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freelancearsonist · 2 months

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Some Fools Fool Themselves

➔ Javier Peña x fem!Reader - 2.7k

➔ You were meant to be a mission—an insider that Javi could wring information from on some of the biggest names in the trade. It didn’t go to plan, but maybe that’s not so bad.

➔ Rated MA for unprotected p in v sex (don’t do this irl pls), oral (m receiving), throatfucking, handjobs, creampie, spanish dirty talk (both javi and reader - translations in footnotes), reader has female anatomy and uses fem pronouns, reader wears a bikini, smoking/nicotine use, cheating (reader is married this is the mob wife fic you all asked for), kind of angsty but mostly just porn with the slightest sprinkling of plot for ✨flavor✨ [please let me know if i missed anything at all :)]

The bright, glaring yellow waves of sunlight reflect off the surface of lapping pool water and cast it in a nearly green light. Javi’s dark eyes are transfixed on it through his polarized sunglasses as he marinates in the beating hot Colombian summer sun.

Javier has never questioned his dutiful determination before. He’s never wondered if the ends actually do justify the means. He’s been in the palm of Uncle Sam’s hand for so long that the lines have become blurry—that the consideration of moral superiority doesn’t cross his mind anymore. Not that it ever really has; that’s why he’s so well-suited for the job he’s in. He follows his orders, no matter the cost.

And that’s why you pose such an issue to him. You make him question everything. Every move he’s made, every goal he’s been so set on accomplishing for so many years. If he sends this shiny-sinister iceberg of a drug hierarchy tumbling down the way he’s always believed it should, you’ll be buried in the debris. And maybe, at first, that knowledge didn’t bother him. Maybe he even believed that you deserved that—to be crushed by the weight of your own empire.

If he did, he certainly doesn’t anymore—and it’s killing him.

He’s never been so shaken and unsure. Maybe that’s why the water has caught his eyes—it’s a visual representation of how he feels. Rippling and indecisive, desperate to cling to you yet eager to let you go just like the droplets that part from your form as you lift yourself onto the concrete lip of the pool.

You stride toward him with slow movements, and the dilemma vanishes completely from his mind.

”You look stressed,” you murmur as you kneel beside the lounger he’s sprawled himself out on and take his hand. “What’s wrong?”

”Just tired,” he hums in response. He runs the rough pad of his thumb over the back of your hand in an unconscious effort to sooth your worry over him. “Long night at work.”

You don’t know what he actually does—as far as you’re concerned, he’s just a lowly janitor at the embassy. You can imagine that such menial labor is thoroughly exhausting, though, and you’re determined to help ease his sore muscles.

”Flip over,” you instruct—and like a good agent, he follows orders.

For fingers that he’s noted time and time again are so much daintier than his own, they work wonders on his sore muscles. They work with skill and intuition, magnetically drawn to the worst knots in his back. The pressure is perfect, and it has him practically drooling.

When those skilled fingers of yours hook into the waistband of his swim trunks and start tugging them down, he doesn’t even think of resisting.

You’ve learned to do something that no one and nothing else has managed to accomplish in all his lifetime—you quiet his swirling mind. There’s nothing beyond the bubble of you and him. Nothing to worry about, nothing to accomplish. No ulterior motives to his presence here, shirtless and lounging like he owns the place. Like this isn’t your husband’s house that he’s supposed to be searching for intel.

You coax him to roll over again onto his back. He can’t miss the heat of your gaze—the way your eyes shamelessly skirt down the broad expanse of his torso to take in the softly swelling length of his cock. He knows you relish in these moments—when all you have to do is look at him to get him going. You’re proud of yourself for it, for the effect you have on him.

It’s easy to forget, when you have him completely at your mercy like this, that you’re just as weak for him as he is for you.

”Missed you,” you mumble into his lips as you straddle his lap.

He takes your hips in his steady grip—guides the pace as you rock against him. “It’s only been a couple days.”

”I know,” you whisper. You grind down harder than he means to allow you, drawing a deep groan from his diaphragm. “Still missed you.”

And then, because he finds it nearly impossible to lie to you: “I missed you too.”

He licks eagerly into your mouth before you can say anything, and you accept his tongue without complaint. Your fingers now move to his face, practically clawing in desperation to pull him closer and deepen the already heated kiss.

It’s been nearly a year of him hanging around here, playing his role in the act of your affair. He has you figured out to the most minute details—he knows all your wants, all your needs. He knows the exact sounds that he can draw from you when he sucks over the pulse point on your neck: a squeal as you begrudgingly push him away and mumble something about not leaving marks. He smirks and moves on to the next spot, knowing that you can’t resist for long. Knowing that you don’t even want to in the first place.

He knows that you’re eager for him in the same way he is for you—to please, to take care of. He sees it in action when you reach down and wrap your fingers around his length; when you let out a little breath at the way your fingers can’t quite fit all the way around his girth. You act surprised every time, no matter how many times he finds you in his lap like this. And he loves it—loves the way you practically soak through your little bikini bottoms at just the feel of him in your hand.

“That’s it, bebita,” he murmurs close to your ear. “Fuck, that feels good.”

You hum your appreciation at his words, a silent thank you in the twist of your wrist and the tightening of your grip. It makes his hips jump, cock throbbing under your touch as he tries to fight your slow pace in favor of more intense stimulation. But you aren’t having it—you pin his thighs down with your weight so you can languish in torturing him.

He actually growls as your pace slows—a deep, rumbling, animalistic sound that goes straight to your panties. His restraint is slipping second by second the longer you tease him. He’s throbbing, aching in your grip; he would be embarrassed over how quickly you’ve reduced him to such a primal state if he had any blood left in his brain.

”Dámelo.” There’s nothing pleading or polite about his tone. This is a command, an instruction; an order you don’t dare disobey.

You pull away quickly, but you’re back before he can even process your absence. You’ve shifted to the end of the lounger, face deliciously close to where he’s aching to feel you.

”Relax, Javi,” you hum pleasantly. “Déjame cuidar de ti.”

”Then don’t be a fucking tease.” There’s an evident smirk in his tone, and it makes you smile as you slowly trail your tongue along his length, from the seam of his balls up to swirl around the thick, leaking tip of him.

He grunts as your lips seal around him, one thick-fingered hand coming down to gently urge you deeper. He’s not shy of being greedy with you; he knows how much you love the authoritarianism of his dominance. To let go of your mind and let him take the reigns. As much as you love to play at a power struggle, this is what you want in the end. To be controlled, to be guided. To take exactly what he gives you, exactly the way he gives it to you.

“That’s it, baby girl,” he groans with a buck of his hips that pushes him against the back of your throat. “Take it all.”

And always eager to please, you try your best to do exactly that. You open your throat as much as possible to accommodate his girth and do your best to tamp down the gag reflex that he’s bullying awake. Your nails dig into the meat of his hips as you let him guide you deeper, further—he’ll admire the little crescent moon marks later, alone in his government-issue apartment.

His unoccupied hand slips down the back of your neck and tugs at the string of your bikini top. He doesn’t get quite the view he wants with you choking on his cock, but reaching down to gently pinch and tug at your nipples is enough for him—especially with the little moans and vibrations you let out around his cock.

He tugs your hair a little harshly to pull you off of him when the pleasure compounds. You whine at the loss of his taste, and he groans at the shiny spit that links your swollen lips to his cock.

His breathless moan goes straight to your neglected cunt and makes you squirm with arousal. “Shit, sweetheart. Christ, you’re a fuckin’ dream.”

You shake your head and muster every ounce of seduction your lust-addled brain can generate as you trail open-mouthed kisses over his clenched thighs. “I’m real, Javi. And I really want you.”

Normally, he would want to get his hands on you. He would want to press his fingers deep into your cunt and languish in the embarrassing squelch of your arousal as he works you open for him. He would want to pull orgasm after orgasm from you until the pleasure is so blinding that you can do nothing but slump into his arms and take it. But you’re impatient today; it’s been more than a week since you last saw him, and that means it’s been more than a week since you felt anything remotely pleasurable. Your husband didn’t marry you for love, or even lust—he married you for convenience, for security. For cover to keep up appearances.

Maybe Javi’s been taking advantage of that all this time—how deeply you crave the connection that you’re constantly deprived of. Maybe he should call this off now, before he takes anymore than he already has from you.

But he’s not selfless. He has his flaws, and his biggest one is that he’s irreversibly fallen in love with you. He craves that connection just as deeply as you do.

Your desperation bleeds into his veins and makes him dizzy with arousal. He nods as his throat bobs around a deep gulp. “Alright. Dealer’s choice.”

You only have to consider for a moment before you flip in his lap, bracing yourself forward on your arms in between his legs with your ass pressed snuggly against his cock. You grind lightly against him, and it’s almost enough to make him lose his head.

But just as quickly as his sensible thought leaves, it’s right back where it belongs. He grabs your hips harder than he should to drag you against his solid length and relishes in the deep moan you emit.

”Take what you need, baby,” is all the encouragement you need from him. You take him into your hand again and rise up onto your knees so you can tease his spit-soaked tip against your entrance. You look over your shoulder so you can see his reaction as you trace him around your slit; you relish in the hard set of his jaw, the clenched teeth that you can see through his parted lips as he fights the urge to slam you down hard onto him. He’d only be feeding into the bit—he knows your sole mission is to make him lose his composure.

But it’s so hard not to when you’re looking at him like this—like he holds your very soul in the palm of his hand. The trust, the admiration, in your gaze is nearly enough to make him choke.

Thankfully, you choose this exact moment to sink down the length of him.

The sheer size of him is overwhelming on a normal day, and even more so today when you’ve not had your usual preparation. He bullies his way deep enough to fill your chest, stretching you to your very limit and maybe even past it.

But he’s prepared for it, for how staggering he can feel at first thrust. He grounds you to him with heavy hands on your hips and fits you snug against him. He whispers up at you, little encouragements and sweet nothings. His praise rings sweet and clear as he tells you how good you feel, how warm, how tight, how wet. He basks in the feeling of you soaking him all the way to the very base—in the feeling of your sweet juices dripping down him to soak the coarse patch of hair above his cock.

You pause when you feel his tip kissing your cervix, moaning in tandem with Javi at the way he twitches within your snug walls. It’s like the first time every single time you take him—you wonder if that’s what keeps him coming back for more. You’ve never heard him say he loves you, but you could believe it when you’re like this; when he starts rocking up into you with the sole intention of finding that one little spot that’ll have you shaking and sobbing in his arms.

”You’ve got this, baby,” he grunts in reassurance. “You’re takin’ it so well, honey. Tan perfecto.”

The praise runs up your spine from where you’re connected with him and lodges itself in your brain—it plays on repeat while you start bouncing your hips in an effort to match his pace. It draws a deep, heady grunt from him and pulls him into action. One hand grabs a harsh handful of your ass while you spear yourself on his length, and the other hand slides up the curve of your waist to find a nipple to roll between his expert fingers.

It baffles you, his ability to multitask. When you’re like this—filled to the very brim—all you can focus on is the delicious friction of his cock dragging against every sweet spot inside you. But Javi has a precious ability to attend to as many erogenous zones as he can all at once—something you admire more than you can put into words. His ability to rip you apart is completely unrivaled.

There’s a desperate fury to his touch as his hand slides over your hip from your ass, wrapping around you to circle your clit. It’s harsh and fast—the exact pressure that makes you tremble and scream.

And you do; you come with a cry of his name, cunt clenching around him in a vice grip that almost makes it impossible to keep up the pace. But he tries anyway—anchors your hips in his large hands so he can thrust up into you through your high.

The lounger creaks dangerously beneath you, but the sound is lost to your ears when you’re so thoroughly blinded by your pleasure.

Within a few moments Javi follows you, growling deep in his diaphragm as he spills himself hot and thick into your soaked pussy.

You don’t think it’s ever been this messy before. All you can focus on is the hot, sticky mess slipping down your thighs. Javi can tell that it’s uncomfortable for you, so he reaches down and grabs your discarded bikini top to wipe away as much as he can. You’ve got plenty of others—and even if you don’t, your husband will buy you a new one without question.

He discards it back on the burning concrete once he’s satisfied with his clean up job, then leans back on the lounger and grabs a cigarette from the open pack on the table next to him.

He tries not to smile too much when you stay in place and snuggle into his chest. He really wasn’t a cuddler before you—but now, all he wants is to feel your warmth and weight against him.

It’s not nearly long enough before you look up at him with your pretty eyes and say, ”He’ll be home soon.”

”I’d better beat it then.” He flicks the ash off of his cigarette and pushes himself slowly to his feet—finds his swim trunks discarded on the ground at the foot of the lounger.

”Hey?” He pauses, brow furrowing at how small and timid your voice sounds in just that one word. He’s never heard that quality to your tone before, and it worries him.

”Yeah?”

”Just… please come back sooner,” you mutter. “I missed you.”

Javier Peña is a weak, weak man within these walls. He smiles the softest smile he can muster and pulls you into his arms to press a gentle kiss to your hairline. For a moment, he forgets that you’re not really his. “Okay. I will, baby.”

And he means it, even though he knows he shouldn’t.

THE END

➔ Translations: bebita - baby dámelo - give it to me déjame cuidar de ti - let me take care of you tan perfecto - so perfect

➔ A/N: thank you as always to @shakespeareanwannabe for putting up with my incessant questions and beta requests 🥹 title is from “love hurts” by nazareth

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#pedro pascal #javier pena #javier pena x reader #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena one shot #javier pena smut #narcos #narcos fanfiction #narcos smut #pedro pascal smut #cece writes

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luvtak · 2 months

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sandcastles, lfx x reader

✧ genre/ tw f2l <3!! sugary sweet fluff, angsty confessions, a couple pet names, a very sweet kiss, and felix and mc being unbearably down bad for each other, unedited <3

✧ w/c 2586

✧ a/n okay so i am writing this at 2 am after basically throwing this up, I've had this idea in my head for a couple days and finally had time to execute it, I am a sucker for f2l!felix and I hope you enjoy this very sweet confession, as well as the fun summery vibes I hoped to embrace the story in, happy reading! mwah <3!!

The first time you saw him you thought he was a daydream, sun bright and shiny–a made up boy for a lazy sunday afternoon. He came with golden hour, everything orange and yellow and the floral july smell was creeping around you. At twelve, you’d never seen a boy so sure of himself or so kind. Usually, the boys at school were listlessly mean or energetically cruel–ever patient in their mission to bother you. But here was Felix, funny and sweet and asking to be your friend.

The summer passed in oceanfront days and popsicle covered nights, pop songs on the radio as you talked from the backseat. Goofy and glamorous months spent together as you awaited Fall. You remember those days like the lines of your palm, linen sheets wrapped around your bodies as you told scary stories and held each other to ward off nightmares. Some days, going to bed with the sun still high in the sky–naps on the beach with his head on your tummy.

Felix’s sister’s hands in yours while you played ring around the rosie, giggles loud when you let go. The little girl’s voices as they yelled they all fall down! And Felix's own little voice asking if you were all okay, always worried about skinned knees and chipped nail polish. Childhood flashed with bandaid kisses and sandy shoes, freckled skin and ocean covered giggles.

You’d never forget when you realized he was beautiful–stepping out of the ocean like Aphrodite herself, a boy born from sunshine and seafoam. His wide eyes were crinkled with sun, surely adding more stars to his golden skin, and he was smiling. Smiling at you of all things, bright and incandescent Felix grinning at you like the happiest man on earth.

You think of that boy now as he sits next to you, watching the movie with an almost exaggerated delight. Taking in the action and the humor like someone just shown technicolor after a life of black and white. He’s grown up so much, grown up and away from you as you’ve gotten older. Those summer nights are just an origin story for who he is now, a big bright star like you always knew him to be.

As his very first fan, you always saw in him this man he could become, but sometimes under the cover of midnight you selfishly wished you could have kept him to yourself. He was always just yours; until he wasn’t… Always your north star, leading you on your journey since you were just a little thing, and now he’s that to thousands of people–none of them knowing he was yours first.

If you told him this he’d giggle up a storm and tell you he was still yours, but he wasn’t, not really… not in the way you wanted him to be. How could you tell him you loved him when in an instant he became bigger than you or any childhood wish.

“Silly, why aren’t you watching the movie? It’s the best part!” eyes gleaming and mouth pouty, Felix looks so pretty in the tv light, “I know we’ve seen this one like a billion times, but that doesn’t mean you can’t pay attention.” He huffs, undeniably pretending to be annoyed with you. He can’t really, couldn’t even if he wanted to. You’re just so dear to him, one half of his heart, and he could never attribute any negative feeling to you, even if you deserved it.

When he came home and saw you, more grown up and more beautiful than his phone screen allowed, he couldn’t believe he ever left you. He was so excited to watch your movie together, and while Ponyo had lost the astonishment of childhood, it still held its charm. The film was the background of so many childhood memories–putting it on after midnight nightmares or days spent sick in bed; children versions of you wrapped up and watching every sleepover.

It was silly, he had you there right next to him, but he still missed you until the movie was on, and here you were not watching it.

“Sorry, Lix, I just can’t believe you’re actually here.” your voice trembles a little, hiding the true emotions and fear that he’ll find you out. He would never stop being your friend just because you had a little crush on him, could never abandon you for something so little as a flutter in your tummy. But this wasn’t just a crush or a flutter, this was a stampede. You’d been in love with him for so long now, kept it hidden away in teenage diaries and grown up journals. A secret between you and the moon. You could never be sure how he’d take it, that for years now you’d been cowardly and afraid of him, a boy so brave he conquered his dreams.

“Well, believe it baby! And watch the movie… or else…” He said it in a funny voice, and even though you knew he meant well, the pet name pushed an ugly feeling in your gut.

Quietly and painfully you looked back to the screen, avoiding the way you can feel his body breathe next to you. For so long you missed this, the knowledge that your best friend was next to you, but now you think he should go home. Back to Seoul where he doesn’t hurt you by being him, sunshiney and starlit him. “Hey, seriously, are you okay? Where’d you go?” Felix is genuinely worried now, a sinister feeling arising in his chest that you’re not okay, and that it’s because of him.

Sure, he’s been gone a lot the last couple of years, but he never forgot the way your eyes got misty before you cried. He grew up alongside you, nursed bloody knuckles and broken hearts and he could feel when you were sad–knew like the back of his hand when you were devastated and hiding it, but was this just because you missed him?

“I’m fine, star boy, I just always get a little sad when I watch Ponyo. You remember don’t you? The way I would cry and cry when Sasuke promises to love and take care of her?” you mutter, softly without any conviction, and while the boy knows this to be true, he can’t help but notice your fidgety hands and the way you won’t look at him.

You’re so worried, crushed beyond belief that one night home and he’ll figure you out. You could never keep a secret from him, running to tell him as soon as someone told you a whisper of hidden truth. Since you were twelve you told him all your innerworkings and private feelings, all but this one. It was easy when he was gone, easy to train your voice to sound happy over the phone, but you couldn’t hide anything with his eyes so close to you.

Shoulder to shoulder you sat on the sofa you grew up on, right in this position with this beautiful boy. Watching this movie at 12 and 15, holding hands to ward against scary movie monsters. You couldn’t keep this secret here.

“You’re a shitty liar, Y/n, is it some boy? Do I have to defend your honor?” it was so silly to him, you were so silly. How could he think any other boy mattered to you but him? Him with his golden hair and bright eyes, star studded cheeks smiling at you in the sunshine.

You would never forgive yourself for that day on the beach. The day he became more than Felix, your best friend. You used to gag when your parents teased you about him, winced when one of your girls would say you looked cute together, and then all it took was the sun hitting him just right.

You would never forgive yourself for this night either, you had to tell him. Had to make sure he knew it didn’t matter if he couldn’t feel the same. Who were you other than his friend? He was an angel and you were just someone he knew before he ascended.

“Yeah, I guess. Some boy who I just can’t get out of my head.”

“Oh, my silly sweetheart, is he devastatingly handsome.” he was giggling, the way he always did when you brought up boys to him, like it was ridiculous you would think a boy was cute.

“I think so, he’s handsome and sweet, and I’ve never known anyone like him.”

“This sounds intense, Y/nie, you must really like him…”

“Yeah, you could say that.”

You can’t help but notice his body language shifting, turning inward and hesitant. His voice got quieter too, shifting back into his normal voice. You wonder if you transferred some of your fear to him, then dismiss the thought–your Felix has always been brave.

The movie still plays, little kid voices filling the otherwise silent room. The picture can be seen in his eyes, lighting the dark with bright oranges and blues. They're looking at you, and some tiny part of you can tell he seems sad. That piece of you that always knows how he’s feeling; attuned even when he’s in South Korea and you feel with all parts of you that you need to send a message to cheer him up.

You feel that now, and reach out to take his hand, calloused and warm in yours.

You stay like that for a while, finishing the film hand in hand like you did when you were both still small. Until finally, he asks so quietly you can barely hear him,

“Do you like him more than me?”

Shocked, you can’t help but let out a surprised laugh, which stuns Felix enough to pull his hand from yours–rubbing with his other hand where yours touched. He’s hurting, and you’re laughing at him, and this is enough to pull all of his bravery into you. Deep breathe in and out until you are sure every ounce of courage he’s ever had is running through your veins. You need to tell him, and even if he never speaks to you again, it's better than if he never knew he spins your whole world around.

“Oh my god, Felix, it is you.” it comes out in a breath, faster than you’ve ever said anything and more relieving than any sentence you’ve rattled out before. The tears you’ve been fighting off all night come tumbling down, cascading over your cheeks with reckless abandon into your shaky hands. He’s silent for so long, barely even moving from his place next to you. The only indication he’s still hear the shaky breaths he’s releasing, and still you don’t look at him.

You’re waiting for him to leave, to walk out the door and go home, waiting for him to walk out of your life and back into his place in the sky, when finally you feel his hand on your wrist. His hold is so delicate, nervous as he moves your hands from your face and can finally see your eyes. Eyes sad and exhausted and so familiar to him, even through the tears their lovely–a reminder of home and unconditional love, and growing up. He can’t believe you would like him, Him with all his idiosyncrasies and softheartedness, you were so beautiful and so strong and you liked him. Thought he was handsome and sweet, you’d never known anyone like him…

How long could this have been going on, how could he have been living never knowing you felt this way? Never knowing he felt it too, not just butterflies in his belly, but falcons, wings so strong and so big they started hurricanes.

He looked at you like he always did, like you were the most important thing in the room. Eyes on yours and a smile of disbelief rising on his face. Slowly, without any reservations he brought his forehead to yours, looking down at you in all your snotty glory and lifting a hand to swipe at the falling tears. His voice is a whisper, deep and familiar, the same voice he used to tell stories and secrets,

“It’s me? You promise?”

“It’s always been you, Felix, how could it be anyone else?”

He shudders, the hand sitting atop your cheek bone falling to your neck before he moves closer, settling his lips next to yours. Eyes lifting in a silent question, is this okay? With a nod and a close of your eyes he’s leaning in, moving to kiss you with all the desperation the moment requires. His tongue wiping up all the fallen tears as his lips moved with yours–when you were children he always kissed your wounds better, sweet pecks over bandaids and foreheads, and here he was now fixing up a broken heart–putting it back together.

