So, his proposition caught you off guard and feeling a little uncertain. Yoongi must have realized your quandary, because he draped his jacket gently around your shoulders and gave you that little hopeful raise of his brows you'd have moved mountains for, and before you knew it, he was ambling alongside you as you trotted towards the lights and laughter of the rides.

It was strange and new, being with him like this, and you began to realize that even though you could read his face like the pages of a book and stood gatekeeper to many of the secrets of his gentle, burning heart, you'd never seen the sweet little smile that cotton candy caused to bloom on his lips, or how quickly it could vanish at the prospect of riding the slingshot. This being so, you couldn't help but take him in like some lovely unknown creature as you sat beside him on the Ferriss wheel and watched him glance nervously toward the ground growing further and further below.

"You okay?" you asked in amusement, glancing at his whitened knuckles where they clutched the safety bar across his lap.

He hummed in assent, now peering down over the tips of his shoes. You followed his gaze, leaning forward and consequently causing the little bucket seat to rock as it climbed toward the peak of the structure.

"Yah, yah, yah, yah!" Yoongi hollered, eyes wide as saucers as he yanked you back upright and only succeeded in rocking your seat more violently.

You didn't understand what he said next - he had slipped into Korean - but you were laughing too hard at his terrified and exasperated expression and how he clutched your arm to pay any mind to what he had to say.

The Ferris wheel proved to be the sole ride of the evening, as Yoongi flatly refused to endure another, and you made your way into the stretch of grounds that smelled like cinnamon and grilled meats and sounded with booth attendants enticing festivalgoers to try a hand at winning their wares. You stopped to toss a few coins onto dishes, coming infuriatingly close with your third penny to winning a giant Pikachu plushie.

You then proceeded to toss and toss until you had nearly exhausted your change purse without luck - only pausing when Yoongi appeared at your elbow with a two corndogs, slipping one into your hand. You protested at him spending his money on food you knew, though simple, could not have been cheap. He ignored your indignation, however, leading you back into the bustle and sermonizing over the rigged nature of the coin-toss game.

You looked down with a small plaintive smile at the paper boat encasing the deep-fried fare in your hands. Yoongi, though sharp and driven, wasn't a good student. He had a reputation for slacking off on assignments and cutting classes that won no favors with teachers who would never know that he had been working two jobs under the table since he was thirteen. That without his help his family would likely lose their home. That he had bought his mother nearly every single earthly possession she had. That the dinner you were holding meant a hell of a lot more than just a few bucks for some carnival food.

He was still chatting on in an endearing, self-satisfied drone, eyes half-lidded and head tilted back pedantically, when you suddenly slipped your arm under his, squeezing his bicep affectionately.

"What?" he looked down at you, interrupting his own stream of thought.

You shook your head as you took a bite of your corndog and grinned up at him through full cheeks. He let out a chuckle, taking a bite of his own.

"Were you listening to anything I said?" he grumbled in lighthearted accusation over his own mouthful.

"Of course not," you hummed, bumping his hip, and causing him to stumble beside you.

He grunted, the corner of his mouth pulling up just ever so slightly.

"Fright walk!" you crooned, pointing at a structure decked out in campy cobwebs with a lopsided grim reaper standing wobbly attendance at the door.

"Nope," Yoongi shook his head, tugging you suddenly in the opposite direction.

"Chicken!" You whined.

"Korean. Fried." He deadpanned with a straight-lipped smile and you nearly choked on the last of your corndog as you snorted with laughter.

Yoongi grinned down at you. There it was on your pretty lips again, that smile that lit up his world like a beacon in the night. If someone had asked him if it was more important for the sun to rise in the east each day or for that smile to reach your eyes, he would have plunged the very earth into darkness every time, deny it as he might.

"Come on," Yoongi murmured.

Weaving through the booths, stray leaves crunching underfoot, he led you to a long line of festival goers queuing up to pile into the beds of big trucks loaded down snuggly with bales of hay.

You had only been in line a few minutes when you heard their voices behind you. You recognized Miranda's snicker and your stomach twisted into a knot. The brisk breeze suddenly tripping over you from behind carried with it their mirthless laughter, and you froze in place as your body and mind waged a war of priority over delaying your tears and moving your feet.

A victor was never decided.

Your swimming eyes blinked and saw him, his little smile and soft, determined eyes, as he moved in front of you, pulling up the collar of his jacket on either side of your face. He held it there, steady hands, the fabric brushing your hot ears as his eyes locked yours and silently told you to breathe, wordlessly promised it would all be alright. The sights and sounds of the festival faded and all you could hear was the soothing, rhythmic crash of the sea.

"Want to get out of here?" Yoongi asked lowly, after a long moment, gaze still holding your own.

You nodded and he took your hand.

Yoongi borrowed your cell phone to make a call and walked with you down the dirt road that opened into a rural highway from the mouth of the festival grounds. As you walked you told him about the girls. About your father's broken promise. About the not being needed, and not so not being wanted. He let you pour out and sift through your anger and hurt in the company of his gentle and receptive silence.

Half a mile's trek brought you to a tiny gas station, its aged, yellowing sign flickering to life as the sun finally yielded the dim glow of its last strains to the darkness beyond the strawberry fields.

Yoongi bought two cans of cola from a buzzing old vending machine, handing one to you as he sat beside you on the iron bench chained to the side of the building. The stars began to peep out and speckle the sky as the full moon tipped over the eastern horizon to find you, much to its surprise, quite far from your little ledge, though still side by side. It watched you curiously until its flaxen beams were joined by a pair of bobbing headlights as a truck rumbled up off the road.

"Thanks, hyung," Yoongi clapped the driver, a handsome older boy who glanced between the two of you with a sly smile, on the shoulder before gripping the edge of the bed and bracing a foot against the tire to hop into the back of the truck. He turned and held a hand out for you.

"We're riding back there?" You asked skeptically, glancing over the dusty plastic ridges of the bed.

"We never got that hayride," Yoongi said with a shrug, and your heart squeezed in your chest as you grabbed his hand and let him pull you in.

You scootched against the back of the cab, pulling your knees up to your chest. The warmth was quickly dispelling in the darkness, and cool air whipping around your body as it dipped through the bed made you shiver. Your eyes flicked to Yoongi's bare arms.

"Here, thanks for the loan..." you murmured, shrugging the jacket off and holding it toward him.

Before he could refuse to take it, your ride jostled on the unpaved road, tossing you across his lap. His arms caught you, and after a moment's hesitation, pulled you to his chest and over his right leg, fanning the jacket out over your bodies. Your back to his chest and his arms around your waist, he held you, as he had a dozen times before. A dozen times and your heart still fluttered - fluttered and then settled into safety as you settled into him.

An hour or so later, Yoongi reached up to lift you down onto the sidewalk. You didn't notice as your eyes caught his - sweeter and rounder - how his hands lingered a moment too long at your waist. The driver asked if Yoongi wanted a ride back to his place and he declined, thanking him again. The older boy said Yoongi owed him a fishing trip and Yoongi chuckled, waving him off as the truck rolled down the street.

Your house was dark, and Yoongi walked you to the front door, hands stuffed in his pockets. You turned the key in the lock, and then you turned to him. You took him in as he looked down at you, his pretty, soft features concealing none of his affection. He swallowed, shifting on his feet.

"What?" he asked.

"Thank you," you murmured earnestly.

"For what...?" and he began to scoff gently, but your answer came too quickly and sincerely for him to protest.

"For tonight. For every night," you sighed a little breath full of aching gratitude. "For being my friend."

His lovely dark eyes widened and his lips parted and suddenly you found yourself raising up on your tip toes to press your mouth to his cheek.

You did it before you could stop yourself and you turned before you could look at him, and you slipped into the quiet house, closing the door behind you just a bit too quickly - so that he wouldn't see, so that your eyes wouldn't give you away.

In doing so, you had missed it.

But the yellow hunter's moon gazing fondly down through the dark, wispy clouds had seen.

It had watched you kiss the boy's cheek. It had watched you hurriedly take your leave. And while you sighed wistfully on the other side of the door, it had watched the boy raise his hand to touch his face, walk back down to the street, and quietly lose the battle he had been fighting all night - every night, in fact, since that first on the cliffside.

It had watched him fall in love with you.

-Fin-

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that-ari-blogger · 3 months ago

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This Is About Relationships (Hell's Greatest Dad)

I feel like we are seeing more and more stories that draw on horror elements as of recent times, with mixed success.

Critical Role, for example, has put some heavy emphasis on body and cosmic horror in their most recent campaigns, and I think that has worked really well. They are telling a story about feeling powerful in the face of adversity, and so having villains who are either unknowable or far too knowable really works for that idea.

On the other hand, the horror elements of Doctor Strange and the Multiverse of Madness actively took me out of the story, because they didn’t fit with the rest of the franchise at all, and I found that rather jarring.

Then there is Hazbin Hotel, which isn’t scary, but it definitely draws on some of the tools of writing horror. Although it doesn't do that in the way you might expect. Specifically, it uses the character of Lucifer to both embody and subvert the very nature of Gothic horror itself.

Let me explain.

SPOILERS AHEAD: (Hazbin Hotel, Ratatouille, Paradise Lost, Frankenstein)

I have made my stance on genre extremely clear in the past. I think it exists, but I think it is bollocks, and Hazbin Hotel kind of proves my point.

Because, yes, you can boil Horror down into however many constituent parts as you would like in order to organise a bookstore, but however you spin it, Hazbin Hotel fits that, with the exception that it isn’t scary.

Then again, being scary is entirely subjective. For example, I am completely fine with ghosts and ghouls, so the only thing that gets me about games such as Phasmophobia are the jump scares, and Jump Scares aren't horror. By the same score, I am incredibly squeamish, so Hazbin Hotel itself was more difficult for me than a few of my friends.

Which leads me to gothic horror, which has a distinct aesthetic to it that isn’t actually essential at all.

The name actually comes from its aesthetic. Gothic fiction got started in the 1700s when Gothic architecture was popular but gained traction in the early 1800s when authors such as Edgar Alen Poe and Jane Austin got involved. The latter of whom wrote Northanger Abbey in 1818 to parody the overdramatization of the genre in a book that I personally despise.

Austin’s book comes across to me as incredibly insincere. I have an infinite respect for Austin’s work, but there is a deep sense of contempt in Northanger Abbey that drives me up the wall.

I want to be clear here, this is not me saying the book is bad. It is incredibly well written. I just hate it with every fibre of my being.

To me, Northanger Abbey missed the point of the gothic genre. Gothic isn't about the emotion, it's about the humanity. The fallibility, the force of will, the instability and resilience that come and go like the wind.

Gothic horror turns that into fear, specifically the fear of morality. It’s the Ratatouille genre. Any angel can sin, any demon can rise. Or in other words:

“Anyone can cook.”

Gothic horror is the fear of inconsistency. That someone you trust can betray you, or spiral into awful deeds, or that someone you despise might be right. It’s the fear of redemption, and conversely, the terror of good motives leading to bad ends.

Other subsets of horror draw on the fear of the unknown, or of not knowing. Gothic fiction is steeped in the terror of what you know being wrong.

Case and point, Frankenstein is both the archetypal science fiction book, and a phenomenal Gothic story. The terror is derived from the fact that it’s titular character can be so great and yet such an absolute monster, as well as the horror of creating a conscience.

The creature is intelligent, and its intrinsic morality is up for debate the entire time. Frankenstein calls it his "Adam", for Pete's sake. It kills multiple people, but as a reader you are unsettled by how much you agree with its motives.

Gothic horror is the fear of absence. There is no good or evil here, just people.

There’s a reason I brought up Ratatouille. The conflict of the series is derived from Skinner’s visceral fear that someone he despises as much as Linguine can actually be competent, combined with a field rat rising from the gutter to run a restaurant. “Anyone can cook” is a threat in this movie, but it gets better explained by Ego in a way that I really like.

“In the past, I have made no secret of my disdain for Chef Gusteau’s famous motto: ‘Anyone can cook.’ But I realize, only now do I truly understand what he meant. Not everyone can become a great artist, but a great artist can come from anywhere.”

According to one of the greatest fanfics ever written, Paradise Lost, Lucifer rebelled against G-d’s vision and fell, which can be taken any number of ways. It’s written so that you sympathise with the main character, who is, may I remind you, the literal devil.

Worth noting, Frankenstein's monster reads Paradise Lost. I wonder if there is any significance to that.

