#can you tell when making this post is no longer fueled by tired hate. can you | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jeongi · 5 years ago

Text

caught me. | jjk (m)

(edit done by my love, @httpjeon)

↣ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | jungkook x reader

↣ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 13.5k

↣ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 | roommate au. slight e2l au. smut. porn with very little plot.

↣ 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱 | explicit language and sexual content. mentions of vaping. mutual masturbation, sex toy usage, oral sex (f + m receiving), gagging, fingering, squirting, dirty talk, some wall fucking, riding, unprotected sex (you know the drill, wrap it up), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, creampie, jungkook has tattoos, long wavy hair and a giant schlong.

↣ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you hate your temporary roommate, jungkook and it doesn’t help that he’s been catching you at the most inconvenient of times.

“Seokjin, how could you do this to me?” You whine from the kitchen island, reflexively stabbing at the bowl of cereal in front of you. You can’t believe your roommate is just now telling you, a day before he leaves for vacation, that his “friend” will be temporarily moving in while he’s away. Of course, Seokjin pays no mind to your tantrum. Instead, he continues packing the last of his luggage in the living space, across the room. Simply rolling his eyes and heaving a sigh in response, he’s far more acquainted with your antics than he’d like to be. He could almost call you the younger sibling he most certainly never wanted, a nuisance wrapped in feigned misery. The arrangement between the two of you seemed nothing more than the result of a last-ditch Craigslist roommate search.

He should have known the consequences, he supposes.

Another sigh escapes his lips as he turns his attention away from the luggage. “_____, I’m only leaving for three months.”

You wail again, this time, your arms stretching across the cool, granite counter to push the bowl away from yourself. You’ve wholly lost your appetite, ready to wreak havoc as you slide off the stool you’re sat on and stomp your way over to him.

“I don’t care about you leaving me!” Seokjin scoffs at this statement, returning his focus to the open suitcase laid on the floor in front of him. “I care about you stuffing me in this apartment with a complete stranger while you’re gone.” What was the fucker’s name again? Jon Q, John Cook? You’re furious, but of course, Seokjin fails to take notice of this. Instead, he fishes into his pocket for his phone and scrolls through his extensive list of items to pack. He’s only gotten through half of it.

Your words don’t seem to have much of an impact on him, fueling your fury. “What if he tries to murder me? Or even worse, what if I end up murdering him? You won’t even be here to help me hide the body— this is a travesty!” This is followed with another signature sigh, all drama, your wrist shooting up to your forehead as you dab at invisible sweat.

You briefly think you might actually hate Seokjin.

He pauses, dropping his phone into the open luggage before craning his head towards you. Blinking, purely baffled by the lunacy he has to constantly put up with, he internally gives his utmost gratitude to the heavens that his work has sent him on this European trip tomorrow. Three clean months of the peaceful canals of Venice, the Colosseum in Rome, the Eiffel Tower in Paris and most importantly, three lovely quiet months away from you. Suddenly, three months no longer seems an eternity to him. How could it? He assesses you top to bottom, seeing nothing more than a rabid young woman scorned, hands placed sternly on her hips, expectant of a reply.

No sir, three months is not long enough at all.

Seokjin pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, squeezing his eyes shut as he speaks through gritted teeth. “You are the most melodramatic person I know— you think you can afford to pay my rent for the next three months?” This shuts you up momentarily.

For a moment, you’re disarmed. You can’t argue that he’s right, and you hate admitting it’s the only reason for your new (temporary) roommate.

Releasing his nose, he looks at you, warming a little. “Look, he asked to stay here -temporarily- until he finds his own place. He’s my best friend; wouldn’t you do the same for yours?”

That final bit had the effect he wanted it to, and boy, did it sting. Of course, you’d do the same for your best friend. The only trouble is that you know very little information about this John Cook character, only getting brief details about him moving into the big city for the first time and Seokjin “graciously” providing him a rental until he can find something more permanent. It isn’t a fault on Seokjin’s half. You just don’t know the poor bastard.

Beyond that, you know this guy is a Taekwondoin, moving here to join one of the most prestigious Taekwondo academies in the country. Your blood runs cold in a sudden rush, a certain grim realization dawning on you that you’d absolutely be no match for him if he did try to kill you. Perhaps Seokjin has told you so late because he too wants you dead. You really shouldn’t have met him through Craiglist.

You consider leaving a lengthy, final Tumblr post in remembrance of your inevitable end, hoping one of your 12 followers would come forth and save you from a gruesome slashing. At best, someone saves your life. At worst, you’ve written your own eulogy.

Huffing a breath of frustration, something akin to a groan escapes you as you march back to the kitchen island for your now soggy bowl of cereal. It only fuels your now quiet rage further, but pettiness takes over, mentally muting Seokjin’s yelling profanities after watching you dispose of one of his favourite glass bowls. It’s the least you can do as revenge.

As it turns out, Jeon Jungkook is a nearly six feet tall mural of muscle and inked skin that rarely stays home. His dark wavy hair falls gracefully past his large doe eyes, and his plethora of tattoos litter the tight expanse of his neck and arms. Notably, the blossom of two red roses painted over the porcelain of his neck.

Though verbally a silent roommate, you find he vapes far too much and equally plays far too much Fortnite at odd hours of the night. He only comes out of his room to either make himself food or to leave the apartment, and a couple of times you could have almost sworn he might’ve been doing his laundry. He’s a feast to lay eyes on, that much is irrefutable but he leaves at least one utensil unwashed after eating, irritating you to an unprecedented degree.

Jungkook also enjoys eating ramen at two in the morning- you know this because it wakes you up almost every time you hear the microwave blare its oppressive siren. He also figures he must shower each time he returns home from being out, suitably fattening your poor water bill. You’ve only briefly spoken to him a handful of times, mostly about house rules and a tour of the facilities.

It’s only been two weeks since he’s arrived, yet you already seem to despise him- sending Seokjin angry messages from across the globe about this, all of which have been ignored. You’ve been too busy lately anyway, rarely seeing Jungkook who seems to be out for most of the day.

However, it’s today that you finally catch him when you’re just coming home from work. He sits at the kitchen island, flipping through a comic while he loudly chomps on an open bag of shrimp chips, pausing to look at you as you make your way inside.

You’re on speakerphone with your friend Nari, both of your arms too occupied and laden with groceries to normally hold the phone to your ear. Upon seeing this, Jungkook gets up from his seat and immediately rushes to lend a hand. He’s completely shirtless, his loose dark sweatpants hugging the low subtle curve of his hips, and it’s only then that you notice the mosaic of more tattoos scattered across his skin beyond his full sleeves and the two red roses on his neck. He has much more than you had initially seen, a large black and white snake running over his pelvic bone. It draws your eyes forward, let’s it linger over to his bare abdomen, untouched with ink and defined with muscle. You can see it evidently, the indents carved into him as if he’s been sculpted from the finest of limestone.

You catch yourself from staring, thanking him with a silent bow of your head as he turns away from you, all the bags of groceries now racked effortlessly down his taut arms. Your momentary and involuntary ogling is cut short by Nari’s voice booming through the loudspeaker of your phone.

“God, you really need to get laid soon- I’m tired of you being so grumpy.” You freeze, nearly choking on your own saliva. “I already deal with one grump on a daily, I don’t need to add another to my inventory.”

Fuck. “Yeah, well, working on it!” You titter nervously into the microphone. It’s all in vain, for Nari is relentless in her pursuits.

“Didn’t you say your new roommate was hot? Just fuck him, that’d be pretty convenient. It’s like, like...dick-on-demand!” She laughs, guffawing into the mic as though it’s the most hilarious thing she has ever said. You stand there, eyes wide and mortified as the cackle from the other end of the line sounds more villainous than genuine humour. Her words linger still in the air, and a very deep desire to Crtl+Z yourself from life’s current existence fills your petrified body.

You know Jungkook has heard the words because he pauses in his step very briefly, faint stutters in his movement as his back stays turned towards you. Before you catch the slightest motion of his head about to look over his shoulder, you’re whipping around and fumbling for your phone. With the greatest deft you can muster, your thumbs desperately try smashing the giant red ‘end call’ button.

To no avail, the phone screen freezes, Nari’s cackling report still filing through.

You think this feels like a nightmare. In fact, you’re certain you’ve had a nightmare precisely like this before. Except this is real, very much real and you’re humiliated. cheeks surely flushed crimson as you tut in annoyance at your malfunctioning product of capitalism.

Jungkook simply clears his throat and continues moving towards the kitchen once again, acting as if nothing has happened. Under any other circumstances, you would almost be offended, but given the current nature of what has just transpired, you both let the feeling pass. “Anyway,” Nari continues and you wish she’d shut up. “I gotta go, Yoongi just got Minecraft and I’m going to give him the best head of his life,” she groans into the mic in satisfaction. “I love you, bye!” She cuts the mic, completely and blissfully unaware of the impending Armageddon she’s inadvertently spawned. You’re stood there in horrified silence, counting to five in your head before you’re very anxiously swivelling around.

You open your mouth to say something, but words fail you. What could you even say?

Jungkook cuts in. “I’ll uh, put these away. Don’t worry about it.” He beams you a rather charming grin, completely devoid of any awkward tension that filled the air moments ago. Somehow, this surprises you far more than if he had acknowledged it.

You thank him with haste, your feet acting much quicker than your head as you swiftly cut across the kitchen towards the hallway where your bedroom stands. Avoiding eye contact at all costs, your face is surely now painted just as red as Jungkook’s bag of shrimp chips on the counter.

Perhaps it’s to ease yourself more than anything that you decide to get angry over this situation. You’re not angry at Nari, no, you’re angry at Jungkook. Who was he to waltz into your apartment and have you monitor your phone calls? And be shirtless nonetheless? Had he no manners? Why should you have to tiptoe around him? You think if this were Seokjin, he wouldn’t nearly make everything so uncomfortable for you in your own place of living. Seokjin would also wash all his dishes and sleep at a reasonable time. This thought only fuels you more.

The words slip out of you before you can even comprehend stopping. “For Christ’s sake wear a shirt while I’m home, I don’t need to see you prancing half naked around the apartment. This isn’t Magic Mike, it’s home- my home.” You bark, halting Jungkook in his movements as he goes to place a new carton of milk into the fridge. He turns to look at you, the dangle of his silver earrings glinting against the light and you almost grimace at how attractive he looks in this moment.

Before he can respond, you’re pivoting away from him and walking towards your bedroom.

You slam your door with a thud and let out a strangled groan. Perhaps it was too harsh, the anger is now replaced with further distress. You toss yourself onto your mattress, stuffing your face into the nearest pillow and restraining yourself with every ounce of self-control you have from screaming your lungs out into it.

You hadn’t even called Jungkook hot, you had mentioned that he was conventionally attractive- which wasn’t a lie in the slightest. You’re half tempted to call her back and scold her good for the humiliation she’s so blissfully unaware of causing, but as you pick up your phone, a text flashes across your screen with a name you’re all too familiar with. And all too soon, your agitation grinds to a halt, dissipates and metamorphosizes into a goofy, toothy grin.

Taehyung - [1 New Text Message]

Kim Taehyung works just across the room from you on the seventh floor of the accounting firm. He has rich blonde hair and plump pink lips that he constantly wets with a dab of his tongue. You swear he’s been purposely winding you up recently, the brushes against your skin too frequent, the lingering stares too prolonged and the husk in his voice too low when he speaks to you. You’ve had a crush on Taehyung since you’ve started working at the firm, two years ago. Of course, he’s completely unaware of this.

5:44pm [Taehyung]: Hey, can I ask you for a favour?

The squeal you let out is unbearable, even to you. You feel the reminiscence of being back in middle school when your sixth-grade crush, Park Jimin had asked you to the Halloween dance. Of course, that night had ended terribly for you, catching Jimin and your rival, Sooya slow dancing while you went to get unnaturally lukewarm fruit punch from the snack bar. But much like right now, you remember the butterflies fluttering through your entire body the night before the dance.

Feeling the crimson warmth return to your cheeks, you clutch your phone to your chest while a coy smile stretches across your lips. You practice your well-rehearsed, five-minute wait before texting Taehyung back, typing and retyping your response until you’re satisfied with a legible reply. Pursing your lips, you go back and forth between adding a smiley face or not, ultimately choosing to go with one just to further the delusions in your head that adding one will somehow make him fall madly in love with you.

5:50pm [You]: of course you can! :)

You gasp when your phone vibrates within seconds, a giddy coo leaving you as his name flashes once more across your screen. You slap a hand over your mouth when you hear the footsteps of Jungkook pass by your door, your eyes darting towards the shadow of his feet seen just underneath the crack of your door. His room- rather Seokjin’s room- is right next door to yours, another unfortunate occurrence in your miserable life.

5:50pm [Taehyung]: Could you possibly drop me off at the airport tomorrow morning? I’ll treat you to breakfast on the way!!

Your grin grows tenfold, your teeth clutching your bottom lip in its hold as you glide your fingers over the keyboard with an answer.

5:52pm [You]: it’d be my pleasure!!

It seems as if everyone but you and Jungkook were going away on vacation from this hell city. Perhaps you may be in need of one too.

You drop Taehyung off at the airport at five in the morning. You think it should be illegal for anyone to wake up at such an hour. You hadn’t had much time to sleep, Jungkook’s nightly ramen snacking occurring at exactly two in the morning, just two hours before you were supposed to be awoken by the chirps of your alarm. As if the morning couldn’t have gotten any worse, you had learned Taehyung was travelling abroad to meet his very long-term and long-distance girlfriend for the first time. Your luck seems to have worsened as you’ve aged. All the signs you thought you’d seen of him visibly showing his interest in you had all been in your head.

By the time you reach home, it’s six, the sun barely peeking through the hillside view from your apartment and your eyes are droopy, heavy with sleep. A yawn escapes you as you place your keys on the kitchen counter before you kick off your shoes and shuffle towards the living room in a slump. You plop onto the couch, releasing a long exhale as you lift your feet up to lay more comfortably.

Briefly, you think you should stay up and get your day started, as you reckon most people who have their shit together would do as such. Unfortunately for your itinerary, you’re not most people and you’re certainly not someone who has their shit together. You’re _____ and you’re now dreaming, dreaming of a single Kim Taehyung.

His mouth is on yours, golden locks under the tight grip of your fingers and his cock is steadily rocking into you, fingers digging into your sides. He has you seated on the bathroom counter, your legs circled around his waist as his sharp thrusts elicit the neediest of cries from you.

“Taehyung!” You’re moaning, eyes rolled so far back into your skull, you feel the pull of your optic nerve. Loosening your grip on Taehyung’s hair, he moves away from your mouth and rests his forehead in the crook of your neck. Every curve of his dick plunges in calculated fashion into your cunt, egging you closer to your undoing.

Another sharp thrust has your entire body shuddering, a lapse of jitters filling you as your orgasm rumbles through you. When Taehyung lifts his head from the crook of your neck, you gasp. For when you look at his face, it’s no longer Taehyung, it’s now Jungkook.

He offers a lopsided smirk, an indent of his dimple forming around the right side of his mouth while a finger trails down your cheek.

“Wake up,” the apparition whispers.

You gasp awake, spine shooting upright as you heave heavy breaths. Skimming your hands over your face, you let out a frustrated groan, bewilderment and daze hitting you as you land right back to reality.

“Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” You hear a low voice and you immediately shriek, arms hugging yourself in a mock attempt to hide yourself even if you are fully clothed at the moment. You look over, glancing at the tall, frozen figure stood in the kitchen. His doe eyes are wide, startled by your reaction, dark hair wavy and long, clinging around the edge of his pale face and you can see the faintest trace of the red ink on his neck underneath the loose collar of his black hoodie. He’s got a knife in one hand and a half-cut tomato laid on a cutting board in front of him. “I-I was going to wake you up for lunch but…” His face has suddenly flushed to a shade of rose, tongue swiftly dabbing at his bottom lip. He clears his throat and hesitates before looking away. “Y-you seemed engrossed in your sleep, I didn’t want to wake you up.” What was that supposed to mean?

When you look behind him, the pot on the stove is steaming and it’s then that you catch the aroma of sauteed onions and oregano. Naturally, your mouth instantly waters, eyes glancing over to the digital clock that displays itself on the stove. It reads as five minutes past noon and you rub your eyes with the back of your hand before you’re blinking towards the time again. Had you really passed out for a solid six hours? How long had Jungkook been here? “You...don’t have work today?” You swallow, slowly raising up your feet.

Jungkook merely chuckles and shakes his head no. The silver of his dangling earrings swings with this motion. “I’m not working yet, I’m a student at Master Seong’s.” You had almost forgotten about the Taekwondo Academy, it’s the exact reason he’s now standing here in your kitchen cutting tomatoes. “Hopefully, I’ll be the one teaching by next year.” As he speaks, you notice he has a perfect set of pearly whites but then you think of course he does- anything that would make Jeon Jungkook less perfect at this point would be a micropenis. For whatever reason, that makes your blood boil but as much as you’re in disdain, the thought instantly brings attention to a sweltering puddle between your legs.

Your head shoots down, feet shifting uncomfortably as you feel a slick cling against your panties and it’s then that every aspect of your sex dream hits you in a movie montage. You had fully and wholeheartedly dreamt of Jungkook fucking you.

You gasp, unwillingly, feet losing balance before you catch yourself against the counter. Jungkook pauses and looks at you, a tentative eyebrow cocking in your direction in question.

“Is everything alright?” He asks, more curious than considerate. His voice seems to ebb and flow with the sultry ease that only he could— my god, maybe you do need to get laid.

You use your elbows to push yourself off the counter before you’re walking over to the stove, body brushing against Jungkook’s back as you reach for the vent switch.

“Next time you cook something, turn on the exhaust fan or else it’ll get smokey in here.” You say, voice stoic like ice in this smothering heat, ignoring the blatant arousal seeping out of your cunt. You brush past him once more to make way towards the hallway.

Jungkook sighs in defeat, watching as your figure disappears into your bedroom.

The moth outside your window bats against the patio light with a fierce determination that boggles your mind. You wonder what might be going through the moth’s head: does it ponder this alien, man-made warmth it now feverishly flutters around? Does it understand it in the slightest? Why else would such a simple creature be breaking the peace of a sticky midsummer’s eve?

You glance at the clock on your dresser. It’s now half past midnight, and you’re dying in this stupid heat. Perhaps it didn’t help that you had a six-hour nap, impressed by your ability to do so in broad daylight. And you can’t get it out of your head, the dream. It’s kept you horny all day- in need of relief. You think about the last time you’ve had sex, a one night stand with a tall, polite gentleman named Namjoon. It was quite possibly the best sex you’ve ever had, a shame you never caught his number.

With a less than pathetic groan of protest, you put your head between the pillow and the mattress, savouring the seconds of coolness that surround your head in a desperate bid to lower the temperature however you can. Something’s got to be better than stringing sex and a fucking invertebrate into the same train of thought this late at night.

Raising your head up from the pillow, you weigh your options. You’re not about to drink yourself to sleep, and your secret supply of ZzzQuil has run dry. Fortunately, you have a solution.

It’s nights like tonight that you can’t hold yourself back, orgasms helped you sleep better anyway. Your vibrator mocks you, blinking as it charges for the first time in weeks. You hear Jungkook shuffle on the other side of the room, your teeth gnawing at your bottom lip as you quietly reach your bedside table for a pair of headphones. You grasp at odds and ends until your fingers find purchase, and with a small sense of victory, you pull a very tangled mess of headphones from the drawer. You hear a cough on the other side and pause, gulping as if you’re fourteen all over again and just discovered the fruits of pleasuring yourself for the first time.

The vibrator’s LED light switches to a solid green, indicating its readiness to abuse your very untouched clit. You flush at the thought, yet eager as the familiar moisture pools in between your legs. You’re suddenly all too ready, all too demanding of the touch of a toy that you haven’t felt in too long. Why had you been putting this off for so long?

Unplugging it from the outlet next to your bed, you slip off your shorts and lay comfortably back onto your mattress. Another blush creeps onto your cheeks, your thumb unlocking your phone and opening the Chrome app. Making sure to switch to a private browser, you hesitantly type it in.

‘Pornhub’

The link loads embarrassingly quickly and you flush further, a mix of both the heat and your self chagrin marking the apples of your cheeks. You don’t even know what to look for, the home page overwhelming you with a variety of sinful thumbnails, begging to be clicked on. It almost makes you grimace in distaste, suddenly too aware of your surroundings and the situation at hand. You decide against pornography, gripping onto your imagination as you toss your phone aside and clear your throat, settling back onto the mattress with your eyes closed.

You’ll think about Namjoon. His broad hands, slender fingers and that deliciously thick cock. His moans, his honey skin and the way he was able to make you come twice that night.

Spreading your legs apart, you fixate the vibrator against your heat, gasping at the cool tip of the silicone already sensitive against your clit. You’re already soaked, the head gliding over your clit with slick.

It feels wrong when you turn the device on, the low buzz of vibrations filling the air. Brows knitted together, you picture Namjoon again. Trying to imagine the stroke of his tongue against your folds as the buzz of your vibrator rings through you, you gasp at the overwhelming sensation. Why didn’t you do this more often? You try to stay quiet, breathing growing laboured as the image of Namjoon between your legs morphs into something else. Rather, it morphs into someone else.

You see it in your head, your fingers threading through dark curls, legs pinned apart by two ink-sleeved arms. When you look down, you’re met by the intense gaze of brown doe eyes, his brows furrowed as his tongue flicks relentlessly against you. It’s almost as he’s smirking at you, the slightest quirk in his eyebrow implying that he knows he’d fucking you well with only his tongue. The image makes you shudder, shaking your head as you kick this sick fantasy out of your mind. Were you out of your mind?

On the other side of the room, Jungkook’s ears perk up to the sound of this low buzz. He hadn’t realized you were still awake. But as the buzzing intensifies, and a rhythmic deep breathing follows, it soon grows impossible to ignore. He has to be certain. Cautiously removing one earphone, he almost leans into the noise, cocking his head to the side.

No, that’s definitely you, alright.

You gasp as you apply more pressure to your clit, eyes rolling back from the waves of vibrations surging through your entire body. You can’t get it out of your head, imagining Jungkook’s taut arms holding you down, his tongue unforgiving against you. The moan that escapes you is wholly on accident, a hand slapping against your mouth in an attempt to silence yourself further.

Jungkook sits at his desk, dumbfounded. Were you really doing what he thought you were? Surely not. It’s then that hears the moan. It penetrates the thin wall that separates the two of you and stirs a familiar twitch in his boxers. He feels it press against the fabric, stretching with every heartbeat that knocks against his ribcage. His breathing begins to deepen, only letting his imagination wander as to what you were doing in this moment, merely a few feet away.

No, he thinks. Absolutely not. Behave yourself.

You’re…well, you’re moaning.

Fuck this, Jungkook’s inner dialogue protests. If you’re not going to play fair, then neither is he. He rises from his desk, tripping slightly over his office chair, clattering the plastic wheels against the hardwood floor. The sound reverberates through what feels like the entire house, and the silence is broken by the impact, which by all accounts seems far too noisy for its own good.

Jungkook freezes, terrified. The buzzing ceases just as suddenly, and the air is replaced with an undesirable discomfort.

Inside your room, your left hand tightens over your mouth the other switches off the vibrator. The kerfuffle seemed to have occurred frighteningly close, prompting a sudden cease to desist all sinful pleasures. The anxieties come in waves, one after another. Did he hear you? Oh God, how long was he listening? Was that even him?

A painful eternity passes. The silence fills the house once more, the crickets outside resuming their nightly song.

Jungkook half expects you to barge into his room, fuming at him for being a pervert and listening in but your feared assault never comes. If anything, his cock only seems to grow harder, the thought of you pleasuring yourself just on the other side of the wall so alluring, he begins to palm himself over his boxers.

You, on the other hand, upon the silence, convince yourself that he hadn’t heard after all. Surely, it was something else, Jungkook had probably already gone to bed.

Jungkook. Your lips form the shape of his name but no sound comes out, only a heavy exhale. This is wrong, beyond inappropriate and downright vulgar. It’s the dimples, you try to argue with yourself. Or those eyes, a deep coffee brown that take away from his masculine frame. It almost brings a childlike charm, distracts you from the surfeit of tattoos that mark his muscular build.

With impatience, you start the vibrator again, placing the device over your clit once more. You’re soaked beyond control, your own fingers itching to be stuffed inside yourself. Thumb hitting the setting button, the buzz of vibrations grow an octave higher as the intensity of the second setting rolls over your bead with a blast of euphoric pleasure. It’s almost too much, legs clamping shut as the judder of silicone repeatedly assaults your clit. Your panting growing quicker, inching you to tip over the edge. Oh, how you yearned to be filled with a cock.

“Fuck,” Jungkook mutters under his breath, giving into the barbaric thoughts in his head. Quietly, he slides his boxers down his thighs and situates himself back onto his desk chair. His cock is throbbing, tip a blushed pink as his heartbeat begins to resonate harder. Were you doing this on purpose? Were you testing him? Teasing him? He rests his head back, eyes fluttering to a close as he holds the base of his painfully erect cock with his right hand.

His hand slowly begins to slide up and down his own length, twisting slightly whenever his fingers cross over his glans. The sensation fills him with ecstasy, and he can’t help but gasp as he tightens his grip and continues to stroke his cock. He thinks of you, on the other side of the wall with your legs spread, flushed and begging to be fucked. How well he’d fit inside you, how well you’d take him in your tight cunt and how you’d whimper his name into his ear. With these thoughts, his pace on himself quickens, breaths laboured against the air. This was wrong, so wrong but hearing you like this, imagining you sprawled on your bed in desperate need of his touch only pushes him further to his climax.

For a moment, he thinks about risking it all and just ripping your door open to fuck you into your next existence. He stays planted onto the leather seat, his hands roaming in a familiar rhythm.

You are minutes, seconds away from seeing strings of white. It’s when you raise your vibrator to its third setting that you come undone, biting the inside of your cheek as your orgasm plummets you to a new horizon and Jungkook’s name sits at the edge of your tongue.

You feel it spray out of you, your arousal sprinkling over your bed sheets in a clear indication of your collapse. You gasp and shudder, quick to turn off the device as its relentless motion becomes far too much for your sensitive clit.

You lay for a moment, gathering your bearings as your high lingers between the furrow of your eyebrows. Your head feels heavy, sleep overtaking every inch of your body and you begin nodding off almost instantaneously, vibrator still in hand. It’s when you shift to doze more comfortably that your thigh makes contact with a cool, wet splotch.

Your eyes spring open and you’re sitting up, flicking on your bedside lamp. You have just squirted all over your sheets, the damp puddle prominent and deride. You sit there in disbelief, blinking at the mess between your legs. You frown, suddenly becoming aware of the incessant pounding in your head from your high and you curse yourself for making such a mess.

Now you have to do the laundry, there’s no way you could sleep in these.

Jungkook is close, frustratingly so…it won’t take much at this rate for him to blow his load all over himself. He places his hand firmly around the chair handle, fingers gripping against the plastic. His other hand strokes faster than ever before, breaths deepening. And as he reaches his climax, the quietest of moans escape his lips, followed by your name. It’s so soft on his tongue, it feels uncouth. The trail of white fluid follows, spurts out of his cock and onto his stomach. He pants, quick to milk every ounce of himself with the squeeze of his palm around the edge of his head and then he’s reaching for his water bottle, taking a cool swig of the liquid.

He has to shower now, there’s no way he could sleep like this.

As you unhook the last of your sheets from the mattress, you quickly roll the fabric into a giant ball within your arms. You’re on your tippy-toes, hesitantly reaching for your door as you twist the knob and pull the barrier open. You look around, relieved to see the hallway engulfed in complete darkness. Jungkook’s door is closed, no light emitting through the cracks which means he must be asleep. Gingerly, you close the door behind you and tiptoe towards the end of the hall where the laundry room is- attached to the shared washroom.

You’re quick to stuff the sheets into the washer, loading the detergent into the cartridges and powering on the machine. The room’s lights aren’t even on, you’re too lazy to find them. Besides, the stark moonlight and LED of the washing machine are plenty of light enough. When you’ve set the machine to its cycle, you ponder on what the hell you can do with no bedsheets to aid in your sleep and your body covered in sweat.

Even if you are hotter than before, sweatier than before, slumber takes a toll on your body. Your head feels weighted, drowsy from your hard climax. You think a shower would work best, turning to go back into your room for a change of clothes when you bump into something, rather someone.

You shriek and take cover under your raised arms, a soft glow of white light sifting through the crack of your arms as the washroom lights get flickered on. Raising your head out of the shield of your arms, you find Jungkook standing in front of you, void of a shirt and clad by only a pair of boxers.

“Jungkook, what the fuck?” You can’t help it, your eyes wander, rake him from head to toe. You can see it, the ever so light outline of a bulge, something that is definitely nowhere near a micropenis.

“I was just...about to shower. I’m sorry- I didn’t know you would be out here, I would’ve worn more clothes” His gaze is soft with worry and you’re reminded of your earlier outburst. It was quite hypocritical of yourself when you’ve just fucked yourself on a sex toy to scandalous thoughts of him. His eyes flickers to the low drone of the washer and then back to you. “You’re doing laundry?”

Your cheeks flush, your voice hitching in your throat as you promptly pull up an excuse as to why you’re doing laundry at nearly two in the morning. “I-I spilled some tea on my sheets, I have to wash them.” You hope it’s convincing enough. “I was about to shower too.”

Jungkook regards you carefully, expecting a scolding for even asking but it never comes. You’re flustered and painted a shade of red he is familiar with. He’s only familiar with it because he too is the same shade of red. You two had been pleasuring yourselves, separately yet simultaneously. The memory almost brings a fresh wave of lust.

“Why are you showering at-” you glance at the time on your phone, “-one o’clock at night?” Jungkook doesn’t expect this question from you. You had never been interested in anything he did other than if it was something bothersome to scold over. He clears his throat and uses his slender fingers to push his hair back. You reckon he’ll need a haircut soon.

“I was exercising in my room.” Technically, masturbation was a certain form of exercise…

The air is stiff, you feel it. It crosses both of your minds, had you heard one another? Was it obvious? You shift on the balls of your feet, teeth crashing down on your bottom lip. “Well, who’s gonna shower first?” You eye his practically unclad figure. It’s impossible to not take notice of the Adonis belt that leads your vision straight to his casual bulge. You look away. “Technically I was here first.”

Jungkook chuckles and pokes the inside of his cheek with a tongue. “Technically this is your house too, right?”

Your head drops to the ground, a shameful pout crossing over your features. Perhaps you were too harsh earlier, but you may just be feeling this way from the endorphins.

You go against the wish for a shower, it’s the least you can do. “I’ll be sleeping on the couch tonight, just letting you know. Please don’t make food at some obscure hour of the night or I will kill you.” With that, you push past him, your shoulder knocking against his arm as you head towards the living room.

To Jungkook, there’s something so beguiling about your clear disdain for him. He merely observes you from where he stands, feeling another rush of blood make way to his cock. How could you so ignorantly disregard that you had just been touching yourself? Did you really not know he could hear you? It baffles him, leaves him with another hard-on as he turns away, closing the washroom door behind him before he’s turning on the shower.

Today, you’ve had a shitty day.

Kim Taehyung has put in his two weeks' notice. He’s quitting this job to move halfway across the world and live with his girlfriend abroad and your boss had informed you one of your very own clients have committed tax fraud, costing your firm thousands. Along with this, you’ve spilled coffee over your white button-up and the hair tie holding your crisp bun up had snapped to unleash your unbrushed, unwashed owl’s nest.

When you walk into the apartment, you almost don’t want to look at your reflection in the mirror. It was strategically placed in the foyer by Seokjin, his scientific reasoning behind it being so he could start a positive day by looking at himself one last time before leaving the house. This logic seems like bullshit to you now. Your hair is a lion’s mane, your black bra visible against the translucent, chestnut coffee stain on your chest and your face is shiny from the amount of sweat you’ve had building up throughout the day from this sweltering heat.

Kicking off your heels, you take notice that Jungkook’s Pumas don’t take their usual occupancy on the shoe rack. This means he’s not home and this means, he wouldn’t be seeing you in this state. Relief floods over you.

Somewhere prior to the halfway point of Jungkook’s stay, your animosity for his presence seems to have expired ever so slightly. Perhaps it had to do with your newfound liking towards him from your late-night fantasies, or maybe it was because he had actually been putting more effort into working around the house as of late.

You barely see him now, and when you do, he’s usually made your food along with his own or he’s left you sticky notes telling you he’s taken out the garbage for you or cleaned the washroom. It has warmed your rigid heart but only to an extended degree.

Carding your fingers through your hair, you tame as much of it as you can before you’re unbuttoning your dress shirt and letting the air dry it out. Your bra feels slick against your skin, the mixture of coffee and sweat too unbearable. You unclip it from behind and toss it onto the bar stool by the kitchen island.

After opening the fridge for a can of iced tea, you walk over to the pantry for a snack to accompany the icy, perspiring drink. But before you can make it, you suddenly take notice of it, the twinkling mound of silverware against the sunlight seeping through the windowpane. You look down at the small pile of unwashed cutlery in the stainless steel sink, an inferno flickering in your chest.

The feeling crawls back, the feeling of wanting to reinforce your disapproval of him. It’s an emotional memory, screaming at you to go back to your familiar disdain, to a more comfortable habit. Or maybe it’s your horrible day, everything bad that’s happened leading up to this breakdown. You feel like an overly emotional pregnant lady, getting fired up over unwashed spoons and forks but you can’t push it down. You’re seeing red.

A click is heard from the bathroom down the hall, followed by the tune of a cheerful whistle. You wrap the open ends of your shirt around your chest, crossing your arms as you stand in the kitchen and await the figure’s emergence from the shadowy refuge of the hallway. Jungkook now appears at the mouth of the hall, one arm rubbing a small towel against his wet hair and the other clutching the towel hanging off his hips. Upon seeing you, his whistle abruptly drops.

“Hey,” he begins nervously. “I didn’t know you’d be home—”

The words come out of you like rapid-fire, all “good deeds” he’s ever done as a roommate escaping through the vents. “You…” You begin, and he winces. “Do you see this?” You point to the sink. “How fucking hard is it to wash your own forks and spoons? Fuck, I’m so tired of picking up after you!”

You’re really unable to stop yourself, weeks of pent-up frustrations just now unleashing, lashing against the boy with such vigor, you can see a gulp send his Adam's apple to a bob. “For the record, if you’re going to smoke, do it the absolute farthest away from the apartment- I cannot stand the scent of fake strawberries and watermelon anymore.” Your arm motions towards the hallway, your foot stomping with it. Jungkook’s gaze very briefly strays to your shirt that unravels, just barely covering your breasts. Were you not wearing a bra?

“For every shower you take after the initial one, you have to set aside two dollars extra towards the water bill and for the love of all things holy, please start eating dinner at a reasonable time- you make it impossible to like you when I’m forced to wake up at two in the morning almost every single night.” With one push off the counter, you’re off towards the hallway to your bedroom, the heat of Jungkook’s stare burning into the back of your skull as you pass by him.

Jungkook sighs.

“I try, you know.” His quiet words halt you in your steps. “I knew you never liked me but I never knew why...that much was always a mystery. It never stopped me from trying to be the best damn roommate you’re ever going to have.” You twist around, taking in his stance. Now his arms are crossed, the towel once on his head now draped over his arm. “And yet you still hate me.”

You’re disarmed, mouth suddenly dry as you take in his words. Jungkook continues. “I...I just don’t get it- and I have to admit it’s a little disheartening,” He takes an idle step forward. “I don’t know what to expect from you- one moment you’re scolding me and the next…” His eyes trail to the exposed delve between your breasts, carefully covered underneath your unbuttoned shirt. You coil into yourself, wrapping your shirt over your chest again as you shift your gaze to the marks of ink blossomed over his skin. “And the next you’re staring at me.” Steadily dragging his gaze back up towards your eyes, he smirks and speaks again. “Kind of like you’re staring right now.”

If there’s one thing you hate the most, it’s being called out. Your pride is wounded and you rise to the challenge, huffing a bemused breath. You shoot back with faux scorn. “I’m only staring because you’re practically naked in front of me. Have you no decency in the presence of a woman?” This makes Jungkook cock an eyebrow, and he finds himself closing more distance between the two of you.

He laughs, mirthless but nonetheless amused by your rebuke. “Usually in the presence of a woman like you, decency is the last thing on my mind.” Leisurely, you’re losing each other in one another’s gaze.

You scoff. “Like me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t play coy, you and I both know you’re not near as good as you think you are.”

This statement catches you off guard, wholeheartedly. Your breath hitches in your throat as your eyes flicker between the towel that’s barely clinging around his waist to his eyes that have seemingly darkened, ablaze with something akin to salacity. Jungkook licks his lips, the length of his damp hair sending a tiny trickle of water down the side of his face. “And that doesn’t even count all the weird shit I’ve heard in this house.” Now you’re the one gulping, frozen in place as he takes another step closer. “You moan in your sleep, you moan when you touch yourself at night...” Your eyes widen in horror, he had heard you that night and possibly every night after that.

“I’ll never forget what your friend said on the phone, you know. With lips like that…you make it impossible to forget anything about you.”

Shit.

He’s gotten closer, much closer. With anyone else, the lack of distance between you would be nothing short of uncomfortable and unwanted, but you find yourself pulled towards him. The closing of the gap between you is mutual, and before you have a chance to shoot back a reply, his lips are hovering above yours. “Pretty lips that make pretty noises.” And then, his mouth is on yours.

Your knees nearly give out.

Before anything else, you’re filled with shock, an invasive shock. How could he be doing this?

He… He’s…he’s actually a pretty good kisser. You’re swept away, his arms cocooning around you. His lips pillow against your own, his tongue the taste of mint.

Jungkook is damp from his shower, his skin slick and cool under your touch as you slide your arms around his neck. This motion beckons you closer, pushing your lips harder against his. He walks you backwards and you follow suit, mouths remaining on one another as your back hits the wall right next to your bedroom door. There is absolutely no turning back now.

His hands are sliding down your body, feeling every curve of your body underneath his palms as he squeezes and kneads until he’s reached your ass. You moan into his mouth when he grabs handfuls of your bottom, a calculated grip that he uses to push your pelvic bone against his growing erection. This invites his tongue into your parted mouth, taking in the taste of yours into his own. They cushion around each other, a synchronous valse that only grows the moisture in between your legs. You feel his want for you build against your stomach, the thickness that lays just beyond his towel.

Jungkook’s teeth find the plump of your bottom lip, a gentle gnaw at the flesh before he’s tugging at it. The whimper you let out only elicits a growl to emit from his chest, the hands on your ass now sliding up your sides until they’re cupping your face. It’s then that his clear want for you becomes evident, a taut prominence poking against your stomach.

“M’Jungkook…” You whimper into his mouth, his right hand moving from your cheek to the base of your neck. You gasp as his palm pushes against your sternum, the fingers wrapped around your neck tightening in the slightest as you’re pushed farther against up against the wall. Jungkook hums in response, his lips relentless against your own.

His mouth works in precise vigour against your own. It’s as if he has been starved of this moment for too long, days, weeks of holding himself back. You can’t stop yourself either, not quite being able to comprehend the happenings of this exact moment. Nights of pleasuring yourself to the thought of your roommate and here you two are, your cunt seemingly progressing into an ocean of slick and his cock ready to be smothered in it.

Jungkook pulls away, and when you get a chance to look at him, his cheeks are powdered in a shade of rose, his lips marginally swollen from your heated kissing and his eyes ablaze with a craving you can’t even describe. “Not so smart with that mouth now, are you?”

You swallow thickly, words failing you. Your eyes glance towards the roses stoic on his neck. Oh, how you’d like to lick over them. The situation is beyond words, and you reckon if it hadn’t been, that actions still would fare far better than words.

Jungkook drops to his knees in front of you and fiercely grabs your hips. You inhale sharply, head dropping as your fingers instinctively grasp for purchase against his impossibly broad shoulders. They’re marked with feathers that lead down his biceps in the shape of wings. You can’t help but dig in, your nails leaving thin red crescents slashing across the ink as your back rests against the wall.

“You think you can get away moaning my name every night?” He groans, alternating between breaths and kisses around your pelvis, slowly moving past your navel. His fingers hook around the belt loops in your pants, his free hand eagerly tugging down your zipper. With precision, he pulls your pants down until you’re clad in only your underwear. Thank God, you chose today of all days to wear a thong. The baby pink silk, smooth underneath his fingertips. Jungkook looks up at you wishfully, his doe eyes radiating a boyish innocence that contradicts the ink littering his skin. But then he speaks, his voice a soft growl.

“I hope you taste as delicious as you look,” he says, not doubting for a second that you won’t as he bites the elastic of your thong. You are breathless; it’s hard not to be when Eros himself is between your legs, yearning for a taste of your dripping sex.

Your breath catches in your throat, Jungkook’s thumb skimming down your pubic bone to where you want, need it the most. You shiver as he circles against your clit through the cloth, a purposeful pressure that has you tightening your grip on his shoulders. He can feel the moisture against the fabric, your arousal clinging against the material.

“I didn’t even have to touch you and you’re already this wet for me, baby?” He licks his lips, fingers running up and down your thighs. The nickname baby stays with you, lingers and only soaks you further. You roll your head back against the wall, letting his fleeting fingers latch around the band of your thong before you feel them being tugged down your legs.

It’s almost instinctive for you to want to cross your leg over the other, to keep Jungkook from seeing you so bare and needy for him. But of course, Jungkook doesn’t let this happen. He kisses your right hip bone before tracing a bold lick diagonally down to your pelvis. Your fingers rub against his shoulders, one hand gliding up the back of his head to comb through the mass of his damp dark curls.

Jungkook hikes one of your legs over his shoulder, letting the balm of your foot rest against the delve of his back as he spreads you above him. A broad hand pushes your hip back against the wall, the one leg you’re balanced on steady underneath his aiding grip. He uses his free hand to run his second and third digit up and down your wet folds. You shiver.

He looks up at you once more. This time, a lopsided smug grin adorns his face as he beams you a set of perfect teeth, the familiar indents of his dimples marking against his lower cheeks. “I’m going to make you come so hard.” You’re moaning in response to this, leg wavering as you feel the slide of Jungkook’s forefinger push into you. He hums in appreciation, your tightness inviting the chafe of his finger. He places a chaste kiss just above your pubic bone as he begins a slow rhythmic pump of his finger.

“Fuck,” you breath out, the ridges of his calloused digit filling you far greater than your own ever has. You can’t even begin to imagine how his dick will feel, your fingers laced into his hair tightening their hold as well.

It’s when you feel the point of Jungkook’s deft tongue stroke against your clit that you cry out, his hand gripping your hip harder against the wall as he feels you waver above him. Your eyes flutter to a close, letting him have his way with you against his tongue. He uses it mercilessly, flicks pointed and dexterous against your clit as his finger pushes in and out of your tight heat. “Oh my god, Jungkook.” He inserts another finger and you nearly lose yourself.

Your eyes are rolled back, your hips involuntarily jerking away from Jungkook’s grip as they push forward in search of more of his mouth. You feel it bubbling inside you, each stroke of his fingers and each swirl of his tongue making it impossible for you to focus on anything else but this feeling. He laps around your clit, strict and continuous. When you open your eyes to look down, you see his gorgeous hair enveloped in the thread of your fingers. You’ve never been eaten out against a wall like this and it only adds more to your impending undoing.