When he comes back up for air his eyes settle over your frame, flushed and hair messy from his hands, and he smiles. He’s loved you since he was a boy, since you asked to build that sand castle, 12 years old and braver than anyone he’s ever known. He’s loved you through teenage tantrums and silly crushes, it’s always been you.

“We’ve been so silly, sweetheart.” he finally gets out, laughing at the impossibility of it all. The one secret you kept from each other being the same. Like always, exactly on the same page–telling the same story over and over again until you met in the middle. “When did you know? When did you know you loved me?”

He’s so happy, you can feel it in the way he’s holding you, in the way his hands haven’t left your skin since they arrived. You can’t believe it, this beautiful boy is holding you.

“That day you told me you were gonna audition… you came from the sea smiling and covered in sunshine, and I saw you for the first time–larger than life, my dream.”

His eyes closed, and then he laughed. A great big wonderful laugh that took him away from you, falling onto his back with happy tears streaming. It was such a lovely sound you couldn’t help but join in, giggling with him even if you didn’t know why.

When he finally speaks again his voice is still twinged with laughter, breathless and happy when he says, “You were so late” pausing to laugh, “I loved you since we were 12, you were covered in sand and I was in love.”

You move to him quickly, settling your body on top of his as gently as you could manage, and you take in his happy face. This is what he looks like in love, not any different than he’s ever looked, but the shock of it–the fact that it’s you who he loves and is loved in return makes you want to cry again.

This is where home is, here in his arms with your movie playing, smiling at each other in awe. There's so many moments you can share with him now, moments you shared with the moon and shooting stars, things you never thought you could tell him. Days and weeks holding a secret that he carried too. How silly you’ve both been, to deny what everyone has told you since you were children–two humans made for each other, sculpted out of the same sand. Lives entwined since that day on the beach when you asked him to build a sandcastle, how funny looking back, that you never did.

#felix x reader #felix fluff #skz x reader #skz fluff #lee felix #skz felix #stray kids x reader #stray kids fluff #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #skz scenarios #felix scenarios #felix imagines #felix x you

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mintmatcha · 1 year

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A singular light is on. The apartment is dim with diffused shadows, cast across the entryway from doorway to the dining room. As you take off your shoes, you're aware of a slow drumming-- tap, tap, tap, tap: fingers against the hardwood of the table. As you wander in, dropping your coat on the couch next to your husband's, you see the man in question. He's sitting there, expression more dour than usual.

"Sit down." Aizawa jerks his chin to the chair opposing him. For once he's still in his work clothes, his all black garb dusted at the knees and elbows. The sweats he usually changed into at still draped over the back of his chair, waiting for him.

"What is this?" You gesture to the scene before you, "Are you interrogating me or something?"

"Sit," he repeats, face flat. He's still wearing his boots, prosthetic still on. You're going to make him vacuum later. "We have to talk."

You slide into your seat, brow raised. Aizawa stares at you for a long moment before he leans back and grabs something from the floor. He tosses the item onto the table and taps his finger against it.

"What is this?" he asks. You pause for a second, expecting something scandalous, but then you process it and realize:

"It's the pack of boxer briefs you asked me to buy," you laugh a bit and Aizawa scowls deeper. His eye twitches at your amusement, "What?"

"You know what's wrong with this."

You look at the package again. It's the right size, the right material, the right cut-- you genuinely don't know what the issue is.

"It's... underwear."

"Look at it. Look." Aizawa taps the package, as if the answer is obvious.

"Honey-"

"You bought me." His voice cracks with really annoyance. "All Might underwear."

You shrug with a shake of your head, the breath of a laugh in your voice. "So? It was on sale."

Aizawa leans forward, taking the package in both hands and pointing to the designs. Most are just boldly colored, with bright blues and yellows, but the front most pair of briefs are spotted with All Might's face and name. It's gaudy, sure, but you're the only one seeing his underwear, so why should it matter?

"So?" Aizawa repeats back, "I work with the man, I can't wear his face on my fucking penis."

You lean forward to match him, shoulders bouncing with a laugh you're trying to swallow. "How would he know?"

"It doesn't matter if he knows, I'd know." Over dramatically, he tosses the package to the side and to the floor, face still scrunched with annoyance, "You have to return them."

"Again. They were on sale. I can't return them." You reach across the table for his hand, but he doesn't react, still staring at you with a curled lip. "I'll just wear them instead."

Aizawa groans.

"Absolutely not." He puts his head in his hands, hair falling over his eyes, "How could I ever look him in the eyes ever again? His face on your body."

"I guess you're not going to like my Dynamite thong then."

"Please tell me you're joking." Aizawa rubs his palms into his eyes, eyepatch moving back and forth, "He is my student, that's not funny."

"He was your student ten years ago," you remind him, "He's a grown man with merch now."

"Tell me you're joking. Tell me."

You stand, hands on your button fly, "Why don't you go check for yourself?"

"No." Aizawa finally looks up at you, expression almost pained, "We might never have sex again actually."

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ilyuu · 10 months

Text

warnings : confession, bits of angst, hurt/comfort, fluff!!, march and caelus as wingmen, lmk if i missed anything! dan heng bought a flower for you but is now contemplating whether he should still give it to you

a/n : not my best i’ll say that 😃

"c’monnnnnn!"

“i refuse."

the stars beyond the windows, thin glimpses of the endless space, bare witness to this conversation once again.

"it’s been days. the flower is gonna wilt at some point!"

"i am taking sufficient care of it," he says, and it’s only instinct for his eyes to stray to said flower in his hand. petals of soft yellow and red, a swirl of warmth itself - just as he says, it’s as rich as it was those days ago.

days.

for a reason he can’t fully comprehend, and yet does, the word spreads a bitterness in his mouth.

"and for what? decoration? never really took you as an aesthete."

march huffs, her cheeks puffed. slowly, but surely, the steam out of her ears fades with a sigh. "dan heng, it’s not going to do any good waiting around, y’know."

"i’m well aware." he sighs himself. "but it’s simple; it’d be best if we stay as we are. i’d rather not involve them with the likes of me."

"jokes on you, ‘cause you involved them the moment they met us," and with a smile she says it with. it takes a moment for the words to sink in a bit for it to disappear. "wait, that kinda sounds like we ruined their life—”

"we might as well had." his eyes is still on the flower in the palm of his hand. cool, crisp to the touch - the wintry touch of the snow still clings on.

his hold on it tightened.

march noticed that. "dan heng, listen, they wanted to come with us; the choice was theirs and with how excited they were, i think anyone could tell that they really wanted to."

his eyes wavers a bit.

a step into the main carriage and it's already stolen your breath away. an old song lost to time took the air from the record player and it only sets in a feeling of wonder in you.

the stars that seemed far from your reach is ever so closer to you now, even if by a few light years closer. and it echoes in your eyes, something that comes close to a childlike wonder, with the space of stardust and life swallowing you whole.

even if separated by a layer of glass, you’re content.

he could tell that much at the very least when he watched you.

"perhaps." heat seeps into his cheeks, skin flushed. his fingers twiddles with the petals, as softly as he can, of course, without tearing one. "i cannot be sure."

the flower in his hand, sunshine, it's called, although crisp, spares some warmth to him.

"these feelings are questionable; i cannot like them due to... circumstances, and yet, i've come to grow on their presence. i... seem as if i cannot leave them alone, and rely on said presence, in spite of me aware that is contrary to what i said a few minutes ago."

"they akin to a star almost. as bright. and i don’t see myself parting from them for now."

march stares at him in silence, unlike her, with eyes wide. there's a bit of quiet that, while he would prefer, very slightly unsettles him.

"i... said too much."

"nonononono!"

as if those words were all it took to snap her out of her trance, she waved her hands all over the air - a blur to his eyes, if to be honest. "that's more than enough! but wowww, can't say i saw all of that coming either.”

"march."

she all but grins. "sooooooooooo?"

"so?'

"c’mon, you know what i mean."

"ah." a sigh. this time, a bit lighter. "ill consider it. on... giving this flower, at least."

"there you go! step after step!"

from the other side of the door, their voices, a muffled mix, yet still heard through the slit of the door left ajar, you find yourself sliding down to the floor. your skin felt as though it caught on fire, hot, and you tried to hide yourself in your arms, all but caving in.

you heard.

and so he did as caelus stands beside you (with an achievement that says matchmaker 101 plays in his head.)

general taglist (open!) : @/zuyoo, @starz222, @haliyamori, @kazumist, @/tartaglia-apologist, @mikacynth, @angelkazusstuff, @doumalove, @kpop-and-otome, @emo-mess, @kissedbysilk . . .

#hsr x reader #hsr x you #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #honkai x reader #honkai x you #honkai star rail drabble #hsr drabbles #hsr imagines #honkai star rail imagines #dan heng x reader #dan heng x you

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merowkittie · 7 months

Text

short comfort Drabble from either mikes 42 or 1610 :) (r receiving)

Tw: body insecurities / a lil angsty / crying

Not proof read because I’m tired

“What’s the matter, beautiful?” He’d look at you, his brows are furrowed. He looks confused, like he’s contemplating something in his head.

The moon is up, the night lights are bright but dull at the same time, casting yellow hues across the room mixed with purples, blacks, reds, and blues. His arm is splayed across your stomach, you’re laying side by side but you’re looking up at the ceiling and he’s looking at you. Your hand is holding onto to his pinky and ringer finger tightly and he feels you tremble a little. The covers on the bed lightly move from the fan pointed directly at you two and your locs fall to the side of your lips as your head movements when you shake your head no at his question.

Miles elevates his head on his palm now, looking down at you as your eyes find another place to concentrate on.

“What you mean no? Talk to me, ma.” He huffs after his words and sighs when you don’t say anything still.

He’s now moving closer to you, taking his hand out from yours and holding your cheek. Your head is tilted to face his and he can see tears well up in your eyes.

“I’m sorry, miles.. I-I don’t mean to be a cry baby.. I’m just so, ugh. I don’t know how to d-describe it!” You stutter and hiccup and his heart just breaks.

He’s quick to fully sit up in his bed and sit you up with him. He’s taking your hands and pressing kissed all around your knuckles and palm. He doesn’t really know what to do to comfort you but he knows you melt when he kisses your hands.

“Don’t ever apologize for feeling some type of way, ok? I’m always here for you, no matter what. It’s me and you through anything, aight?” He’s looking at you sincerely, his voice stern.

You nod slowly but that doesn’t stop the tears from flowing still. You’re trying to hold them and he sees that but you just tremble even more and oh his own eyes well up a bit.

“What is wrong, pretty? I want to help you.” He emphasizes his words and leans over to put his forehead against yours.

You try to steady your breathing before you speak and you look down at your lap, “I don’t know, miles. I just feel weird. I feel disgusted and.. gross. I don’t like how i look. I d-don’t like my body..”

Miles didn’t know what to do. He loved you so so much, what would he do without his joy im his life? All of a sudden you’re crying in his hold and talking nonsense about your body. He loved every bit of you. Miles has always been a sweet, knowing boy but he didn’t expect this to be what was bothering you.

He’d never seen you cry before. Never seen you so shaken. You’ve been dating for a year maybe two soon, and not once has he seen you act like this. He felt terrible just looking at you sniffle and watching your lap get moist with tears. Has he been so neglectful to you to the point he just never saw the signs?

“I’m so sorry, cariño.” He squeezed your hand tightly. Your eyes were blurred but your breathing became more steady.

“I wish I could take those thoughts out of your head, really. What can I do to not.. make you feel like that?” He asked, tilting his head down to catch your eyes.

You looked up at him, your brown eyes puffy and red and your lips were chapped but bitten red. You looked down again and played with your long nails, taking note to cut them down later.

You sighed and looked up, running a hand through your locs and pushing them out of your face.

“Nothin’. I jus’ want you here with me tonight.. and some kisses. That’s all I want from you, Miles.” You played with the hem of your shirt as the silence filled the room again.

You wiped your face with your sleeves of your shirt and looked up at Miles who was concentrated on you.

He nodded his head and kissed your temple. His nose rubbing against your hairline. “I can do that, pretty,” he fixed the blanket on his body and propped your pillows up, dragging you down to lay with him, “Just close your eyes and let me take care of you a little bit, aight?”

Your head laid on his chest and you nodded your head without speaking. His hand came up to rub at your arm, his fingers drawing patterns.

He hummed a song which melodies carried out throughout the room, filling your ears and making you tired. So slowly, you went to sleep with miles comforting you as much as he could.

When you woke up, miles was gone but there was a bouquet of flowers in a vase on your dresser and a letter signed,

“To: my cariño

From: Miles

“I’ll be back soon, I love you Mami, look inside your fridge.””

You smiled to yourself. Miles always knew the answers to a problem.

#reader insert #black reader #comfort #miles morales x reader #miles morales x black!reader #miles morales 1610 #miles morales fluff #e42 miles morales x reader #miles morales angst #miles morales #into the spider verse #spiderman across the spiderverse #atsv fic #spiderman itsv #x black reader #gender nuetral reader #fem reader

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fairykazu · 1 month

Text

a lovely night with heizou note: the heizou pic is made by inqueueu on twt! heavily based on la la land mlist ++ tglist @aethion @jllyfsh-lvr

the skies slowly became twilight with speckles of pinks, the lamps on the streets flickering on. two of you were walking up a hill, bickering for no other reason than to irritate the other person. it's weird considering that you guys met just a couple of weeks ago, not knowing that you'd meet every other day.

"don't you think it's a bit odd that we keep bumping into each other?" he said as you shrugged in response.

"well, shikanoin... maybe, you're stalking me." you joked but the look on his face made it even funnier. as his jaw dropped, trying to make a quick snarky reply back but only said,

"what?" he noticed you snicker at his reply, he rolled his eyes. heizou adjusted his collar before spinning on his heel abruptly, stopping you in your tracks, "look at the view here!"

as you turned, he's right, the view does look good. the city lights glimmered as if it was the reflection of the night's blanket of stars. this looked like it was made for two, perfectly tailored to a pair in love. your shoes clicked on the ground as you sighed, holding your face into your palm before glancing at heizou. "what a shame this is a waste."

he tilted his head, confused. "which means?" you circled around him as if he was your prey. he thinks that you look like a vulture. "this-" you gestured to the dusk. "-was made for a two. it's just a shame that those two are you and me."

and for once, he agreed with you. you continued, stopping from circling him and walked to the bench. "some other girl and guy would love sky tonight. but it's only you and i."

he quipped back, "you're not the type for me."

you scrunched up your nose in reply as he walked closer to you. "oh, really."

he clicked his tongue in agreement as you rolled your eyes. "really."

"uh-huh, let's make something clear, shikanoin. you say there's nothing here but i think i'd be the one to make that call." sitting down on the cold bench as heizou leaned on the light pole. it illuminated softly against your bright yellow attire. he huffed out a small laugh, interested in what you were implying.

he raised a brow, "what's your call?"

you leaned down, adjusting the straps on your shoes to make yourself more comfortable. "i know you look so cute in your maroon suit."

"it's burgundy." he corrected, rather sternly. it's silly to just correct on the color when they're barely just shades apart.

"ha! you're right i'd never fall for you at all."

heizou squinted his eyes, "maybe you would."

"why would i?"

he replied back as he stumbled from leaning too hard on the pole. as you laughed at him, he brushed off the dust off his clothes. "haven't you met me? i'm-"

you chirped, "egoistic, 'solemn' and annoying?" heizou rolled his eyes as he sat next to you. were you wrong? ...no ? well, he wants to be right in this matter so yes, you were wrong.

but he was distracted from how you looked. very... eye-catching in a not attractive way. he messed up on his line, "no, i'm... cool and handsome."

"okay but frankly, i'm feeling nothing." heizou leaned closer as you held his head away from you, exactly an arm length away. "is that so?"

"orrr it could be less than nothing." heizou pretended to faint, clutching his heart.

he cleared his throat, "so you agree?"

"that's right."

the both of you in sync, "what a waste of a lovely night."

#astronetwrk #heizou shikanoin #heizou x reader #gender neutral reader #genshin fluff #genshin impact fanfics #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x reader

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tunastime · 5 months

Note

HOW ABOUT.... 77 >:3

oh shepherd. ohhh shepherd. 77 is shark week and its really a shame that shark week is so low considering that everything everything was my top artist of 2023, narrowly beating glass animals and usurping their 5 year streak. so um this is about ben and tom to me smiles

(668 words)

It’s a busy night.

That bodes well for Tom, who makes his way through the halls of the lab, following stripes of color through the bright white light. He makes his way through groups of testificates, blocking out questions and chatter, putting his mind away from whatever they could be working on. He wasn’t focused on that, tonight. He wouldn’t be asked about his trip. Not that he would be in the first place—that’s what he got for being good at his job. Nobody asked questions. Well. Xephos asked questions. But his questions were always to the point, and they were always a wrap around to the answer he was expecting, so as long as Tom was on his toes, he could answer them without saying anything at all.

Nevertheless of all of that, he slips his way through the halls of the lab, and through a few access doors, and to a room, where he stands for a moment, fishing for his keycard. When he swipes, the door slides open, letting in a bar of light. He steps in quickly, light disappearing for a short moment, until the lamp beside the bed clicks on.

In white-yellow light, Ben looks awful.

It’s not that he normally looks good, either, which is unfortunate, but he looks exhausted. The lines of his face grow darker in the low light, especially as he blinks awake, scrubbing at his eyes. Tom feels a sharp pang through his chest as he realizes he’s woken him, but the relief etched across Ben’s face as he locks eyes with him diffuses the guilt almost instantly.

“Hi, Ben,” Tom says, a smile worming onto his face.

“Tom,” Ben sighs, leaning back on his hands. His shoulders seem to relax almost immediately as he settles, as Tom steps more into the room. He sets his coat and clipboard on the nightstand, ruffling through the pockets as he does. He holds out a bundle of napkins for Ben. Ben cups his hands, holding the bundle for a moment before Tom gestures for him to open it.

“What is it?” Ben asks, tilting his head. The corners of his mouth lift up just so as he looks up at Tom. Tom’s still grinning, eyes squinted behind his glasses. He gestures again.

“It's for you,” Tom says. Ben snorts, rolling his eyes as he unfurls the napkins in his palm. Inside, Tom’s saved bread and cheese, crushed together from being shoved into his coat pocket, but largely still edible, and no small portion either. Ben’s face lights up, eyes flicking from the food in his hands and Tom’s face.

“You’re serious?” Ben asks. Tom nods, folding his arms as he comes to sit on the end of the bed, giving Ben enough space to stretch out his legs. Ben tears into the bread, almost famished, sighing as he chews. He smiles at Tom through his food, as if he’s holding back a laugh, and that alone sets a warm thing turning in Tom’s chest.

“Thank you,” Ben hums, swallowing with some difficulty. He reaches for the glass of water at the bedside, taking a small sip. Tom kicks himself—next time. Next time, tomorrow, or the day after, or two days from now, he’ll bring a whole canteen of water. He’ll sneak him away. He’ll make sure he actually gets clean, that he gets rest, a warm meal. Anything he can sneak to him. Anything that the testificates, that Xephos won’t miss.

Until then, Ben eats, savoring the food like he’ll never get a chance to eat again. Even in the white light, his face regains a bit more color, warm in the high of his cheeks. Tom laughs a bit under his breath, the motion shaking his shoulders.

“Of course, Ben,” he says, furrowing his eyebrows. “What else am I good for?”

Ben laughs, a solid sound from his chest, and Tom laughs with him. He’s not sure when he decides it, but he knows now, more than ever, that he’s leaving. And he won’t be leaving without Ben beside him.

(spotify wrapped ask meme)

#i......................dont know what happened to me #this song is very breaking out to me #so.......#shepherd i dont know what happened to me. i dont know!! i shrimply thought about them too hard. i hope its canon (to you)#for everyone else. there is no canon ben and tom. we simply make that shit up #text #fics #asks #spotify wrapped ask meme #ooooh you guys wanna send another one sooo bad

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pavardscherie · 1 year

Note

Could you do some jealous Julian Brandt smut for a female reader please. There’s a criminal lack of Julian smut on here.

— it's the yellow-black, julian brandt

⤷ pairing: julian brandt x female reader ⤷ summary: julian comes home from his match against Frankfurt and sees you in one of his pre-match shirts of his. the shirt just sparks something in him, he can't control.

⤷ warnings: p in v, dirty talk, hand around throat, a little bit of praise kink

⤷ requests are open.

⤷ izzy talks: alright, this idea just came up, and i really don't know how it happened or how i literally wrote this so quickly with little giggles. lol. i didn't fit the jealous part, I'm sorry, but i will probably write another. hope you're still happy!

the stretchy material, colored in the significant bumblebee yellow and deep black, wadded up between his fleshy fingers, julian adjusted himself from his position behind you. his calloused palms could be pressed into the smooth skin around your waist, blemishing your body with marks in purple and blue. yet, he decided against it after seeing you in the expensive long-arm pre-match shirt with his name written on the back.

coming home to such a sight, you snuggled up in front of the television, the television turned on and watching the last match of a saturday night, made him feral. he knew, you've watched him play, you kept your eyes glued to the brightness of the device and searched the pitch for his figure for ninety minutes.

and when you stood up, wanting to welcome him home and congratulate him on the win against frankfurt, his eyes almost popped out of his skull. the way-too-long pre-match shirt with the borussia dortmund emblem reached the mid of your thighs on the front but only ended underneath your ass, barely covering the cheeks. he lost himself at that moment.

innocence glistened in your tired eyes, the exhaustion of staying awake for hours in front of the television, swirled in the color around your black pupils. the second, you stood in front of him on your tip-toes, wrapping your slender arms around his neck and waiting for a kiss, julian changed his mind. picking you up and carrying toward the shared bedroom without a second thought.

exactly how you ended up on all fours, the pre-match shirt in dortmund's colors bunched up around your waist, and julian's right-hand holding on to the material while thrusting into you. hips snapped forward, the sound of skin hitting each other filled the room with a mixture of whimpers and moans from your mouth.

fingernails dug into the pillows underneath you, the harshness of julian's thrusts made it difficult to hold yourself further up. you were tired from a boring day, from the bright light of the television and the warmth of the blanket, but you could never deny such an opportunity. since borussia dortmund fought for the top of the chart, julian has always been busy. improving his skill, attending extra training sessions, and running through the neighborhood.

wetness pooled between your legs, flooding down the insides of your thighs as the speed of julian's pounding increased. balls slapped against your sensitive clit with each hard thrust, angling it perfectly to reach the spot inside of you that triggered the pleasurable waves.

"holy shit, you can't imagine how fucking hot you look in that shirt. my name written on your back, fuck, feels like possessing you, baby." julian's words increased the already twisting feeling in your stomach, your orgasm was closer than expected. a particularly loud moan rolled off your tongue at the last words, hinting at a little kink you tried to keep hidden for quite a while.

but julian caught the change in your moans, the slight increase in volume and the high-pitched part at the end when your voice already started to break. "oh babe, you're mine. fully and completely mine, no one else gets to see you like that."