Lucifer from Hazbin Hotel is nominally the same character as his biblical counterpart, except that he is blissfully unaware of any of the themes surrounding him. Kinda.

He has grasped the fact that anyone can fall, but the reverse of that hasn’t quite registered to him yet.

Case and point, he doesn’t understand people at all. He has sought escapism through “stuff”. By which I mean the ducks, but I also mean his song, Hell’s Greatest Dad.

Part of the gothic theming in Hazbin Hotel is that people aren’t static, and that relationships are more important than anything else. Angel Dust and Pentious don’t become better people through trust falls, the find it through love and companionship, both platonic and more than platonic.

To demonstrate this, we contrast Lucifer with Alastor, who once again doesn’t sing his own song but steals it off someone else. Alastor’s relationship with Charlie is so obviously sinister, and that will be better explained two episodes down the line, but at least he has a relationship with her.

The agony of this is that Jeremy Jordan is a phenomenal voice actor, who, along with Lucifer’s stellar writing, endears the character to you from his first scene.

Alastor is a villain; Lucifer is an absent father. Who do you side with here? That’s gothic fiction.

“Sailors fighting in the dance hall, Oh man, look at those cavemen go. It’s the freakiest show. Take a look at the lawman Beating up the wrong guy Oh man, wonder if he’ll ever know He's in the best selling show. Is there life on Mars?”

This is the chorus of a David Bowie song called Life On Mars. It centres around someone seeking escape through television and storytelling. It points out the futility of this, but the fact that it works. It’s a stable dynamic that doesn’t go anywhere.

Remind you of anything?

“Who needs a busboy, now that you've got the chef? Michelin tasting menu, free à la carte I'll rig the game for you because I'm the ref Champagne fountains, caviar mountains, that's just to start!”

Lucifer is offering Charlie anything she could dream of. Any thing. But Charlie doesn’t need an object. She needs a father, and she needs her relationship with Lucifer.

Enter Alastor, who, up to this point, has been generally benevolent to Charlie. He’s basically the embodiment of that old Tumblr textpost that described someone as “chaotic gay. I haven’t done anything evil yet, but my general aesthetic and demeanour tell you that I will, any day now.”

Side note, I know this post exists. I have seen it, I have screenshots of it. But Tumblr’s search function is so legendarily awful that I cannot locate it. Tumblr’s search function has beaten the FBI before, and I don’t have that much patience.

In any case, Alastor offers up his own curriculum vitae in the form of this:

“Who’s been here since day one? Who’s been faithful as a nun? Makes you chuckle with an old-timey pun? Your executive producer.”

He’s pitching himself via his relationship with Charlie. But what I wanted to point out specifically was how the two characters relate to the beat of the song.

This song is inspired by Friend Like Me. I know it's subtle, but I'm onto something, and I can pick out the clues. If you look closely at his moustache in this shot...

Lucifer is clicked to the rhythm, or rather, his backing music is. The band hits ever downbeat as one, looping back to play the same thing every few bars. It is incredibly stable. The one thing that isn’t, is Lucifer.

The man misses every single beat by a fraction of a second. Not much, but when you contrast him with the entirely of the rest of the song, you notice that tiny imperfection, especially when Alastor doesn’t share it.

Alastor starts singing by matching the beat perfectly with his opening sounds, then going free within the restraints. Later, when he co-opts the song, the band begins playing along with him and matching his melody.

The Radio Demon understands people incredibly well, and he works on relationships. As such, his music has a much more symbiotic relationship between each of the parts. Lucifer’s feels like a creation, Alastor’s feels like it was created, if that makes sense. There’s a human element to Alastor’s take on this song.

Which brings me back to the gothic stuff going on here, and the relationship between Lucifer and Alastor. Alastor is, of course, a manipulator. He takes issue with Lucifer because he wants Charlie isolated. But Lucifer has no reason to get upset by Alastor, right?

Alastor shakes up Lucifer’s entire worldview, to the point where I find some of the double dad dynamic between them rather compelling. Most of it.

Alastor is risk incarnate; he stands for the idea that anyone can do anything. A radio presenter can be a cannibal, and have parenting instincts take over with Nifty and at times Charlie. But he is unsafe. Because he is such an unknown, he is untrustworthy. You don’t know where you stand.

Lucifer, meanwhile, is terrified of this fact. He likes the safety of knowing where he stands, he can protect himself there, but he can also protect others. In my eyes, that’s why he was so absent with Charlie. He found something he could understand and kept it because he didn’t want to shake up the rhythm. But that was futile, and he realises this over the course of this episode.

But you might say “wait, Alastor is ace, he can’t be with Lucifer,” and my answer is twofold. First up, I am ace too, that doesn’t prohibit relationships. I’m not even talking about romantic stuff here, Alastor is the poster boy for being aromantic, but more importantly, parenting isn’t just about the other parent.

The two can both be dads, joined by their mutual care for their daughter, rather than affection for each other. I find that compelling. Charlie needs both the security and the sign that everything is possible. She needs someone to lift her up, but she also needs someone to catch her when she falls, and Lucifer and Alastor both play different roles in that dynamic.

Any angel can sin, any demon can rise. Anyone can be a dad, anyone can cook.

Final Thoughts

Jeremy Jordan is a global treasure and even if this series doesn’t stick the landing with its next season (we will see), Lucifer will be amazing.

Do I have a crush on this man? No. No, I do not. Why do you ask?

In all seriousness, I think episode five should have been two episodes. One for this song, and one for the next. Lucifer would join the Hotel’s crew for a few days, befriending Pentious and co., being utterly disrespected by Husk, and being eased into the fact that morality isn’t binary.

I don’t even mean this from just the pacing perspective, I think the series would have so much more thematic weight if it devoted more time to the literal devil learning the thesis of the series and becoming on board with redemption. I think that would be cool.

I'm also just now realising that this is a Gothic Horror musical, so of course Alex Brightman got cast in it.

In any case, next week is More Than Anything, which is yet another case study in why Jeremy Jordan is amazing. Stick around if that interests you.

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#rants #literary analysis #what's so special about...?#literature analysis #character analysis #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin alastor #hazbin lucifer #jane austin #mary shelley #mary shelly's frankenstein #david bowie #life on mars #gothic horror #gothic literature #paradise lost

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theidiotwhowritesthings · 2 years ago

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A Fresh Start [14]

Din Djarin x F!Reader

Warnings: self doubt, anxiety over appearance, past medical trauma, sexual tension, like so much sexual tension, some heavy petting, slow burn (i use it as a warning here b/c it’s gonna feel like an attack by time you’re through with this chapter lol)

Word Count: 4,682

Summary: When you made plans for your future they never involved being hired by a Mandalorian to baby-sit his adorable, green gremlin of a child. However, after your life fell apart in the span of one disastrous night, you found it to be the only feasible option you had left. Nevarro was a far cry from Coruscant, but the thriving community turned out to be exactly what you needed. Every day you spend in Nevarro you fall more and more in love with your new life, but when your past rears its ugly head you find that perhaps peace wasn’t meant for everyone.

Ch. #14: AM I MAKING YOU QUIVER?

Chapter Summary: Exploration and Anticipation

“i must have loved you in other lives because when i see you it feels like coming home. no one makes me feel more myself than you. when my hand is in yours it’s familiar and safe, like i’ve known your soul since the beginning of time, through all the lives i’ve lived. maybe that’s why my love for you is infinite.” --m.m.

This was the first time you woke up beside Din. Up until now, every moment that involved him taking you to bed or falling asleep on him ended with you waking up alone. Alone or with Grogu. Din always seemed to be up before you. There was absolutely nothing comfortable about the cot you were laying on. At baseline it was hard and covered with crinkling, thin sterile paper. It was also only large enough for one person. Which, granted, with Grogu alone on it the cot had looked massive, but now it held Din, Grogu, and you. You were startled that you hadn’t woken up on the floor.

You had Din to thank for that. He laid on his back, armor and helmet present, with Grogu sleeping soundly on his chest. You laid half on his side, curled around him, but he had one arm under you and resting on your waist clinging to you tightly. Saving you from sleeping on the hard, tile floor wasn’t the only thing you had to thank him for.

Last night had been… difficult. Nothing short of the Maker himself was going to stop you from doing everything in your power to heal Grogu, and even then the Maker might not be able to hold you back, but the cost had been steep. The moment your body registered that Grogu was safe, vitals steady and father in the room, you had crumpled in on yourself like a dying star. Every single demon that called your mind home crawled out of the wood works to plague you.

Surely, you thought, they’d devour you whole and leave you an empty shell. Yet, here you were. Still alive, still functioning, and⏤ dank farrik⏤ you were content. Content, borderline happy. An emotion you thought would be impossible after the events of last night. You felt safe. Lying here, watching Din and Grogu sleep peacefully, Din’s arm clinging to you, you felt like there wasn’t a force in this galaxy that could touch you. Over the last year, a lot of people promised that you’d be protected. Many swore that nothing would hurt you.

Din was the only one you believed.

Despite wanting to stay in this moment forever, you knew you needed to rise. There were things you needed to collect and, though you had revealed a lot of who you were last night, it’d be nice to not have an audience. Carefully, you untangled yourself from Din’s arm. He stirred for a moment, but you whispered a reassurance. It was a testament to how exhausted the Mandalorian was as he laid his head back and dozed off once more.

As you stood, that’s when the aches began to settle from the night you had. The cot, and technically Din’s armored body, had not been forgiving to your skin, bones, or joints. You stretched as you walked over to the medical shelves. You wanted to make another two doses of the antipyretic, just to have on hand, and an additional dose of antibiotics for Grogu to take. It was overkill, technically, but you didn’t care. It was also mildly illegal for you to take some of these supplies home, but who was going to stop you? Daelar? That coward was off world so he had no say over this clinic, and you had a pretty solid relationship with the Marshal. Enough so that you doubted he’d be arresting you for this.

Quietly, you worked with practiced ease compounding the medications. Without the added stress of a ticking time bomb in feverish child form, you were able to find the action calming. That is until a figure settled next you. Her presence startled you at first, but you recognized the girl you held at gunpoint only hours ago.

“Oh, Aayla, hey.” You greeted in a whisper, to not disturb Din, “I’m sorry about last night. With the blaster and the⏤”

“No, no. Don’t apologize.” Aayla replied. “You were incredible. This is incredible.” She motioned to the medicine you were half done compounding. “I think I’m in love with you.”

“Wait, what?”

“I came here to gain experience before I apply to medical school, and I was so disappointed with what I found.” She said. The girl was practically bouncing in place. “But now I have you! Oh, I am so excited to work with you!”

Your fingers froze and you slowly shook your head. “No. No, no, no, no. I’m not⏤ We’re not⏤”

Aayla tilted her head in confusion. “You’re gonna be the new on site physician, aren't you?”

Maker, in your panic last night had you just told everyone you were a doctor before? You shook your head. You needed to get this done. The sound of Din stirring made you glance over your shoulder toward him. You hummed, “Aayla, can you take out Grogu’s IV? Have you done that before?”

“I have!” She rushed away and you took that as a victory.

Din sat up on the cot at her approach, Grogu still cradled in his arms, and you sighed in relief once more. Grogu still hadn’t woken up, but that didn’t surprise you. You had made both medications last night with a sedative effect. The poor kid needed as much rest as possible. All thoughts were interrupted when Din’s t-shaped visor lifted from Grogu to focus on you. You physically felt his eyes on you and a thrill ran down your spine all the way to your toes. You quickly turned back around and went back to work. You were nearly done with the last one. Would’ve been finished by now if Aayla hadn’t caught you off guard.

As if the universe knew you were trying to stay focused on task and wanted to distract you, an all too familiar form silently approached. Din towered over you, quite the sight in all his beskar, and though his presence hadn’t surprised you the way he curled around you did. Din rested one hand on the counter, his other wrapped around your waist, and he leaned into you so the side of his helmet was pressed against the side of your face. The man might as well have set you on fire with the flamethrower connected to his vambrace. Heat warmed your cheeks and flooded into every nook and cranny of your body.

This was hardly the first time he had broken the barrier to touch you, but this was the first time it wasn’t spurred on by some emotional turmoil. You hadn’t expected him to be so casual. To openly touch you in this way.

“Hi.” You mumbled, unsure of what else to say.