Jungkook’s digits move quicker now, with each pump comes a curl that elicits the neediest of whimpers to fall past your lips. He feels his cock twitch with every sound you make, a melodic hymn to his ears. He alternates between sharp flicks and taking the whole of your clit with his mouth in a gentle siphon. This time there is no barrier of a wall between the two of you, this time he can hear you as vividly as he hears the tits chirp outside his window every morning and this time, you are not using a vibrator on yourself, he’s fucking you with his tongue.

He can feel you tightening against his fingers, your walls clenching unimaginably tight around him with every stroke. You are close, so very close and the feel of his relentless tongue lapping around your clit along with his slender fingers has you seeing nothing but the ceiling above you. Jungkook picks up the pace of his tongue as well, his head moving in vigour as he fervently pushes the wet muscle against your bead.

He senses it coming before you do, his tongue and fingers in a violent rhythm. You jerk above him, your hold on his hair impossibly tight as you let yourself go, crying out his name from your orgasm. He feels your squirt spray out of you, it coats his mouth and chin, sprinkling even to his chest as you shake above him. Jungkook does not stop, digits pumping even faster, tongue continuing their assault.

You chant his name as you writhe underneath his grasp. The sensation becomes too much within seconds of your orgasm but somehow his persistence makes it feel as if you can come all over again.

“J-jungkook p-please,” you beg, your fingers unraveling from his hair and tightening onto his shoulders as you try to push him away. He follows suit, unlatching his mouth from your heat before languidly rising to his feet.

When you look at him, his lips are swollen and painted in your clear arousal, your squirt coating down the cleft of his chin, streaming his neck and sprinkled across his chest. It matches his damp hair, uniform with the wetness of his previous shower.

“You...just...squirted. All over me.” You can’t quite tell if this statement holds aversion at first. Truth be told, you’ve never squirted from a man’s tongue against you.

Jungkook steps closer. “Do you know how fucking hot that was?” You don’t know, but Jungkook is taking your hand into his and placing it over it his very hard bulge. You gasp at the feel underneath your palms, unyielding to your touch. It’s far greater of a bulge than you’ve ever felt before.

You smell yourself on him, a faint fragrance that you taste when Jungkook leans forward to kiss you with greed. His mouth his sticky, kisses lingering against your lips. When he pulls away, his fingers glide over the knot that holds his towel up. You watch him, eagerly as he pulls at the twist, letting the towel to fall to the floor with a soft thud.

Fuck.

Holy fuck.

“Oh my god,” you catch yourself saying out loud.

Jungkook is big. Larger, thicker than you could have ever imagined. An erect serpentine that lays firmly in his hand as he takes the base of his cock in his palm, you can’t look away. You gulp, eyes flickering between his daunting length and his growing smirk. Your mouth suddenly feels parched, a tentative tongue poking through the seams of your lips to swipe over your lips. Something about him not using the towel to directly wipe off your squirt makes your stomach flip with somersaults, so aroused by the idea of him wearing your ograsm on him with pride.

Jungkook twirls his forefinger in the air. “Turn around,” he commands and you oblige, twisting your body as you lay the flat of your palms against the cool wall. Jungkook pulls at your hips, mumbling words of profanities as your ass grinds against his thick erection. He already feels so full against your heat.

Kicking your legs open and apart, his feet stand in between yours, making it impossible for you to close them. He places a kiss against your shoulder, your forehead rested flush to the wall as a tender hand kneads at the cheek of your ass. He spanks it once, the echo of both the slap and your yelp of surprise travelling down the hall.

Hot and heavy against the shell of your ear, his damp hair tickles your neck as he whispers. “Think you can take it, baby?”

“Y-yes.” Your answer is short and breathless, hips instinctively grinding against him for further proof of your want. This earns you another spank and Jungkook is taking the base of his cock in one hand, spreading your cheeks with his free hand as he lines up to your cunt.

He nudges past your folds with his head, speaking in a low growl. “Good girl. Now let’s hear you scream.” He pushes in.

The stretch of his tip pressing into you tingles with a sizzling burn, the pressure that follows has your fingers curling against the wall and an arm reaching back to grasp onto Jungkook’s hip.

He takes your offering hand, interlocking your fingers together as he pushes another inch into you before pulling back out. He lets you adjust, your mixed moans echoing throughout the hallway as he juts his head forward to fill you once again.

His girth pinches against your walls, deliciously so and Jungkook pauses every couple of moments to let you feel every inch fill you until he’s reached the hilt.

He lets your hand go and you bring it back to press against the wall in aid of holding you up. “That’s it, baby...take every inch of it.” His voice is low, husky, something so carnally divine in the clip of his syllables that it has you rolling your head back. “You’re doing so fucking good. Does it feel good?”

“Y-yes,” you say as you exhale shakily.

He rolls out of you, his name just on the edge of your tongue before he’s thrusting forward to have it spill out of your mouth. The velvet smooth feel of Jungkook’s cock mixing with your slick arousal makes the pinching sensation come to an ease. He’s swearing behind you, alternating between muttered profanities and guttural moans.

“So. Fucking. Tight. You feel so good, baby, taking me so well.” His fingers are firmly grasping onto your hips, his thrusts now beginning a steady rhythm as he steadily fucks you against the wall. Jungkook’s girth knocks the breath out of you, a full pressure that fills your tight cunt so satisfyingly, you almost lose yourself a second time within minutes from your first orgasm.

Jungkook is panting behind you, fingers surely leaving bruises against your skin as he speeds his hips to pound into you. He loosens his grip, three of his digits tracing a line down your spine before cutting around your waist and hovering above your clit. “Come again for me, baby. One more time, squirt for me.” It’s with these words that you decide, you don’t want to squirt on the floor once more, you want to squirt on him, on top of him.

“W-wait.” You reach your arm back, pressing the flat of your hand to his hip in a gesture to stop. He stills immediately.

“Did I hurt you?” The worry in his voice only causes you to release a breathless laugh, shaking your head no in reassurance.

“I want to ride you.” How could Jungkook ever say no to that? Without a beat of hesitance, he slides out of you, taking his cock in his hand before lightly tapping the head against each of your cheeks. Gripping your waist, he spins you to face him, a dimpled smile greeting you as you reach his gaze.

“Mm, is that so?” He asks and you nod, returning his smile. The dim glow of sunlight pouring into the hallway allows you to see the glowy sheen of his sweat and your arousal glimmer against his face and chest, enhancing his tattoos. The dampness of his curls have dried but a new layer of perspiration forms a film over his forehead.

You take Jungkook’s hand in yours, leaning forward to place a chase kiss on his lips before you’re leading him into your bedroom. You walk him backwards, your hands on his shoulders and his eyes focused nowhere but on yours. It’s when the back of his knees knock against the edge of your bed that he’s forced to have a seat.

He expects you to straddle him, you see it in the glimmer of his doe eyes but instead, you drop to your knees in front of him, arms separating his inked thighs apart. This takes Jungkook by surprise, he cocks his head to the side, an eyebrow raising in question.

You hands glide up and down his legs, a grin stretching across your face as you lean forward and place a gentle peck to the base of his thick cock. Jungkook hums in satisfaction, eyes holding a challenge as he watches you with great concentration.

The pink of his head looks all too inviting as you take his cock in your hands. As you do so, Jungkook’s hands roam up your arms before they’re resting on each of your shoulders. He benignly grips at the tense muscles of your shoulders, thumbs moving in circles over your skin. “You’re tense.” He vocalizes.

“You’re fucking huge.” You hit back, eyes wide and mouth salivating at the heaviness in your grasp. It’s tacky, coated in you as you swipe a thumb over the head and Jungkook hisses above you. When you look up at him, his dark eyes are speared to your movements, teeth gritted. You begin moving your hands up and down his length.

“You can take it in your mouth, can’t you?” The tone in his voice depicts a challenge and your ears nearly perk in interest. Of course you can take him in your mouth. You lean forward, Jungkook’s broad hands leaving the expanse of your shoulders to slide up the sides of your head. His fingers comb your hair back, pulling it into a makeshift ponytail. The movement flexes the muscles on his inked biceps and you have to admit to yourself that he looks so fucking good.

Jungkook is all too eager as he watches you, the flat of your tongue sticking out to lick around the rim of his head. He chokes back a groan, grip on your hair tightening. You stretch your mouth as wide as you can, a discomfort to your movement as you engulf the whole of his head with your tongue. Jungkook inhales a sharp breath, fingers threaded into your hair as he eases you down to take more of him.

You wrap your lips around the velvet tip, beginning a slow suction. “Fuck,” Jungkook mumbles from above you, shifting on the mattress, watching you. “Open wider, baby.” You do as asked, jaw already sore from the girth of his head alone. He pushes his hips off the mattress in the slightest, grip on your hair firm as he thrusts more of himself into your mouth.

You’re careful not to let your teeth graze over the skin of his cock, your fingers tightening around his length before you start to twist your wrists and continue sucking. Jungkook is careful to be gentle with you, very tenderly urging his cock to fill more of your mouth. It shocks you when you feel the blunt of his head hit the cap of your airway, eliciting a gag.

Jungkook pulls out a millimeter before he’s pushing back in, teeth gritted and eyes focused. Your mouth looks so pretty stuffed with his cock; it’s almost as pretty as your cunt taking him to the hilt.

Another gag rumbles out of you and vibrates against his member, this time, Jungkook being the one to moan. His hips stutter in shallow thrusts into your mouth and you feel the sting of tears threatening to blur your vision.

The sounds of your gagging bounces off the walls of your bedroom, followed by the guttural moans of Jungkook as he fucks your mouth. Each thrust of his hips causes the head of his cock to push past your airway.

You release your hold around his length, fingers thickly coated in your own saliva as you find purchase of the flesh of his thighs. You let him have his way with you, your mouth stretched as wide as you can physically make it and a single thread of a tear rolling down your cheek. You look up through the flutters of your eyelashes, pleased to see the Adam’s apple in Jungkook’s throat bob up and down while his head is thrown back in pleasure.

The sudden pull of his cock from your mouth comes with a light ‘pop’ followed by you gasping for air. Using his hold on your hair, he jerks your hair back so you’re forced to look up at him. He hungrily latches his lips onto yours, sloppy and wet with a relentless tongue that intrudes your mouth.

You slide your hands over his thighs, towards the ridges of muscles on his abdomen as he helps you rise to your feet. Your right palm travels up his chest, your other arm circling around Jungkook’s neck as you let him grab a handful of your ass. With a persuasive lift, he places you on his lap, your legs wrapping around his torso as his mouth remains on yours.

“M’let me ride m’you,” you gasp in between kisses, Jungkook’s toned arms looping around your waist as he shuffles closer to the edge of the mattress.

“Yeah?” He moves from your mouth to the edge of your jaw.

“Please.” Jungkook loosens his grip around your waist, letting you rest the front of your calves on either side of him. You situate yourself, raising your hips as your hand finds his still, very erect length to line against your core.

“Look at you so needy for my cock, don’t hate me so much anymore?” The smugness in his tone only grants him a glare from you, a chuckle following his tease. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m in need of you too.” You have noticed, his massive cock hasn’t wavered in want in the slightest since he first kissed you.

You huff a breath. “I never hated you.” Rubbing his head a few times over your sex, you finally sink down onto it, your cunt eagerly taking in his head. You gasp at the feel of this new position, his length gliding in much smoother with your previous practice. “You just need to start washing your fucking dish- ah!” You cry out, hands fumbling to grasp at his shoulders as Jungkook juts his hips up, slamming into you. His girth stretches your walls once again and he feels so fucking delicious in you like this. Quite frankly, you’re unsure if you’ll be able to go back to an average sized penis ever again.

“Mm, I should keep pissing you off if it means I get to shut you up like this.” His voice hitches at the last word as you pick your hips up and ram yourself back down onto his cock. You both moan at this, your arms once again looping around Jungkook’s neck as his hands firmly grip your hips in guidance.

Your teeth clash as you kiss him with each bounce of your hips, the position more so letting you gently rock over his cock. Your clit rubs against his skin with each roll of your hips, making sure you alternate between circling your hips and bouncing on his cock. Jungkook is losing himself, you know this because he holds you tightly, firmly as he lets you take control. You ride him hard and slow, the pre crescendo to his coming end.

“Come for me, Jungkook,” You moan against the shell of his ear, legs losing stamina as you try to keep a rhythmic pace. But Jungkook doesn’t want to finish just yet, he wants you to come again too.

You yelp as he slides his hands under your ass, lifting you off him before he’s throwing you onto the mattress so you’re on your back. He stands up, above you at the edge of your bed, taking your knees in the crevice of his elbows before yanking you towards him.

“Where is it?” He gruffs, fingers gripping your waist.

“What?”

“Your vibrator, where is it?” If you weren’t flushed already from Jungkook’s cock, you’d be blushing at his knowledge that you even had one. You stretch your arm above you, fingers reaching underneath a pillow where you usually keep it hidden. Grasping the device in hand, you bring it out, idly waving it in front of the ink-skinned boy. He grins, the youthful boy-like glint returning in the doe of his eyes as he releases your leg from the arm that extends to retrieve it from you.

Inspecting the controls, he finds the power button, clicking it on. A low buzz fills the room. the words that follow leaving you breathless again.

“Ah...now there’s the noise I like to hear every night.” Clicking it back off, Jungkook places it carefully next you before hooking your leg back around his elbow, hoisting your hips up. You watch with eager eyes as he pokes his tongue past his lips, letting a string of saliva drizzle carefully over his cock. He smooths the slick over his cock, letting it coat the entirety of his length before he’s guiding his head against your opening.

He gently slaps his head against your clit before rubbing against it, letting your arousal build once more. You shift your hips in impatience, fingers gripping tightly against your sheets. Jungkook leans down towards your mouth, claiming your lips once more, hard and deep. He tastes of sweat and your arousal, a tinge of salt that you lick away. When he pulls away, he’s pushing his cock into you again.

The curve of his dick hits differently with this position, now he has more control with hitting just the right spots. He’s slow at first, frustrating slow as if he’s testing each stroke of his hips to see how you react. When he’s surging forward until he’s got an inch remaining, you’re crying out loud.

“Here?” He asks and you nod profusely, words unable to form on your tongue. Jungkook pushes even deeper, another cry escaping your lungs at the new fullness. Your grip around your sheets grow tighter, teeth harshly biting down on your lip as he begins steady rock in and out of you.

You’ve never been filled so well like this, his cock hitting every surface area of your inner walls as he stretches you delectably with each roll of his hips. He fucks into you, hard and deep, changing from circling his hips to pistoning into you with no mercy. He talks filth into the air, profanities and moans chased by the sounds of skin slapping as he relentlessly plummets into you.

He can feel you about to come, the pressure of your clenched walls tightening around him to un unprecedented degree. With each thrust, your cunt only eagerly invites him back in, needy for his spurts of cum. This is when Jungkook grabs the vibrator he placed beside you, thumb quick to power the device on. You yelp and mewl as he places the silicone tip against your clit, the vibration ringing through both of you. The sensation is overwhelming, the girth of his cock mixed with the jolts of your stimulated clit leave you near screaming his name. You shake underneath him, legs quivering as you feel the rise of your orgasm build through your entire body.

“You can squirt again, baby. I know you can. I know you want to.” Your body jerks and still as the combination of one more thrust and the vibe hit you exactly where you need it to, to come undone. Jungkook doesn’t fight it, the pressure of your squirt pushing his cock out of your tightness. “That’s it, darling, so fucking hot.” He keeps the vibrator on you and you whimper, releasing the clutch of the sheets as you flail your arms towards the vibrator in an attempt to push it away from you. Jungkook does not budge.

“P-please, fuck, Jungkook...it’s too much, please.” He does not stop, watching you with intent as your body shakes underneath his control of the vibrator. He knows you can come again.

“One more time.” Your legs are desperately trying to clamp shut but Jungkook expertly holds your legs apart with his torso as he continues assaulting your clit with the silicone. It buzzes against you, rings through your entire body and within minutes you’re coming all over again. It’s so intense, you nearly black out, your voice clamouring to a scream of Jungkook’s name.

He turns it off and throws it somewhere on the mattress before he’s sliding into you with ease. He fucks your squirt back into you with a push of his cock.

This time, Jungkook wastes no time. This time, he drills into you, clamping your legs together as he pushes them forward until your knees hit your chest. This position allows him to go deeper, watching your cunt swallow every inch of his cock with greed along with every thrust of his hips. He feels his orgasm rapidly approaching.

Each snap of his hips become sloppier, his laboured breathing sporadic as his fingers dig harshly into your calves.

“Where do you want me to come?” He rasps, pulling your legs apart once more.

“I-inside me, please.” Your words elicit a mumbled fuck from him followed by a groan. You watch him through lidded eyes, your head thick and heavy from your plentiful of orgasms. Jungkook looks like the God of sex himself above you, sweat dribbling down his forehead, his dark long waves spilling over his eyes, his inked chest glistening and his muscles flexing with every grind of his hips into you. He is the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. “Come, Jungkook,” you coo, egging him to come undone. “Come inside me.”

With the last phrase, his hips stutter and still before he’s gasping for a breath as he spills himself into you. He shouts your name, voice getting caught in his throat. He steadily moves again, milking every last drop of himself inside of you as your walls achingly aid him.

As he comes to a stop, the room is filled with nothing but the sounds of your mixed heavy panting. Jungkook leans forward, pressing a heavy kiss against your lips before he’s pulling away from your mouth and away from your cunt. He watches, mesmerized as his cum dribbles out of you. It’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen, your tight cunt filled to the brim with his seed.

“Fuck,” he pants, reaching his arm out to help you sit up. You roll your head forward into your palms, the rush of dopamine pounding into your skull with a massive headache. “You okay?” He asks and you nod your head, face still encompassed by your hands.

“You...should piss me off more often.” Jungkook chuckles at this. When you look up from your hands, his wavy locks have a newfound dampness, beads of sweat encompassing his tattooed chest. He’s grinning, a lopsided grin that leaves you with a warm feeling pounding in your chest.

Jungkook offers you a hand, guiding you off the bed. You take it, letting him pick you up to your feet with the strength of his biceps.

“Yeah, yeah I should.” You’re both walking out your bedroom and towards the shower.

Seokjin wears nothing but a grimace at the kitchen island as he watches you and Jungkook coo at each other. He’s just returned from his trip abroad, hands crossed over his chest as he observes the blasphemy before his eyes. Jungkook is by the stove, flipping the last of Seokjin’s steak and you’re beside him preparing a salad on the counter.

“Disgusting.” Seokjin scowls. “I leave for three months and this happens?” He scoffs at the thought of the two of you cooking him steak for dinner, as if it would break the bearer of this terrible, awful news. You two are now dating. His best friend and his roommate- to Seokjin, it’s an ultimate betrayal.

You sigh and roll your eyes, setting your freshly made salad in front of him as Jungkook brings over a sizzling pan of steak. He wears a grin on his face, a grin that matches yours before you’re leaning on your tiptoes to kiss against the indented dimple against his lower cheek. Seokjin nearly gags at this.

He truly thought he’d be rid of you as soon as this lease had ended but here you were, snogging who he thought to be his best friend. He thinks he’ll have to burn his mattress too.

“Great,” he says, deadpan, picking up his knife and fork. “I’m stuck with you forever now.” With the greatest of fake enthusiasm, he musters a disingenuous smile and angrily digs into his steak.

He hates that it’s delicious.

a/n: HEWWOOOO. how u feeling!? 🥴i REALLY!!! did not expect this fic to be so long holy shit im so sorry, i went out of control!!!! this was very loosely based off real-life events that were then fuelled by jungkook’s lotte concert look. and badda bing, badda boom, a 13k fic of pure smut is born and i am wholly unashamed of myself. i really hope you enjoyed reading this filth, it was very fun for me to write!!! please let me know what you think and as always, thank you for reading and i love youuuu 💞

#bts smut #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #armiesnet #bangtanarmynet #ggukienet #jeon jungkook #jungkook #bangtan smut #btssmutclub #networkbangtan #bts x reader #jungkook x you #bts x you #bts #oneshot #fic #kpop

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wren-ravenheart · 4 years ago

Text

You Tried So Loud To Love Me

@witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

Prompt: Hanahaki Disease Relationships: Jaskier/Valdo Marx Rating: T Content Warnings: Minor blood Summary: Jaskier absolutely could not stand Valdo Marx for even a second. He was pretentious, too pretty for his own good, and had a terrible habit of writing sonnets and songs about the color of Jaskier's eyes and the swoop of his hair that he was absolutely certain were some sort of masterfully crafted insult to his person and reputation.

Tucked under a cut again for Length, though this one is over just over 2k words.

Cross-posted to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31171259

There were exactly three things in life that Jaskier was absolutely certain of. Things that he could continue to count on even when the rest of his life was attempting to fall to pieces around him.

That Belleteyn is the best holiday.

That Toussaint is Hot and Pretentious.

And that Valdo Marx is an asshole.

Even when his pockets were empty, his lute strings snapped, or he suddenly found himself caught up in a mild court scandal that he assuredly had no part in, he could always rely on those few things. It was easy to keep moving forward when one was propelled by Pettiness and Lust. Even if he could never give an exact answer as to why he hated Valdo so much when pressed. Really now, you wouldn’t ask why the grass was green or the sun warm, so why would anyone ask Jaskier why he couldn’t stand that fluffy little upstart?

It was assuredly not because the rival bard did indeed stand two inches taller than him and was criminally handsome. Nor was it because he had a perpetual perfect smile on his face that refused to budge even when Jaskier threw his best insults at him. And it most assuredly was not because the thrice-damned bastard had written not one but Two Sonnets entirely about Jaskier’s eyes and hair and he absolutely could read the undertones of mocking that clearly lay within. No, it was clearly none of those things that irked Jaskier to his very core.