"i'm your, jule." you spoke between the uncontrollable waves of moans and needy whimpers for your release. julian's arms wandered over your spin, reaching over your shoulder to wrap the fingers carefully around your throat. a necessary action to help you reach a much greater orgasm than you expected in the past minutes.

rough pads pressed into the smooth skin, tightening your windpipe and making it harder to inhale and exhale oxygen. the gestures seemed rough, yet, julian always stayed gentle and careful. pulling you up slowly, he arched your back and allowed your arms to rest from the immense strength of his thrusts, they had to withstand.

his chin placed on your shoulder, his other hand gathered more of the fabric in his palm and pulled on the shirt whenever he pounded into you. a small amount of extra force added with the new position and new actions, your lids fluttered close at the extraordinary feeling.

"are you going to cum for me, my love?" words, merely whispered against the side of your neck, the warmth of his hot breath fanned against your skin and erupted in a new wave of shivers. you nodded your head, not having enough strength anymore to speak with his long fingers wrapped around your throat. "speak to me, or i will stop."

his raspy voice, the deep vocals, had an edge of a warning. like the devil spoke through julian's mouth to you and threatened to leave you unsatisfied. and the football player knew, your delicate fingers could never please you as much as he could with his fingers, tongue, or dick. "yes, i'm so close." you panted, forcing the words out of your mouth in a hurry to assure enough oxygen was left inside of you to breathe normally.

"good, good." julian chuckled quietly, a devilish sound that made it difficult to keep the pleasure-filled haze under control. "then cum for me, babygirl. cum for me, only for me." he punctuated his request with a particularly deep thrust, his hips slamming against your ass and demanding to feel your walls clenching around his painfully hard dick. as if your body wasn't yours anymore, you were pushed into the world of bliss and pleasure.

moans, uncontrollably, spilled out of your mouth. repeating his name between the filthy sounds, it sounded like a prayer. a thankful, little melody for pleasing you so perfectly. attempting to clutch your legs shut, your walls clenched around julian's dick. squeezing the shaft tightly, letting him have a taste of your orgasm. arousal covered his dick further, flooding further down the insides of your thighs, and the warmth was enough for julian to reach his own high.

a couple of deep, quick thrusts, and you felt the white spurts covering your the walls of your pussy. but he wouldn't let it go to waste and kept moving with very lazy and soft thrusts. enough to trigger the soreness further, an already uncomfortable feeling spreading through your exhausted muscles and begging for a break.

"don't want to waste the precious stuff." julian cooed, blowing gentle kisses along the side of your neck, and still holding you tightly in place while fucking his semen tightly into your sore pussy. "mhm." you hummed as an answer, completely worn out from julian's actions, and the way he handled your body.

when he reached a level of satisfaction, julian carefully pulled his limp dick out of your hole, and smiled. the white spurts he left inside of you, stayed in the warmth of your walls. the fabric slipped out of his tight grip, and he wrapped his arms around your waist to lay you down comfortably on the king-sized bed.

"you've been such a good girl for me." the blonde male spoke the good girl-praise so casually as if it couldn't trigger a second orgasm from you in a matter of minutes. "next time, you might wanna wear my jersey." he chuckled, hovering above your body to place a soft kiss on your sweat-covered forehead, and received a tired smile from you for the loving gesture.

"i love you, jule." you whispered, turning on the side and letting your lids flutter close without even attempting to fight it.

"i love you too, sweetheart."

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yunville · 1 year

Text

DROPS OF JUPITER! — kazu the saviour

masterlist | chapter 2 | chapter 4

word count: 700

deep in your thoughts as you walked out of your last lecture. wouldn't say the day was horrible neither was it amazing. after being confessed to by a person you've always admire from afar, you'd think that you'll actually feel a sense of happiness, feeling accomplished in getting their attention only to have them confess to your secret identity only your friends knew.

kaveh, you thought. oh how could a person be so beautiful with that bright hair that lights up the entire school from miles away. "downbad" is the minimum, infact you've been pining on him ever since you saw him on your first day.

"never knew the only way to get his attention was to create a secret identity i didn't even mean for him to like" you laughed. isn't it ironic? the whole situation. a fool, you're only making a fool out of yourself.

"hey yn" your thoughts were interrupted when you heard a familiar voice call out your name.

"oh kazuha! hi! are you here for rehearsal?" you look up, and questioned. of course he is, the annual concert's only 2 weeks away! everyone's been super occupied with the event, most of the assignments got canceled as to how important this event is to the school.

"mhm, not really. im just here to drop off the scripts and go on with my day. today's rehearsal is for the singers and band team, if you didn't already know and its open to audience," he replied smiling assertively. you nod in acknowledgment. of course you knew that.... hahaha (you didn't!!!)

as you step in the hall, you made eye contact with him. oh god oh no! those beautiful, fiery red eyes that you fell for the moment you saw it. the bright yellow hair that brightens your day. the extremely enchanting dark turquoise feather he has in his hair made him look like the most intelligent man on earth.

"there! thats yn! she's my friend," you hear venti said introducing you indirectly to his group of friends. you smile at him and quickly put your bags down to start rehearsal.

"performers come on the stage now! we'll do a quick briefing before we start," miss lisa said gathering everyone but the audience.

———

practice went well as per usual, with some mistakes but better than previous practices. there was a quick debrief before the dismissal, and you all went your way.

"YN!!! come here!!" the green head calls out for you. you showed him your palm as a signal to wait while you pack your guitar and bag, before heading to them.

"hi, im yn. nice to meet you" you said with a soft smile. looking up, you met eye contact with the blonde.

"no need to be so formal yn" kazuha chuckles before patting your head. you guys have always been kind of awkward, but close! but awkward... kind of! :]

"oh yn! i have a question" kaveh asked. KAVEH ASKED???? oh lord, you were panicking on the inside, he has something to ask you about? did you finally gain his attention?

"do you get inspiration from venus?" oh. oh.... least to say, you froze. you couldn't possibly tell him that you're venus can you.

"ah, yn doesn't watch venus" kazuha interrupts. you look at him and smile, reminding yourself to thank him mentally when you're alone with him.

"oh, thats shocking! you both sound quite similar too!!!" kaveh replies more passionately

"maybe you're venus" a ginger head adds on to the joke. the two of them laughed between themselves.

from your peripheral view, you saw kazuha signalling you as to whether you want to head home, you nodded as a yes.

"i'll be heading home with yn now, im supposed to stop by her place to take my poetry notes," kazuha fakes a reason. sounds of teasing were heard but kazuha pulled you away. he apologised for the behaviour of his friends while you thank him for getting you out of there and you both part ways at the school gate bidding goodbye. what an eventful day. you thought as you sigh.

TAGLIST: OPEN! @cerisetial @shionszz @pyrrhicgaze @sakiimeo @serenareiss @morgandoesstuffsig @jadedist @squishychongyun @sashiette @akagism2 @kazuyato (send an ask or dm!)

#📜 drops of jupiter #genshin #genshin fluff #genshin imagines #genshin impact #genshin impact kaveh #genshin smau #genshin x reader #genshin x you #kaveh imagines #kaveh x reader #genshin kaveh #kaveh fluff #kaveh smau #kaveh x yn #kaveh x y/n #kaveh #genshin x y/n #genshin fanfic

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effervescentdragon · 1 year

Note

i saw ur tags about the concert and piarles so i thought to prompt you officially? coldplay concert + piarles

this was a long time ago, anon, i hope you're still around and you like this. @sebsrainbowbicycle this one is for you actually, because this one caught my eye now when we were talking and all i could think was fix you and then yellow <3 this is a mess bcs im tired, imma fix it up sometime.

Pierre doesn't remember how old he was when he first heard the song, or what he wore, or where exactly he was. All he knows is that it made him think of Charles.

That shouldn't have been significant, because even then he knew he thought of Charles a lot more than was probably normal, or expected, or okay. Even then he knew that the way he felt about Charles wasn't how he felt about any of his other friends, or his brothers or cousins. So it shouldn't have been significant, really; except that it was, because the whole song was Charles.

When you try your best, but you don't succeed; that was Charles on the racetrack, winning the race but losing the championship, coming out of his kart and trying not to cry, making Pierre wish he was closer so he could hug him.

When you get what you want, but not what you need; that was Charles getting his wins and his podiums, getting to race as much as possible, and being late or being absent from Pierre's or Arthur's or his maman's birthdays because he was off somewhere in Europe in his kart, flying.

Tears come streaming down your face when you lose something you can't replace; that was Charles with all the unfairness of the world thrown into his face, losing everything except races; Charles with his red-rimmed eyes and sincere smiles, tearing his chest open to the world, because if he showed his bleeding heart first, it wouldn't be a mystery, and they may leave him alone; Charles with his hands shaking reaching for Pierre and asking for something Pierre was always more than happy to give, until the world shook as much as they did.

When you feel so tired, but you can't sleep, stuck in reverse; that was Charles sneaking into Pierre's room in France over the summer, elbows and knees sharp as he burrowed into Pierre's bed, eyes huge and shiny in the night, his breathing uneven as he tried to let go of the adrenaline and the fear and the thoughts in his head and finally fall asleep, holding Pierre's hand in his and gone by next morning like an apparition.

When you love someone, but it goes to waste, could it be worse?; that was Charles in his red team, in his red racesuit and his red car, Charles with his red lips and red dreams and red legacy, Charles with his red trophies and red blisters on his palms, rough against the skin of Pierre's neck and so gentle that it made Pierre want to cry sometimes, but he never did, only brought those hands to his lips and kissed them.

Except the song wasn't only Charles; it was Pierre too.

When you're too in love to let it go; that was Pierre, screaming at Charles to go and reaching for him when he finally did, begging him not to leave, not to go, because Pierre never wanted him to go, no matter how many times Charles crashed into him or said stupid things or didn't understand why Pierre still went down to his knees to pray; Pierre never wanted him to leave because Pierre would always love Charles more than he would hate losing, and that is something that won't ever change.

Lights will guide you home, and ignite your bones, the whole crowd sings, and the lights shine bright in the night, and Pierre only has eyes for Charles. Charles, who is standing right next to him, and who has tears in his eyes, even though they aren't falling; Charles who is singing along, his lips quirked in a small smile; Charles whose hand is so close to Pierre's, he feels it burn; Charles, who is so beautiful, Pierre still can't believe it sometimes, and who wears his victories and defeats with a dignity that Pierre admires, especially since he is the only one who sees him when he is stripped of all of it and finally sincere and true, and loves him either way.

But if you never try, you'll never know just what you're worth; that was Pierre, looking at the phone in their bed, his hands shaking, his lip trembling as Charles lay with his head on Pierre's thigh and said nothing when Alpine called, only smiling softly, shyly, proudly and kissing Pierre's thigh before he left the room to give Pierre some privacy; that was Pierre, all those years ago, reaching for Charles when Charles snuck into his bed once again, not a kid anymore, and finally asking for what he barely allowed himself to think about, and having Charles climb into his lap immediately and finally kiss him like the world didn't exist outside his room in France, and it didn't in that moment, nor in any following moment when it was only two of them alone together.

Charles moves his hand closer to Pierre's as the applause roars, and his pinky finger hooks into Pierre's. Pierre feels the ring on Charles' finger hit his own ring, and imagines hearing the sound which he's heard a million times before, every time he intwined Charles' fingers with his, on planes under the blankets, on the couch as they watched a movie, in bed as he was leaning over Charles, holding his hands above his head.

"And I will try to fix you," Pierre mouths, and Charles' smile widens, because they both know some things aren't meant to be fixed; some things are as they are, not good and not bad, just are, and those things they both choose to accept over and over, and it's never a hardship that isn't worth it in the end.

Another song starts, and they stare at each other for a moment, before Pierre grins, and Charles blushes, because this one; this song is all Pierre, and still all about Charles.

'Look at the stars, look how they shine for you,' everyone sings, and Charles' eyes shine as brightly as the sun, and Pierre mouths "You know I love you so," and Charles nods, and doesn't look away, only squeezes Pierre's finger tighter, their rings aligned, as close as possible.

#this is a mess im sorry im extremely sleepy but i couldnt sleep till i got it out #piarles #this is disgustingly soft and diabetes inducing #fuck it #dee i love you a lot #f1 rpf #my writing #effervescentdragonwrites

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hankwritten · 1 year

Text

Enargeia

Day 3: CREATE (Texas Toast)

When they first joined BLU, Pyro thought it couldn’t get any better than this. New friends! Other new friends who they were allowed to set on fire! Basically all the rainbows they could manage without having to worry about that normal, everyday stuff like finding their next meal or stealing candy from convenience stores. Just work that they loved and a blank cheque to do it.

Yet, they can’t deny there’s something nice about living with Engie too. On weekends, those two long, bitter days when there’s no work at the battlefields and they have to entertain themself by lighting up in the pits or the fireplace (which Engie had specially installed for them since New Mexico homes don’t come with fireplaces), they actually find they’re alright with the concept of downtime. Something about Engie…he makes what would be boring simply…peaceful. Even on the rare occasion BLU gives them a holiday, and the painful two-days become excruciating three-days, they find they don’t mind so much as long as Engie is setting the schedule. He makes breakfast (eggs with bacon in a smiley face, or pancakes shaped like hearts) into an event. Going to sleep (which Pyro hates with a passion, will run themself ragged until four in the morning rather than lie down and try to make their brain go quiet) has become strictly regimented in an early-to-bed-early-to-rise sort of way. It’s actually shocking how much having a normal sleep schedule and regular meals will do for you.

That, plus having something non-work/non-fire related to set themself to, which isn’t really Engie’s doing but he was their inspiration. Between the moments spent with one another—be that meals or the much beloved story time—Engie occupies himself in his at-home workshop. Pyro watches from time to time, delighted how he loses himself in the not-quite-work-not-quite-hobby, enthralled with how things simply spring to existence under his palms.

The ranch is really to thank for their sudden fecundity. They were resistant, at first, when Miss Pauling “““encouraged””” them to move off-base and Engie kindly offered his home, but it fits them well. They want to make this place fit. They’ve even taken it upon themself to go fix up the old fence on the north side, and to learn enough engineering to tinker with the refrigerator since Engie keeps saying he’ll get to it but never does.

However, it’s not quite enough.

“I want to paint the side of the barn,” they tell Engie one day.

He looks up from the mini-dispenser that's been in development hell for months now. “Really? Sure it’s been a few years, but it’s not like it’s chippin’ yet.”

“Not as in painting all one color. As in paint something. Like a mural.” They glance out the window. “I want to make something. The way you do.”

“Hm,” Engie says. “I suppose I do have a couple of buckets lying ‘round the shop…”

They set to it that afternoon.

The buckets slop and occasionally spill with Pyro’s excitement, the brush thick with each swipe. They can feel the power of creation within them, and they begin to shape a sunrise on the barn’s bright and bare wall. Engie loans them a ladder, and stops by every hour or so, watching something beautiful come to be.

Pyro pours their heart and soul into it. They love until they have calluses through their gloves.

And when it’s done, it looks like utter shit.

“Oh I don’t think it’s that bad, darl,” Engie assures them.

“It’s hideous,” they mourn.

What was supposed to be a combination of yellows and oranges runs into the blue in a brown muck. The rainbow which they’ve thrown over the scene is wobbly and super crooked now that they step back.

“It looked so different in my head,” they say. “But when I tried to make it real it just came out all wrong.”

“Have you ever painted anything before, Py?”

“Well, no, but…”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have started with something so big for your first ever project. Making things takes time, and a bit of practice. You start with a potato clock and work your way up to the wristwatch.”

“I’m just so tired of things not staying. When I make fire, it’s beautiful, but then it’s gone right away.” Their shoulders droop. “Sometimes it feels like destroying rather than creating.”

Engie thinks for a minute.

“Come to the workshop for a moment, darling. I wanna show you something.”

Dragging their feet, they follow him inside. The great space of the barn-turned workshop is warm despite its ravenousness, machines in low power mode gently beeping and throwing off heat. He guides them to one of the out of the way tables, clearing a space and rustling up a torchlike device from his piles of scrap.

“This here is a woodburner.”

“Anyone can be a wood burner.”

He chuckles. But then he guides their hands, showing them step by step how to work the small device, standing behind them while they carve a small unicorn out of a piece of wood using only a flame.

“It’s still ugly,” they complain.

“Sure is.” He sets the unicorn, which is just a mangled horse shape since Pyro accidentally chopped off the horn, on one of his tool shelves. “But now you’ve gone and given it a try. Now the next one you make will be a little better. And a little better after that.”

“That’s going to take so looonnngggg….”

“True. But I’ll be here keeping you company.”

That won’t be so bad then. They pick up the torch again, and as Engie settles in, they resolve to prove that fire can make just as well as it can unmake.

#dnadvalentines2023 #engiepyro #texastoast #tf2 fanfiction

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svfttachi · 2 years

Note

Hey there! So I really want an angst scenario for Itachi the thing is Both Itachi and yn likes each other but Itachi couldn't forget Izumi it's kinda hard to explain but yn starts to feel like Itachi is using her to move on from Izumi so yn will get angry at Itachi and she will really hurt?!?

You can take your time😊

SYNOPSIS: Visiting the memorials of his fallen clan, Uchiha Itachi continues to regret his decisions, especially when he fails to let those tough feelings of love for his deceased girlfriend wither away. You, his current girlfriend, feel as though he hasn't completely gotten over his previous relationship and start to question whether you should continue to be Itachi's shoulder to cry on or distance yourself from the broken man.

PAIRING: Uchiha Itachi x GN!reader

WARNING(S): Mentions of Death, Descriptions of Depression & Mental Health

TYPE: Heavily Angsty w/ a Light Fluffy Ending

WORD COUNT: 1806

NOTES: Anon, thank you for requesting some angst. Now I wasn't sure how to even approach this request and whether or not I should have made it an AU or not, but I feel this is a good read for someone who wants angst, mainly because I tried my best on focusing on emotions and remembrance rather than the actual relationship. Either way, I hope this fits what you were hoping for and enjoy!

FLOWERS laid above the gravestones belonging to Uchiha Fugaku and Uchiha Mikoto. The grass rustled underneath a pair of feet as the Uchiha criss crossed his legs and sat down, facing the two stones implanted in the ground. Tired, stress lines ran down on either side of his nose, and his worn out eyes drooped down to the engraved gravestones in front of him, rereading the names of his parents multiple times. Itachi pressed his palms together and paid his respects to his parents to which he wrongfully executed on a seemingly normal day when he was just thirteen years old. Dark charcoal orbs were pressed shut, attempting to prevent tears from spilling out, however it didn’t stop a stray tear from escaping and rolling down his soft face.

Itachi sat in front of his parents’ gravestones for around five to seven minutes concentrating on the memories he shared with them and the regrets he feels towards their ultimate demise. Once he was finished paying his respects to his parents, Itachi opened his eyes and immediately pressed the loose sleeve of his shirt against his eyes, wiping away any of the tears that dared to shine light on his face.

Standing up, he grabbed the third set of flowers he had brought with him and began to look around the gravestones, searching for one in specific belonging to someone he also held close to his heart. Uchiha Izumi was engraved into the gravestone in front of him, and it took Itachi a significant amount of time to set the flowers down on her gravestone and repeat the same process he performed in front of his parents. However, this time, he couldn’t withstand the overflow of tears surpassing his eyes and rolling down his face to land on the ground near his feet. Deep down, Itachi was grateful to have been forgiven for his crimes against the Hidden Leaf Village, but everytime he thought about his past, he couldn’t forget the horrifying screams and bloodshed accompanied by it. It was hard enough for him to visit his deceased parents and girlfriend without bursting into a pool of emotions erupted by it.

Itachi opened his eyes and reached over to Izumi’s gravestone. His rugged hand caressed against the smooth soft cautiously and carefully in an attempt to soothe himself and settle the tears that never stopped coming down.

“I am sorry,” a calm whisper escaped his dry mouth followed by a choked sob. Itachi retracted his hand and let out a shaky sigh, going back to wiping the tears that soiled his face. After staring at Izumi’s gravestone for a little longer, Itachi stood up and gave it one last look before making his exit.

By now, the sun was beginning to set over the horizon, introducing orange and bright yellow hues in the sky along with the light gray clouds hovering about. Itachi kept his head low and his eyes on the sandy pathway in front of him with his hands dug into his pants pockets. He hated showing his emotions in the general public, and since it was now around sunset, more people were going to be walking around in an effort to make it back home in time for dinner. So, naturally, keeping his head ducked down and out of view was the best way to go about this.

Itachi’s feet drug against the gravel and sand mixture in the ground as he walked around the Hidden Leaf Village, making his way to one house in particular. A tall building protruded the most within the village, yet it was a simple apartment building. Looking up at it, Itachi could feel a small smile ride on his lips, specifically at the thought of a special someone, you. His steps took a sudden twist as they became more normal rather than sluggish like they were on his way here. Itachi walked throughout the hallways and up a couple of flights of stairs until he arrived at the front door of your shared apartment. He took out the keys from his pocket and unlocked the door, entering quite discreetly in the chance that you might have been taking a light nap before dinner.

Upon hearing clattering sounds coming from the kitchen, Itachi relaxed a little and set his keys on the little hook next to the front door, taking off his shoes momentarily afterwards. He slid on his house slippers and walked deeper into the apartment, turning to make his way towards the kitchen.

A sense of chakra within the apartment shot your attention backwards, making you turn around hastily. Your face relaxed when you spotted the charming face of your boyfriend approaching you in the kitchen, eyes looking from you to what you were serving up for dinner. From the tired, red eyes and tear stains running down his face, you could tell his visit to the graveyard had significantly impacted his mood. However, you weren’t quick to judge and ask him about his trip, and instead, you smiled over at him.

“Dinner will be ready soon, so why don’t you go wash up?” you suggested in a normal, passive tone, watching him for a response. Itachi peeled his sluggish eyes away from the food and looked up at you, shaking his head slowly. “I’d rather take a nap right now, but I’ll eat later in the night,” Itachi mumbled quietly.

Before you speak on his decision, Itachi walked up to you and wrapped a single arm around your waist, pressing his slightly chapped lips against your cheek for a gentle kiss. He pulled away and looked at your face for any sign of a reaction, making him smile weakly in response. “I—If you say so… I’ll bring your food in an hour or so,” you added, patting his chest lightly.

Itachi nodded and pulled away from you, disappearing around the corner and into your shared bedroom.

You knew everytime Itachi made a trip to the graveyard, he wasn’t really in the mood to do anything else for the day, but today felt different to you. Itachi was more quiet, reserved, and not willing to expose how vulnerable he was feeling at the moment. You suspected it could be due to the longing feelings he held for the girlfriend he had before the entire massacre of his clan occurred, but he had reassured you that she was completely out of the picture. To this day, however, you had your doubts that wasn’t the case. As much as you would like to say it didn’t bother you, it did. Yes, you were completely supportive of your boyfriend’s transition into a more normal life in the Hidden Leaf Village, and you were his shoulder to cry on during the more difficult days. Yet, deep down, you felt irritated that you may not be getting his full attention after all and that was simply because Itachi was hanging onto the past more often these days than before. You didn’t want to burden him with your own feelings, but you were a human being with needs of your own as well. It didn’t seem fair to you to do your share in this relationship without having Itachi do his equal share as well.

Nonetheless, you waited the hour you said you would before setting up a tray for his dinner. It consisted of a warm bowl of chicken noodle soup alongside a piping hot cup of tea, his favorite flavor of course. Once everything was set up nicely, you dusted your hands off and picked up the tray, heading to your shared room.

Within the room, the blinds for the two windows were down, and the only light entering was the one from the dim light bulb in the tiny hallway outside of the room. Otherwise, Itachi had been napping in complete and total darkness which wasn’t something new that you noticed.

Carefully, you walked into the room with the tray balancing in your two hands. Arriving at the queen sized bed, you set the tray down on one of the nightstands and turned on the lamp, allowing its yellowish-orange light shine within the room. Next, you sat on the bed next to the huge lump in the bed underneath the comfy covers. Generously, you began to shake Itachi awake, whispering, “I got you your dinner. It’s time to wake up.”

It took a little bit of time for Itachi to stir awake and bring his head out from underneath the covers. Immediately, you noticed that his eyes were significantly more blood-red, and there were fresh stains of tears dotting the pillow he was sleeping on. Your instinct kicked in where you helped Itachi sit up and against the headboard, bringing him into your arms whilst you brushed your fingers through his raven locks.

You couldn’t stand seeing him in such a way, and just the sound of his light sobs of pain made your heart shatter within.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay, ‘Tachi. I’m always right here for you,” you whispered calmly near his ear, not letting your hand stop brushing his hair and lightly massaging his aching head.

Itachi kept his sobs at bay after the comfort he was receiving from you, and soon, he had sat up completely with you bringing the tray to his lap. A light chuckle escaped his mouth along with the choking of a small sob at the gesture you performed. “Thank you for everything, Y/N. It means the world to me to have you right here beside me while I go through all of this,” Itachi quietly said in his deep, polite tone, keeping his eyes locked on you.

Right then and there, you knew that you were the only one in Itachi’s life that got to be with him in this certain setting. Only you were allowed to help him calm down from his raging emotions, and only you were allowed to even see him let out tears of sorrow. Nobody else had the right to be in this situation, comforting him to the highest degree to let him know that he wasn’t alone anymore. This alone shredded any thoughts you were having pertaining to the lack of attention on his end earlier when he had come home.

After Itachi had finished his warm dinner, you set the tray aside on the nightstand and turned off the lamp. Together, Itachi and you settled down for the night in the bed you two share, and immediately, his strong arms wrapped around yours comfortably, bringing you closer to him. Itachi pressed a soft kiss to your head and rested his head back on the pillow.

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispered, staring at your squished face. Smiling, you leaned forward, pressing your own kiss to his lips, “I love you more.”

NARUTO MASTERLIST

WRITING MASTERLIST

NAVIGATION

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noskull13 · 1 month

Text

SOULCRUSHER - Goodbye To A World

Plot: Johnny "Nny" C wakes up in a strange, weird world. He kills things and runs from an indescernible horror before meeting the cold and offputting Jane “The Killer” Richardson.

Fandoms: Johnny The Homicidal Maniac/JTHM, Creepypasta

Content Warnings: Swearing, Gore, Body Horror, Weirdcore/Dreamcore Themes, Referenced/Implied Murder

Dizzy and stumbling, Johnny erected himself from his slumber; his palm graced the wall behind him, smooth and bumpy like styrofoam. The faint buzzing of the fluorescent lights above him made his head pound, his vision a blurry mess of white, yellow and grey.

“What the hell? Where am I…?”

Once his vision cleared, he was met with a seemingly abandoned office space; the walls were a bright dandelion yellow, and the carpet was a disgusting dark grey like it hadn’t been even considered to be washed. Three boxy computer monitors sat on a rectangular wooden table, three chairs coordinating with each monitor; they looked like only a toddler could fit in them, they were so small. Three other rows of computers about a metre apart from each other were also in the room. The wall in front of him had a window into the outside world, although the blinds were completely pasted to the glass pane. Outside was completely black, as if it was the dead of night. That’s strange; Nny swore it was morning a few hours ago.

Was he asleep? This had to be a dream. He looked at his beige palms, counting all ten of his boney fingers.

“Shit,” he muttered, "I really am trapped here."

The maniac looked at the far left of the room, noticing a door. Thank God, he wasn’t trapped after all. He could finally go home. In the blink of an eye, Nny was outside, letting every bit of darkness wash over him. Strung from an invisible ceiling, glowing plastic stars hung from a fishline-thin string. The fakeness of this world seemed organic, like it was natural in its foundations; its façade was part of its sickly charm, like it was intrinsic to its survival. The buildings surrounding him looked deformed, like they were stretched and bent inwards into the street. Something about this world felt uncanny, like it was a pale imitation of the real world, as shitty as it was. It felt like things were watching him, that every minute movement of his body was being observed and judged by an unfamiliar force. He dug into his pockets, shocked to find them empty.

“Dammit, I just had them! How am I gonna mutilate that cheerleading squad?”

Rot wafted through the air, crawling through his nose and stinging lungs. Johnny couldn’t help but smile as the scent intoxicated him, bloodlust curdling in the back of his mind. Rot was the smell of righteousness, of justice; rot meant that some prick was cleansed of his humanity, that he faced the consequences of his sins. He thought of those people, those Nny murdered and stripped of life and smiled. They deserved it, every last fucking thing they got before they whimpered out of this stained existence. Interrupting his thoughts, Johnny swore he could see a man-shaped silhouette, most likely where the smell came from, lumbered over to Nny; its gaping mouth, smelling worse than one thousand open graves, was an empty hole with three circular rows of yellow teeth, softly buzzing as they expanded; the maw took over its whole face, it didn’t even possess eyes or a nose, only a sharp, gaping hole; its twisted and contorted arms, appearing to be no more than elongated nubs, had sharp, blade-like bones sticking out of it. The creature seemed to notice Johnny, as it screamed like Nny never heard anyone or anything scream before. It sounded like a wounded rabies-infected animal screeching and howling its final sound as it darted towards him.

Johnny panicked, reaching into the flesh monster’s mouth, taking in its eldritch stench; if he had anything in his stomach, he would’ve thrown it up in its face. Excruciatingly, he ripped the creature’s head apart, listening to the cracks and squelches of its body, tearing and ripping as tendons and bones being broken and stretched. The sound was near heavenly and never failed to send Johnny into a state of ecstasy, the likes of which secular pleasures could never conceive of giving him. The maniac gritted his teeth, feeling the mass’s dig into his skin. Its sharp teeth started ripping off the first layer of Johnny’s skin as it screeched, giving its final message to the wretched world it was brought into. The blood and bone fragments spattered all over the maniac, laughing uproariously as life left its body.

“This is the best fucking day of my life,” he cackled.

A low, deep growl from behind Nny soon quieted him, sending an indescribable fear surging through him. The creature it came from was fully blackened, like it was made of a cosmic darkness; its eyes and gritted mouth, bleak and twisted, sent him in a state of ravenous fear. The look in its eyes could only be described as a deep, psychotic rage, wisteria foam bubbling from its tightened maws. Johnny felt his insides curl like a deep rot settled in his stomach, animalistic fear registering in his mind.

Run, he thought.

And that’s what he did.

Whatever energy he mustered in his malnourished body was immediately put to good use. The creature was hot on Nny’s trail, as it always seemed slightly faster than him. As the maniac ran, he looked at the other buildings; they looked like a crude school project with cardboard cutout houses glued onto the styrofoam sidewalk. A small light glowed brightly in the distance, Nny’s only saving grace. It was a small building, painted sunflower yellow with mint accents; the light was as yellow was the building that beheld it. Without even a second thought, Johnny darted toward the building, the strange entity still following him; with panicking, fumbling hands, he twisted and fumbled the doorknob feeling like a small skull in his hands. The shadowy creature followed behind, screeching as loud as it could.

“Open, you stupid piece of shit—!”

Suddenly, a force had pulled the skinny man inside, quickly shutting the door behind him. The thing howled and screeched, banging on the door so it could feed, but it was no use. Johnny, painted crimson with blood and viscera, stood up and stared into whomever let him in.

Glossy obsidian eyes glared up at him, plucked and drawn eyebrows casting a shadow over her face; her lips, hair and clothes were the same pitch black as her piercing gaze; her hair was orderly in a chaotic fashion, her wolf cut scattered in both directions; her boots, creased from years of use, gave a militaristic feel about her, even though she was already quite severe looking.

“My God, what happened to you?” She questioned, wiping her ruby palm against the arsenic green curtains, “Did that thing attack you?”

“No, not really. It chased me around like I cut off its head, though.”

She nodded and hummed coldly, passing the man a pastel-coloured towel. Johnny blankly watched as the blood soaked into the cloth, tainting the disgustingly adorable cat-and-star-pattern in full ruby; he almost felt bad staining it, he liked the cutesy outline of the little creatures. He wiped his face clean, his tan skin stained a thin layer of lovesick mahogany. Bits of viscera and clumps of teeth fell in small, bloody clumps out of his hair and onto the floor. God, he needed a shower so badly.

“Who even are you?” The woman asked as she raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, I nearly forgot about that; my name’s Johnny, but you can call me ‘Nny.’ He/him. I like these curtains you got here.”

“Thanks. Jane Richardson; she/her."

He finally looked up at his surroundings, taking in the vibrancy around him. The walls were a sickly optimistic yellow while the floors were mostly beige with small splashes of colour. Indiscernible yet familiar characters plastered on the walls; some were decorated with juvenile drawings and stickers that were nearly glued to the walls. The closer he looked at the drawings, he felt a load of bile from the demented red scribbles; nearly incoherent, he made out two lifeless figures on a bed, carmine ribbons streaming from their stomachs and eyes crossed out with little ‘x’s. A hooded figure stood above them, face indiscernible by the darkness, brandishing a sharp something and a diamond-shaped necklace. In a square by the side, a small figure watched this as it was crying and covering its face; it looked like a small child, kind of like…

Like who?

He couldn’t remember that poor kid’s name; goddammit, how could he be so forgetful?

It’s fine, Johnny thought to himself, I can remember my past another time.

#johnny the homicidal maniac #jthm #jthm johnny #fanfiction #creepypasta #jane the killer #jane richardson creepypasta #weirdcore #tw blood

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ask-spider-man-61610 · 1 year

Text

[collaboration with @the-angel-of-filth]

From somewhere in the eye of the shark storm, a bright, yellow light sparked to life. As its glow began to overtake the area, the raging winds froze. The thousands upon thousands of sharks with glowing green eyes that were plummeting down to Earth from nowhere were suspended in the air almost instantly. In seconds, all the sharks, both fallen onto the ground and still above, dematerialized into sparkling glints of light. The weather cleared, and all tangible evidence of the sharks vanished.

Amari sighed in relief as the curse dissipated.

Specs, too, sighed. He looked more than a little worse for wear. Two large, semicircular wounds lingered on his body--one around his left thigh, one at his shoulder. He’d managed to pry both sharks off before they’d actually taken the limb, but the teeth had sunk deep: blood ran down his side in a river, and as he cradled his shoulder the stinging pain made his breath shudder.

“Thanks, Amari,” he mumbled, dropping one arm down to the cartridges at his hips.

“Of course,” they said, brushing themself off as they turned to face him and his wounds. “Specs, do you need me to heal that for you? I don’t want to just leave you like this,”

He was a little groggy, having lost a lot of blood over the past hour or so, so it took him a minute to locate his cartridge of medical webbing. “This is a little on the grievous side, isn’t it,” he admitted. Wincing as he tried to use his bad arm, he swapped out one cartridge for another as he said, “Uhh, how much of this can you heal before you start fading? This doesn’t feel quite on the level of ‘flying geezer just fell from the sky,’ but I can’t imagine this’ll be an easy heal.”

“Specs, please don’t worry about me,” Amari said as they unsheathed their ritual knife, “You’re the one who almost lost his limbs to sharks. I’ll be fine,”

Specs couldn’t help but chuckle at that. Dear lord, he was getting woozy. “Fair enough,” he said, turning his hurt shoulder their way. “Go ham, I guess.”

Amari could tell that they didn’t have much time to waste. They got to work, quickly slashing the palm of their hand like they’ve done many times before. Muttering in a language that Specs couldn’t quite make out, the slashed palm began to glow as Amari gently placed it on his shoulder. In a few moments, the pain dissolved in the warm glow and his wounds began to quickly heal up. His breathing settled and slowed, and he gave the fingers of his arm an experimental wiggle as he felt the skin closing.

“Thanks again,” he said, rolling his shoulder. After giving his leg a little bounce to test it the same way, he said, “Before I forget. Is there any specific reason Odyssia decided to sic a shark storm on me today? Or was she just feeling frisky.”

Amari tensed a little at that as they tried to think of a reason why Odyssia would suddenly attack Specs out of nowhere. A part of them felt they were somewhat responsible; this was their Doctor Octopus’s doing, after all. They sighed as they shook their head.

“I’m.. I’m not sure. Unless she started working with your Ock, I don’t really understand why she went out of her way to target you with a curse across dimensions.. I know that she finds antagonizing you to be funny for some reason but,” they trailed off, a sense of shame washing over them, “…I’m sorry about her, Specs. I shouldn’t have let her get like this.”

“It’s not your fault,” he said instantly, and maybe a little more forcefully than he’d meant. Softening up, he turned to them and said, “You aren’t to blame for her choices. Pretending you are is gonna do nothing but hurt you.” He tried not to drown in his own hypocrisy here, instead adding, “She antagonizes me because I have the most dramatic reaction to her bullshit. That’s all it is. Though, that said, I’m gonna do my best to pretend that this never happened.” With a slight joking tone, he said, “She doesn’t need to know that she sent me screaming halfway across the city. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Amari nodded, trying to quietly shove the ever present guilt out of their mind.

Specs smiled under his mask and gave them a friendly (if rather awkward) pat on the shoulder. “C’mon. I owe you lunch. Sky’s the limit, up to--” he checked his costume’s pockets “--seven dollars…and eighty-four ce--”

He stopped, frozen in place almost like he’d been put on pause. The constant, unearthly tingling in the back of his skull had sharpened in tone. Slowly raising his head, he looked off the rooftop and over the street they stood above. Amari noted his sudden change of reaction and followed his gaze.

A shark had bodily smacked into the hologram projector on the neighboring building’s exterior, so the holographic Mega-Mart advertisement flickered erratically above the city street. He squinted through it, scanning the sky, glancing to the left and right, trying to pin down that sharp, fast-moving buzz.

“...Something’s coming.”

“… I think I feel it too,” Amari muttered, their third eye’s gaze scanning the surrounding area.

One step back, then two. Specs craned his neck to see around the corner of a building, following the tingle with his eyes. It shouldn’t have been this sharp so far away, this dramatic. Whatever it was, it must have scared something in his brain far more than threats usually did. Adjusting one arm’s web-shooter, he concentrated and listened hard…until, in sync with the movement of spider-sense, something cut through a hologram a few blocks away. Something that swerved between buildings, banking and turning with incredible precision. Something that, for a fraction of a second, the light caught and revealed to be a humanoid shape standing upright.

Specs’ breath caught in his throat. “Amari, run.”

Amari wasn’t about to argue. They knew who this had to be from his reaction alone. But they did hesitate for a brief moment. “What about you?”

“I’ll be fine,” he said, not fully believing it. “My limbs are back into working order, and there’s no way he could’ve planned ahead for this. I’d know if he’d had any communication with Odyssia.” He shifted his footing, tensing his leading leg in preparation to pounce. “I’ll keep him from killing anyone until his stupid manpurse is empty and then I’ll slip away. The Cluster’ll get a text from me once I’m safe.”

They nodded in acknowledgment. As much as Amari didn’t want to leave Specs to fight all by himself, they did trust him to know how to deal with this. But, they would leave Specs with one last thing. Pressing their bloodied hand onto the mirror on their chest, they pulled forth a hand made of light from the reflection, a mirror double of themself forming.

“Alice,” Amari said almost immediately, “Keep Specs safe.”

With that, they fled, leaving Alice standing silently by his side, ready to assist.

Specs, for his part, took a second to stretch his newly-healed leg and arm. Cracking his knuckles, he listened for the ringing of spider-sense to reach a fever pitch, then broke into a sprint and launched himself off the roof. The Green Goblin banked hard around a building and very nearly came face-to-face with Spider-Man’s fist. It was only the supervillain’s own super reflexes that stopped the fight from ending before it even began.

As Norman reeled back and swerved on his glider, Specs caught himself with two weblines and wove a quick spiderweb spanning the space above the street. He bounced in place as it absorbed his momentum, turning around fast to keep the Goblin in his sight, and as the first pumpkin bomb was lodged his way the mirror double of Amari snagged it with glittering webs and threw it aside. It exploded, not quite harmlessly, but without drawing anyone’s blood.

“I KNOW WHAT YOU MUST BE THINKING, PETEY,” shrieked the Goblin, his voice distorted and made shrill by the modulator hidden in his prosthesis, “BUT I ASSURE YOU, I HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH YOUR LITTLE SHARKSCAPADE.” He cackled at his own pun, and Specs’ skin crawled.

“No, I know,” Specs called back, scurrying to the top of his spiderweb and getting ready for another jump. “You’re not that creative, Norman.”

The Goblin ignored the insult. “OH, BUT I’M NOT ONE TO LOOK A GIFT HORSE IN THE MOUTH.” He drew another pumpkin bomb out of his satchel. “AS LONG AS YOU’RE SO TIRED, I FIGURED, WHY NOT COME AND KILL YOU NOW? I’M AN OPPORTUNIST, YOU KNOW.”

Specs sighed and glanced at Alice, deadpan. Alice didn’t seem to acknowledge him, only remaining focused on the task at hand as they stared at the Goblin. As Norman threw his next grenade, Spider-Man and the magic mirror each leaped off the web and got to work.

#spidersona #spider-man au #Amari | Spider-Glass

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inscrutable-shadow · 1 year

Text

Mediwhump May Day 3 - Seizure

@mediwhumpmay

This is canon-compatible with Five Card Draw and therefore does not have any AU markers. The 'Suit Booster' drug is more explained in unposted sections of that manuscript but basically, it's a performance enhancer that the Suits can take when they've pushed their bodies as far as they can and still need more, it removes the pain and fatigue temporarily and kickstarts their regeneration factor.. Jack helps the Doc with testing because he forgives easily and the promise of food is enough to get him to at least consider pretty much anything.

“So, Doc, what are we testing today?” Jack’s feet barely brushed the floor as he kicked them gently. They should really get the Doc some new equipment in here; a guy’s feet were definitely not supposed to reach the floor when he was sitting on an exam table, and he wasn’t even the tallest person in the Deck.

The Doctor was in a good mood, as was typical on a testing day, their smile real and their glasses on, which meant they were actually trying to be able to see him. “This is another drug trial. The formulation is not overly different from the previous test, so I will mainly be looking at the efficacy of the-“

Jack yawned loudly. “I’ll be honest with you, Doc, I just got off of a triple, so if we could skip the long-winded explanations, I’d really appreciate it.” He leaned back heavily on the reclined table, half-wishing he could go to sleep right there. Why did they have to call for him now, of all times?

The Doctor, of course, had the answer to that question. “That is actually why I asked you here today. My hope is that this new iteration of the ‘Suit Booster’ drug, as you insist upon calling it, will activate more quickly, remain effective longer, and have less of a rebound effect. Your fatigue is vital to the experiment.”

Sure. Whatever. Jack couldn’t bring himself to sweat the details. The sooner he did what the Doc wanted, the sooner he could be in his bathtub and then his bed. “Cool. So I take it like a normal booster?”

“Yes!” They handed him a palm-sized capsule of dark purple gel. “Just rate the change in your fatigue level and the monitors will do the rest.”

“Aren’t these usually blue?” he asked before sucking down the liquid. The texture was like drinking yogurt, not unpleasant, but also not grape-flavoured like his brain was telling him it should be.

The Doctor shrugged. “Would you prefer another colour? The blue dye was added at the Queen of Diamonds’ request when I was developing the original formula. She thought the four of you would prefer it to dark yellow.”

Well, she’d been right. Jack couldn’t think of many things worse than sucking down a tube of viscous piss-coloured fluid when he was already at his limit. He’d take any colour but that. And any taste in his mouth other than the suddenly overpowering grape flavouring. “Mother’s veil, Doc, that grape stuff comes on strong. It’s giving me a headache.” the lights were too bright suddenly, and he shielded his eyes with his hand.

The Doctor’s brow furrowed, and they set a hand on his shoulder in concern. “Jack... I haven’t added grape flavouring to the formula. I have not added any flavouring. Are you sure you’re- where in the blazes are you going?”

Jack’s head had snapped up and he was already halfway to the door before the Doctor’s hold on his arm stopped him. “Something’s here. Something’s coming.” His instincts had been honed by fifty years of being the Jack of Clubs, and he never doubted them anymore. The feeling of unease usually wouldn’t be this strong or come on this quickly. He felt close to a panic attack and nothing had happened to cause one of those. He realised that his breathing had become erratic, was vaguely aware of the Doctor calling his name, and then a sensation like falling off of a cliff before darkness.

When he became aware again, the first thing he noticed was how badly his head hurt. If this was what a migraine felt like, he had much more sympathy for Queen now. It was the sort of headache that made him feel like removing his jaw might help more than it would hurt. The next thing he noticed was that he’d been put into the recovery position. That was nice of whoever had done that. Was he on the floor? He guessed he must be. It wasn’t as dusty as he would have expected. Did the Doc spend all of their time in here cleaning?

Oh! The Doc! they must be worried sick if he’d passed out. He forced his eyes open a bit further. There they were, sitting on the floor next to him, uncharacteristically attentive. “Wha’ ‘appened…” His voice sounded strange…

They sighed in relief. “Welcome back. How much do you remember?”

Jack swallowed thickly. His mouth was so dry. How long had he been out? “Not much. We were... testing something, right?”

“Mhm. You had a temporal focal followed by a generalised tonic-clonic seizure, and, rather impressive one too, I might add. Not one of the anticipated side effects. I apologise, I rarely make such a severe medical error…” Their expression was neutral, but he could tell that they were furious with themselves.

“Not your fault, Doc. My head hurts…”

“I will be the judge of that. And yes, that is a standard after effect. You must be exhausted. I would like to keep you overnight for observation, if you feel up to getting up off of the floor.”

Jack did not, in fact, feel up to that. He’d much rather go to sleep right here. The last thing he heard was the Doctor’s “Hell’s teeth...” of affectionate consternation. Taglist: @youareshauni @arieadil @i-eat-worlds

#whump #my writing #original fiction #mediwhumpmay #whumpblr #wip: five card draw #jack of clubs #the doctor five card draw #jack doesn't really have much of a pov while he's seizing but yanno #the doc loves him so they'll carry him to the infirmary bed even if it throws their back out #they'll complain the whole time though #coy writes

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