A low, rumbling chuckle spilled out from the helmet’s modulator and the sound made your breath catch in your throat. Din squeezed your waist. “Hi.” He nodded his head down toward your hands. “What are you doing?”

“I, uh, I’m…” Habit told you to lie. You were supposed to keep this a secret. Nobody was supposed to know about your past. Your logic argued that it was a little late for that and telling Din you were ‘making mixed drinks with the medical supplies’ wasn’t going to convince him of anything. “Medicine.” You blurted. Mentally, you cursed your lack of allure and tact. Maker, why did Din make you babble like an idiot? For once, could you just be cool? Give off an air of mystery and intrigue like he was able to? Kriff. “Uh, medicine for Grogu. Just in case.”

“Good.” He replied. “Smart.”

“What can I say? I have my moments sometimes.”

Din hummed out a sound of amusement, but before you could commend yourself for saying something marginally clever and well thought out, you felt his gloved fingers brush just under the hem of your shirt. The leather warm and firm on the bare skin of your abdomen, and your entire brain short circuited at the motion.

“You almost ready to go home, ner kar’ta?” He whispered.

Voice broken, you nodded dumbly. Din chuckled once more before pulling back and walking back to the cot. Maker. Oh, Maker. You glanced over your shoulder to watch him saunter away. He didn’t do it on purpose, he didn’t seem to know what his gait did to the people around him, but you could watch Din walk for hours. It was such a casual and strong pace⏤ confidence oozing from every step.

For weeks now, you had been fighting an emotional connection to this man. You were terrified of messing up the good thing you had. It couldn’t be argued that the ship of staying distant had sailed. The wall between the two of you, emotionally speaking, was a pile of dust now. The physical thoughts? Those had always been easy to swat away. You forced yourself to not let your mind wander on his hip to shoulder ratio. To not think about the sliver of flesh you’d see at home between the waistband of his sweatpants and the hem of his shirt. To not think about his strong arms and the way they would feel wrapped around you.

You had been so good about it. Up until now, that is.

Now? Dank farrik, you wanted to jump his bones.

Maybe it was the excess adrenaline from everything that happened last night, or maybe it was you being too weak to hold back those primal thoughts, but regardless of the reason the desire was there in full force. Your eyes traced him from boots to helmet once more. He was standing by the cot watching Aayla work with his hands on his hips and his head faced down in a studious manner. Oof. A man covered head to toe in metal and the woven material of a flight suit should not look this good. The man didn’t have a single patch of skin showing, yet you were foaming at the mouth feral for him.

As if reading your wanton thoughts, Din’s gaze snapped to you. Your eyes widened. Though you couldn’t see where his eyes were trained, you still flushed as if he were raking over your form, and when his head tilted to the side it felt like your heart seized in your chest. Double oof. You whipped your head back around, swallowing the lump that had formed in your throat, and tried to get back to the task at hand. Focus, focus, focus.

Medicine for Grogu first, eye fucking his father second.

They had slept in the clinic far longer than Din had thought. The quick trip back home was made in early morning light and the city was beginning to come to life. Normally, this would frustrate him, but Cara had left him a note saying that Karga was excusing them of all duties today⏤ as a thanks. Any issues would run through him. In any other scenario, Din would argue over this plan, but today? No, today he was going to send Karga a damned fruit basket as thanks when he got the chance.

There was a very long list of tasks Din had to accomplish. He needed to hunt down Daelar so he could rip the man’s cowardly spine from his body and beat him to death with it for leaving his son and you without medicine. He needed to repair his vambrace so the communicator would work once more. He needed to ensure Grogu was healing properly⏤ though you were handling that better than he ever could it seemed. And a few other dozen items he always had on his to-do list. One of the more important things on his list of goals for the day? You.

Din knew he had a bad habit of tunnel vision. He knew because people told him this constantly. He tended to make a goal and then barrel through any obstacle or issue with blinders on until he got what he wanted. It was part of the reason why he was so good at bounty hunting, though it was also the reason why he found himself in so many messes over the years. Today, it would come in handy because you were at the end of this tunnel.

“How much longer will he be asleep?” Din asked. Grogu was bundled up in his arms as the two of you entered into the house.

You set the bag of supplies you had taken from the clinic onto the kitchen counter then shrugged. “If I had to guess…a couple more hours?”

“Good.” Din replied. Without another word, he began the journey to his room. First things first, he needed to get his son settled. The last time Din had seen Grogu sleep so soundly was when they first met and he saved him from the mudhorn.

Carefully, he tucked the boy into his hammock and shuffled through the toys below to find Grogu’s favorite stuffed frog. Din set it in the hammock as well and took a minute to breath out a sigh of relief. Maker, he was thankful Grogu was safe and healing. He was thankful for you, and he wanted to show that to you in any and every way you’d allow him.

Din stepped back and began to peel off layers of his beskar. The gloves and his gauntlets fell away first followed by his shoulder pieces and his torso. He had even shrugged out of the tight upper half of his flight suit leaving him in the plain t-shirt that sat beneath. His hands drifted to undo his belt, but he heard you pass by his room on the way to the bathroom. Din paused in his process and walked out of his room⏤ almost like a man possessed. As he shut the door behind him quietly, as to not rouse Grogu, he heard the sound of the shower kick on. His body was moving before he fully registered the motion, and his knuckles rapped against the wooden door.

“Yeah?” Your muffled voice called out.

“Can I come in?” It was a weighted question, he knew, and judging on the silence that followed it you were aware of this as well. Your eventual reply was a soft affirmative noise, and Din found himself pushing the door open slowly. He’d keep all his movements slow. Din would give you every opportunity to push him away. The relationship between the two of you was a series of lines drawn in the sand, and Din knew he was blowing past every single one right now.

You stood at the bathroom counter, back to the mirror, and the shower off to the side was already running. His helmet’s sensor told him the water beating down was ice cold.

“I was thinking a, uh, shower,” You cleared your throat, eyes not leaving him, “might be the best thing for me right now.”

Din gave a small nod. Then took another step in your direction, “I can help with that.” Din said every word slowly, took every step slowly, in order to give you every opportunity to stop him. “If you’d like.”

The corner of your lips twitched up, a sight that made him ache, and you shrugged. “The buttons on this shirt were really tricky.”

It was the only invitation he needed to close the remaining space between the two of you. Din cupped your face with his bare hands, thumbs caressing your cheeks, and he tilted your head up just so he could look at you. Maker, you were gorgeous. The light in your eyes, the way you glowed when you smiled, it put the stars to shame.

“You’re a work of art, ner kar’ta.” He breathed.

“What does that one mean?” You asked softly. “Ner kar’ta.”

Din tilted his head with a chuckle, “If I told you, I’d have to come up with a new nickname to call you.”

His fingers trailed down your neck and found the buttons that started at your collar. Din continued to move slowly as he undid each button of your shirt, but this time it was for his own sake rather than yours. He wanted to savor every second of touch he had with you. He soaked in the soft gasps you made every time his cold fingers brushed against your warm torso.

“I like this look on you, by the way.” You whispered. Din hummed in response⏤ too busy admiring your bare skin to be decent at holding a real conversation. You leaned forward enough that he could pull the shirt down off your body leaving you in only a bra. “The t-shirt. With the beskar plated pants and boots⏤ plus that helmet. You’d have bounties quivering.”

Din ran his hands across your belly, over your sides, then up your back. So close now that his chest was pressed against yours. He kept his voice low and quiet. “Am I making you quiver?” The sharp breath you sucked in was a sound he’d have memorized for the rest of his life. Din let his hands explore your upper body determined to memorize that as well.

Eventually his hands made it back to your chest and he let his fingers brush against the scar on your collarbone. Briefly he felt you stiffen. “Mesh’la.” Din reassured, then followed it up in a language you’d understand. “Beautiful. You are so kriffing beautiful, ner kar’ta.”

Din traced his hands downward, pausing over your breasts, then continued to drag his palms over your abdomen⏤ his thumb dipped against your navel. When his hands reached the waistband of your pants, he undid the button and zipper then knelt down in front of you. Din helped you step out of the first pants’ leg and he held his hand behind your knee allowing his thumb to tenderly caress circles against your calf. Din stared up at you the entire time. The pupils of your eyes were blown wide with desire and your tempting lips were parted. It was a look that Din wouldn’t mind staring up at forever. He’d spend the rest of his life on his knees for you if it meant you’d continue to look at him in this way.

“Pretty girl.” Din hummed as he worked to get your other leg untangled from the rest of your pants. He focused his gaze back to eye level and took in a shaky breath. Your dark underwear was a shade darker at the center, a damp spot he could just barely see, but it was enough to tell him you were in the same state of being nearly undone by the other. It was a match to the near painful hard on he had pressed against the thickness of his flight suit’s pants.

It was absolute torture to be so close to what he wanted, but still be separated by so much. Din had never been so tempted to rip the helmet off his head just so he could press open mouthed kisses up your thigh to your damp center. He was an Apostate anyways according to the covert. That title just might be worth it for a taste of you.

“Din.” You breathed his name and he shuddered in response.

Maker, he wanted you to know how much you meant to him. Din wished he could string together paragraph after paragraph about how you made him feel. But, he was bad at talking. Din didn’t have the skills to voice how strong his thoughts were. Action though? Oh, Din was very good at action. And, he planned to reveal how strongly he felt for you with every touch he was allowed. You said Grogu would be asleep for another few hours. Din didn’t think that was near enough time, but it would be a good start to how he planned to worship your body.

He may not be able to use his mouth, but years of being bound by this barrier made him very, very good with his hands. Din hooked his fingers under the bands of your panties with full intention to rip them off of you, but your hands suddenly landed on his.

Worried, his head snapped up to gauge if you were alright. “Cyar’ika⏤”

“I’m okay. I’m more than okay, I’m⏤” You took a slow, shuddering breath. “But if you get started, I’m going to absolutely fall apart, Din.”

“That’s exactly what I want, pretty girl.” Din chuckled. As the other nickname left his lips, Din wished he knew your real name. Calling you Soran, knowing the little he did, felt wrong. Another chuckle escaped him. It wasn’t often he was on the curious end of this conundrum.

You ran your hands over his forearms, to his elbows, and you tried to pull him up to stand. Din, reluctantly, stood back up so he was towering over you once more. The bright smile that filled your features was enough to make it worth it. You reached out and set your hands on his shoulders. “It’s my turn to explore.” Din tilted his head, in genuine confusion, and you dragged your hands down to his abdomen. The tips of your fingers brushed against his bare skin and his entire body stiffened in response. “You’re wearing too much clothes.”

Din hesitated, only for a moment, before he reached back to grasp the collar of his shirt and pulled it up over his head. A nervous energy settled in his chest as he let the shirt fall to the bathroom floor. Din watched you as your small fingers ran across his abdomen, chest, and arms. Every scar you came across, you spent the time tracing it softly as he had yours.

“Mesh’la.” You said though the pronunciation was just slightly off. He chuckled and your smile widened. Your hands trailed to his back and he felt you lightly dragging your nails against his skin. Goosebumps formed on his skin. “I’m serious though, Din. I could spend all day staring at you⏤ touching you.”

Din couldn’t help but shake his head. “You don’t have to lie. I think I have more scars than normal skin, at this point.”

“I’m not lying.” You replied. He didn’t think he could be more surprised by your actions, but you leaned in and pressed your lips against a rather gnarly patch of scarred skin on the left side of his chest where a vibroblade had cut through the armor he had before his beskar. Honest to Maker, an actual whimper slipped from him as his eyes fluttered closed. You continued on. Taking the time to press your lips against every scar you could find while mumbling about how beautiful he was between each one.

Din had never been so intimate with a person before. He was no stranger to sex, to carnal desires, but up until now every encounter had been a means to an end. Quick and to the point. Nearly every time, he’d still have on every piece of his armor. The partners he found would be in various stages of undress, but Din never felt comfortable enough to match them in that state. Everything about this moment was starkly different. He felt safe and he treasured every single tender second that passed. He craved it. Din craved you. Another difference. Before now, his sex life had been a series of hit and runs. Never the same person twice. It wasn’t necessarily a conscious choice, but Din was always traveling and nothing tempted him enough to return and repeat.

You were not those other partners. Maker, he’d never get enough of you. Din knew that without a doubt and he technically hadn’t even fully touched you yet. That was the stranglehold you had on his mind, body, and soul.

When you pulled back, Din reopened his eyes to stare down at you. He cupped your face once more and for what had to be the thousandth time he wished he didn’t have a wall of beskar separating the two of you. Your hands lifted to hold over his then trailed down to his elbows. Without looking away from him, Din felt your hands on his abdomen. Tracing lower, lower, lower. You undid his belt then buried your hands into his pants to pull them down further. He could feel your hands against his thighs, and it was absolutely pathetic how close he came to falling apart just by having you near his cock.

The sudden loud banging of someone beating their fist against the front door of the house drifted down the hall into the bathroom, and it was just as jarring as if Din had stepped into the cold shower himself. Both of you froze, his hands cupping your face and your hands still buried in his pants. A beat of silence made Din hopeful, but it was followed by a now repeated banging that did not stop.

Din let out a groan and let his head fall forward to lightly rest against your forehead. His frustrated words came out in a near snarl. “I’m going to kill whoever is at the door.”

The sound of your quiet laugh loosened the tension in his shoulders but did nothing to the new level of frustration he had. You pulled your hands out of his pants, a loss that devastated Din, and placed them over his again.

“Well, you know what they say about anticipation.” You said.

“No.” Din shook his head. “I don’t. What do they say?”

Your smile turned sheepish as you shrugged. “I, uh, I don’t actually know.” Din’s lips curled into a smile of his own. “I didn’t think you’d call me on that. To be honest, words just sort of fall out of my mouth when I’m with you.” Din chuckled, and you squeezed his hands. “I don’t think my brain works right when my skin is touching yours.”

Din knew lust. He could recognize the hot, burning solar flare it tended to be. It was blinding. Like, a comet rushing by him leaving him spinning in the heated sparks of its tail end. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel that way with you⏤ Maker, knew that wasn’t the case⏤ but with you there was something else. It came on so slow that he didn’t even realize he felt the comforting warmth until it was nestled deep in his chest. The feeling planted roots in his soul and blossomed into something he couldn't live without. It was invigorating. It was life. It was standing in the sun on a warm day and soaking in every ray of warmth.

“I need to answer the door.” You mumbled. “Before the knocking wakes up Grogu.”

Din nodded with another sigh. You turned your head, pressing your lips to the palm of his hand, then stepped away from him. You leaned over to turn the shower off⏤ the shower neither of you ever made it to⏤ and he bent over to scoop up his shirt. Din held it out to you. A deliberate decision. You raised an eyebrow at him but didn’t hesitate to pull his too large shirt over your head. Din nodded at the sight of you, appeased at seeing you in his clothes.

“I’ll be right there.” Din said as you hurried away.

When he knew you were a safe distance away, he pulled his helmet off and rubbed his face with his hands. Anticipation. Din had been on the edge of anticipation for much too long. He was sliding straight into sexually frustrated now. At this rate, when he finally did get a taste of you it might just kill him.

“Mando!” Your voice called out. He had already gotten used to hearing you use his name after one day. Enough so that the moniker disappointed him. Still, Din felt a flash of pride that his trust had been rewarded. He didn’t even need to tell you not to use his real name in front of others. You just knew. “It’s Karga!”

“I’ll be right there.” He called back and grabbed his helmet. Din would have to step back into his room to dress back into his gear before meeting the High Magistrate. One thing was for certain, he would not be sending Karga a kriffing fruit basket anymore.

mando’a translations

Mesh’la: Beautiful /// Cyar’ika: Sweetheart /// Ner Kar’ta: My Heart

taglist

@aheadfullofsteverogers @yyiikes @kneelforloki @c-ms1ut @sgt-morgan @luthienaliceisilra @fawn-kitten @missbabyjay @coldlamaspersonspy @dilfsaremyfavourite @jamesbuckybarnes @yorkeylover @teawrites01 @emily-roberts @djarinxore @impala1967666 @shelbyteller @faithrenner

#the mandalorian #din djarin x you #din djarin #din djarin x reader #protective din djarin #good dad din djarin #mando x reader #mando #mando x you #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #mandalorian fanfic #Female reader #reader insert #slow burn #tension #all the tension

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musicallisto · 4 months ago

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jesper fahey + 💿

· · · · ♡ VENOM (jesper fahey)

… starring jesper fahey x f!reader ... based on venom by stray kids ... 1.7k words ... in which jesper and you are the best shots in all of ketterdam, but assassination missions never go as planned ... warnings for death, gun violence ... what were the ODDS of pulling this song i'm still screaming!! anyway i went a bit more literal with the title than the song really says but i hope you enjoy this

𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐇 𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐒 𝐈𝐍 Kerch never dressed in the morning with their impending assassination in mind.

Out of hubris, perhaps – they thought themselves above the black canines of Ketterdam, as though Ghezen’s favors shielded them in the starless alleys. Or out of negligence – after all, they had many an important matter on their daily schedules, meetings with partners and stock markets to analyze and speculation bubbles to burst… it all left little room for death.

But death, undiscriminating, sent her rats forth to bite into pale, delicate necks ruffled collars and striped ties had no chance of protecting. Today, the rats were Jesper Fahey and you.

“So… which of these toys should I use to take them out this time? Your pick.”

“You? Do you want to get us killed?”

Both of you were lying on your stomachs on some sooty rooftop, overlooking a shopping avenue of the capital. Beautiful Ketterdam awakened gently, caressed by the first rays of dawn; shutters creaked upwards, windows opened to let the sea air flood in, and the earliest risers stifled their last yawns in the shopping street below. They were few; this part of town was lazier than what you were used to in the Barrel, its residents accustomed to the silky warmth of mid-morning rustling them awake on Sundays.

Thankfully for you, that meant fewer witnesses to sound the alarm… and an easier time locating the target.

“What? You know I’m the best shot in this hellhole,” Jesper turned to look at you, frowning. Difficult to say if he had really taken offense at your words or if he was only pestering you for fun, as always. You kept your gaze firmly locked on the comings and goings of people below, strolling back home with steaming pastries or braving the Northern breeze for an invigorating promenade.

“Yeah, and also the loudest. We need to do this the subtle way.”

“Subtle,” Jesper scoffed. “Why the hell did Kaz sent me out here if he wanted subtlety?”

“He probably wanted you to cover me. You know? Be my second…”

“Pfft!” Your acolyte rolled his eyes, his chuckle rumbling through the finely carved bricks under your chests with just a point of humor. “There’s only one second in this team and we all know who it is.”