What kept his petty hate-fueled animosity going was the absolutely nonsensical crush he had on the bastard. A crush he had worked hard to snuff out with wine, women, and a few other bards who weren’t nearly as annoying as Valdo. A crush that clearly had not gone away with time. A crush that was currently trying to hurtle it’s slimy little self all the way into actual, ugh… Love.

Which made it even more frustrating than usual that Valdo was suddenly not his normal bubbly self, greeting Jaskier warmly and loudly as he strode into their mutually favorite tavern in the middle of Oxenfurt. He looked tired, and quiet, and barely glanced at Jaskier before shifting his gaze back into the pint of ale in front of him. Not wine? By Melitele, what was wrong with him?

“Well, well, look who the alley cat dragged in. Ale will go straight to your gut, Valdo. I’ll steal back the title of prettiest bard before you know it.” He sniped as he leaned against the table’s edge and smiled with too many teeth.

Valdo cut his eyes up and then back down. “Good day, Jaskier.”

The smile dropped from Jaskier’s face and he narrowed his eyes. “Good day? That’s it? Valdo, are you ill? I did take the title back already, didn’t I? That must be it! I’ve never seen you like this. Ah, it must be such a burn to know you’ve finally been bested by a true bard and exposed for the talentless hack that you are.” As he spoke, he gestured grandly with his hands. Valdo only winced once at the mention of being ill and firmly kept his gaze on his mug.

“Everyone already knew you’re the attractive one between us, Jaskier. No need to rub it in.”

Jaskier ceased his obnoxious flailing and took an actual seat at the table with him. He crossed his arms on the table in front of him and leaned in, lowering his voice to avoid being overheard. “Okay now you’re actually worrying me. I was expecting snide sonnets on my unruly mop and ‘lustful gaze’. Jabs, put-downs...anything but this. You are actually sick, aren’t you?”

Valdo slammed back the rest of his ale and stood up abruptly. Jaskier’s mouth dropped open in shock as he was glared openly at by his once-rival turned unnatural crush. “Leave off, Jaskier. Go bother the brothel workers.” And with that final gritted out jab, he stomped out of the tavern.

Jaskier was still staring in shock at the empty spot before him when the barmaid strolled by.

“You’ll catch flies, you leave your mouth open like that, boy.”

He clicked his mouth shut and quickly made his own way out and back to his lodgings.

This just wouldn’t do. What was Valdo’s game? Was he finally making good on all of Jaskier’s assholish attempts to make them public nemeses? Maybe Valdo could read minds; realized the strange feelings the bard had begun to have towards him and decided he was thoroughly disgusted by him.

Jaskier let himself slink into the beginnings of a depression and decided he’d just have to try and shake that off and find out what was going on with his Fri… Rival.

He followed Valdo whenever he could, ambushing him after lectures and hunting him down in pubs. He startled him so fiercely one of these times that the other bard broke down into what sounded like a very painful coughing fit, enough that caused him to pull out a handkerchief to cough into until his lungs settled from the surprise. He found this odd, and then odder still when as he went to ask after his well-being, Valdo abruptly shoved the handkerchief away and growled at him. Growled! Like some angry dog! And left Jaskier once again staring after him as he stomped away, agog.

A month later, Jaskier’s persistence had turned into straight up concern. Valdo was less angry with his antics and instead seemed constantly tired. There were bags under his lovely brown eyes and his hair had turned greasy and less kempt. He consulted these odd symptoms with a friend studying medicine and she mentioned it sounded like some sort of wasting disease. Jaskier was only familiar with a few of them, but none of them sounded like a pleasant time.

So, while still firmly trying to convince his brain that Valdo was still an absolute Arse and absolutely did not deserve his time or affection, Jaskier made soup. Warm pot nestled in the crook of his arm, he marched up to Valdo’s residence and knocked firmly on the door. No one answered. He knocked again. Deep coughs followed by the sounds of mild choking came from within and Jaskier decided basic decorum was right out the window. He pried open the door and rushed inside, looking for the source of the distress.

And there was Valdo; laid out on a lounge chair looking even worse than usual and slowly lowering a cloth from his mouth. There were flecks of blood on his lips and it appeared as if he couldn’t draw a full breath. Jaskier plunked the soup pot right on the floor and went directly to Valdo’s side.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were so ill?” He asked softly, dropping all the pretense of being a rampant jerk.

Valdo just looked at him sadly, too tired to muster up his recent attempts at dismissal. “I did not want you to know, Jaskier. You’re like the sun. So warm and happy. I could not bring myself to have you worry so I pushed you away.”

Jaskier’s eyes went a little wide and he reached out to take Valdo’s hand. It was so cold in his own, and he could make out the fine bones in his fingers. A wasting disease indeed. He rubbed his thumb over the other’s knuckles and shook his head slightly in dismay.

“I’ve been a right arse to you for years. Look at us. Idiots to the bitter end.” He murmured wistfully. “Is… is there anything I can do to help? To ease anything at all? I, uh… I made you soup. I thought it might be… nice?”

Now it was Valdo’s turn to look surprised. He squeezed the hand in his and looked over at the pot on the floor. “You made me soup? You’ve never made me anything.”

“Okay yes. Fine. That is true. I’m a complete and total jerk. My feet should not be gracing your illustrious doorstep, my knees not fit for your carpet. I’m sorry, okay? You’re talented. So talented. I’m at a loss without your poetry to bounce my own works off of.”

At this confession, Valdo cracked a little smile. “Maybe there is hope for you and I after all, dear Jaskier… You see, I ha-” A painful coughing fit cut him off abruptly, the force of it causing Valdo to nearly curl in on himself, clutching the cloth to his mouth as his body attempted to forcefully remove whatever was clearly killing him. Jaskier kept his hand firmly in Valdo’s as he tried to rub the other’s back in comfort. The touch seemed to help in some small way, and the hacking died off. Valdo slumped backwards panting, the hand with the cloth falling into his lap.

There, amidst the spattering of blood, lay small bright yellow flowers. Jaskier gasped loudly and shook his head.

“No, it’s a myth. It’s not real.”

Valdo attempted to clear his throat as he bunched the cloth with the flowers up and tried to hide it from view. “You of.. Of all people… .should know the… power of a story… where they come from...the truths hidden in the tales….We’re storytellers.. It’s.. poetic in it’s own way…”

“It’s a tragedy born of the old stories, is what it is. Wasting away from unrequited love? It’s madness. No one actually dies of a broken heart.”

“I’m not heartbroken, Jaskier. I’m simply in love with someone who is my sun and sky… and who absolutely cannot stand me. It will make the most glorious tragedy. I have already begun to write it.” Valdo smiled brightly as he caught his breath better and shifted to sit more comfortably. He squeezed his hand once more before letting it drop. “With any luck, I will finish it before I can no longer write.”

Jaskier stared into the middle distance over Valdo’s shoulder, taking it all in. It all seemed too outlandish to be real. Things that happened in tragedies and stories never actually happened in real life. Soulmates weren’t real. Kisses didn’t break curses. And people didn’t suffocate slowly on flowers for being rejected. But as he slowly shifted his gaze back to the pale, but still softly smiling, face of the absolute nuisance that was Valdo Marx, at lot of things clicked into place for him.

He had never hidden pithy put-downs into his sonnets. He had never crafted masterful insults through his songs. He had honestly and truly sung from the heart and he had called him his Sun. Valdo had been unashamedly, unabashedly, in love with him from the start. He was coughing up small yellow flowers… Buttercups...and had slipped back into waxing poetic over it all. Lord, the fool was fully gone on him. And he had been nothing but the most righteous arse over it all, so very full of himself and sure that the other was somehow mocking him and jealous of his talent.

Turns out it was Jaskier himself who was the pompous wastrul and talentless hack. He shuffled forward on his knees until he was flush against the lounge. Valdo looked over at him and lifted an eyebrow in question. A beautiful eyebrow set in a beautiful face that Jaskier was tired of pretending he wasn’t also long gone on as well. What was it that the storybooks always said saved the day, woke the princess, broke the curse? Ah… yes…

Jaskier set both hands on the cushion of the lounge and angled himself just right to gently lean forward and press his lips right against Valdo’s own. The man below him went very very still. His lips were soft, but the lack of any response twisted something uncomfortable in his gut and he slowly broke the kiss and moved away, eyes cast downwards.

“I’m sorry, I-”

“Jaskier, what-?”

They spoke at once. Jaskier looked up and noticed color on Valdo’s cheeks, his mouth slightly open and his eyes nearly comically wide in shock. He swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat.

“I’ve been a right arse to you, but I love you, Valdo Marx. And I do not wish to see you suffer a moment longer. It will kill me too.”

Valdo’s eyes fluttered shut and he let out a deep exhale. Jaskier panicked for a brief second, wondering if he had actually killed him, before he sucked in a very long and full breath and opened his eyes again. They shined with unshed tears and Jaskier had a moment to admire the sight and the warm feeling at finally giving in before he was being tackled to the ground in a crushing hug and warm tiny kisses were being pressed to whatever skin the other could find.

A laugh erupted from them, and Valdo’s kisses shifted from surprised, affectionate pecks, to soft and tender kisses meant to explore the other’s skin. Jaskier shifted slightly under him and set a hand to his chin, drawing him back to his own lips to continue the kissing. Valdo hummed happily and nearly melted into what he hoped was now his new Beau. The university community was going to have a field day with this.

Jaskier rolled them over and slowly moved his head away. Valdo attempted to chase after one more kiss, making him chuckle. “As much as I am enjoying making out on the floor like we’re back in year one… are you sure? Are you alright? You were coughing up most of your lung a minute ago.”

Valdo smiled up at him and reached up to run his fingers through Jaskier’s hair. “Yes, my love, I am quite well now. You’ve restored me and I suffer no longer. Now the story I write shall have a happy ending. A proper fairy tale after all.”

“Well, if you insist. Though I would be grateful to continue this discussion somewhere that is not the floor.”

Valdo’s laugh was bright and filled him with warmth as they both got to their feet and he began to tug Jaskier in the direction of a more private space. “Anything for the prettiest bard in Oxenfurt.”

And wasn’t Jaskier pleasantly surprised when Valdo took it upon himself to demonstrate just how much better he now felt, repeatedly and with vigor. As it turned out, stories always had more truth to them than he had ever expected, for this cursed ailment was most assuredly soothed with a Kiss.

~End~

#jaskier/valdo #jaskier #valdo marx #hanahaki disease #witcher rarepair summer bingo #prompt fill

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loruleanheart · 3 years ago

Text

Desired Fate, Chapter 18

Read on AO3

Read on FF.net

I wanted to post this tomorrow, but I couldn’t wait any longer. Here it is! Warning, this chapter is coming at you with razor blades and lemon juice. You were warned.

Revali drew back the string of the Great Eagle Bow, preparing to deliver the killing strike to Windblight Ganon as it had grown more and more languid in its movement, and while it was still distracted by Sooga.

“This is it!” Revali called victoriously, letting the bomb arrows fly.

Sooga dodged the incoming explosives and they collided with Windblight in a grand explosion. The creature’s resounding bestial shriek was like a reward for a battle well fought.

Lowering his bow, Revali watched, savoring the moment as the blight hemorrhaged malice. He had faced the most grueling battle he’d ever experienced, and he would live to regale his fellow Rito of his triumph.

He turned his attention to the Yiga, still at a loss for their motivations. What had possessed them to turn against Calamity Ganon?

Well, whatever… Revali thought. At least it wasn’t the vexingly silent knight wielding the sacred blade who came to save the day. He’d never live it down if it had been him…

Revali alighted before the two, holding back any outward sign of exhaustion or weakness. He regarded the Yiga with a hard look of suspicion.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I must thank you for coming to my aid. But just as a warning, if you do anything to make me question this...alliance, I won’t hesitate to -”

“Your threats won’t be necessary,” Sooga said simply, resheathing his dual blades.

Sooga’s words were clear despite the mask he wore, yet Revali paused, contemplating his words, not fully believing the situation. Revali braced himself for a surprise attack that never came as the moments passed.

He stared into the inverted crimson eye painted on Sooga’s horned mask and the long crack that ran across it, slightly unnerved that he could not see the man’s eyes or facial expressions. He’d have to rely on the man’s body language and tone of voice for assurance that he was not a threat.

Kohga approached, having remained a safe distance away during the fight. “Well done, Sooga! That was quite the display of Yiga bravado.”

Revali opened his beak to say something more, but before he could form the words, their attentions were drawn to the thunderous and deliberate footsteps of a Divine Beast.

He lifted off the surface of Vah Medoh to see which of the other Champions had come to his aid. Kohga and Sooga likewise rushed across the mossy stone that stretched the wingspan of Vah Medoh to look out into the distance.

“This should be interesting…” Revali remarked as he watched Vah Naboris approach.

“Urbosa’s coming….?! ...That’s our cue to leave!” Kohga blurted before retreating into a cloud of smoke and falling talismans.

Sooga turned to Revali and shook his head. “Master Kohga can be a bit of a coward when it comes to the Gerudo Chief. “Uh… Don’t tell him I told you that!” And with that Sooga followed after Kohga, leaving Revali alone.

----------------

The was a sterile, stillness that belied the Champion’s victory over the blights as Hyrule Field was cast in a dreary grey. There would be no breathtaking sunset to behold, nor the comfort the moon’s brilliant glow could bring, only the world darkening as night crept in.

The four that had seized the bokoblin camp for a moment of rest could sense the encroaching storm from the dark clouds above, but none spoke of it aloud.

Robbie cleared his throat. There was no longer a levity in his voice. “Where are you headed next?”

Astor didn’t meet Robbie’s eyes as he smoothed Zelda’s long golden hair with his gloved hand. It took a moment for him to respond, too focused on her downcast gaze.

“Fort Hateno... That’s where she is fated to awaken her inner power.”

“Then I wish you both luck.” Robbie offered, humbly.

Zelda hung her head and Astor squeezed her hand in comfort. The bleak refrain of Zelda’s court came to mind.

Heir to a throne of nothing…

She said nothing in response, and he wondered if she was thinking the same. She seemed to have retreated inward, having cried herself out.

Purah leaned forward to address Zelda. “Princess, I have faith in you, I do. You are not alone and we’re not going to give up trying to turn back the Calamity. I think we could all benefit if we set up camp here and call it a day. And if any monsters come by, we’ll beat them with our flails.”

“No… I must go to Fort Hateno right away.” Zelda replied shakily.

“I hate to be blunt, Princess, but you aren’t in any condition to operate the Master Cycle.”

“I’ll be fine, Purah.”

She didn’t sound fine.

Zelda quivered in his arms, and Astor’s chest tightened with unfamiliar apprehension.

Purah’s earlier antics would have made Kohga proud. Just like Kohga, she was perceptive, yet Astor was relieved to see a more serious side to her - as the situation demanded. He just hoped Zelda would heed Purah’s warning.

“A rest wouldn’t disturb fate, Zelda. And you do need the rest,” said Astor.

Purah and Robbie observed the couple pensively, and Astor felt like an oddity under their analytical gaze - as if they were trying to ascertain what Zelda had done to tame the Prophet of Doom himself - something Astor was in awe of as well.

“I won’t rest until I awaken my inner power,” Zelda said with as much determination as she could muster looking up at him with reddened, weary eyes. “We don’t have a moment to waste. Let us be on our way.”

Astor followed Zelda. Despite his fatigue, despite his trepidation about getting back on the Master Cycle, he couldn’t fathom not going with her.

“Astor!” Robbie called after him.

“Hm?”

“Take care of her.”

-----------

Their journey to Fort Hateno proved to be miserable and treacherous as it had begun to rain not long after they departed. As they neared the West Necluda region, the moisture laden clouds above spilled their cold tears on the Goddess’s descendant and her elect. The rain slicked the grass and turned the packed earth roads to mud. The Master Cycle was at times buffeted by strong winds that made it difficult to maneuver. Visibility was low. Bridges became slippery.

Astor’s grip on Zelda’s waist tightened. Dread and guilt crept in as she began to second-guess her decision.

Why are we doing this? All my previous attempts to awaken my power have failed. What is it about Fort Hateno that will suddenly change everything? Ugh, I can’t allow myself to think like this.

The Master Cycle traversed through Dueling Peaks, and Zelda felt as though those towering cliffs were pressing in on them. The cliffs gave way to a vast plain, and the mountains in the distance were barely an outline in the night sky.

Zelda took care as they crossed the Big Twin Bridge, breathing out in relief when she had made it to the other side.

Almost there…

Even as Blatchery Plain stretched out before them, Zelda felt no closer to awakening the power within herself, and she didn’t know what recourse she had if this too did not work. These thoughts lingered as she pressed onward.

Blatchery Plain lay in ruin, desolate, and devoid of life - or so it seemed. A figure appeared in the immediate dim horizon, and Zelda’s heart froze as she swerved to avoid colliding with it. The Master cycle dipped a little too far for comfort to one side. Her heart thumped rapidly as she struggled to keep it upright. The tires squelched through the mud as they veered off the path and then returned.

“It keeps finding us…” Zelda said worriedly.

“Ganon always knows where we are…” Astor replied, trying not to let fear enter his voice.

Zelda looked back over her shoulder, a pit opening in her stomach when she realized the Harbinger wasn’t as far back as she expected. No, it was following them at a speed unlike other Guardians.

“Astor, whatever you do, hold on tight…” her voice was nearly muffled by the rumble of the engine.

A chill ran down Astor’s spine as he perceived the words of Calamity Ganon. It was a voice he knew all too well from prophetic dreams, the one that had urged him so fervently to kill the princess.

You are nothing, my wayward prophet without a prayer.

“Leave me alone!” Astor screamed, tearing his circlet that bore the eye of malice from his forehead. He turned and pitched it at the charging Harbinger. The red and yellow stone was crushed under its rampaging claw the next moment.

Do you think you can rid yourself of me that easily? That was merely an outward symbol of your devotion to me. Nothing more. You’ll never be able to wash the taint of malice away. Everyone is going to know who you are and what you did. You belong to me!

With the Harbinger closing in on them, Zelda pushed the Master Cycle to its limit. The engine chugged. Her stomach soured as the cycle struggled to gain speed.

There was a dreamlike sensation of slow-motion despite her rapid heartbeat, beating in time with Astor’s against her back. She felt as though -

The Harbinger’s laser is trained on them and after what feels like a silent eternity it fires. The high-powered beam of ancient energy tears through his back and exits her chest. They are enveloped in a blinding blue light as that final scream of failure is ripped from her.

She snapped herself out of that grim vision, still awash in panic. It had been easy to outrun the Harbinger in the Lost Woods, but there was nothing to slow its chase out in the open plain.

Her panic-fueled delirium reached a fever pitch. She didn’t dare look again, but she could hear the gurgle of malice and the mechanical whirring of the automaton itself.

Goddess Hylia... It’s right on us...How is it so fast? It’s somehow running at full tilt on three mechanical legs just to get at us. The effort alone should cause it to break down. It wasn’t designed to go at that speed.

Zelda despaired, thinking of how something her mother made so long ago with loving care had been corrupted by Calamity Ganon.

This was her final thought as the Harbinger swung its distended bladed arm, colliding with the vehicle’s back tire. The Master Cycle wavered pathetically from the force of the automaton’s slap, and then went down, skidding through the mud.

The sky and ground spun as she felt herself hit the ground, narrowly missing becoming pinned under the fallen Master Cycle.

The falling rain on her skin brought Zelda back to a vague awareness. Groaning, she opened her eyes. She barely registered that they were lying in a crumpled heap, but when she did, she reached for Astor as he stirred slightly. Her hands moved over him as she fought to regain her bearings.

“Astor… Please say something...” She could only mumble as her fingers stroked the braids that draped the side of his face.

Astor sucked in a breath, wincing. “I... think I’m still in one piece…”

There was mud all over her dress and numerous scrapes on her exposed shoulders and arms. The rain stung her open wounds, but that was only the beginning of her pain.

Lifting her head weakly, she saw that the Master Cycle was a complete loss - and the Harbinger loomed over them, its corrupted red display ebbing outward hypnotically as it regarded them.

“Zelda, run....” Astor urged her, helplessly.

She took in the glowing blue of the Harbinger’s many blades. It was toying with them, taking its time as a predator with prey.

“I can’t outrun it any more than you can. I won’t leave you.” Zelda gripped his hand, her voice resigned and weak.

The Harbinger began to emit a discordant tune.

To Zelda, it sounded so familiar in her mental haze but deeply wrong. However, Astor knew it all too well.

There were times when the Harbinger used to play a strange song. Even Kohga and Sooga had heard it ‘sing’ at odd intervals. They didn’t know what to think at first. Then, Astor learned the origins of the Harbinger and he realized its significance. The tune was little more than a malfunction - simply the machinery morbidly regurgitating a lullaby meant for the princess out of key. Kohga and Sooga’s howls of laughter carried through the Yiga Hideout on the day they came to the same realization, much to Astor’s annoyance. The toy Zelda had once cherished was now possessed by the most malignant spirit in the realm and Astor was hanging on its every instruction.

“I’m sorry this happened to you, Terrako…” Zelda said numbly.

And then Astor heard her make a seizing sound. The alarm and pain in her voice turned his stomach to rot.

Zelda stared at her feet in horror. They were as black as a decomposing corpse. She held them out as if paralyzed with pain. The same concerning blackness had appeared on her cheek, and others were appearing elsewhere, spreading.

“No, not her!” Astor screamed, taking hold of her in his arms.

Malice licked and traveled her body like a flame. It had started at her feet, blackening her skin and sandals, and traveled up. The malice infected her body, consuming her dress, her hair, and finally blooming in the whites of her eyes.

He cradled her in his arms, her darkened eyes staring back at him in wide open agony, and he wished the malice would consume him as well. She opened her mouth to say something, but the only sound that came forth was a terrible gasping sound.

“No… No…”

He pressed his face into the exposed skin of her shoulder, feeling the blighted flesh against his own. Her body gave no warmth, just a husk of her former beauty.

The anguish crashing down on him was unbearable as his raging thoughts took over - Hylia’s words turning over and over again in his mind, and all the things he wished he’d told Zelda.

I was supposed to die that way. Not her… I can’t let her die believing she’s a failure.

Hyrule’s future lay in ruin along with his own. What was fate if even the prophecy of the Goddess could be undone?

The Harbinger watched the prophet grieve, viewing the scene in the red tones of its censor. Certain the princess who bore the goddess’s blood would soon pass away, it turned to retreat.

Astor raised his head, hearing himself utter words he never thought possible.

“I love her… Know this, Calamity Ganon...I love her!” His voice shuddered in horrible defeat and desolation. “And I always will...”

Zelda grit her teeth as she shakily held her wasted right hand high.

The Harbinger had stopped in its tracks. It had ignored its former prophet’s confession, but now sensed a holy power brewing within the nearly lifeless girl.

A golden light had manifested in the palm of her hand, and in the next instant intensified into a brilliant and blinding dome that eclipsed the field.

Astor lifted his arm to shield his eyes, still embracing her with the other.

The dome of light faded out. Astor opened and closed his eyes, his vision coming back into focus.

“That light… It's…”

She held her arm out still, rigidly. Astor could only stare in awe at the unmistakable triangular mark on the back of her hand, and when her extended arm began to falter, he clasped her hand before it could fall limply to her side.

Zelda serenely closed her eyes. Astor thought he heard her exhale softly as she sank back into his arms, going limp. The black malice receded slowly, beginning at the sacred mark on her hand. The skin beneath had an otherworldly immaculate quality to it. And though the malice departed from her body and hair, it was plain to see that her clothing and jewelry would remain corroded and black.

The Harbinger was gone. Astor could only imagine it had retreated. There was nothing but the calming sound of rain falling as it began to taper off, and the dark clouds began to break, leaving nothing but the starry night sky and the moon. Astor’s gaze rested on the soft rise and fall of her chest.

There was the clanging of armor and Astor turned his head to see two Hyrulian soldiers approach.

“What was that light?” The soldier let his gaze fall on the girl in Astor’s arms and then the wrecked vehicle, going silent.

“Who are you? What did you do to the princess!?” the other barked.

“I... I’m her seer. I helped her awaken her sacred power.” Astor gave them a tired, elated smile, too thankful to Hylia that Zelda was alive to demand respect from these two lowly Hyrulean Soldiers.

The soldiers glanced at one another skeptically, not sure whether to take the strange, suspicious man at his word, but there was no denying the light shining dully from Zelda’s hand.

“Should we believe him? I know of no royal seer in attendance to the princess. Where is her appointed knight?”

“He certainly doesn’t look the least bit royal to me… Anyways, we need to get Her Highness to safety. Alright, Sir, you’re going to carry Her Highness to Fort Hateno, and you’re going to mind your hands while you do.”

Astor bit back a scathing insult and gathered the princess in his arms, following the soldiers in the direction of their destination. It wasn’t long before his arms ached terribly, and he didn’t think he would be able to carry her any longer, especially in his condition.

“Just a little further,” the first soldier said, not unkindly.

Astor adjusted his aching arms, Zelda still not stirring, and he pressed on.

They passed by countless broken-down Guardians.

“That light… It seems to have disabled the Guardians in the vicinity.” The soft-spoken soldier remarked.

They passed through the raised iron gate and the stone-faced soldier directed Astor to a tent.

“She can rest here. You rest over there,” the soldier ordered testily, pointing to another tent some distance away.

“You must be joking... We haven’t been apart during the entirety of the Calamity.” Astor felt the words leave his mouth helplessly.

“I care not! And I’m going to be keeping an eye on these tents to make sure nothing untoward happens until she can be reunited with her rightful appointed knight or advisor.”

Astor’s chest tightened, furious and in disbelief at the soldier’s callousness. “Just what are you accusing me of? We were attacked! Listen to me, you presumptive scab, there’s a very dangerous Guardian still out there and it's not done with us. I can’t leave her side. She’s incapacitated and defenseless.”

The soldier drew his sword. “Which is exactly why I won’t let you stay by her side,” he spat. “I’m not going to let you take advantage of the Calamity and sully her reputation, whoever you are. You expect me to believe your tall tales? I’ve yet to see a Guardian I couldn’t handle. Now, do as I say. I’m already granting you far more accommodation than you deserve!”

Astor shut his eyes in surrender and hugged the girl in his arms, knowing he could not afford to escalate the situation any further. He laid her in the tent and then turned to tiredly lurch toward the other, grumbling under his breath about how he was going to be sleeping with one eye open.

In his dreams, they stand under the Blood Moon hand in hand. The sky and land are awash in a scarlet glow. As her right hand clasps his left, he can sense her power resonating. Zelda stares up at the beast circling her home, undaunted, and smiles.

#Astor #Age of Calamity #HW:AoC #Zelast #fanfiction

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emmys-grimoire · 4 years ago

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Lesson 46 - He totally forgot

Eh, it was alright. A little underwhelming for me, so this commentary is neatly compiled into one post. Yay!

We continue on our trials to acquire our sorcerer license. We have some more romantic moments with Beel and some conversation about how things were like between the brothers in the past.

Which Lucifer, of course, insists he’s forgotten.

Lucifer is a really, really bad liar.

It makes sense that his sense of duty towards Diavolo has made him meaner and more strict with his siblings, outside of being the Avatar of Pride. We know he fears being a disappointment, and have seen how adamant he is about keeping his brothers in line for Diavolo.

He hated dad, so he was begrudgingly obedient back in the Celestial Realm, probably. It’s different when he’s trying to please someone he actually likes and respects.

This fits with my theory that the brothers were always troublemakers with the same tendencies that they have now, but what has changed is simply the degree of their compulsions and their self-control. The compulsions likely grew stronger according to their ‘avatar’ positions, and there was no longer a reason to restrain themselves for indulging in their respective sins.

Being an angel doesn’t mean sin is absent, but the Celestial Realm likely instills a fear towards succumbing to them. Or indulging in them at all, really.

We get our first romantic scene with Solomon, and it’s a pretty good one!

D’aaaw. Immortality isn’t as great as it’s cracked up to be, is it?

People are going to theorize that this may have been Lilith. I can just feel it.

But I’d go for Solomon 10/10. He’s my spirit animal. We’d get into all kinds of ridiculous shenanigans together and mess with everyone.

He goes on about how he never thought he’d “get a chance” to put the moves on you with the brothers always hovering around you and coveting your attention, and now that he’s finally alone with you he’s firing his shot, apparently.

He was always the most flirty “undateable” imo, so the mood shift doesn’t feel unnatural. Solomon is just as strange with romance as he is with everything else. I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Other highlights include assaulting Satan during the impromptu boss fight by wearing cat ears and Belphegor telling Beel he’s a big boy now and he doesn’t need protection. They finally get to Satan’s throne, and at Beelzebub’s urging Lucifer just tells Satan he’s his own demon and he doesn’t know why he ever got the idea that he questioned that, and Satan just... accepts that answer. No raging involved. Pretty anti-climatic.

Then Solomon is revealed to be the REAL FINAL BOSS and summons Asmo to fight Beel. It’s over quickly, and Lucifer finally getting his revenge on his brothers after the first trial is completed and they return to the real world.

So we MIGHT be in for some more dream-fueled time travel. I wonder if anyone is ever going to tell Solomon that his cooking is lethal. Maybe Michael will finally break the delusion after it starts to negatively affect REALITY and he gets tired of having to clean up his messes? lol

Once it ended I did go “WTF? Wasn’t Diavolo being held hostage? Where is he?” but apparently that’s addressed in hard mode and they forgot about him lol

This boss fight may be the worst one yet. I used three rainbow glowsticks on my next try and still failed. It’s 100% RNG with all these damn skills triggering.

I still haven’t bested it. I faffed off to do something else before it frustrated me. I’ll report how many glowsticks it costs me when I finally do get past it, for posterity.

#obey me #obey me!#obey me lesson 46 #obey me spoilers #obey me lucifer #obey me beelzebub #obey me solomon #commentary #obey me season 3

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mrsfraserheughan · 4 years ago

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Here's a serious question. Do Sam & Cait dislike their own fandom?? Why do they treat fans this way?

They toy with us, feed us fake narratives, aka lies, but Sam posts a sweaty shirtless selfie and that makes it ok? Cait grants us a masked pic with a fan and she's the sunlight of everyone's day?

Even Leanne Aguilera is heavily distracted!

Nah. It's time to stop messing around and respect fans enough to tell the truth. And even if the fans are not a part of your consideration, and we are clearly not! -then do it for yourselves out of respect for your little family.

Tick tock....

Droughtlander will be loooong this time. Longer than it ever has been. Do they want to become forgotten or irrelevant before season six comes out? I dare guess that's one of their worst nightmares...which is one of the reasons I think the James Houston "naked Cait" pic was dropped on purpose to get her social media buzz.

I would also bet that JH is the one who photoshops their pictures for them when they want to fuel the fake narrative.

There are some fans who would lick the bottom of their shoes for a like or a retweet. Then there are the fans like me who are tired. Yes, tired of games and false innuendos. I want to root for them and support them but I am tired. How can living a lie be good for anyone?

I'll bet poor T*ny doesn't even know where he stands anymore in this weird threesome.

Just think of the poor guy, confused and wondering when his next paycheck will come. I hope he's getting unemployment since he hasn't had any red carpets to crash lately thanks to the pandemic.

He deserves extra compensation for being the humiliated fake husband, who's fake wife looks like she's fucking her tele-hubby who is actually her real husband too. 🤫

Huh??

The look on my face at least 20 times a day 👆......

👆This is us, every time they lie. It's a slap in the face. Do they really want us to be Leoghaire? Everybody hates Leoghaire. Do they hate us like people hate Leoghaire? She deserves that slap, we don't.

This whole thing is more f*cked up than 👇

... she doesn't look impressed either. 👇

.....

When his sword finally pierces through all those layers of clothing, maybe that's when this fake narrative will finally die.

This was fans a few years ago 👇

This is fans now 👇

I "suggest you" hurry Sam and Cait. Don't "ignore" us

A friend of mine in the fandom said this recently 👇

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princess-of-riviaa · 5 years ago

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Primal

Pairing: August Walker x Reader

Summary: You don’t know why August being rough with you feeds your arousal as much as it does, but it’s become something you crave. Just as he craves to punish you.

Author’s Note: This fun little oneshot was inspired by this post, so thank you @honeychicanawrites and your lovely anon!

Warning(s): predator/prey vibes, oral (m receiving), rough sex, punishment, overstimulation, denied orgasm, creampie, mean dom! August

Word Count: 2,091

You don’t bother to see if the door shut all the way before you’re running across the living room, fast enough to stay out of reach but slow enough to tempt him closer. August is hot on your heels. He grows angrier with every step you take away from him. It probably doesn’t help that you’re dolled up in his favorite lingerie set of yours and he’s already hard and aching. Just the sight of you in all that lace, the pink shade of the outfit making you look like an innocent girl, made him hard in his pants. This chase only adds fuel to his fire. He might be pissed beyond hell right now and you might be scared to your stomach, but beneath all of that is untameable, primal arousal.

You get to the top of the stairs just as August catches you, his hands digging into your sides tight enough that you can’t escape. You shriek and lose your balance. Every muscle in your body tenses--only for you to fall into August’s chest. His arms wrap around you, protecting you, and you remember why this chase is so thrilling: because at the end of the day, he’s your protector. You’re always safe with him, even if you do have a habit of breaking the rules on occasion.

You gasp at the realization that you’ve been caught, that this thrilling game of cat-and-mouse is now over. August growls, all of his frustration catching up with him. He drags you by the neck into your shared bedroom. When you’re released, you dart away from him again. He’s already locked the door, though, and you’re trapped.

He looks at you like you’re his prey.

Like he’s going to eat you alive. Like he’s going to make it hurt.

And you know, just like he does, that you’re going to enjoy every painful second of it.

“Do you think this is funny?” August growls, spitting the last word with enough emphasis that you jump.

A dangerous, aroused light makes your eyes widen. You know he can see it by the way he practically snarls at you.

“Get over here!” he commands.

You gasp, partially due to fear and partially due to the arousal now dripping between your legs at the dominance in his tone. You comply and move over to him in a few quick steps. Heat radiates off him. He’s really angry, you realize. You’re going to get it tonight. Will you even be able to walk after he’s done with you? Any humor you still felt disappears when you get close enough to see the darkness in his eyes.

“Get on your fucking knees,” he spits.

Even if you were going to comply, you don’t have the chance. He brings his hand to your head and shoves you to the ground until you fall in front of him, your face inches from the outrageous bulge in his pants. Heat spreads to your breasts and pussy at the sight of him already hard for you.

August jerks his pants down, enraged and impatient. He curses under his breath as he pulls his pants and boxers down low enough for his cock to bounce out. He doesn’t have to tell you what he wants from you. You wrap a small hand around his shaft as you bring your mouth to the tip and begin to suck.

“You listen to me,” he growls as you put your mouth to work. “You don’t run from me. Especially not right after you tease me with a fucking strip tease and show me what you’ve been wearing under those clothes all day! If I tell you to come, you come. You. Don’t. Fucking. Run.” He grunts out the last words as he begins to fuck your face. You let your jaw go limp and do your best to listen to his words as his hand yanks on your hair and you gag on his cock. “That’s right, take every--fucking--inch. You’re gonna take everything I have to give you, because I have to put up with everything you give me.”

You gag again. Tears run down your face, mixing with your drool and his pre-cum dripping out of your open mouth. His cock brushes the back of your throat with every thrust. It’s all you can do to remember how to breathe. And all the while, your legs are shaking and tensing together, growing more desperate with every thrust of his cock.

You don’t know why August being rough with you feeds your arousal as much as it does, but it’s become something you crave. Just as he craves to punish you. Maybe there’s something wrong with both of you. You can’t bring yourself to care, though, not when living in the darkness feels this good.

“Oh, is it getting hard to breathe, baby?” he coos, but his sympathy is fake and taunting. “Well that’s too fucking bad! Good girls get to breathe, but good girls don’t run from their Sir.”

Fuck, why is he so arousing when he yells?

You can tell he’s close because he suddenly stops himself just as his cock begins to twitch, ready to release his seed inside of you. But August prefers to cum deep inside of your pussy, so he holds himself back.

“Get on the bed,” he orders. “On your knees, ass up. Naked. You know the drill.”

You do, since this is his favorite position to take you in. You’re aroused enough to not give him a hard time anymore and run right over to the bed, undressing as you go. You’ll be a good girl if it means him fucking you sooner rather than later. He must be taking in the sight of you because it’s a long time before you feel his hands on you.

“I’m going to spank you on the count of three,” August warns from right behind you. “One--”

Slap! The pain shoots up your spine and makes your skin burn, but a second later the pain registers as pleasure and you find yourself gasping as you bury your face into the bedsheets and stick your ass further out, silently asking for more. Your breath comes out shakily, thrown off by his trick.

“You didn’t actually think I was going to give you a warning?” August laughs. It’s cruel but makes a shiver run down your spine all the same. You want his hands on you again. “No, I’d much rather leave you--”

Slap!

“--blindsided.”

He spanks you again. Your ass is already stinging so deliciously. The harsh touch of his hand brings tears to your eyes while also making you drip even more.

“Always such a whore for me,” August says. Though his words are harsh, his tone has thawed. He’s no longer spitting and yelling at you. His voice holds a hint of warmth to it. Strange how his soft side only reveals itself after he’s displayed such violence. “My little masochist.”

My big sadist, you think back. He loves doing this to you as much as you love taking it. It’s why you two work so well, why the sex is still so addicting after months of being together.

You hear metal against metal and you bite your lip when you realize he’s unbuckling his belt. There’s something so erotic about that sound… no matter how many times you’ve done this with him, when you hear him undo his pants, you feel as giddy and nervous as a virgin. It’s addicting. He’s addicting.

“Look at my slut--already shaking for me and I haven’t even begun to touch you.” He laughs to himself, the sound coming from deep in his chest, and it makes goosebumps rise on your skin.

“Sir,” you sigh before you can stop yourself. You need him inside of you now; you’re past the point of waiting like a good girl. Your walls are tired of clenching around nothing.

August knows how wound up you are. That’s precisely why he decides to continue his teasing. He closes the distance between your naked bodies and your entire body tenses and shakes with pleasure when you feel the tip of his cock move between your folds. You let out a shaky moan as he soaks up your arousal and brushes his tip against your clit.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” August asks.

“Y-yes,” you stammer, too weak to control your words anymore.

“Say it,” he demands. “I want to hear how desperate you are for me.”

“I want you to fuck me, sir,” you whimper.

“Ask nicely.”

He’s enjoying every goddamn second of this. You hate him for it as much as you love it.

“Please, sir,” you get out. “P-please fuck me. I want you to ruin me.”

His mouth is at your ear a second later. His breath tickles your earlobe and makes a shiver snake down your spine. “I ruined you long ago, little one.” He shoves his cock deep inside of you as he says the words. You cry out before he can even finish speaking, and then he’s thrusting in and out of you at a pace that makes your eyes roll back and your body go limp beneath him.

This is what you live for--the thickness of his cock between your walls; the tight grip of his hands on your hips; the deep, arousing grunts that fall from him with every movement. This is what makes the games you play with him worth it.

He grabs a fistful of your hair and tugs you back until you’re pressed against his chest. The hand that was in your hair now moves to squeeze your neck. Your arousal peaks as you lose the ability to breathe. Your walls tighten around him and your body tenses--

“Don’t cum,” he orders, his words tickling your ear. “Don’t fucking cum until I give you permission to.”

You do your best to push back from the edge, to keep your climax at bay, but you only have so much willpower, and that willpower drastically decreases when he’s fucking you like this.

“Please, sir!” you exclaim, your voice nothing more than a whisper as he continues to choke you. Your orgasm is so close you can taste it, but you know that you’ll regret coming without his permission. He can make it as painful for you as he wants. No amount of begging or tears will make him break; in fact, that only seems to spur him on.

It has the same effect now.

“You wanna cum?” he grunts. “Wanna cum around my cock like the little whore you are?”

You’re reduced to nodding, unable to speak.

“That’s too fucking bad.” Are you going crazy, or are his thrusts getting harder? Faster? “Bad girls don’t get to cum.”

You release a sob. Your body shakes with overstimulation and the realization that he’s not going to let you cum tonight makes you tear up.

“Now I’m gonna keep using you like a fucktoy,” he says, and by now you know that he’s definitely increased his pace, “and I’m gonna cum deep inside that tight cunt of yours, and you’re not gonna let a drop of it fall out.”

Your response is a mere whimper.

He thrusts into you four, five, six more times--and then his seed gushes inside of you, the warmth of it hitting your walls and making you even more desperate. He cries out as he fills you with his seed. The sound is so amazing, so outrageously hot, that for a second you don’t care that you’re being punished. You’re just grateful to hear the sounds of his pleasure.

August pulls out of you too soon. You fall limp on the bed, weak and exhausted and desperate to keep his cum inside of you so as not to disobey him. When you glance back at him, August is heading for the door.

“W-where are you going?” you whimper.

He pauses and looks back at you, taking a second to admire your naked body. “I’ll be back soon. You need time to sit and think. By the time I come back, I hope you’ll remember why you don’t disobey me. For your sake.” There must be a look of wild fear in your eyes because he adds, “If you’re good for me, I’ll let you cum. But if you let a single drop of my seed fall out, it’s another round of punishment.”

The door shuts behind him and you’re left alone to wither in your own regret.

***

Tag Squad:

@agniavateira @hnryycvll @littlefreya @celestial-vomit @lestersglitterglue @watermeloncavill @honeychicana @penwieldingdreamer @mary-ann84 @elixasays @buckysgoldenheart @noz4a2 @trippedmetaldetector @omgkatinka @lunedelorient @aphrodites-punch @yespolkadotkitty @sweetybuzz25 @iloveyouyen @deathonyourtongue @utterlyhopeful @wondersofdreaming @tsukuyomi011 @the-soot-sprite @desperate-and-broken @jayismz @emelinelovesjc @palaiasaurus64 @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @henrythickcavill

Let me know if you want to be added/removed from my taglist!

#august walker #august walker imagine #august walker smut #august walker daddy #august walker mission impossible #henry cavill #henry cavill smut

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colehasapen · 4 years ago

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(ONE SHOT) every word i say is kindling STAR WARS

Jangobi Week Day 1 - Enemies to Lovers

A03

When they meet, it’s as enemies.

He’s been hired to help destroy the trust the Republic has in it’s sainted Jedi guardians. Jango is an assassin, a merciless killer, and a father to one. He’s raised Boba to be the legacy that Jango could never be, to carry on Jaster’s memory where Jango has only been a disappointment.

His hate burns in his chest like a second heart, and his fury tastes like ash in his mouth. He’s given so many pieces of himself to his mission that he no longer knows who he is, but still he gives more, pushed on by the memories of his people’s bodies scattered in the snow of Galidraan and the phantom smell of burnt flesh in his mouth. He remembers snow crunching under his boots, stained red by his people’s blood, and the feeling of bones breaking under his hands.

Tyranus has offered him the perfect way to get the vengeance that has been pushing him to survive all these years, the vengeance that had kept him warm those cold nights in chains.

Jango hates the Jedi, and he hates himself too, for what he’s become.

He’d avenge his people; he’d destroy himself to give them the room they needed to live free, and Boba would succeed where he’d failed. He’d raised Boba to continue what Jaster started, he’d raised Boba to be better . Jango would tear himself apart thousands of times over, millions more than he already had, if it meant that Boba would lead the people Jango had failed. He’d destroy the Jedi so that the Haat Mando’ade could grow and flourish once more without the threat of them. He ignores the pain he’s causing, he ignores the millions of children with his face and blood, if it means that his mission is complete.

Jango is not a good person.

He’s the survivor who never should have survived, the Mand’alor who had no people to lead, the leader who led his people to their deaths. He’s a coward who left the shredded remains of Jaster’s people to flounder on their own, because he had lost all semblance of honour when his armour had been stripped from his living body, he had lost any right he had to lead through his failure.

Jaster would hate the man he had grown to become.

When Jango meets him, he’s a shadow of the man he once was, fueled by the burning hatred in his heart, and by Manda does he hate .

Obi-Wan Kenobi is a Jetii. He comes to him soaking wet and completely at a loss. He has no idea of the plots in motion to destroy him; he’s naive, and too charming for his own good, and Jango hates him. Hates the cultured accent that rolls off his tongue, the mischievous sparkle in blue-green eyes that reminds him too much of Myles. He hates the way he talks circles around everyone, like Jaster had once done, and he hates that this Jetii reminds him of the people he had lost.

He hates himself too, for the faint stirrings of attraction he feels the moment the reckless jare di’kutla Jetii kicks him with enough force to knock him right over the edge of the landing platform, despite the cord that attaches them. He hates himself for the thought that crosses his mind as the Jedi follows him to Geonosis, the one that whispers to him that Jaster would like this man, the one that tells him that he’s Mandokarla. It stings of betrayal, that he’d actually find himself hesitating as he stares down at the redhead chained up to die, wondering about his choices.

Kenobi is young, Jango can tell at a glance, smooth features hidden by a beard like it was an attempt to make himself appear more mature. He wonders how old the Jedi had been when Galidraan happened, and he knows deep down that the man had had no part in it. Looking at him, looking young and hurt, chained to that post and trying to keep up a mask of bravado that so many young warriors wear, strikes Jango like an electric shock, chasing away the fog of rage and pain and hate that had been seeping into him over the years since Galidraan. It makes him remember that the Jedi aren’t just some shadowy organization at the beck and call of the Senate, not just leashed dogs to be set on innocents - they’re a culture too.

He remembers late nights listening to Jaster read from ancient histories, of the texts his Buir liked to read and study in an attempt to rebuild the Mandalorian culture that had been gutted by the Republic and the New Mandalorians, and rebuild it for the better. He remembers the respect his Buir had had for the Jedi Order, not just as another warrior culture, but as another warrior culture so much like the Mandalore he wanted to build. There were children in the Order, Foundlings adopted into another multiethnic culture much like they were as Mando’ade. Children, and the old and sickly, the infirmed; they weren’t all the bloodthirsty monsters from Galidraan.

Jango doesn’t know how he could have forgotten that.

It’s like breaking through a wall, and when fighting breaks out, Jango sides with the Jedi and fights alongside them and the clones that arrive to rescue them.

Jango survives Geonosis; he survives the battle and finds himself fighting side by side with Kenobi. The Knight he had almost killed and led into a trap vouches for him when he’s confronted by the other Jetiise. Jango is one step behind Kenobi when they go to confront Tyranus, one step behind when the man’s Padawan nearly abandons him for the pretty Senator Jengo had been hired to kill, and one step behind him when he learns Tyranus’ true identity.

Dooku.

The man he had been working for, the man who had hired him and promised him vengeance for his slaughtered people, for the bodies of his siblings that had been left abandoned in the snow, had been the very man who had led the slaughter against them. It’s a lightning strike of clarity in the muddled world of vengeance and hate he had been living in for over twenty years.

He’s been tricked.

Jango survives Geonosis, he survives to take his son and share what he knows with the Jetiise . He doesn’t like it, he clenches his teeth through the whole thing, vibrating with sickening anger at the sight of the circle of space wizards surrounding him, staring down at him with dispassionate eyes, and he keeps a protective hold on Boba through the whole thing. Kenobi stays at his side, a calm rock in the storm of his emotions, with his furiously compassionate eyes that Jango hated.

He survives Geonosis, survives the unmasking of the Sith Lord hiding in the Senate, and he keeps surviving as the Clone War rages. He keeps meeting Kenobi too, the younger man makes a name for himself as the best warfront tactician the Jetiise have. He works well with the clones assigned to him; Kote had always been good, competent, and if Jango had let himself think about it, he’d even say he had Mandokarla. Jango watches their progress on the holoweb, keeps bumping into the Jetii, and eventually, Kenobi becomes Obi-Wan.

He seeks him out, and eventually, he realizes that Obi-Wan has been seeking him out too. They bump into each other when the Jetii is on shore leave, and Jango finds that he likes the younger man, likes being around him. Jango finds himself falling in love with the man.

A rustle of movement pulls Jango from his thoughts, bringing him back to the pleasant ache in his body, and the former Mand’alor blinks his eyes open, chasing the fog of sleep from his mind. Obi-Wan is sitting up on the edge of the hotel bed, pale back facing him, an expanse of freckles and scars and red marks that Jango had very smugly left there the night before. “Leaving already, Mesh’la?” He asks, voice rough and deep, and he watches the way muscles ripple as Obi-Wan pulls on his boots.

Jango sits up, sheets pooling around his bare waist, as Obi-Wan turns to him, offering him a gentle smile. “Some of us have work to do, my dear.” He teases playfully, and Jango huffs, reaching out to curl a hand across the Jetii’s hip, absently tracing a bruised bite mark, a flame of smug pleasure kindling in his gut.

He wears his marks so prettily.

“Thought you were on shore leave.”

Obi-Wan chuckles, twisting to press a sweet, lingering kiss to Jango’s lips, and the bounty hunter finds himself melting into the touch as his lover’s long, graceful fingers brush across his jaw. He doesn’t want him to leave, wants to pull him back into the bed and keep him there.

“Well, responsibilities wait for no man.” The Jetii says cheerfully as he pulls away, and Jango carefully doesn’t flinch. Obi-Wan watches him with blue-green eyes, gently tracing across the scar on the Mandalorian’s cheek, expression soft, with a wry twist of his lips. Jango grumbles, shifting towards the red head, and he tugs him closer, other hand moving to trail across his waist and up his ribs, tracing the scars across his chest and more bite marks. Obi-Wan coos teasingly at him, ruffling dark curls when the older man presses his head into his shoulder. “Still tired, my dear?”

“Well,” Jango says, petulant, “most people sleep in during their time off.”

“If I were most people,” his Jetii laughs, “I’m sure we wouldn’t be in this situation. You don’t seem to be the type to fall into bed with just anyone.”

“One of a kind.” He teases, pressing a kiss to the side of Obi-Wan’s neck, feeling his beard drag against his temple. Jango grips at him protectively, and when he speaks, his voice teeters towards pleading, “Stay?”

Obi-Wan sighs, and Jango knows the answer even before he says anything, “You know I can’t, Jango.” His hands tighten on his lover’s torso, sliding across planes of packed core muscle, the Jedi’s skin chilled against his own, and Obi-Wan’s hands press against his own. They’re silent for a long moment, curled together, before Obi-Wan gently lifts one of Jango’s hands to press a kiss against his palm. “Ask me again after the War.” His voice is quiet, slow, like he’s trying the words out, playing with them on his tongue.

“After the War.” Jango repeats like a promise, like an oath, and he feels his Jetii smile against his skin.

Taglist: @a-mediocre-succulent @yellowisharo @spoofymcgee @roseofalderaan @everything-or-anything @bellablue42

#cole writes #jangobi week 2021 #day 1 enemies to lovers #jango fett #obi-wan kenobi #obi wan kenobi #Jangobi #jango lives #trans obi wan kenobi #star wars fanfiction #jangobi week day 1

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songbirdseung · 4 years ago

Text

Wishes, come true.

Pairing: Reader X non-idol!JK

Word count: 2.2k

Rating: K+

Genre: Angst, Established Relationship

Warnings: the angst hurt, also the hit of reality at the end that this is just a fanfiction

Summary: In a heated argument, words were said. Hurtful wishes that ended up to be true with no unknown way of return.

A/N: i love you :)))))))) prepare tissues

Wishes, Come true.

If you had one wish that you could not return, you’ll have to live with it for your whole life, what would it be? Will you ask for endless amounts of money, a happy relationship, or would you ask for someone to vanish from your life?

Considering the state that you and Jungkook were in, you were unsure on what you wanted. Looking through the windows of your car as you drove home, made you reminisce on all the good and bad you have witnessed when you moved to seoul just to be with him. Giving up everything and everyone back home. Your parents warned you that it was a stupid idea, but three years ago you said it was fine and it was what you wanted. But now you realized the honeymoon phase was worn off, long gone. You watched the street lights allow light into the city as the night and darkness was creeping through. It reminded you of how once he was your light, but now it was running out of power and dining everything in your way to a happy life. Jungkook knew you both were unhappy but for whatever reason, he was selfish and did not choose to end the relationship you both shared. Driving while admiring the view was bittersweet, everything reminded you of the bad times. The sky turned dark and rain started to pour, as if the world was in your favor and feeling the same way you were. Everything you have done for Jungkook, up to this point was too much. Skipping classes to attend to his needs, cutting people off to add fire to the fuel of your relationship, lying to others just to keep him staying true and loyal. It was a mess.

Eventually the rain stopped and you finally got out of your car and entered the dark house, the house you could no longer call home. It was silent enough to hear your fast beating heart, nervous that a furious Jungkook will come through the door, ready to finish the argument you walked out on. Looking around the silent house, you found him nowhere to be seen, you looked through his closet, his clothes weren’t there, everything that had to do with you and him was gone. Picture frames, gifts, and shared items they were missing as if they never existed. Not knowing where he went you decided to call him, scrolling through your contacts, his number was not there. Half of your contacts, people you met through Jungkook are gone. You shook it off and went to sleep, assuming he’ll come back to his senses and come back home.

Meanwhile, Jungkook was back at the dorms, having a blast playing video games with his hyungs. He was laughing and smiling like he never met you. At the house, you were tossing and turning, looking back at your phone, half of your files disappeared, photos, videos, contacts, what was weird was everything that was gone was about Jungkook. Thinking your phone was corrupted you decided to open instagram to DM him. Sure you hated the state you guys were in, but you still loved him. As you scrolled through instagram you started to take notice that the post and feed was the same as it was back in high school, nothing related to your present life. Your profile also led to confusion, you had less posts and followers. You typed up Jungkook’s profile but to your luck, it wasn’t there either. Sleepy, you turned off your phone, wanting to push it for tomorrow.

Your dreams were even more confusing, it was a collection of memories you had with JUngkook but instead of Jungkook being there it was your family and friends. Things that you would be doing with Jungkook, but he was not there. In the morning, you woke up with a headache. You scanned the room, recognizing your old room back in your home country. “How the-” Nothing was making sense, you walked out the room, as you definitely knew you were at home, Your mom was cooking breakfast with your father. Not noticing your presence, you just watched them being so close and in love with each other. You watched them laugh and hug each other just as if they just started a relationship. Growing up, you grew up with parents that genuinely loved and cared for each other, that is why you looked forward to having a relationship of your own when you grew older. Then you did, you met Jungkook. But the bitter truth came out, the things you saw in TV dramas were not true at all, you soon realized how your parents never showed you their bad side and they hid their arguments. You learned the truth and reality the wrong way, leading you to lose someone you loved. “Good Morning honey” Your mom said from the kitchen, pulling you out of your trance, she told you to sit down and eat breakfast together. You were still confused on what was happening and how did you get here through the night. Throughout the meal your parents striked up the conversation of relationships.

“So when do you plan to get a boyfriend?”

“Don’t rush her, she’s only 22, she has a lot to experience”

“What do you guys mean? Have you already forgotten about my boyfriend, Jungkook?”

You watched their expression go from happy to confused, they asked you multiple questions on who and what you were talking about. Saying they never heard of Jungkook and your so-called relationship with him. For the rest of the day you kept calling your friends, trying to know what the hell was going on, but they did not know anything. You thought it was all a prank but it was definitely not. You sat in your room, dry tears were staining your face while new ones fell down your cheeks, you were lost in this universe not knowing how to fix any of it. You thought of the night you last saw Jungkook, the last argument you have. With you walking out of that door spilling out the bitter words I wish I never met you Jungkook.

Then it all made sense to you, God gave you wanted you wanted even if what you said was said purely out of frustration. The wish you did not want, but now you suffer the consequences. On the other side, Jungkook was meeting up with a woman to go on a date. He was happy and excited. Being the opposite of the person you were. Back in your room, your mom walked in your room with fruits and a box of tissues.

“I could hear you crying from outside, I’m here to listen to you” You told her everything, although you sounded crazy, she believed you and trusted your words.

After a few weeks of packing, you were now at the airport being dropped off by your family. Just how they did three years ago, instead you leave with a more heaving confused heart. With weeks of planning and thinking you decided to find Jungkook and possibly start over. Hoping everything can go back to normal and you’ll walk up to the night you fought with him but not walking out. Eventually you reached a hotel, not wasting time. You went back to the house you once shared with Jungkook, hoping he was there. You knocked on the door and waited for a few seconds until you heard footsteps. A completely different, unfamiliar person opens the door, a male. “Oh, do I know you?” explaining you were looking for someone, he told you he’s been living here for 3 years now. After apologizing, you left and decided to just go back to the hotel. You received a few glances, I mean, your hair was a mess, you were looking tired, and your outfit was not looking good at the moment. Passing through the city and re-seeing the places you went with Jungkook before. You ended up at the restaurant Jungkook confessed to you. He did it infront of everyone, he got up from his chair earning everyone’s attention. You remember how you hid behind his friends, laughing. You watched Namjoon and Jin trying to bring him down and Hobi apologizing to the other customers in the restaurant. Jungkook just stood there, looking at you, confessing his love to you. Back to reality, you sat at a solo table scanning the room, while remembering the great times you had. Your eyes landed on him, it was him. Unfortunately he was not alone. He was with a beautiful stunning woman who you were now comparing yourself to. Tears were forming in your eyes as you kept staring at him. Without noticing, Jungkook felt a pair of eyes staring at him, now he was the one scanning the room, trying to find the person who was making him uncomfortable. His eyes finally reaching your wet teary ones. He furrowed his brows in confusion, but shrugging it off, he assumed you were in a trance, imagining or maybe just crazy. Although he was feeling so uncomfortable, he excused himself from his date and went over to confront you. “Excuse me?” the tears finally fell as you heard his voice and how he was right in front of you.

“Jungkook?”

“How do you know my name?”

“I- just guessed?”

“Well, uhm...can you stop staring at me, do I know you?”

“Uhm...well, you do but it is quite complicated”

He was now confused, but interested. Maybe a little scared because maybe you were just trying to kill him or a cult member. Either way, he gave you a number you can call him from and then you can meet up. You thanked the heavens giving you another chance.

The next day, you met up with him at the same restaurant, but instead of him confessing, it was now your turn. Jungkook was already there waiting for you, minutes after he arrived you walked through the door, being the complete opposite person you were yesterday. Today you did your makeup and hair, put on a cute outfit and met up with him. His eyes widened at your appearance, stunned by your aura. He got up and bowed slightly to greet you. You did not know what approach you were going to go with. Because you did not want to scream and cry in his face pleading him to remember you. You also did not want to lie to him and say you were his classmate and you dated back then.

“So, are you gonna tell me why you were crying and claiming you know me?”

“Well, it’s really complicated-”

“It’s okay, I have all day”

“Please do not find me crazy when I tell you this?”

“Can’t promise that” He joked, lightening up the mood. Just like how he always did in the beginning to the climax of your relationship. He continues to console you and begging you to tell him, slowly but surely, you told him. He did show any looks of judgement or disguise. He was still ever so understanding. “Let me get this straight, we were dating but you suddenly time travelled?” As crazy as it sounded it was true, Jungkook did not know what to do, he did not believe you but he was kind about it. He continued to explain how he was already in a relationship with someone else and he does not wish to continue to meet up with you. And as you can tell and maybe feel, you were heartbroken.

You wished to have never met him, you got what you wished for, now you regret it all, upset and now living within a universe you never wanted. Now understanding the phrase be careful what you wish for. Throughout the life you lived, all you wished was to meet someone you can love and cherish, the way your parents did. You wished for Jungkook, and you got him. Thinking all good wishes come true, you took it for granted. Now you’ll have to live life without him. Now you’ll have to go older with someone new but with the memories of Jungkook in your life and the possibilities of what could have been.

“I’m sorry Jungkook, I’m sorry I wanted your time” It has now been years since you saw Jungkook. He was now married with kids, while you couldn't find anyone new. Haunted by the memories you had with the love of your life. No one could compare, you chose to not waste your time. Your parents were making you go on dates and each one was unsuccessful. Right now, you were back in your hometown, at the rooftop of your house. Looking up at the stars, wishing upon them one last time.

“Why did you do this to me? I never meant what I said...Jungkook, my jungkook.If you are listening, I’m sorry. I miss you so much, these years I have experienced without you was terrible, it is something I would never choose over you. Now I learned that I should've fought for us and I should have realized what I had. I hope you’ll be happy in her arms. Universe, my last wish is never let anything hurt him...Goodbye Koo”

The End.

#bts #bts jungkook #bts fanfic #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jeon jungguk #jungkook fanfic #jungkook imagines #JJK #BTS JK #bts jeon jungguk #jungkook smut #Jeon Jungkook imagines #Jungkook angst

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kimistorm · 4 years ago

Text

X-Men First Class: Reader Insert || Part 6 || Darwin

Once again you and the rest of the mutants were sitting in a room in the CIA base. Much like the one you were previously in, but this one had a window. You silently sulked in one of the couches, apparently you weren’t allowed to wander around the base, so you were asked, cough ordered, to stay in the room.

“I didn’t know the circus was in town.” You were broken out of your sulking when someone outside broke the silence.

“Hey, come on, honey.” The other man looked at Angel, “give us a little…” he motioned towards flapping with her wings. You were too tired to mess with their emotions to make them leave, fortunately, Hank had it under control. “No? Come on, Big Foot, let’s go.” Hank sighed and flipped the switch to close the blinds.

“They’re just guys being stupid.” Raven soothed to Angel.

Angel looked up to Raven, “guys being stupid, I can handle. Okay? I’ve handled that my whole life.” You glanced at Angel and sent her some reassuring emotions, “but I’d rather a bunch of guys stare at me with my clothes off than the way these ones stare at me.”

“At us.” Raven corrected. You all nodded and looked down in shame. Having these powers was cool and all, but it came at a cost, and it didn’t seem like any of you were prepared to pay said cost.

There was a crash and the somber atmosphere was immediately replaced with a tense atmosphere. “What was that?”

“Something doesn’t feel right.” You sent your reach outside of the walls of your room and physically recoiled from shock.

“What is it (y/n)?” Raven noticed your flinch.

“There’s an attack outside.” You whispered, “they’re attacking the base!” you ran to open the blinds and froze when you saw the red man disappearing and reappearing, causing guards to fall from the sky.

“Nope!” Hank declared as he shut the blinds.

You snapped yourself out of your reverie and just barely managed to make eye contact before the blinds shut. It was enough for you, you let yourself fall to the floor as you exchanged emotions with the red man. You traded his anger for your calmness. ‘You don’t want to kill them, you just want to stun them.’ You didn’t have telepathy like Charles, so it’s not that he actually heard what you said, but he could feel it with your emotions. You could faintly hear in the background someone shouting at you to get away from the window, but you were too engrossed in your work to even care. You kept up the constant exchange of you taking his fury while feeding your own calm emotions into him, you couldn’t see out of his eyes, but you had a feeling it was working, because there no longer was a constant barrage of death.

Someone grabbing your body snapped you out of your reverie. Alex had grabbed you away from the wall as the wall on the other side crumbled. The glass you were in front of shattered only a moment after you and Alex were out of the way. The entire gang was huddled against one wall of the room. On your right, a man with tornado powers was steadily advancing, on the left, the red man stepped into the room through the window.

There was a banging on the door in front of you, “you want the mutants? They’re right through that door. Just let us normal people go. We’re no threat.” You felt tears prickle at your eyes, they were selling out you and your friends to save their life. You didn’t blame them, but it still hurt.

The door burst down and a third man walked into the room. You quickly glanced at the three intruders and noticed that the last man was clearly the leader. “Where’s the telepath?” he demanded. You tried to get into his emotions to convince him to back off and go away, but for some reason, when you tried, it was like a barrier was keeping you from entering his mind.

“Not here.” The red man replied.

“Too bad. Well, at least I can take this silly thing off.” The man took off the metal helmet that he was wearing. You quirked an eyebrow when the helmet came off and you could feel all his emotions. That helmet was clearly no ordinary helmet. “Good evening. My name's Sebastian Shaw. And I'm not here to hurt you.” You glanced dubiously at your friends and then back at him. If he wasn’t going to hurt you, then what did he want? “My friends, there's a revolution coming. When mankind discovers who we are, what we can do, each of us will face a choice. Be enslaved or rise up to rule. Choose freely, but know that if you are not with us, then by definition, you are against us.” You narrowed your eyes, so this was what he was after. He wanted to recruit you guys. You tried to get in his mind to convince him otherwise, but you were at a loss as to what emotions you could play with, so you just let yourself sit back. “So, you can stay and fight for the people who hate and fear you. Or you can join me, and live like kings and queens.” He put out a hand as if waiting for someone to break away from the group and join him. You sent him an emotional arrow of pure hatred that seemed to actually affect him, as he winced for a moment. There was no way any of you guys would go leave with him-wait what? Angel stepped away from the group and took Shaw’s hand. You felt your jaw drop. Why?

“Angel?” Raven’s voice was wavering.

“Are you kidding me?” Alex demanded.

You sent yourself into Angel’s emotions and felt the determination and anger towards humans. Of course. The sort of offer Shaw just gave her was clearly what she would want. And the event that happened minutes ago probably fueled some of that anger.

“Come on. We don't belong here. And that's nothing to be ashamed of.” Angel explained to the rest of the gang.

“Stop, I’m coming with you.” You gaped as Darwin walked over to join Shaw and Angel.

“Good choice.” Shaw smirked, “so, tell me about your mutation?”

“Well, I adapt to survive.” Darwin answered, “So, I guess I’m coming with you.”

“I like that.” You wanted nothing more than to slap that smirk off of Shaw’s face, but you didn’t have to.

“Alex!” Darwin shouted as he turned himself into a rock and protected Angel. Alex unleashed a barrage of red energy towards Shaw who somehow was able to contain the energy without dying. In fact, he collected the energy into a small ball of concentrated seething energy.

Once again you found your mind at a loss for words. Obviously he was a mutant, but that is a scary skill if you’ve ever seen one.

“Protecting your fellow mutants? That’s a noble gesture.” Shaw gave a sinister smile and held Darwin up by his neck.

You threw your mind into Shaw’s and frantically siphoned the anger out of him and into yourself while replacing it with a more amiable emotion.

Shaw faltered and glared at you before he placed the helmet back on his head. You forgot about that helmet. You shouted in frustration as you helplessly watched him take the ball of energy and force it into Darwin’s throat, “adapt to this.”

You watched in horror as Shaw’s gang, including Angel, disappeared with a flash of red smoke. Then to Darwin who rapidly tried to deal with the fiery energy inside his body as he went from metal, to rock, and then finally exploding with fire.

“Darwin!” you wailed, even though you had only known him for a little bit, his death was still a huge toll on you.

Masterlist (Originally posted in 2018)

#xmen #xmen reader insert #x men x reader #x men first class #my work #kimi's writing

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rpbetter · 3 years ago

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I genuinely don’t think the problem is as deep as people are seeing it as, with that whole resource blog and vent blog drama. I was there when it began, and it started because someone sent a submission that was recognizable enough to trace to that resource blog, who ended up calling themself out, and then a bunch of people dogpiling them, and then it turned into the 2021 edition of good old tumblr wank, mocking sockpuppets included. I essentially watched a bunch of 30 year olds call each other doodooheads like a couple kids on the playground, but at least kids forgive and forget after a day or two.

That’s probably why they’re avoiding this situation like the plague. The first time a submission went through about that resource blog, it made people feud like the Montagues and Capulets. Obviously they don’t wanna risk fueling that type of drama again. If it’s true that they aren’t letting these submissions through and it isn’t tied to reasons like tumblr eating the ask, then it’s probably because they don’t wanna be involved in this drama anymore. And I don’t blame them, because honestly, even as an observer I’m tired of seeing it, I can’t imagine how exhausting it must be for y’all who are actually involved. Geez. Who even has the energy for this much drama anyway? I’m tired just getting outta bed.

Sorry, Anon, I really had to!

Anyway, I'm sorry it took forever to get to your message, not only did I need a break from this, I needed to space out things related to it, it had taken over the blog. I appreciate that, despite how over it all you are, you were polite about how you feel. I know that is not always easy, and I do really appreciate it!

I hope that you don't feel I am being hostile to you about anything I say, it isn't meant that way. Differences of opinion, when not expressed hatefully, are always welcome here. I'm just going to try to express some of this situation from another perspective, and full disclosure, I'm pretty pissed off about it whether or not I actively want to be. This did impact my hobby, it did hurt people I care about, and I cannot believe such an unnecessary act lead to shit that is still going on.

On the first point...most things aren't as deep as we're given to feel they are after we've been made to feel incredibly unsafe, targeted, repeatedly let down and lied to, and experienced an astronomical level of sketchy behavior out of muns in a position that one is supposed to have some minor level of responsibility (as well as decent comportment) within. So, maybe it isn't that deep, but at this point, I very much cannot blame people for their concerns and suspicions.

And it was incredibly sketchy. CoaR, I'm just going to say it, everyone knows of which blog we're speaking at this point, did all of the following, breaking their own rules for moderation repeatedly:

allowed an actual, openly stated, callout blog to interact with their posts

allowed a meme blog to use their posts for the point of off-blog drama mongering, callouts, and outing themselves

would not moderate this situation as stated in their rules, when they've a bit of nasty record in the not too distant past of mass-blocking for far less and far more questionable reasons

did bother to post about how they weren't getting involved, as though this did not break multiple rules and absolutely is one's problem if it is your vent blog someone is using to create and foster bullying - simply giving the bizarre statement that blocking won't help anyone, when that isn't the point at all lol the point is being intolerant of people using your blog, that has to operate on a basis of being as safe a place as possible for venting (which is drama), this is about a stance and blog security, not being anyone's parent

just as weirdly vaguely threatening everyone first with all the mods "watching," because that's not actually implying an Orwellian parental role no one asked for, then with Sky once again misunderstanding the difference between being a " disciplinarian" and an ass

consistent lack of transparency on all counts

and then, yeah, there is the choice of publishing submissions/rebuttals combined with all of this and those submissions/rebuttals being what they are - not all related to "the drama," or in violation of the rules either, but the apparent willingness to publish them from one side of "the drama" there for a bit

I cannot blame people for feeling like all of this combined is a legitimately sketchy situation. One in which they've already, again, been made to feel unsafe within because COAR was used as a list for callouts.

When people see someone like Raven getting wildly different treatment by not being so much as warned, they're going to feel suspicion about the mod(s). It makes it so much worse that they chose to make the statements they did instead of a transparent, reasonable one like, "We apologize that CoaR was used the way it was, we should have blocked the callouts blog right away, but didn't. To reiterate the rules we've had in place for years, this blog is never to be used for callouts or taking bullying off-blog. Due to how widespread the problem has become, we will not be publishing anything related to it any longer. Submissions will be deleted so we can begin putting this behind us."

Acknowledge fault, apologize for it, say what you're doing to mitigate it now. That's it. Don't actively make it worse!

About the submissions...I know I'm alone in having tested that out. It isn't limited to things that either break the rules or are related to the issue. It's very select topics that are a bit uncomfortably aligned with the bias displayed, and from very select blogs. That's a problem. It's not selectively publishing based on drama-avoidance or rules, what CoaR has always done and no one here is taking an issue with.

I have 0 interest in things like trackers, they're far too easy/tempting to use maliciously for most people, and at the very best, they foster an environment of paranoia. What I know about them comes from really minimal personal experience (I wanted to see what posts people were most interested in on another blog, but it felt creepy with the amount of information I had, so I dropped that very fast) and what mutuals who use them have told me/questions they've answered.

So, is it possible the mod(s) is selectively deleting submissions from blogs they feel are a problem? Yes, it is totally possible. Do I know that for a fact? No, I totally do not. My point is that this is exactly the sort of paranoia that takes off when too many suspicious things happen back to back. You begin seeking the answers you are not getting, and you're seeking them because every day for a month or two, your experience logging in has been one of what the fresh hell. It's a need to insulate yourself from further exposure to harassment.

It's a very simple formula: act sketchy, people look at you like you're sketchy.

And I'm not going to condemn anyone for that.

I will also say that, unless several people deleted their comments or have me blocked in multiple places they somehow know of and take issue with, I did not see what you are describing when I read over the total explosion that happened...what, like a month, two months ago at this point? It was very fresh at the time.

What I saw was someone having submitted about a meme blog screenshotting their mutual's rules. Raven going off about it in a reblog. Two commentators trying to discuss the issue and finally, just saying they weren't surprised what meme blog it was once Raven outted themselves like a fully hinged individual interested in following CoaR's rules.

One of those s commentators is a friend, the mun whose rules were in the posts is a friend. I've never been anything but transparent about that. I'm also familiar with some of the other parties who ended up going on hiatus, but only from discussions on the vent blog over the years. So, yes, I do have personal investment here, and I do not feel like any of those people telling Raven and the callout blog they were at least involved with that their behavior was bullshit can be equated to immature shit slinging. There were even two muns who repeatedly tried to have a civil conversation with Raven, specifically, and for their efforts, got some of the most wildly juvenile treatment.

The worst things I saw came from hate anons and the callout blog.

The people receiving that treatment were largely driven off tumblr. For a time, forever, it differs with all of them. So, I feel like saying that about the thirty-year-olds thing is a little off. I'm not trying to be shitty, Anon, but the muns who tried to address Raven's bullshit were all of that age range. They're definitely continuing the drama, they're not here. They can't feel comfortable enough to be on their own blogs still.

I also am required ethically to say that we all really need to stop with throwing around ages like this. Again, I'm not trying to be hostile to you, Anon. I've been trying to show other people's perspective in this (it doesn't matter if you agree or not, I just think it's important to understanding, stopping, and prevent problems to have a fuller perspective that we often lack because we are incredibly tired of whatever is going on, and you're right, we are all really damn tired and also Tired), and as it is an advice blog, I try to address problems here. The pervasive ageism in the tumblr RPC is a problem.

It's a problem that gets discussed when it involves adults not wanting to interact with minors and, as I've seen it put several times, "treating them like the plague." There are a billion "conversations" and complaints about that, but there aren't many at all when it comes to the RPC's bizarre ideas about what age constitutes an adult (you're an actual child until around 23, you're ancient and need to die already, you pedo, at 26) and what being an adult actually is.

You do not turn thirty and lose your hobbies. You also do not turn thirty and become an ultra-mature adult, no leveling up into arcane Adult Knowledge and Behavior unlocks when you wake up on your thirtieth birthday. Between the ages of 17 and 27, you go through so many rapid changes in your cognition, but it levels off considerably after that. You're largely the same person at 32 as you were at 27, and you cannot say that about being...17 and 20, 22 and 25. It begins to take longer to see changes in who you are, those changes are less extreme - your personality, preferences, and viewpoints remain largely the same, they just refine a little here and there.

There is no line at which people "should" stop engaging in any hobby, and it's incredibly gross that the RPC seems to think anyone out of college-age should have no interests, let alone passionate ones, outside of going to work, having a family, and paying bills. That's a bit horrifyingly 1950's isn't it? It's also really misogynistic, considering that the primary base of the RPC is female or afab. When you deal in this, you're literally telling thirty-year-old people with uteruses that they should have no interests outside of birthing children and caring for them.

This isn't what you were doing, Anon, but it's part of the tumorous growth of this ideology that we casually throw around things like "a bunch of 30-year-olds" to make a point. We've seriously got to stop doing that, it isn't a message that most of us would agree with. There are other ways of saying "I think these people should behave more maturely since they're adults."

If I said something like, "well, they were just in their mid-twenties lol what do you expect?" I'd get hate anons, pants would be shat in, and more importantly, it would be wrong. That needs to work both ways, this isn't a separate issue.

An issue that repeatedly comes down to the absurdity of finding differences and drawing lines into cages around people in an environment in which we have the freedom to be more equal than in offline reality. We're all just people here, all just writing and interacting and loving characters. That's all we need to be, and all we need to be judged on is our behavior.

I'm sorry that anyone behaved in a grossly inappropriate manner during any and all of this. It was a heated thing that came to involve too many people and too much harassment, and those are factors that will always see people behaving in ways they would not normally engage in.

And like I said, you don't become some wise master of maturity at thirty! There is a problem mun I'm currently dealing with on another blog that is my age who is one of the most immature people I have ever run into. I have mutuals and friends in the early to mid-twenties who I'm confident weren't as childish as this mun when they were literal children. So, do people thirty and over behave in a seriously unbecoming, childish as hell manner? Yes, they so do! Whether it should be this way or not, you can't expect everyone to be at the same maturity level psychologically at any given age. To me, that just says that I shouldn't age-type people negatively. It isn't relevant where their behavior is.

Otherwise, I'm holding people at some nebulous age over thirty to higher expectations than other equally adult-range people. It isn't acceptable for anyone to behave in the ways I witnessed and was subjected to. It's not even acceptable in teenagers, it's just more understandable (not excusable) because they're working with many things they quite literally cannot control at all times. To act this way is telling everyone below thirty that they're just immature, irresponsible, dicks. It's insulting to them to be labeled in this way, too, even if too many of them see it as a free pass and are, thus, okay with it right now. They won't be, eventually.

Anyway, again, I'm not trying to be shitty to you! I don't think you meant anything in your message in a nasty way, and I cannot say how much I appreciate that after the bullshit brought to this blog and that I've been dealing with privately to help some of those affected feel like the RPC is a place they're safe and welcome in again.

I am definitely tired! Everyone else involved is as well. At least, on what I have to term as "this side" of the equation. I cannot speak to the other side, obviously, but I think they got tired enough of it not being tolerated to be quiet at least. When you make it unfun for people like that, that's usually what happens, after all.

So, I don't think it's them trying to continue the drama. Most of the people I know have remained in their corners happily or been obliged to leave for a while. As for the other people with suspicions...like I said, there are a lot more factors going on here than wanting to perpetuate drama. Sometimes, when we try to make ourselves feel safe, vindicated/vindicate a friend, there isn't any other option but to have the topic come up or breed into suspicions, correct or incorrect ones.

It's a situation that CoaR had a great deal of culpability in, and as such, had a lot of power to mitigate this well before it got to suspicions of who was modding the blog. That wasn't done, and won't be. Like Raven's antics, I have to feel like they've brought some of this on themselves. I do not and will not condone any hate messages sent their way, but again, right or wrong, people do have a right to feel the way they are.

If I were you, I'd stay as far away from it as possible. I don't go on CoaR unless I have to in order to answer something. I had a single blog blocked over here until this all went down (hilariously, it happened to be one that was involved, too, sometimes the red flags are legit, folks), now I have a sadly large number of them. It's now added to liberally, and I hate to do that, I like this blog to be open even to people who disagree with me. I can't deal with the constant drama, though, and I'm not going to be in a new callout every month until I die. Outside of being true to my word about accepting any and all vent messages, I don't want to see it, I don't want to be involved with it. I tag the posts so that followers can filter it, but I'm not going to function as a semi-callout blog by telling people who they should avoid. Just that they should avoid anyone who is making them feel this tired and done. Myself included.

I hope things have settled down in your corner of the RPC since you sent this! They have over here, thankfully. I think most people are staying away from the vent blog and hoping a new and better one comes along. It's back to the usual drama of "stop calling muns pedos for aging up characters."

#answered #anonymous #drama cw #misogyny cw #ageism cw #coar drama cw #I think that's all of them...#tumblr rpc

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papabirdurskeks · 4 years ago

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Can we learn more about Roger and his family?

If you’d like to know, sure! I’d be happy to share!

Sorry this took a while to answer, by the way! I was planning on drawing stuff for this ask but I figured it might be too long for the post and drawing out everything I have in mind will literally take FOREVER and I hate making people wait for answers c’: SO, I will type it out instead to make it easier for myself in the meantime and so I don’t keep you waiting any longer on answer!

A little warning for anyone reading this as it is a bit dark in some of its themes (mostly mentions of spousal abuse) so putting that out there before anyone wishes to continue reading!

Roger's relationship with his family is on the rocky side, unfortunately, as often as he tried to do his best for them.

Given that he had worked a lot as a privateer before retirement, it meant being away from home for many and long periods of time; leaving his wife and kids alone and missing out on many important moments he would have loved to be there for. But, work was needed to be done and he could not allow to loose any opportunity of his work as it could mean a heavy loss of income, which was vital to keep himself and his family financially afloat and supported while he was away.

Despite all of this, his being away frequently seemed to take the hardest toll on his ex-wife Helen, as she had felt annoyed, tired, and frustrated with the fact that she had to raise their children most of the time on her own, but also constantly fear that Roger would one day not return from his work as it was extremely dangerous and often likely to get him killed one day (especially as their species were not looked upon with the greatest of enthusiasm from others). If Roger were to die, they would be left on their own to fend for themselves and scrap away for a means of living to keep themselves afloat; something in which would be extremely hard for them given treatment he and his family were often given by others.

This in turn often led Helen to be extremely confrontational and verbally abusive towards her husband over just about anything she found wrong or troublesome, sometimes turning physical as she would often punch or slap him if she had gotten too frustrated/angry with him. Roger, however, would never hit her back but merely push her away if she began to go too far with her hitting, sometimes having to grab her and set her aside or just hold her back in hopes she would stop. The most Roger would ever do in turn to Helen is yell at her, but he would NEVER hit her back.

Their constant arguing was often viewed and heard by their children as well, which often led them to feel distant and cold towards their father believing him to be the cause of all their mother’s problems (even at times thinking it was he who was the one who was physically hurting her as she so claimed at times when reality was it was SHE who was hurting him). Their disdain towards their father only grew when there were times he would leave after an arguement and not come back for days or weeks at a time, thinking he had abandoned them and further frustrating their mother more to fuel her fears of loosing all that they had.

Yet, despite the rocky edges their relationships have had, there was once a time where Helen and Roger really did love each other. It was just the toll of his job pulling him away that led things to turn out the way they are now; pushing them to finally divorce after being married to one another for 30 years. It was hard, but at the same time, their relationship had grown far too toxic and unbearable for either of them to continue trying to mend; especially for Roger who just couldn’t handle the abuse any longer.

Now that they have divorced and are no longer seeing one another, his relationship with his children have more or less stayed the same sadly. The only one of his kids that ever really talks to him is his youngest daughter Edith, who has over time prior to the divorce, shared a closer bond with her dad then her older siblings. The two of them still frequently talk from time to time and Edith does make the effort to go and visit her dad when she can, which is often the highlight of Roger’s life now that he is retired and living alone in seclusion from society. Edith, at times, tries to convince her siblings to talk to their dad and give him a chance, hoping that someday they too can share a similar bond she has with him and not be jealous of said bond as well.

He and Helen no longer speak or see each other at all since the divorce.

And as far as relationships go with his birth family, Roger has not spoken to his parents since he had left them at 16 to make a living for himself. He has also never met his older sister nor is aware she ever existed and nor have his children ever met their grandparents in the span of their lives.

Overall, its a rather sad and gloomy tale when it comes to Roger and his relationship with his family. There is a LOT more to this, but I don’t want to spoil everything and make this post much longer then it needs to be! Plus, I like to tell more of the story through any future pieces I have planned, so stay tuned for that!

Thank you again for asking! Sorry this was so gloomy, though!

#Matla answers #non doodle reply #treasure planet #oc #tw: spouse abuse #tw: abuse

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sennextheassasinkingoflight · 4 years ago

Text

Redemption, My Love

Chapter 6 Travel: Day 1 Cross posted on Ao3 Rated Explicit

Summary: The silence between them is louder than anything Percival has ever heard. It makes him uncomfortable and that discomfort causes him to ask every question he has for The Weeping Monk. Lancelot is uncomfortable answering Percival's questions but does so anyways. Gawain, well he's exhausted and stressed and full of anxiety.

+++Percival+++

By noon Percival complains that he needs to stretch. It isn’t so much that he needs to stretch as it is that the silence between the three of them is thicker than the air in the house when his parents fought. He wanders a way into the woods under the guise of stretching and listens to see if the other two will speak. They don't and it frustrates him to no end. The silence between them all is deafening. The sun is high in the sky and the air is stagnant. He makes his way back to the clearing they’ve stopped in and stands by Gawain who hands him a water skin and piece of bread and dried meat. He eats it slowly and eyes them both in the process. It’s uncanny. The two move in tandem without speaking. Gawain throws a water skin to Lancelot who catches it with a nod, drinks and throws it back. They should need to speak, being strangers and all. But it's like they can read each other's minds instead. Perhaps it's because they are both warriors? Either way it’s eerie and puts Squirrel on edge. Finally Gawain speaks, it's a short sentence directed to no one in particular. “We need to get back on the road.”

With little hesitation Lancelot mounts Goliath. The process is slower than it ought to be and Percival wonders how bad his ribs hurt, as he stands. He brushes his hands on his pants and approaches Gawain who is checking the tack on his own mare one more time.

“Can I ride with you awhile Green Knight?” “Yes.”

So he climbs up in front of Gawain and they set out. Lancelot rides slightly ahead to the right, he seems to curl in on himself a little. Though admittedly he doesn’t know what he looked like riding the last couple of times. Nothing good he imagines, being so close to death as he was. As they continue along the path he wonders if Gawain is purposefully falling behind to watch the monk. He doesn’t quite know what benefit it would give him, but he trusts the knight's judgment implicitly.

As the silence stretches his discomfort only grows. He can only sit still and watch their surroundings so long. He feels alone, even seated in front of the Green knight. And he does not want to be alone. He sucks in a deep breath and then he does what he does very well and blathers into the air. It's nothing important until it is. He doesn’t mean for the questions to start coming out of his mouth. He doesn’t mean for his anger and his uncertainty to come out, but it does. He can feel the weight on his shoulders start to sink into his stomach and he has to move. He starts by turning in his saddle enough to see Gawain out of the corner of his eyes and look at Lancelot completely.

"Where are we going? Do we know if it's the right place? How can you possibly know where we need to go?" He watches Gawain turn his head to look at Lancelot and then down at him.

"According to him,” a nod in Lancelot's general direction, “Nimue made a deal with Uther that involved our people sailing to some other land."

"Nimue would never! This is our home!"

"She did Percival. To save you." Lancelot rasps, lifting a hand to his side. His ribs were probably aching. Unlike Percivals own bruises, Lancelots had only just begun to really heal. “But I don’t understand. Where would we go?” “I don’t know where Uthers ships were to take the Fey. Only that they were supposed to take them from Beggars Coast.” Lancelot informs him, hand visibly pressing harder on his ribs. “Why are we heading south then? Isn't that west of us?” “Yes,” Gawain supplies behind him, chest rising and falling against his back. “We need to avoid the Paladin camps and that means being low enough not to pass through them.” “Alright then.” He settles some, leaning back against the man. They lapse into silence again. It eats at his insides, makes him squirm uncomfortably. The longer he sits in the tension stretching between them the more the pressure grows inside him. The anger that has simmered since their escape is now boiling at his surface. He can practically hear Gawain thinking behind him and he has no idea what is happening in the mind of the Monk. He fidgets and Gawain taps his arm startling him. “What is it Percival?” He prompts a voice gentle enough that it causes Percival to still. Unfortunately the question was all the spark to tinder and Percival erupted into an inferno of rage. “Why did you help them hunt down your own kind?” The venom in his words burns his throat on the way up, leaving a bitter spice on his tongue. When Lancelot does not immediately answer the rest of his questions join the first in the open air between them. It only serves to add fuel to the wildfire of his heart. Gawain does not stop him and he doesn’t know if he should be glad or angrier for it. “Why Did you use me as bait to track the other Fey down? Why couldn’t you just let us go? We never did anything to you, or to the bloody paladins. You're the reason my family is dead, and the reason The Green Knight died. Why did you Rescue me? Were you going to use me as bait again? I don’t understand you. I should hate you.” His voice breaks here fire turning to steam, and steam into tears as he tries not to cry in front of The Green Knight. “But I don’t and I don’t understand why I don’t. Tell me you’ve done good things? Tell me you aren't all evil to the core?” He swallows and breathes heavily. Gawain's arm tightens around him and he leans back into the embrace. His eyes never leave The Weeping Monks back and he hopes the man can feel them burning into his soul. Taking him apart seam by seam. The slump in the man's shoulders and the way he bows his head against the barrage of questions remind him of shame, and maybe the monk does feel that, maybe. But Percival is too irritated and wrathful to believe that; too angry to remember that he doesn’t know Lancelot's story or his motives. He wants answers and the monk's silence is not an answer. Perhaps it's an admission but he wants to hear Lancelot say that he did those things. Give some answer for them. “Give me an answer, damn it!” He commanded the monk, determination coloring his voice turning it hoarse and high. His nostrils flared and he heaved in deep breaths to try and calm himself down. “Let him formulate his words Percival.” Warned Gawain. Which only serves to enrage him further. How dare The Green Knight of all people protect The Weeping Monk. How dare he betray his people like that? How could he support the man who had killed so many of his own? It made Percival sick and further served to remind him of his own internal conflict. “What does that mean?” He sneers, voice harsh as he turns to side eye the man behind him. “I imagine that he is trying to figure out how to say it in a way that makes sense to an eleven year old.” Observed the knight, arm still tight around his shoulders. He wiggles until it comes free. He does not want to be touched by the man who he looks up to. Not right now, not while he tries to justify the Monk. “He can talk to me like I’m an adult. Gods know I've seen enough.” He disagrees bitterly. It's then that he notes that Lancelot has slowed enough to plod along beside them. He looks over at the hooded man and furrows his brows. He’s tired of waiting. “Look at me,” the demand startles them all, but he does not back down.

++++++LANCELOT+++++

How exactly is he supposed to answer the boy? He swallows down the bile in his throat and tries to think of any answer that might satisfy him. There isn’t one. Lancelot had killed hundreds of Fey, had been the one to lead armies to burn their villages and forests and collapse their caves. He had stood by and watched as men and women were strung up on crosses and burned alive. The echoes of their screams chasing him even in restless sleep. He stood by and watched as children were pulled from their mothers arms, the way he had been, and killed on the ends of swords, axes, and arrows. His life is painted in rivers of red, blood and flame and rage. There is no answer to give the boy but the truth. And the truth is wretched and disfigured. The truth is bitter and poison and damming and yet it is all he can offer. Percival was right, the Fey had done no wrong to Lancelot or to the church, save the inherent belief that by their mere existence they were demons born of the devil. People fear that which they do not know. That is why he himself had been feared. He was a killer, an assassin and the brothers didn't know him. They had simply feared him and shied away from him, save for when he gave the orders to burn. In that one moment they were united. United as murderers. It is no wonder he can not feel the grace of God when he cries out. He lets his shoulders slump and hangs his head. Maybe the boy will simply accept that there is no good answer and they can continue in silence. It is not. The boy demands an answer. An answer to some of the very same questions he remembers asking Carden and the other brothers when he was first taken from his homeland.Questions that had kept him up in the darkness of his cell, that rolled around in his mind like the echoes of his mothers voice. He knows that his responses will not satisfy Percival, just as Cardens had never truly satisfied him; but, he will dignify the boy with an answer nevertheless. He slows his horse to match Gawain's pace and stares straight ahead, hood falling over his face. It will be an agony he cannot bear if he is to look at the boy now. He clenches his jaw and grinds his teeth before he finds the words and manages to speak. His voice is low and sounds like a wet stone on steel to his own ears, then again his head is throbbing still. “Killing Fey… it’s all I’ve known since I was younger than you are now. It’s what they trained me to do from the moment they took me from my home; tore me from my mothers arms.” Percivals voice is laced with disgust as he butts in.

“They trained you to be a murderer as a child? Didn’t you ever think it was wrong? When you got older?” Lancelot wishes he hadn’t obeyed the last command and made eye contact, the boy looks terrified and hurt and three kinds of enraged. “I did. Yes, especially at first. However as I got older it was harder to believe I had any other choice. When I refused to obey, or hesitated to spill blood, they would take my hands and make me do it anyway and beat me, after, until I couldn’t move for days. I was desperate to survive, so I did as I was told.” “That’s not an excuse! It doesn’t make it right!” Percival objected, though it sounded weaker than his previous sentiments. He hangs his head again, sombre and dejected and studies the horn on the goliath's saddle as though it is the most interesting thing he has ever seen. It is several moments until he gathers his thoughts again. The smell on the air is bitter with anger and leaves him feeling more nauseous than the headache. He listens to the steady rhythm of the horses moving along the path, of the stream nearby and finally he can speak again. “I know. And neither was using you as bait. I… I am truly sorry for that. I hurt you in doing so.” “Then why did you do it?” The fire is gone from Percivals voice, and something closer to shock fills it. He pointedly does not look at Gawain though he can feel the man's gaze on him. He flushes slightly. Then, resuming his forward gaze, “ I chose to see you not a boy, but as a tool. I was given orders and I needed to obey them.” “What does that even mean?” Gawain intercedes on his behalf, voice like ice chilling him to the bone. “He saw you the way they saw him. Fletching on an arrow, a dog to chase foul, smoke to run out foxes.” “Yes.” He whispers in agreement,, nodding his head marginally and tensing his shoulders. “How did you see the people in my village?” The heartbreak in Percivals voice is enough to stop him answering. He does not wish the boy further pain, he won’t lie to him, but he can’t answer this. Not right now. Likely never. “I. I won’t answer that.” Now he does meat Gawain's eyes. Not in challenge; but in supplication. “Do you regret it? The things you’ve done?” Gawain asks over Percivals protests. It's not a change in subject, a very uncomfortable subject, but it is a change of topic and for that he is grateful. He does not turn his eyes away from the hazel ones staring into his soul. He feels vulnerable beneath the other man's gaze and yet he cannot look away though he desperately wishes he could. “Yes…” he starts slowly, “I do. More and more with every passing day. I knew when I was young that it was wrong. At some point, it stopped being about right and wrong. It was about survival. I did what I believed necessary to stay alive. At some point though, being alive wasn’t the same as living. Looking back…. It would have been better to let them kill me. I wanted to believe in Fathers words. Some days that hope of salvation he offered was all that kept me from going mad.” He lets his voice drift soft at the end. Finally he looks away from Gawain and raises a hand to pet Goliath's neck. Sucking in a shuddering breath he attempts to settle whatever emotion it is rising in his chest and causing his throat to ache. “But knowing it was wrong is why you chose to save me?” Percival speaks again in the simplistic, honest way of children. “In part.” he notices the expectant look on Percival's face from the corner of his eye. “It was the knowledge I already had, something Father said and didn’t do, and Gawain's words to me. It was as though some part of me shifted. I didn’t have a choice after that. I knew it was the right thing—The only thing, I could do.”

He casts his gaze from Goliath's neck back towards the road, hands shaking so much that he grips the reins tightly in an attempt to make them stop. The boy falls silent, face scrunched up in thought. Lips pursed and chin tucked to his chest. He doesn't ride forward, but remains at Gawain's side. It’s an invitation. Gawain may ask him questions if he likes. He doesn’t and Lancelot finds himself relaxing at the knowledge that his answers have sated his new companions for the time being. There is an edge in the silence prodding at him like his ribs every time he breathes. Still, even with the sting of it present the journey turns in a more amenable direction.

The sun is beginning to touch the tops of the trees. It would be prudent for them to settle in for the night. As though the knight riding beside him can read mind Gawain directs Percival to look out for a clearing to stop for the evening. It doesn't take them long to locate a spot off the road, near the stream. It's perfect, secluded enough not to be noticed, unless they let the fire burn, yet it maintains plenty of sight lines to the road. They work in silence, practiced in their own right, as they unpack their few belongings. Gawain tasks Percival with gathering firewood and filling the water skins. He trusts the boy to know if the water is good or not. When he has gone and Gawain has given the horses their grain, the knight turns to him.

“We should discuss how the watch will work.” There is no malice, only deep rooted exhaustion and annoyance in his features. He nods his agreement and maintains the eye contact, waiting and not dismissive. “There is really no good way to do this. I don’t trust you to keep watch alone. I don't trust you to keep watch with Percival. Percival cannot keep watch on his own. And I cannot keep watch all night.” “You trusted Percival to keep watch of me while you were away.” He notes softly. Gawain grimaces and pinches his nose, his other hand resting on the pommel of his sword. “He wasn’t alone with you. And you were injured.” “Both of those points are still true.” He schools his features and forcibly does not smirk. It’s fun getting under Gawain's skin. He doesn’t mean to do it, but seeing the knight riled up turns his stomach pleasantly, so when it happens, as it will inevitably do, he pushes it just a touch. He’s good at reading people's limits, he had to be.

Gawain inhales sharply and Lancelot returns his focus. “You and Percival will keep watch together. If you hurt him, betray us, or decide to leave, I will hunt you down and flay you alive.” Gawain's voice is as unwavering as his eyes. They do not leave his face as the man stares him down, waiting for an answer. “I cannot offer you my word. There is no honor to back it. I can give you a promise of good faith in its absence. I will not harm the boy, or you. I will not betray you to paladins or animals alike that may come in the night. And I will not leave. I told you before and I hold to it still, I will face trial by the Fey council.” Hazel's eyes linger on his face and his cheeks heat under the scrutiny. The Green Knight stares at him, more than he likes. Absently he wonders if it's his way of trying to understand him. “I will take the first watch. At midnight, you two will take the second. If necessary Percival can sleep while we ride tomorrow.”

Supper is meager, but filling. Dried meat and some cheese. The fire is warm against his skin, and it is comforting. He watches as the flames orange tendril flick at the night air, coiling and unraveling. He admires the way the coal shines bright white. He forces his eyes away when an unwanted memory enters his mind. He stretches his neck and shoulders, wincing as it jostles his ribs, and focuses instead on the sounds around him instead of the smell of the fire, or the outline still visible through his eyelids. “Have you chewed any of the willow bark Bliant gave you?” The reprimand is clear in The Green Knights voice. He shakes his head. He hadn’t because he deserved the burn in his lungs with each breath to remind him of those he allowed to burn alive, most notably the Moonwing tribe. He deserves the ache in his joints and muscles for all those he has knocked down and left bruised and bloody in his wake. The nausea to remind him of those who had watched their family die around them. If his pain could not cleans him then it could be a reminder of his past actions. A reminder of who he was and what he had done. It was an atonement, not an absolution. “You’ll heal faster if you chew it.” Percival yawns from where he has crawled into his bed role. He’s snuggled down to his chin and rolled to his side, back to the fire. “Perhaps.” “Sleep better too.” The boy mumbles and shifts again. He doesn’t answer, just does what he knows they want him to do. He reaches for his bag and pulls out some of the bark. It's been ground finely like tobacco sometimes is so he can tuck it under his tongue or into his lip. It's more potent this way. He places a pinch under his tongue and instantly his mouth waters from the burn. It is much more bitter this way than straight from the tree. Silently he settles himself into his own bedroll, cloak pulled securely around him. He falls asleep not long after listening to Gawain hum some ancient Fey song into the night. It's distant and all too familiar and pulls him right into the arms of sleep.

+++++GAWAIN++++

When he has finished sending Percival to gather firewood and water he turns his attention to the monk. He does not enjoy the prospect of him taking watch alone, nor can they avoid it.

“We should discuss how the watch will work.” he attempts to keep his voice neutral and it seems to work as the monk turns towards him and makes eye contact. It doesn’t waver and that is a comfort to Gawain as much as it is prod to his pride. Lancelot should not feel capable of making prolonged eye contact with him, they are not on the same level. He lets his eyes flicker over the other briefly as he crosses his arms and speaks. “There is really no good way to do this. I don’t trust you to keep watch alone. I don't trust you to keep watch with Percival. Percival cannot keep watch on his own. And I cannot keep watch all night.” “You trusted Percival to keep watch of me while you were away.” He rubs a hand over his face and settles for pinching the bridge of his nose, his other hand falling instinctively to the pommel of his sword. He thought the man whispered before because he was uncomfortable, but it was becoming clear that perhaps it was simply in his demeanor to be quiet and subdued. It’s irritating. It's not that The Weeping Monks voice is monotonous, but that it is soothing even if it is raspy and low. His voice is too soft for a murderer, for a paladin. They were loud and boisterous, not… this. “He wasn’t alone with you. And you were injured.” He refrains from sighing, only just and straightens his shoulders instead. “Both of those points are still true.” There is a flash of emotion on The Monks face as he says the words, amusement almost. Gawain grinds his teeth and clenches his hand around the pommel of his sword, his other hand coming to rest at his side in a fist as he inhales sharply. “You and Percival will keep watch together. If you hurt him, betray us, or decide to leave, I will hunt you down and flay you alive.” He aims for stern and threatening and knows he has hit the mark as he watches The Monks face as he formulates his response. He notes the way his jaw goes slack and then tightens as he furrows his brows blue eyes raging as he comes to a decision. “I cannot offer you my word. There is no honor to back it. I can give you a promise of good faith in its absence. I will not harm the boy, or you. I will not betray you to paladins or animals alike that may come in the night. And I will not leave. I told you before and I hold to it still, I will face trial by the Fey council.” Gawain finds himself staring at blue eyes, and sculpted face longer than is appropriate or necessary. He forces himself not to react as pink rises across the other man's nose and cheeks. He narrows his eyes slightly and nods in acceptance. “I will take the first watch. At midnight, you two will take the second. If necessary Percival can sleep while we ride tomorrow.”

Their supper is nothing special, left over dried meat that Bliant had insisted they take and some cheese. There is enough for one more day and then they will need to take time to hunt. They wouldn’t if they could travel at a faster rate, but he knows what it’s like to ride with broken ribs and bruised skin and doesn't push them. Beyond that Bliant had been firm in her reprimand that they were traveling too soon and The Monks injuries could still be threatening if they were not careful. He watches The Monk through the fire, he is like some cold unmoving wraith and when the flames cast flickering shadows across his hands and face he can't help but admire the way they highlight the curve of his back and throat as he stretches out his neck and shoulders. He frowns when he notices the way the man winces from the pain and wonders if he's used any of the willow bark they were sent with. “Have you chewed any of the willow bark Bliant gave you?” He doesn’t mean for it to be a reprimand and yet that’s exactly what his tone implies. He really shouldn’t care if the man has chosen to neglect himself, and yet he does. The orders from the Hidden echoing in his mind and weighing on his shoulders.

The Monk shakes his head and that's all the answer he gets.

“You’ll heal faster if you chew it.” Percival yawns from where he has crawled into his bed role. He’s snuggled down to his chin and rolled to his side, back to the fire. A smile inches its way across his face. For all his anger earlier the boy still shows compassion and inadvertently trusts with his actions. It warms Gawain to know that even after everything the boy is not completely irreparably damaged. “Perhaps.” “Sleep better too.” The boy mumbles and shifts again. The sound of a rustling cloth draws his attention back from the boy and to the man across the fire. He watches with interest as he pulls out the little tin of ground bark and places a pinch beneath his tongue. He almost laughs when his eyes water and he swallows instinctively from the burn. Gawain knows the feeling like he knows the feel of his armor, or a blade in his hand. He thinks that perhaps The Monk does not and some distant part of him aches for that. It isn’t long before the Monk joins Percival in the act of sleep, curling his cloak around him and shifting more comfortably on his bedroll. Absently he hums an old lullaby of the Fey. He isn’t entirely certain why he does it, but it brings him comfort as he sits in the dark the flames of a dying fire his only company.

There is an energy brimming in him, aching to get out. He knows this energy, it’s familiar as it coils in his chest and squeezes his lungs. Anxiety. He has every reason to be anxious he thinks; for instance, his mind supplies, you died and now you're alive; not to mention The Monk asleep across the fire from him; or Squirrels mixed feelings of attraction and respect for the man; and The Hiddens orders to bring The Monk before Nimue and the Elders alive; nor the concern for his people taking a deal with Uther and leaving themselves vulnerable on the beaches, lastly the knowledge the Nimue may not even be with their people considering that very agreement. Who let her make such a decision? Did no one council her against it? Of course not, fool, you weren’t there to be the stable one . They’re all just children. Why did I let her name herself queen? There had to have been a different way?

It didn’t matter now if there had been a different way or not. Not while he sat alone in the darkness, the embers of the fire the only source of light, dim against the void of the night. He sat, posture straight and proper as he had been taught as both boy and warrior. Tilting his head back, hair catching slightly in the bark of the tree he looked to the sky for answers. Where did he start? What did he start with, his emotions, the challenges, the people? It was all intertwined with no reprieve in sight. What was the most immediate source of discomfort? What was the most important issue at hand? What needed to be addressed first? Ultimately it was the ones that he was surrounded by currently. There would be nothing simple about sorting through his feelings about The Monk or determining the best course of action for helping to dissuade the boy from becoming more enamored by him. He wondered and wondered into the night about why the Hidden wanted The Monk alive. What could the man possibly do for the Hidden, for the Fey. His comment about the Fey using a warrior like him had been rooted in truth, he could certainly help change the tides of the war with his knowledge and skills with weaponry. But there must have been much more. Much much more. Right? He is a murderer, a kin killer. There is nothing about the man that says he should be redeemable. And yet that's what The Monk said it was that he seeks. He grimaces and suppresses a shudder as he recalls that he had offered the man forgiveness. Forgiveness of all things, for what, that he himself might feel better? Because he had hoped that the words would extinguish some of the hate in his heart? For the slim chance that he could be a good role model for Squirrel because the boy deserved people in his life that were good. Who weren't worn out by war and made ugly and deformed and broken by the things they have seen and the things that they have done.

Instead he had Gawain, broken and defeated by the consistency of war, turned bitter against the race of men. Gawain, who given the chance, would have stabbed The Monk in the back if it meant he could never kill again. Gawain who was loyal to his people, to a fault, and obedient beyond his own understanding to the Hidden. Nimue who was too busy to give him the attention he needed from some kind of motherly or sisterly persona. Nimue, made impulsive by the sword, violent even. Nimue with her boy troubles and love of manbloods. Nimue with too much worry over too many people for someone so young. Pym, barely a healer. The girl who wove nets who was never meant to be something more, but who always wanted to be. The girl who was too young to give wise counsel but tried nonetheless. The girl who sought to be useful and skilled but who was never important to anyone. The girl who deserved just as much and more than Percival himself. Arthur and Morgan man bloods who gave council. Good counsel at that, even if he did not wish to admit it. Kaze with the blood of a fierce warrior, and a taste for blood, but wise beside. Counselor of queens and battle hardened. And now, The Weeping Monk, harbinger of death and destruction, grey in ash and a parrot too. A man incapable of thinking for himself, content to live as a slave taking orders from his master even after he's been kicked like some kind of overtly loyal dog. He laughs bitterly, mirthlessly, the mist of night damp on his skin. What is he to do? To be? Why had the Hidden saved his life. It most certainly was not so he could be a mentor or a father to Squirrel, certainly it could not have been for the sake of the Monk. They could have chosen to tell anyone of the elders that he was not to be killed, instead they had resurrected him from the dead. He could have been done. This world no longer his responsibility. The Fey no longer his to protect or be concerned about. He should be dead, returned to the green where he should be able to rest for eternity. Instead, here he was, exhausted and cold, and so tightly wound that when the sound of a snapping twig reached his ears he found his feet in a fluid motion, sword drawn and at the ready. His eyes scanning the forest for signs of enemy and attack. Looking into the nighttide and saw nothing. Heart hammering rapidly in his chest he breathed deep and listened to darkness around him. No sounds followed the first. The tension does not leave his body. Slowly and carefully he makes his way around the perimeter of their camp stopping and listening occasionally. Satisfied that there is nothing nearby he returns to his location by the tree and settles in for a long night of waiting, wondering, worrying and overthinking.

#Fanfiction #Writing #Ao3 #Redemption My Love #Gawain and Lancelot #Gawain #The Green Knight #Lancelot #Lancelot the Weeping Monk #Squirrel #Percival #Cursed TV 2020 #Cursed Fanfiction #Lancewain #Enemies to allies to friends to lovers #Slowburn #Chapter 6

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