#it’s a TRAVESTY that she didn’t get to draw him more in the comics | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jeongi · 5 years

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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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shirtlesssammy · 4 years

Text

15x10: The Heroes’ Journey

Then:

Heroes

Now:

Monster Fight Club! RAWR. In one corner we have wolf-man and in the other, we have wraith-woman. I felt like I was watching a Sci-fi channel show or another show on the CW with this opening scene. I have to give it up to the music and cinema of the sequence though. It’s quite lovely, even as the wolf-man gets stabbed to (near) death.

Meanwhile, in tiny Lebanon, Kansas, Dean’s picking up essentials (plus pie magazines) at his local Kwik Trip.

I have many things to say about this. First, who knew Lebanon had such tall buildings in it? And I’ve read many a comment about Bobo getting his name on something, and while YES, that’s technically true, this Kwik Trip (a real regional chain of gas stations/convenience stores in Wisconsin) is also named after the comedian behind The Manitowoc Minute, Charlie Berens. The Open sign missing the ‘n’ is a reference to it as well. Bless Jerry Wanek and his love for his home state. Anyway, Dean’s credit card is declined, his fight or flight instinct kicks in when faced with the store attendant's psoriasis, he gets a toothache, AND he gets a parking ticket.

Sam Fucking I Don’t Need Hotpads Winchester royally messes up dinner by burning the food, dropping the pasta all over the food, and breaking all the plates.

The weirdness continues once Dean gets home. Sam trips when running to greet him and he’s getting a cold.

Dean gets a call from Garth who needs some help. On the road, they discuss their Very Bad Day. Dean thinks they’re cursed. Sam’s too busy sneezing to contribute. I’m surprised Dean didn’t make him sit in the backseat. (Did Dean seem sarcastically unhappy about Cas seeking out angel help? #missinghusbandhour). Then the ultimate travesty happens: Baby breaks down.

They have to walk the last ten miles to Garth’s. When they make it, he welcomes them with open arms (Sam declines the hug but Dean gets one and a compliment -- “You smell so good.”)

Garth was previously feeding his twin baby boys, and he takes them to meet his children. He has a daughter, Gertie, and twin boys, Sam (named after Sam) and...Castiel. Dean is confused and disappointed. I love how there’s no explanation as to why Dean didn’t get a namesake. Natasha wrote a thing though.

Garth then takes them to see why he called. Bess’s cousin is unconscious on Gertie’s bed. He has wraith cuts all over his body.

Dean, the candy eating monster that he is, nabs some candy beans from Gertie’s dresser and Garth notices his pained reaction to eating them. Dean makes note of how nice Garth’s home and life are. (SOFT) Sam sneezes again and Bess tells him she has something to help.

Beth hands Sam her family concoction for helping the common cold. Sam downs it in one go --and instantly has regrets. It’s mostly cayenne pepper. Wherps. Sidenote: Gertie’s little wolf stuffy. All the hearts!

Poor Sam really goes through something --and it is a sight to see. Little Sam and Little Cas are sympathy crying with him and he tries to reassure them that “Big Sam’s okay.” He’s really not.

Garth asks about Dean’s teeth and Dean confesses they’ve hurt since the previous day.

Garth takes Dean to his basement dentist office. It seems he finished getting his dental degree and is now a dentist for other werewolves. “Fang maintenance is a B.” He assesses Dean’s mouth and finds 17 cavities!

He rolls out the nitrous oxide and gets to work. We get to stay with Dean though, AND GOOD FUCKING CHUCK ON A CRACKER.

I can’t explain what I witnessed with my own two eyes. I really, really can’t. @neven-ebrez had a great thread on Twitter that I fully love.

In any event, Dean tap dances to Cole Porter’s Let’s Misbehave. Garth starts showing him the ropes, but then he takes over on his own and starts dancing with a light stick LAMP. He blows a kiss at the lamp and ascends a stairway to heaven the top of the map table and finishes his dance. They dedicated almost 2 minutes to this scene. I --I just. can’t. Also, Dean going for the lamp is timed to line up with the “lovebirds” lyric? I’m so very tired.

Anyway, Dean comes to with a mouth full of gauze, and presumably no cavities.

Everyone reconvenes in the Fitzgerald’s living room. Garth wants to know what’s happening. Sam tells him that they’re kind of on the outs with God. Garth realizes that they’ve been the heroes of Chuck’s stories, and wonders, “what’s that make me? A supporting character? A special guest star?” Garth's happy being the guest star. Being the hero is the worst. Their lives are going to suck until the end. Also, little vanilla couple Garth and Bess apparently love 50 Shades. Lol. Garth points out that the hero never sweats the small stuff because that stuff ruins the story. They’re normal now. (Dean suggests cursed, which, like, lol bud, normal people's lives just suck.)

Bess’s cousin calls for her and they all rush to his side. He doesn’t want to talk to hunters. Sam turns on the ol’ puppy dog eyes and….it does nothing. In fact, Brad can hardly believe that that shtick works at all. Ooof. Bummer, Sammy. