#dick over there just remaining in blissful denial about one of his best friends and his little brother | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

justcourttee · 3 years

Note

could you do one where dami and mari are dating but they havent told the waynes yet and they keep seeing hints of their relationship (like clothes around the place, dami talking to on the phone and smiling, stuff like that) but they cant figure out whats happening!!!! the ice prince is softening and theyre like wtf!!!

I’m sorry, it’s a little different. I got carried away! I hope you still like it!

Tim is Like a Genius or Something..

It was official. Tim had lost it.

At least that was the sentiment the family shared as they watched him tumble down the rabbit hole that he had sprawled out across the dining room table.

“-and then he smiled at me. At me! That has never happened before, at least not a genuine one.” He paused to catch his breath, allowing his theory to sink in.

“Timmy, don’t you think you’re giving the boy too much credit?” Jason was the only one able to voice what they all were thinking, at least the one with the best chance of not getting their head torn off. “I mean, he has trouble communicating with his own gender and now you’re telling me he’s been able to woo his female lab partner?”

Tim slammed his hands on the table in frustration before sinking back into the chair he had started in. For weeks now he had been gathering evidence of his brother’s oddities and for weeks he had been haunted by a softer and friendlier Damian.

“Think about it guys, please!”

His pleads seemed to fall on deaf ears as one by one they left the table, each offering their own look of sympathy until he was the only one in the room. It wasn’t long until he himself had given up, collecting his pictures from the table, tearing them in half one by one.

Maybe Dick was right. His hallucinations were getting the better of him. After all, even if Damian was changing, it couldn’t be because of one girl, right?

Absolutely nobody in the world could wield enough power to reign in a demon such as him. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Tim had survived another week of hallucinations. He had tried sleeping more, laying off his coffee, and even cutting his hours back from Wayne Enterprises. But as he sat in the kitchen, going through his emails, his mind remained drowning in thoughts of his replacement.

“Timmy, do you know who this jacket belongs to? The ladies say it’s not theirs and if it’s one of Brucie’s night friends, I bet it’s worth thousands.”

Tim spared a glance from his laptop to where Jason stood in front of him, his fist clenched around a small black pullover. He had half the mind to wave him off when something pink flashed from the corner of his eye.

“Jason, let me see the jacket.”

Jason tossed it, his face cautious as if Tim were about to dart with his next paycheck, but it was the furthest thought in the younger Wayne’s mind.

“The girl that Damian is always bringing over, it belongs to her. His lab partner.”

“You mean Marinette? Damn, then I probably won’t make much off of it. Guess I’ll probably give it back next time I see her.”

Tim waited, his face showcasing the perplexion he felt as Jason seemed to walk away thoughtlessly. How he could come to the same conclusion that he did? How? It felt like it was so obvious.

“No.” His voice was firm, barely above a whisper as he shook off the thought, returning to his laptop. He agreed that he would drop it and that’s what he was going to do. “Marinette was just a nice girl trying to help out Damian and he probably views as some intriguing toy, yeah, that’s all.”

Besides, it was just one jacket and why would he want to damn the girl over one jacket.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . He should have damned her. That was the only thought that plagued his mind as he listened to the conversation at breakfast.

“Did you guys know that the Demon uses his phone during patrol?”

Bruce looked up from his paper, his face a mixture of disappointment and interest.

“Can you elaborate Dick? What do you mean by uses his phone?”

“Exactly that! We took a break on a roof in our sector and right as I was about to turn around to ask him where we should check next, he was answering a phone call! We sat on that roof for an hour because he said ‘he couldn’t hang up yet’.”

Tim nearly choked on his coffee as he slammed his mug into the table earning a glance from both the men.

“Richard, who was calling him?”

“Hmm? You know, I tried asking him but he waved me off instead.”

“You mean he didn’t try to tear your head off?” Tim watched in horror as Dick shook his head in denial, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Maybe he finally has a friend other than Jon!”

Bruce nodded as if the notion weren’t completely insane, his eyes returning the newspaper in his hands. Dick smiled, returning to his crossword as if there was nothing wrong with the world as if he didn’t drop the largest bombshell in history.

“This is so wrong, why can’t any of you see how wrong this is?”

Neither spared him a glance as they continued their morning routines with thoughtless giddy expressions.

At this point, Tim wasn’t sure he could drop it anymore. There was so much evidence piling up, so much pointing that Damian obviously liked the girl at least. Why was he the only one who could see that?

It was decided. The next time Marinette came over, he was confronting this once and for all.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Tim waited and waited. Weeks passed between her last visit to the manor. Damian had left several times and random hours of the day, always giving him vague answers as to where he was going. It was as if the little demon read his mind and decided it was safer to meet her outside the manor.

He was so close to giving up when a truly diabolical thought crossed his mind. His smile was sinister as he approached Bruce’s office, his plan foolproof. He gave a slight knock on the door, two voices asking him to enter.

“Hey Bruce, Dick. I was just thinking the other day, we haven’t seen Marinette around lately. You both know that Damian is terrible at keeping up with his acquaintances. Maybe we should invite her for dinner one night! I mean, we all adore her, right? She is such a good influence for Damian too.”

It was like clockwork. Both Dick and Bruce jumped on the opportunity each pulling out their phones to let both kids know the details of when this dinner party would occur. As Tim left out the room, he couldn’t help the hysterical giggle that escaped from his lips. For good measure, he made sure to linger by Damian’s room, awaiting the reaction he was longing to hear. Surely enough, a soft ‘shit’ could be heard followed by heavy footsteps echoing as if he was pacing his room. It was the best sound Tim had heard in weeks.

Three agonizing days passed before Tim found himself waiting at the manor door to welcome Marinette into the manor. Damian had volunteered to bring her to the dining room himself, but Tim argued that it would be rude if not a single one of them were also there to greet her. In the end, Tim and Dick were volunteered to accompany one angry demon to see Marinette to the dining hall.

“Thank you so much for having me! I was surprised when I received a call from not just Damian, but you too Dick. I was under the impression that Damian hadn’t said anything yet.”

Damian’s face paled as his eyes darted to Dick’s as if Marinette said something damning. Tim caught onto immediately, his eyes also watching Dick’s face for any indication that he had realized the weight in her statement.

“Said anything? You mean about your friendship? Well, it’s impossible to pry anything from him, but we couldn’t let him keep you all to himself!”

In all of his blissful ignorance, he turned on his heel, dragging Marinette with him, chatting idly about whatever came to mind. Damian raced after him, his face a mixture of panic and hatred. It was a sight that warmed Tim to his core.

All dinner he watched as Damian stirred the conversation off Marinette only for someone to inevitably bring it right back. He relished in Damian nearly pulling his own hair out to ensure no one asked the question that Tim had been pressing for weeks now.

As the night drew to an end, Damian couldn’t rush her out of the manor fast enough. The doors slammed shut with a loud thud ricocheting through everyone’s ears.

“So, we’re in agreeance right?”

Tim turned his attention to where Jason leaned against the entryway, his lazy smirk building hope in the younger boy’s chest.

“Very much. They are definitely courting, or what is the phrase you call it now? Dating? Hangin’?” Bruce chuckled at his own joke before his gaze dropped to meet Tim’s. “It looks like we owe you an apology.”

Words never sounded more beautiful to Tim, he honestly felt like he might shed a tear. A heavy weight caused him to stumble as Dick threw himself onto Tim’s back.

“Tim is like a genius or something, right guys? I mean who would have ever guessed that Damian had a girlfriend! Hey, do you think they’ll get married? Does that mean at this point Damian is your best chance at getting grandkids?”

Tim dealt with the picking and jokes and the onslaught of fake apologies as they remained crowded in the entrance, waiting for Damian’s return. To him, none of it mattered as much as seeing his replacement’s face the minute they walked through the door.

After all, it was a large reward for a small price to pay. It all comes with being a genius.

Permanent Tag List:

@ash-amg @rebecarojas07 @heaven428 @long-lost-peace @thequeenofpotatoeunicornss @moongoddesskiana @nach0ava @iamablinkmarvelarmy @seraphkitty @clumsy-owl-4178 @pawsitivelymiraculous @mialuvscats @leagrey @smolplantmum @animegirlweeb @glitterflowercat @ladybug-182 @maskedpainter @remy-289 @redbullgivescaswings

#maribat #daminette

321 notes · View notes

di0rtaeyong · 4 years

Text

Wedding Night (j.jh)

➸ summary: you and jaehyun decide to have a little fun during a wedding.

➸ genre: smut

➸ word count: 2k

➸ warnings: established relationship, sexual content; vaginal penetration, choking, “fishhooking”, dom features, orgasm denial, jaehyun says “baby” too much (my fault), public but not really

➸ authors note: second time writing smut! hope you enjoy.

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

It was your best friend’s wedding. Everything had to be perfect, and it was your job as maid of honour to ensure that.

It also just so happened to be your boyfriend, Jaehyun’s, best friend’s wedding as well.

Johnny, who was Jaehyun’s best friend, and your best friend had actually been the ones to set you and Jaehyun up. It worked out well because both couples were extremely happy and all close friends.

As the best man, Jaehyun had his own responsibilities on his side which left the both of you with little free time starting two months before the wedding.

Which also meant that the second you both had a moment to breathe, Jaehyun would corner you, bringing the both of you to fast pleasure before you both had to go back to your duties.

Finally the wedding day had come and he had somehow managed to steal you away from dealing with a commotion between Johnny’s aunt and the mother of the bride and had hurriedly snuck the both of you off to the empty dressing room meant for the bride.

“Jaehyun, we have to be quick,” you panted as he left wet kisses down the column of your throat. He had you pressed against the closed door, one hand on your hip the other groping your breast through the silk of your maid of honour dress.

“Ugh baby, I can’t wait till this wedding is over, can’t stand waiting anymore,” he spoke against your skin, nipping at the skin on your collarbones causing you to throw your head back slightly.

“Doesn’t seem like you’re doing a good job waiting does it?” You teased.

He looked up to see you smirking. Slowly he rose to his full height, pressing you harder against the door, ensuring that his crotch was directly on top of yours. You could feel his hardness through your gown and his suit pants.

You let out a small whimper before stopping yourself and meeting his strong gaze.

“Doesn’t seem like you’re doing any better does it?” He asked as he thrusted directly into your core once more.

“Shut up. I’m better at holding off and you know it,” you said challengingly. You weren’t really in a position to be teasing him like that, but you too were deprived of pleasure and the couple drinks at the bar made you speak before you thought about it.

Finally having enough of your back talk, Jaehyun practically growled and spun you around so your front was against the wall. “Always talking back to me, huh? I should teach you a lesson.”

He bunched up the skirt of your dress, gathering it up and pressing it up near your stomach as you pressed against the wall.

“Jaehyun, you cannot get this dress dirty okay? I’m serious.” You tried your best to sound stern as Jaehyun moved your hair to one side and kissed the back of your neck and exposed shoulders.

“Yeah baby don’t worry. Just focus on me now.” He said as his fingers found their way around your thighs and to your folds.

He started rubbing you through your thin panties. You had opted for a seamless G-string, so nothing showed through the dress.

“Hmm baby you’re barely wearing anything, and you’re soaked through.”

“Then hurry up and do something about it,” you complained. He was taking too long, and people were going to notice you were both gone.

Jaehyun clucked his tongue. “Tsk-tsk baby girl. I already told you not to talk back to me.”

His fingers were still rubbing you slowly through your underwear, pace still excruciatingly slow.

“God Jaehyun, just hurry up, we can’t- ah!” Your sentence was cut off by the need to cry out as Jaehyun pushed your underwear down to around your knees and plunged two fingers in.

Biting on the shell of your ear, he continued to pump his fingers into you, reaching places you only wish you could. “Nothing to say now, huh?”

Fighting off a moan, you replied. “You still haven’t fucked me yet, so I don’t think you’re doing your job right.”

“So, you’re gonna be like that? I’m gonna fuck you till all your pretty mouth can say is my name.” And with that, he pulled his two fingers out of your core and brought them up to your face.

“Open up,” he teased. You rolled your eyes but opened your mouth a little nonetheless.

Jaehyun must have really been annoyed because he shoved his fingers and pulled slightly to the side.

“Be a good girl for me, please love?”

You could feel the sarcasm dripping from his mouth. Nonetheless you were as desperate as him and you appreciated his roughness sometimes.

Jaehyun was usually soft; it was just his personality. He was soft smiles and hot drinks on cold days. He was orange sunsets and hand holding in the park. You loved him deeply for all of that and more, but there were days, days like today where he took control and you let him. Your relationship was built on a partnership, on fairness, but this Jaehyun. This Jaehyun was provocative.

This Jaehyun was cocky and hard handed. He was all dirty talk and rough thrusts and hot breaths exchanged in heated passion. And you absolutely missed him.

“Jaehyun, fuck me now, ugh,” you moaned, words coming out unclear due to his fingers in your mouth.

He tugged on your mouth again. “Say please.” He whispered in your ear. Then he moved his hand from your mouth, trailing his fingers down to your throat, hand encircling your throat. The light pressure had your mouth salivating.

Not being able to handle the wait anymore you succumbed to his wishes. Besides, you were sure people would have noticed you two were not on the dance floor right now.

“Please, please, please, Jaehyun. Please fuck me, please make me yours,” you begged. On a regular day you would’ve bit your tongue for sounding so pathetic but today you wanted Jaehyun was bad as he wanted you.

“So good to hear you beg, baby,” his hand tightened on your jaw for a moment and then he slid it down to your throat.

“So good baby, you make waiting so worth it, love this ass.”

“Jaehyun, now.” You really couldn’t handle the wait anymore.

“Okay baby, leg up.” With his free hand he hoisted up your left leg against the wall.

“I got you baby,” he breathed into you ear. And he pushed into you.

The moan you let out was embarrassing, primal and obscene, and definitely loud enough to be heard from outside if not for the wedding DJ playing ‘Mambo No. 5’.

“So tight around me, love your sounds.” He rasped out. You knew how long he had been waiting for this, and you had definitely been waiting for this as well. You were about to reply when his hand tightened around your throat, not tight enough to hurt you but enough to make you gasp and your eyes flutter shut.

“Yeah Jae, right there,” you managed to get out, but your words were muffled out by Jaehyun’s groans and ‘Cha Cha Slide’ blasting from the reception hall.

Hiking your leg up a little higher, he managed to hit a spot that had you seeing stars.

“Oh Jae, right there, oh my gosh, feels so good,”

You brought one hand down to your core, fingers finding your nub. Your own fingers didn’t feel as good as Jaehyun’s but his hands were currently busy, keeping you up and helping you reach heights of pleasure.

“Jae, I’m close, I- “

“You don’t get to cum until I say so.”

“Jae- “

His grip on your throat tightened slightly. “Wait.”

The feeling was coiling in your stomach, the feeling you missed so much when you were with Jaehyun like this. When he was like this.

His thrusts were starting to get sloppy and his grip on your leg was loosening.