You resisted the temptation to elbow him – it would only encourage his antics further. Both of you knew you were, out of all the Dregs, the best-matched duo, both in terms of temperament and skill. To Jesper’s brash hyperactivity, you brought level-headed professionalism; where his sarcastic quips and surprisingly wistful tales of infinite Zemeni fields distracted you on long, grueling covert missions, your quick wit and lightning-fast reflexes got you out of all sorts of sticky situations – that Jesper never failed to recount on Crow Club evenings, with all their exaggerated epithets. Besides… you were at least the second-best shot in this hellhole. Kaz knew as much, and so did Jesper, though he never failed to highlight the fact the boss still believed him superior; and so Kaz never sent one on the field without the other. No matter how many times you returned from operations swearing on all the Saints that one day, you would gouge out Jesper Fahey’s eyes.

“There he is,” you tensed all of a sudden, narrowing your eyes, and Jesper stopped fidgeting next to you.

A red beret that concealed nothing of already advanced baldness… the swaggering, smug gait of a man who has everything and therefore thinks he can lose nothing… and that ridiculous collar, typical of influential merchants, that exposed the entire nape of his neck. There was no mistaking the description Kaz had given you – if anything, you were surprised to see him up so early, and not flanked by a wife or bodyguards. As to why Brekker wanted the man dead, well… inconsequential to you. You weren’t close enough to him to expect a justification, and if Jesper knew the grudge his friend held against yet another rich middle-aged man in Kerch… he hadn’t thought it relevant to mention.

“Okay, get set,” you ordered. When your tone got cold and your hands tightened around your dart gun, Jesper knew better than to keep up with the bravado. “Remember, soon as he’s on the ground, we’re outta here.”

“Got it, boss.”

A faint ember of light shimmered in your belly, but you stopped it before the emotion could get to your cheeks. The rare moments when Jesper acknowledged you as his equal did feel nice. Your admiration for the sharpshooter, practically an idol to all the famished mouths in the Barrel, was a secret to no one… but him.

Slowly, you lifted the visor of your gun to your eye, keeping your finger away from the trigger. Your breathing slowed as you scanned the faces below… and stopped, once you had your sights on the target. Not once did he look up… and not once did you think about the family who’d mourn him.

Death, too, worked her hours. Everyone had to make a living in Ketterdam, indeed.

“Y/N, don’t-!”

You pressed the trigger, and the recoil barely got a blink out of you as the air whistled past the dart. A second passed in stunned silence, just enough time to hear your heart beat, and what you could’ve sworn was Jesper’s too. Then it all erupted at once.

It was the screams that first caught your attention. The first, hoarse and purposeful, rose from the sidewalks below and grazed the brick walls like blades against metal. Most of the policemen had their sights and guns raised at you, screaming unintelligible words; the rest of the unexpected patrol rushed to the merchant’s side right as he collapsed on the damp ground, pierced through the neck with impeccable precision. He was dead before he hit the ground, the dose of venom you’d injected him largely above the lethal threshold.

Then the shrill, biting howls of the bullets fusing in the air between Jesper and you tangled with the high-pitched shrieks of horrified passersby.

“Crap! Where did they come from?!” you screamed, both of you ducking behind the brick ledge for cover like well-oiled machinery.

“You wanna stick around long enough to find out?”

“Not really, no,” you huffed through gritted teeth.

So much for not making a scene.

You grabbed Jesper’s hand, the one that wasn’t holding his handgun. Later on, you’d play the gesture off as a reflex, merely more than accidental, evidence of you being a true team player – but you’d long ponder the way his clammy palm in yours had cleared your mind and clouded it all at once, filled you with immense safety and overpowering fear, if only for an instant.

“Let’s get out of here!”

“Hold on a second-“

“Jesper! Now’s not the time to play hero!”

You doubted he heed your words. Jesper was damn predictable to those who had worked with him long enough – there was no way of distracting him when his brain registered the smell of burning lead, when his ears caught the unmistakable tinkling of cartridge cases on the ground. The duel was Jesper Fahey’s favorite game, merely a competition he could never turn down… let alone die from.

He sprung to his feet, crouched against the ledge, and as if the whole death match was just another joke to him, he twirled the handgun in one hand, blew on it, and murmured as a good luck wish, “Do your thing, love.”

The next second, his face was swallowed by the billowing white smoke from the barrel of his gun, as he spewed leaden poison from his unshaken hands. From the safety of your hiding spot, you watched him, your heart pounding with what, admiration or terror, you no longer knew, but the city and the whole earth disappeared in the space of a gunshot and only remained the bulletproof braggart, all draped in white clouds like a demigod.

And then, as quickly as the torrent of noise had swept down the street, it dried up, and an unreal calm descended on the dazed neighborhood.

Jesper leaned over to you, making sure he was out of reach from the attackers below, and took in your parted lips and wide eyes with uncharacteristic worry.

“Are you okay? You’re not hurt, right?”

It took you a few moments to register his words, and then some more to notice his hand had gently cusped your jaw, lifting your chin to examine your face and neck for any trace of injury.

“N-No, I’m good,” you snapped out of your trance, and immediately Jesper retreated his hand… leaving you to miss the calloused heat of his fingers more than you’d care to admit.

“What’s that? Oh, thank you Jesper for saving my life! You really are the best shot in all of Ketterdam!” he trumpeted in a comically high-pitched voice with a smug grin. “Oh, well, it was nothing. Don’t bother. Just doing my job!”

“Shut up. Come on, let’s get out of here before they send any more our way.”

“I hope they do. You’re down four kills to one and you’re not even trying to catch up?”

This time, you made sure you grabbed your sleeve and not his skin; nothing to give him more leverage to use against you later, when he’d be boasting to Inej about leaving Y/N speechless with his sharpshooting skills. With a good-natured sigh, he got to his feet, and you retreated towards the lower roofs you’d used on your climb together.

And death called back her rats to her side, vanishing into soot and silence.

· · · · ♡ tags! @retvenkos @sassyscribbler @lettersoftroy @rosesnink

#six of crows #jesper fahey #grishaverse #shadow and bone #six of crows imagine #jesper fahey x reader #six of crows x reader #six of crows x you #mywriting

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