“Jae please- “, you whined.

“Just a little more baby, wanna savour this,” he whispered against your bare neck.

His hips faltered and you knew he was close.

“Jae, I’m gonna- “

“Now baby,” he practically growled. His hand tightened around your throat and your leg was hiked up to a higher position. Black spots danced in your vision as you felt yourself let go on his command. You were in pure bliss. All up until Jaehyun spoke again.

“Baby, you feel so good on my cock, gonna cum now.”

“Jaehyun, don’t cum on my dress.” You managed to breathe out.

He didn’t hear you. “Oh, I missed this, can’t wait till the damn wedding is over, we gotta make up for lost time. I’ll still give it to you when it’s time for ours.”

You didn’t catch his comment properly, too focused on something else. “Jaehyun, be careful with my dress,” you said again.

“What baby?” His pace was slowing, and grip loosened but you were still worried.

Your eyes always bugged out of your head when you felt him starting to pull away.

“Jaehyun! My dress!” You reach behind you to pull him back towards you in case anything decided to spill out.

“Okay, okay, gimme a second,” he laughed, setting you down safely on both feet.

You couldn’t see what he was doing but a few moments later you felt soft tissue between your legs.

“Hold your dress up,” he whispered.

You shivered but did so none the less as you lifted the silk fabric up away from your body.

Jaehyun wiped softly, touch light and loving, so you let your head fall back onto his shoulder.

“Hmmm, missed this Jae,” you whispered as you let your eyes flutter shut.

“You missed my dick?” You opened your eyes to see Jaehyun smirking down on you, playful glint in his eyes.

“Yeah, of course,” you replied, rolling your eyes and a smile threatening to take over your face.

He stepped back and pulled your panties back up to their original position around your hips. When you felt that they were in place, you used one hand to check that there was nothing remaining that could stain your dress. You let your dress back down and smoothed it out as you turned around. Jaehyun was finishing buckling his pants as he raised an eyebrow at you.

“Round two?” He winked.

Laughing you reached for the door handle.

“I’m sorry, I have maid of honour duties to fulfill. I think you have best man duties as well?”

Jaehyun laughed at your teasing tone, hands reaching for you, pulling you close.

When your faces were close enough for your breaths to mingle he whispered, “I love you.” And he kissed you softly, slowly.

You smiled into the kiss and pushed him away slightly. “Love you too. But we gotta go, Jae.”

He hummed and let you lead him back to the reception hall that was blasting ‘Party Rock Anthem’ at the moment. Checking your hair before you walked in, you were suddenly grabbed by your best friend, the bride.

“Where were you?! We’re about to start the bouquet toss!” She pulled you away from Jaehyun, and he silently laughed at you being pulled away as he went to stand next to Johnny.

You stood behind the first row of woman, all of them eager to catch the bouquet. You turned to look at Jaehyun, maybe catch his eye and make a face about all the woman in front of you desperate for a proposal. Because of this, you didn’t notice the music stop, only snapping out of your daze when you heard someone yell, “Look out!”

Your eyes snapped forwards, and seeing the flying bouquet hurdling towards you caused you to reach out your arms out defensively.

You shut your eyes before you felt the impact. When you opened your eyes again you saw your best friend right in front of you.

“You caught the bouquet!”, she exclaimed. It was hard to hear over the cheering. “, Better tell Jaehyun to get a move on, huh?” She nudged you when her elbow and gestured to the left with her head.

You turned in the direction she gestured to and met Jaehyun’s eyes. Big smile on his face, he wiggled his eyebrows at you.

Returning the big smile, you chuckled, thinking back to his comment about your wedding. Clutching the bouquet to your chest, you spoke softly. “I think he has it covered.”

#jung jaehyung #neowriters #neohours #nct 127 #nct u #jaehyun smut #johnny suh #jung yoonoh

171 notes · View notes

write-it-good-imagines · 4 years

Text

Alexithymia - Bambam, PART 1

Alexithymia = the inability to express one’s feelings.

Admitting your feelings for someone can come with so little time. Sometimes, it comes to late for some of us and Bambam is a part of the unprivileged ones.

Part 2

Hi everyone *clears throat*. I have been deeply hurt to write this, but frankly, I am not half sorry. This is the angst I promised you and it is as angsty as it gets. Enjoy

3.5k words, angst. WARNING!! Implication of violence, rape, and abuse.

“What did you say?” Bambam’s voice was sharp if a little brutal. He couldn’t believe his ears.

“Another photographer is on the way for the shoot—“

Bambam ran a hand through his perfect hair, thus ruining the work of his stylists. He repeated the question, his patience thinning by the second. “Before that hyung. What did you say happened to Y/N?”

Everyone had the infamous pitiful look on their faces, the one dreaded most by the young male. Jaebum approached to place a hand on Bambam’s shoulder which he brushed off almost violently. He took a step closer to his manager. “Hyung.”

The manager took a deep breath, examining Bambam. Trying to convince him to stay for the shoot would result in a huge catastrophe. “She is in surgery now, but the doctors were pessimistic.”

Bambam nodded softly before throwing his coat over his shoulders, frantically searching for his car keys. He didn’t hear his leader trying to talk sense into him, neither did he listen to his manager’s scolding for taking such action, he merely stormed out. Jaebum glanced at Yugyeom who agreed silently not to leave his friend alone, let alone allow him to drive.

“How long has this been going on?” You breathed out, struggling to calm yourself down despite your trembling hand in which your phone was.

Bambam turned to you with a confused smile on his face. “How long has what been going on?”

You shoved your phone into his face, the texts in the chatroom of your photography team not leaving any possible room for denial. “Man up for once in your life, will you?”

Bambam scoffed at your words and read the proof of his doings slowly as if trying to create some sort of life-saving speech. Or more accurately, trying to come up with something that will eventually make you forgive him. He gulped instead, his mouth suddenly too dry to express any words.

“Say something, goddammit!” You yelled without even realizing it. You cleared your throat and took another deep breath in your lungs. “Lie to me.”

“What is there to lie about?” Bambam’s voice was guttural as he stepped away from you. “I had sex with your apprentice, indeed. For a while now.”

Your hand dropped to your side. You desperately tried to erase his words from your brain; you would even scrub them away if you could. It’s not the mind that was the problem. It was your heart.

Try as you might, you couldn’t hide the disgust on your face. Your silence terrified Bambam; even so, his self-defense mechanism clicked in. “I don’t see why the drama. We’re friends.”

You let out a hollow laugh and shook your head vehemently. “We’re not just friends and you fucking know it.”

“Oh?” it was Bambam’s time to laugh; it wasn’t until after he had said his so-called argument that he wished he didn’t. “I didn’t know we were exclusive, either.”

“Yugyeom can you step on it?” Bambam asked desperately as if his presence at the hospital would magically heal you.

“I am going as fast as I can, Bam-ah.” He replied in a low voice, alarmed by his friend’s behavior. “Look, I know Y/N is important to you, but it’s not like—“

“It is my fucking fault!” He scoffed and only common sense held him from putting his fist through the window. “It’s because of me that she fucking left last night.”

You’d sooner have a gun pointed to your temple than hear Bambam’s voice. With each passing moment, you felt a rift separating the two of you. You turned your back to him, your hands grabbing angrily at your hips as you paced around the house, hopelessly looking for something to say. He was right, you two weren’t together, not officially anyway. You knew what you were throwing yourself into when you met him. He was young, he was handsome, he barely snapped his fingers and had any living female undressing for him.

You had been his group’s photographer for over a year. You could remember vividly the first day on the job. Bambam was a shameless flirt; he didn’t know what boundaries meant. He made his intention to befriend you extremely clear. You’d take on the challenge and you’d listen, at first, how he sneakily boasted his previous adventures. And you brushed off his little jokes because you always justified it with proof: his fearless confessions.

As time passed, however, his habits died down. He wouldn’t find entertainments for his nights, none other than calling you to go for a casual walk, or when he couldn’t sleep you were always on the other end of the line. He would spoil you with dinner, or random boxes of sweets whenever he thought you felt down. He would look out for you silently, in his own way, and confront those who’d make you feel uncomfortable. His members joked that they didn’t believe someone would make him put aside his ‘young and rich’ counterpart.

And you got along with everyone, they appreciated you very much. And you knew how to communicate with them, bring out the best in them, every time. So you were assigned to each and every photoshoot they had, no matter how little. In a short amount of time, you became close with all of his group. He was thrilled, really. He couldn’t have asked for more from you. To his members, you were as much as a family. But to him, a confusing game of push and pull. Sometimes, he’d stumble over the rope; other times he’d make you overthink it.

“How could you lead me along like that?” you whispered indistinctively, blaming yourself for falling into his trap. Bambam could see how you were sealing yourself into your own fortress from which he barely managed to get you out. Instead of trying to catch you from falling, he carried on spiting poison born from his own weakness.

“I can’t have this argument with you again. I am done justifying my words and actions to you.”

It seemed like Bambam pulled the trigger, evident by the emptiness of your crystalized orbs. You forced eye contact. “Say that again.”

“Don’t tell me…” Yugyeom trailed off, scared to finish his sentence. He glanced at Bambam. “You did not tell her?”

Bambam bit into the plush of his cheek, fixated on the rapid movements outside the window. He sighed deeply for an answer and ran his hand through his hair yet again. It wasn’t like he was a stranger from your own story. He listened intently when you told him you went through an abusive relationship, how sweetly he talked to you and tricked you into believing him every single time. You refused to tell him at first, no matter how carefully he’d build his approach.

Bambam noticed when his hand would brush over your arm, the way you’d flinch violently then blaming the momentum for it. Or when you two had dinner together and spot happy couples. You needn’t tell him that you were, in fact, hurt. Initially, he convinced himself he’d cheer you up and give you a reason to believe not everyone was an asshole. There was supposed to be a line that he would never cross because he knew he would eventually hurt you if he pushed forward. Even if he wasn’t that despicable a man, he had his unjustified habits. But when does the heart ever listen to reason?

“Look me in the eyes and say that again. “ you dared, your voice boiling with anger. Bambam remained silent, trying to cusp the gravity of his words. Of course, he believed none of his bullshit, but your frame glowing with disappointment and your acid words froze his every sense. He should have kept his mouth shut then. Not now when you demanded an answer you clearly would not get.

“I should have known I was just another girl to put your dick into.” You scoffed and went to the rack to grab your jacket. Bambam caught you by the wrist and you practically ripped yourself from him. “Keep your hands away from me, Bambam.”

His name sounded bleak coming from your lips now. It wasn’t as warm as it used to be when you’d wave your hand at him, or as daring as you’d make it sound when you challenged him to be a better model. Or as blissful as it felt when he made love to you.

“Y/N, you weren’t just another one to cross off my list. I swear to God, I—“ his breath hitched in his throat. What good would it do to say he came to love you when you would not believe anything coming out of his mouth?

You chuckled. “That night I offered my heart on a tray to you, Bambam. I fucking told you how miserable he made me feel, how fucking close I was to cut my own body, to give up on everything. I open up to anyone in forever, you, I let you touch me, I let you undress me.” You stopped to regain your composure. You didn’t want him to see the tears that had been whirling up in your eyes.

He wanted to convince you it wasn’t a mistake. He didn’t want you to believe it was a rash decision he made under the influence of that wine that tasted like an aphrodisiac on your lips. What did he have to trade to make you believe he was terrified of having such a strong and independent woman by his side?

“Did you at least think of me when you were having sex with her?”

“Every fucking time.” He whispered under his breath as the scene replayed overwhelmingly in his head. The abominable taste of blood in his mouth brought him back to reality. He must have chewed on his inner cheek.

He wanted to tell you so many times. He meant to tell you that you became something more than a friend to him. He meant to give it a shot. Bambam played it in his head countless times, but the right time never came. There was always something coming up that meddled with his intentions. And he wasn’t good at expressing himself. Bambam asked Jackson for advice and the introspective words Jackson would provide would make him think twice about it. He slowly began hypnotizing himself that you were meant to have someone greater than him, someone, who would know how to cherish you instead of being a childish tease who’d cry to you about every single inconvenience. So he’d shut himself up, his feelings for you growing at a fast pace, although seemingly tucked away.

God knew other members took their chance. When Jinyoung told the guys about his intention to ask you out, a sudden fear nested in his ribcage. It was better than way, he’d repeat to himself like a mantra. Jinyoung would know how to take care of you. He’d make you happier than Bambam ever could. It came as an unusual surprise that Jinyoung was turned down with a vague explanation. And that refueled his feelings toward you, notably when Jinyoung hinted at your own interest in him.

Bambam decided he would muster the courage to ask you out, so he brought one of his treasured bottles of wine and showed up at your house that same night. He could never forget the puzzled expression sketched on your face when you invited him in. You started chatting as you normally did, poured one glass after another, and you opened up about your difficult past.

Every word that was added to your story shaped a sort of irritation in his stomach. How could anyone dare treat you like that? How could they make you feel like you weren’t enough when you most definitely were more than anyone ever deserved?

Your eyes then were so alive, so daring and so hopeful. You needed to be shown how special you were. You needed help to acknowledge your scars, someone to kiss them and teach you how to love them. Someone adamant to show you there is sun after rain. He wanted to be enough for you and he knew that walking by your side would bring out the best in him, too. He knew he could, but he also lacked the trust you did. Little did he know you were slowly pouring it, but he was blinded by his selfish insecurities to let you in. He ignored the fact that he needed you to help him take the reins when he kissed you. Yet he forgot completely when he indulged himself in the transcendent emotions you were igniting in his chest when you allowed him to take you.

Bambam hoped, prayed for you to hit him. His eyes pleaded you to show him repulsion, or fury, anything that indicated you still had an ounce of trust in him. Anything that would let him repair the damage. He was met by an aching look instead and your puppet movements showed him you threw yourself back into the cage you forged for yourself. “We’re done.”

He reached out to touch your porcelain skin but hesitated. Your void expression would not allow him to cry. “Please, Y/N.”

“I’m done with you.”

“No, no, no! Listen to me, Y/N.”

You backed away slowly, trying to grab onto something to steady yourself. You unconsciously hit the lens of your camera and they fell to the ground, shattering in the tiniest of pieces. You felt your soul facing the same process. It took you some time to register what happened. You were supposed to go through the casual shoot you had with Bambam that afternoon to help him prepare for the next day.

“I’m going to buy you another one in the morning,” Bambam said hurriedly, staring mindlessly at the broken pieces. It didn’t take him long to look up at you and regret; the glass on the floor was nothing compared to the state of mind you were in. All because of him.

You took the camera body in your hands and a single tear rolled down your cheek. You pursed your lips and grabbed the doorknob before you exploded.

“Where are you going? It’s dark already and it’s dangerous.” Bambam grabbed your forearm. There was no reaction coming from you this time, only a weak whimper from your lips.

“Let me go.”

“We’re here,” Yugyeom announced and Bambam practically jumped out of the car to hurry to the hospital reception desk. He gave your name and barely listened to the directions he was given before storming to the floor you were being operated on. Outside the surgery room, there was your manager and your best friend who was also in your team, along with a police officer who was taking their statements.

“Bambam!” Your friend greeted in a surprised tone. “You were supposed to be at the shooting?”

“What happened?”

Your manager looked at him with a quirked brow. He was sure he offered the details to his manager. Your friend gathered the situation when Yugyeom shook his head softly from behind and walked closer to Bambam to grab his tensed shoulders. “I think we should take a seat.”

“If I take a seat now, I won’t be able to stand back up.” Bambam cut her off in a harsh tone. “I need to know why she is in there.”

“Okay.” The girl folded her arms over her chest and only then did Bambam see how red her eyes were. He cursed himself for the suffering he singlehandedly caused in just a couple of hours. “I received a call from the woman that found her in the back of an alley.”

There was a grave pause. A shiver traversed Bambam’s spine and felt a knot in his stomach.

“There was… uhm, there was a knife deeply buried in her lower abdomen and a couple of other injuries that indicated she must have been hit several times before. The camera and the wallet were gone. They must have thought the phone will have them traced, so they threw it a couple of meters away.”

As dolled up as Bambam was, his face had never been so lifeless before. The knot in his stomach was developing into a blind rage. His breathing was ragged and the knuckles turned pale from the force he was putting in his clenched fists.

“She was most likely –“

Bambam put his palm in the air, stopping the woman from muttering the last word. He knew that if he heard it pronounced, reality would come crumbling over him. His eyes flew to the police officer. “Have you found the bastards?”

“We are working on it.” He turned to Bambam and nodded stoically.

“I’ll make sure they rot in prison.”

“Sir, that’s not your—“

“Did I stutter?” he scoffed lightly and took his chin in between his fingers. Yugyeom put his hand on Bambam’s shoulder and squeezed it. “She left my house last night before this… incident.” Bambam glanced at Yugyeom to thank him for putting him in his place. “Can I give my statement now?”

Bambam followed the police officer and shared all his knowledge on the matter. In the time he spent offering the police as much help as he could, including getting the basic information on how the law system worked so he could hire the best lawyer for the case, the surgery had been finished. The surgeon responsible greeted Bambam to put him up to speed.

“We did everything we could and saved her life. Now, we wait to see if she wants to save herself.”

The doctor showed Bambam to your room, but his hand hovered over the knob. He was uncertain whether he was entitled to see you anymore. He was terrified of seeing your small frame laying weakly in the hospital bed, buried in the white color of the dull room that would certainly emphasize his guilt on the matter.

“You’ve made your choices, Bambam. “ he didn’t notice Yugyeom leaning against the wall. “And honestly, all of your choices so far were dreadful. The one thing I won’t allow you to do is run away. Me and the hyungs who are on their way.”

Bambam chuckled to himself. “I wish you would have punched me in the stomach before I made my choice to betray her.”

“I would!” he stated, punching him in the shoulder instead. “If you told me how miserable you were going to make yourself. Stop being a coward, Bam. This is not the best friend I am proud of.”

The sound of the knob being turned echoed in the room, among the constant beeping of the machines that were keeping you alive. As soon as his eyes fell on your sleeping and bandaged frame, Bambam brought his hand to his mouth to muffle the avalanche of sobs threatening to come out. He fell to the side of the bed, his forehead glued to your hand. He didn’t know how much time had passed, or how long he had been crying until he had no more tears to deliver.

It was beyond late to realize how important it was to tell the ones you love how you feel about them. Although he was aware that when you woke up, you would carry a hatred for him deeper than the ocean, he could at least make sure you got the justice you deserved. He could live with you despising him, he would even put himself in your place if given the chance. He just wanted to know you’d wake up. Bambam was selfish enough to wish you’d hear his words, too.

“I love you so much, Y/N, I am so sorry for being the worst living creature out there. But I didn’t play you. I was just so scared of loving you because frankly, I didn’t know how.”

#got7 #got7 imagine #got7 imagines #got7 angst #kpop au #angst #got7 bambam #bambam angst #bambam x reader #got7 jackson #got7 jinyoung #got7 yugyeom #got7 jaebum #kunpimook bhuwakul #idol au

64 notes · View notes

chthonicjason · 4 years

Text

the things i’d do to you (if i had a mile in his shoes)

AO3

One of his neighbors is making breakfast.

The pop and crackle of sizzling bacon, the tantalizing smell, is what first stirs Dick from sleep. The cook - whoever it is - is humming, absentminded but soothing enough to keep him on the cusp of not-quite-awake.

It’s a pleasant wakeup call, all things considered; so much so that it negates any annoyance over just how thin his apartment walls apparently are - for now, at least.

He burrows further into the couch, nose smushed into a softer than he remembers cushion, and debates another hour or two of sleep. His body aches, bruises he doesn’t remember receiving throbbing in time with his heart, and the idea of drifting back into unconsciousness with his very own makeshift lullaby is a tempting one.

He’s just about settled into a doze when there’s the noise of glassware, plates clinking off one another and cutlery being set into place. It’s a slow burn of a realization, taking several moments too many to sink in.

The walls aren’t that thin; there’s someone in his apartment.

He rolls off the couch, previous fatigue forgotten under the sickening surge of adrenaline. What he’d meant to be a leap into action is more of an awkward flail than anything, and instead of finding himself up on his feet he greets the floor with a sudden and painful thud.

Considering the fact that Dick’s spent his entire life fighting gravity and winning, he feels more than justified in the prickling of unease that trickles down his spine.

There’s the sound of rushing footsteps, too close for Dick to do anything more than push himself up from where he’d face planted into the carpet.

His attention gets caught, immediately, on the arms supporting his weight. His arms, presumably, except no. Absolutely not. Pale, freckled skin; broad, callused hands; strong, tattooed arms; a thin, silvery scar on the right ring finger from catching a knife wrong when they’d been fourteen.

“Fuck, are you okay?” The voice is concerned, still slightly sleep rough, and instantly recognizable. Dick drags his attention away from the first impossibility to lay eyes on the second.

It’s Jason - because it’s always Jason, with them; he’s standing in the living room of an unfamiliar apartment, watching Dick with worried eyes. Dick hasn’t seen him in… god, almost six months, now, and the sight of his bedhead and low riding sweatpants is enough to leave Dick momentarily breathless.

It also solidifies Dick’s panicked suspicions; after all, there’s only one person in the multiverse allowed to see Jason so unguarded.

“Roy? You okay, man?”

He blinks up at Jason, more than a little nonplussed, and realizes with rising dread that Jason will absolutely hate this. It’s difficult enough to earn Jason’s goodwill when they meet at a predetermined, neutral location. Dick showing up in his life, in what appears to be his home, in his best friend? The reaction will be apoplectic, and Dick will be lucky if he sees Jason again this decade.

“M’fine, Jaybird. Bad dream, s’all.” Cost-benefit analysis makes his decision for him without much thought. It’s easier safer to pretend, at least until he can slip away without raising any questions. Then he can fix this, and Jason will be none the wiser.

Dick rolls onto his back, mimicking Roy’s lazy sprawl, and tries to think of this as any other undercover mission. A mission he’s beyond prepared for, considering the years and years he’s known Roy.

“Must’ve been a hell of a dream,” Jason inches closer, his eyes soft despite the annoyance he’s playing at, “When did you get here, anyway? Last we talked you thought you’d still be with the Titans a few more days.”

“Turns out the target was more bark than bite. We had their base cleared in under an hour.” Shit, Dick thinks, fervent. The Titans. That mission. That random, stray bolt of magic that had hit Dick and then proceeded to do absolutely nothing. He’d known he should’ve said something to Rae, to anyone, but he’d just wanted to go home and sleep.

It hadn’t seemed like that big of a deal at the time.

“Right,” Jason drawls, “And you just decided to break into my apartment in the middle of the night and crash on my couch?”

“What better way to relax after a Titans mission?” He quips, smiling to himself when it makes Jason snort.

“Whatever you say, dork,” Jason rolls his eyes, looking painfully fond, before turning on his heel and walking away. “Breakfast is going to be done soon, if you ever feel like getting off the floor.”

Dick’s up and following him before he’s even finished speaking.

Stepping into the kitchen is a bit like stepping into another world. One where Jason is relaxed, happy, in his presence; radiant in the early morning light streaming through the windows as he butters toast and plates omelettes. There’s two steaming mugs of coffee waiting at the dining table, and Jason’s resumed humming to himself, regardless of his audience.

It’s the picture of domestic bliss - a flawless display of everything Dick tries, and fails, not to dream about.

Chest aching with something raw and wanting, Dick sits down at the table in silence.

Jason joins him only moments later, plates of food in hand, and Dick lets himself get lost in his role as they eat. He can’t remember the last time he was the reason Jason laughed, but for Roy there’s nothing but dimpled grins and delighted guffaws. It’s addictive, to hold the full weight of Jason’s attention when not in his crosshairs.

“I,” Jason begins as the meal draws to a close, eyes fixed on where he’s dragging his fork through what remains of his eggs. “I made up my mind… about what we talked about, before you left.”

“You… did?” Dick blinks at him, hoping his panic isn’t clear as he tries to recall if Roy had said anything the past few days in regards to Jason. Seeing as how Dick can’t remember the last time he and Roy had a conversation about anything that wasn’t Titans affiliated, it’s not surprising that he’s drawing a blank.

“Yes.” It’s a confident reply, even as he flushes under the weight of Dick’s stare. “It’s - I’m not going to pretend to understand why the hell you’d want to be with me, but. I’m not in the habit of letting opportunities pass me by. Why should this be an exception?”

Oh, Dick thinks, more than a little heartsick as the puzzle pieces click into place. He’d known this was a possibility, of course - anyone could see how Jason and Roy orbited each other - but he’d been steadfast in his denial. Jason has a reputation for being oblivious to such things, and Dick had been selfish enough to hope that’d remain true.

“Unless,” Dick has seen Jason bleeding out before, his blood staining alleyways and rooftops and car seats, but even then he hadn’t looked as vulnerable as he does now. “Unless you changed your mind?”

God. Any jealousy - or rationale - abandons him in the face of Jason’s uncertainty, the way he seems braced for heartbreak.

“I haven’t. Of course I haven’t.” It’s instinct that has him reaching out for Jason’s hands, capturing them between his own and reveling in the way Jason grabs back at him.

Jason’s smile is shy, pleased, as he stares down at their joined hands; it’s an expression that fills the hollow cavern of Dick’s chest, adoration curling like roots amongst the rungs of his ribcage.

“Can I -”

“Yes,” Dick interrupts, mesmerized by the color staining Jason’s cheeks and the tips of his ears. There’s not a single thing Jason could ask for that Dick wouldn't willingly give.

The loss of Jason’s hands between his own is sudden - is almost enough to make Dick let out an absolutely pathetic noise in response - as Jason moves out of his seat and rounds the table. Dick can only watch, wide eyed and dry mouthed, as he finds himself with a lapful of Jason.

Overwhelming is too gentle a word for how it feels. Every part of Dick, every atom, is keyed into Jason; the curl of his eyelashes and the dotting of freckles across his nose and the seeping warmth of his nearness.

Yet even all of that gets eclipsed when Jason places hesitant lips against his own.

Sensation bombards him immediately: the plush give of Jason’s mouth against his own; the little sigh Jason breathes into him when Dick deepens the kiss; the phantom taste of coffee and cinnamon he chases with his tongue. The bitten off moan Dick can feel as much as hear when Jason grinds down against him.

It’s all beyond intoxicating, beyond addictive. It seems impossible, now that he knows what he’s been missing, to think he lived so long without knowing the taste of Jason’s kiss, or the sweet weight of him in his lap.

Jason pulls away, gasping against his mouth. Dick takes the opportunity to trail kisses along the line of his jaw. Noses at the delicate skin behind his ear when Jason leans his head against his shoulder, bites down hard enough to bruise when Jason moans a name Dick is trying to forget.

“Roy,” Jason repeats, grabbing fistfuls of long red hair to pull Dick away. His eyes are blown wide when their gazes meet, nothing but the faintest ring of green remaining. “Fuck me.”

The command is breathy, all wet dream eagerness and dark eyed intent. Whatever hope Dick had of remembering himself, and all the ways this is a betrayal, vanishes in a heartbeat.

“God,” He chokes out, pulling Jason back down to taste those words on his lips. His hands skin underneath Jason’s tank top, tracing the notches of his spine just for the way the drag of calluses makes Jason shiver. It’s easy, from there, to follow the curve of it back down to the swell of his ass.

“I can pick you up,” Dick sounds dazed to his own ears, the weight of realization an impact he hadn’t braced for. Jason hums a little questioning sound, head ducked down as he mouths at the skin of Dick’s neck.

“Hold on,” He shifts his grip into less of a grope and more of a hold, shifting to stand up from the chair. Jason doesn’t hesitate to wind his arms around Dick’s neck and lock his legs around his hips.

It’s Roy’s strength that makes it easy to carry Jason away from the kitchen and into the bedroom, but it’s hard to be bitter over it with Jason wrapped around him.

It’s far from graceful, Dick stumbling over his feet and careening them into walls, but all either of them care about is that it gets them to their destination without having to separate. He stumbles through the bedroom doorway and then, as Jason’s laughter vibrates through both their chests, onto the bed.

Little Wing, he thinks, reverent, leaning back as far as the ankles locked at the small of his back will let him. Jason is splayed out underneath him, his cheeks all pretty in pink and his eyes wild. I did that, Dick thinks, incredulous, and has to dive back in for another kiss to control the flood of emotions it gives him.

Jason turns his head at the last second, Dick’s lips meeting the corner of his mouth.

“Priorities,” He chides, tugging insistently at the neck of Dick’s sleep shirt. Dick huffs out a laugh, kissing the dimple of Jason’s cheek before giving in and moving away. He strips quickly, too impatient to put on a show, before turning greedy hands to Jason’s own clothing.

He spends long moments just looking, when Jason is finally bare beneath him. He itches to touch - to kiss and bite and mark - but the need to memorize the sight before him is more pressing.

Jason squirms under his stare, whining - this needy, desperate sound Dick wants to taste, wants to devour, and even now it feels surreal to know he can. He surges forward - hips rocking down, grinding them together to feel the way Jason’s nails bite into his shoulders in reaction - and steals the noise from Jason’s lips.

His hand slides up - slow, indulgent, from bent knee to decadent thigh, to rippling abdomen then pounding heartbeat, before settling on the sharp jut of Jason’s jaw.

“Relax,” Dick whispers, spit slick lips brushing against Jason’s. His heart’s in his throat - between his goddamn teeth - as he feels the way Jason’s jaw goes lax beneath his fingers. As he watches Jason open his mouth, lips bruised red and sinful, drool pooling in the corners; a plea without words.

And maybe Dick wants to hear Jason beg, wants to see him cry for him, but he’s unable to deny Jason anything in this moment. He slides two fingers into that wet heat, gives a groan of his own when Jason doesn’t hesitate - laving at them, sloppy and desperate and the hottest thing Dick’s ever seen.

“There you go, sweetheart,” He murmurs, eyes fixed on the way Jason’s mouth is taking him in. His own voice is already wrecked, years of hopeless pining and guilty daydreams apparent in every syllable, and it’s almost enough to disguise how wrong the voice is, how foreign it sounds when coming from his own throat.

Jason’s tongue curls, clever as the rest of him, and Dick has a sudden flash of Jason’s lips wrapped around the finger stripes of the Nightwing costume. His cock jerks at the thought, almost painful in its intensity, and the ragged moan that leaves him is forced out between clenched teeth.

He’s slow slow slow as he eases his fingers from Jason’s mouth, pushing down on Jason’s tongue until he images Jason can taste every whorl, hooking them behind his bottom teeth and tugging until Jason has no choice but to follow them upward. It’s only then, when Jason’s neck is straining and he’s all but a hair’s breadth away, that Dick replaces his fingers with his own hungry mouth.

“Bedside drawer,” Jason pants out, long moments later, and Dick doesn’t hesitate. It feels like ages before his saliva soaked fingers find the lube bottle amongst the various odds and ends in the drawer, every second not spent melting into Jason’s warmth a second wasted.

“Yeah, yeah, fucking - hurry up,” Jason moans as Dick slicks his fingers, trying for brash but hitting needy instead - making up for it with a biting kiss just this side of vicious to the thin skin of Dick’s jaw.

Dick - when Dick had imagined this, he’d imagined it slow, soft. He hadn’t been naive enough to picture a dozen roses, or flickering candles, or anything else he knew Jason would regard with nothing but suspicion. But he had imagined laying Jason out, taking his time with him. Drawing out every whimper and moan, eating him out until his jaw ached and then fucking him until their legs gave out.

The reality of it is - impossible, overwhelming, and Dick doesn’t even take the time to warm the lube between his hands before he’s working Jason open.

“Fuck,” Jason moans, shaky, and Dick can do nothing but agree, all of his focus locked onto Jason’s expression: his flushed face, his blown black eyes, the oh of his bitten bloody mouth. The way that expression shifts, the flutter of his dark eyelashes, as Dick tucks a second finger inside, as he curls them and finds the spot that makes Jason whimper.

“You’re doing so well,” Dick praises, all but coos, desperate to lean back and watch the way Jason’s body is gripping his fingers tight but just as desperate to not lose a second of what his Little Wing looks like when he’s lost to sensation.

Jason makes the decision for him, nails leaving lines from his nape to the center of his back as Jason shivers all over from the praise. It’s enough to make something in Dick snap; the breaking of levees that have been holding back years worth of adoration.

“God, sweetheart, look at you,” He trails kisses, reverent, from the corner of Jason’s trembling mouth to his temple, slips a third finger inside and memorizes the love drunk noise Jason makes in response. “You’re taking me so beautifully - the most stunning thing I’ve ever seen.”

“ Shu - shut up,” Jason demands, whines, nails biting into Dick so hard he’s sure they’re breaking skin, and the idea of that - of carrying Jason’s marks around for days to come - only winds Dick up tighter.

“Never,” Dick promises, twisting his wrist just so, and thinks I’ll spend the rest of my life singing your praises.

Jason’s thighs clamp down around his hips, trapping Dick’s arm between them. His nails rake up, retracing their previous path, before grabbing a handful of too long hair. He tugs, sending shivers from the roots of his hair to the base of his spine, and it’s instinct that has Dick following where that hand is guiding him.

In a blur of movement Dick finds himself on his back, staring up at Jason who manages to look victorious even as he shudders at the loss of Dick’s fingers. Dick’s hands lock, bruising tight, over Jason’s hips, so stupidly turned on it’s hard to think straight.

“So much for never,” Jason teases as he grabs the lube. The touch of Jason’s slick palm to his cock is enough to have Dick biting back a moan.

Even that is nothing - nothing - compared to the moment Jason lines them up. This is really happening, Dick thinks, incredulous, before all thought flees as Jason slowly - so, so slowly - sinks down.

It’s - divine is a word invented for the way Jason feels from the inside - the tight, wet heat of him something worthy of worship. Obscene a word only truly understood when put to use to describe the noises coming from Jason’s perfect mouth.

“God,” Jason moans, as he seats himself fully, and his voice is - fuck, Jason’s voice is molten gold, poured into the very veins of him, blazing a trail down Dick’s spine and making a home at the heart of him. .

They take a second to breathe, eyes locked on each other, and then, without warning, Jason starts to move. A slow, sensuous roll of his hips that belongs in porn and fantasies, that’s setting Dick’s every nerve alight.

“Fu-” It’s a bitten off gasp, more idea than word. He’s sure he’s leaving bruises on Jason’s hips, stark marks of his fingertips to match the imprints of his teeth in Jason’s neck. Dick’s not sure he’s ever felt so wild; his skin a cage he wants to climb out of so he can sink into Jason’s.

He angles his hips up, feet planted firmly on the mattress, and knows he’s found the right spot when Jason keens. The headboard thuds against the wall with every thrust of Dick’s hips, every roll of Jason’s. The air humid, ripe with sex and gasping breaths. Liquid fire pooling in his stomach and arcing through his veins.

“Come here,” Dick asks, begs, his mind a litany of demands for closer faster harder more. His hand fits perfectly as it curves around the back of Jason’s neck, pulling him in until Dick can plant kisses to Jason’s moaning mouth.

“Shit,” It’s a jagged little noise, more air than anything, when Dick’s free hand curls around Jason’s cock. Jason’s hands scrabble from where they’d been braced against Dick’s chest, his arms shaking as Dick does his level best to destroy him.

“I’m going to ruin you,” Dick promises, voice a rasp so possessive and soaked with want he doesn’t recognize it, “I’m going to ruin you for anyone else. No one will ever be able to make you feel like I do. No one will ever be brave enough to even try.”

He twists his wrist, callused palm catching on the leaking head of Jason’s cock in time with a particularly vicious thrust. Jason cries out as he comes between them, his face something Dick’s going to remember for the rest of his goddamn life.

It feels like permission; his goal of making Jason shake apart now complete so that he can chase after his own release. It doesn’t take much - a handful more thrusts into the tight clutch of Jason’s body before the tsunami of need that’s been building since this started crashes over him.

Jason collapses on top of him, body a warm, treasured weight pressing him into the bed. Dick wraps his arms around him, pressing a kiss to his sweaty curls and then, when that makes Jason try to hide a smile, a kiss to the corner of his eye.

“I love you,” He murmurs, because the words have been trapped behind his teeth for years and he’s tired of holding them in. Jason grins, cheek dimpling with the force of it.

“I love you, too.”

Jason ducks his head down, tucking it into the crook of Dick’s neck, and Dick thinks he could stay here forever. Knows he could, really.

The morning is just giving way to afternoon, sunlight dappling the expanse of Jason’s back, when a persistent buzzing tears its way through their peaceful daze.

“Ignore it,” Dick tries to insist, loath to let this moment end, but knows it’s a lost cause anyway. After all, Jason isn’t prone to giving his number away freely - if someone’s calling, it’s because they need to be.

Jason flails an arm out until he grabs the phone off the charger. There’s a long second, Jason staring with bleary eyes at the screen as Dick plays with his hair, before he gives an irritated groan. He throws the phone down amongst the pillows, burrowing back down into Dick’s arms.

“Why the fuck do I have six missed calls from Dick?” He grumbles, breath warm on Dick’s neck, and reality reasserts itself like a punch to the gut.

#jaydick #jayroy #jason todd #dick grayson #jaydick fic #noncon cw #not sfw #i finally finished that bodyswap fic i've been working on for like a month

30 notes · View notes

clubofinfo · 7 years

Text

Expert: I envy you. You North Americans are very lucky. You are fighting the most important fight of all. You live in the belly of the beast. — Dr. Ernesto “Che” Guevara A birth certificate from somewhere between the beast’s belly and its beating heartland condemns me to the dubious distinction of being among the privileged 5% of humans who claim United States Citizenship. A population which demands the right to consume 25% of earth’s resources while billions of our fellow-humans go hungry. A shame it was wasted on me, for I’ve never been one to make my country proud. Basically, I’ve always been a bad American. Cases in point: I never stand for The Star-Spangled Banner, nor do I Pledge Allegiance to the Flag of Retroperistalsis. I no longer believe in, nor vote in sham, mockery-of-democracy U.S. elections. I make no investments in Wall Street, for fear of inadvertently supporting The Military-Industrial Complex. If I happen to turn on the evening so-called news, I can’t resist calling Lester Holt “America’s House Negro”, for Holt’s Nightly Lies loudly confirm what Chris Hedges tells us: “No real journalist makes $5 million a year…Those in power fear and dislike real journalists.” And I pray regularly to whatever gods may be that Empire dies with a whimper, rather than a bang…and soon. There is little doubt that I am, and have for many years, been a traitor to Empire and its agendas of Neo-colonialism and wars for profit. Fifty years ago, while Che Guevara was being summarily executed by the C.I.A. and its Bolivian Military stooges, my lifelong battle against Empire was just beginning. Che’s last words were some of the most prophetic ever spoken, as he looked his assassin in the eyes and said: “Shoot coward. You are only going to kill a man.” Only the good die young, they say. It is said that Che is much more powerful in death than he was in life, as a half century later, his legacy lives on and grows. Two years after his demise, he’d lit fire of discontent beneath a whole generation of Americans, and stood posthumously by my side as I gave the U.S. Army my very best middle-fingered salute, thereby refusing induction into the most over-funded, offensive, aggressive, killing force the world has ever known. My neighbors and acquaintances are not evil or bad people. They’re simply oblivious to what George Carlin lovingly called “the big red, white, and blue dick” being shoved up their asses by the likes of Lester Holt and his cadres in criminal propaganda on a nightly basis. Americans are to be pitied for their willful ignorance. If I were a Christian, I’d ask God to forgive them, for they’re a bunch of clueless jackasses who know not what they do. But not being a believer in the imaginary bearded man in the stratosphere, I write. Not that I have any delusions of being omniscient, but my moderate level of enlightenment has been reached, one step at a time, one book or article at a time, and Che’s sword is now my pen. Che’s rifle, my Hewlett-Packard. The pen (in certain circumstances) is mightier than the sword. If Che had fought the Revolution, in the belly of the beast, with bullets, he would have been eliminated long before 1967. Lucky for me, thus far, Empire only executes the highest-level truth-talkers and traitors to the Military-Industrial agenda. NBC demoted Brian Williams for the high crime of telling his own personal lies, instead of just the official ones, then replaced him with Mr. Holt. I’d seriously doubt whether either of these corporate whores, or any of their collaborating competitors give a rat’s ass whether their thousand-dollar-a-sentence blather bears any resemblance to the truth. Truth is the enemy of the overlords they serve, and has no place in the nightly news agenda, nor in any facet of Empire’s Disinformation Network. Truthful coverage of Empire’s latest wars for profit: Forbidden. Questioning the basic good intentions of our exceptional government: Not allowed. Tow the line, learn and regurgitate the fabrications du jour, read all recent directives from the C.I.A., keep your nose clean, your Armani Suit pressed, and God Bless America. My insouciant neighbors and acquaintances have never heard of Noam Chomsky, and know nothing of Manufactured Consent. They have never seen a copy of Howard Zinn’s A People’s History of The United States. They have no idea that “War (really) is a Racket” (Brigadier General Smedley D. Butler). They’d likely not even blink an eye at the atrocities wrought against the Southern half of The Western Hemisphere by the U.S.A. and its European counterparts, as artfully reported by Eduardo Galeano in Open Veins of Latin America. Hugo Chavez gave a copy to Barack Obama shortly before his mysterious and suspicious demise. Too bad Barack never read it. Not that he would have cared, being well programmed by the C.I.A. When I’ve tried to explain to mainstream Americans the dastardly scheming of the C.I.A. in foreign countries; its economic hit men and jackals, bribery, coup d ‘etat, assassination, and finally bombs and bullets…as exposed by ex-C.I.A. Operative John Perkins in Confessions of an Economic Hit Man, the responses are glazed, dazed expressions. I might as well be talking to four-year-olds when explaining that 9-11 was an inside job, as proven beyond a shadow of a doubt by such sources as Michael C. Ruppert’s Crossing the Rubicon, or that the C.I.A. and other branches of our government eliminated J.F.K. for choosing the path of peace, as explained by James W. Douglass in his masterpiece, J.F.K. and the Unspeakable. The subtitle of the J.F.K. volume is “Why He Died and Why it Matters”, but what really matters to my adult four-year-olds is whatever professional gladiator games happen to be in season. Americans don’t want to hear that “terrorism” is nothing but the direct result of Empire’s overreach and military incursions into every little resource-rich, under-militarized country on earth. Who, outside a few conspiracy theorists like me could give a shit about Chalmers Johnson’s trilogy, which includes “Blowback”, and exposes The U.S. Military’s Empire of Bases and aspirations for complete world domination? If I happen to mention The Great American Holocaust (the most deadly in earth’s history), as graphically illuminated in Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz’s An Indigenous Peoples’ History of The United States, in oblivious company, white faces gaze at me in wonder…wondering why I’d care about the slaughter of a few tens of millions of inferior beings. One of the biggest secrets in the U.S.A. is the mystery of the most enduring, morally upstanding, and advanced civilization in earth’s history; a story expertly told by my friend Jeff J. Brown in China Rising: Capitalist Roads, Socialist Destinations. After 100 years under the heavy hand of Empire, the sleeping dragon is once again rising. Empire knows it…thus the so-called Pivot to Asia Strategy, and another $60 billion gift for The Pentagon. The few of us who’ve come to understand the intrinsic evil, and violence on every level, of the United States of America, reach a point where a choice must be made. As U.S. Citizens, we can choose denial and ignore our own enlightenment, thus remaining part of the problem. Or we can cross The Rubicon, as Caesar did, and by doing so becoming traitors to Empire, enemies of the state, and strangers in our own land. If we choose the latter, alea iacta est; the die is cast, and there is no going back. Ignorance may be bliss, but the truth shall set ye free. Empire is on a collision course with destiny. It’s a runaway train, carrying enough Weapons of Mass Destruction to turn our fading blue planet into shades of smoldering gray, and end life on earth as we know it. Never underestimate the blind, ignorant greed and mindless dreams of dominance of the sociopaths in the cab of Empire’s Engine. You know it. I know it. We are soldiers in Empire’s Underground Army, armed only with words, ideas, brilliance, open eyes, and hope. Those bearing arms need not apply. The battlefield of this war is for the minds of the insouciant. Somehow we must awaken an entire population which only pretends to sleep, and has no interest in buying what we’re selling. Always remember how lucky we are. We’re fighting the most important fight of all. Here in the belly of the beast. Hasta la victoria siempre! http://clubof.info/

0 notes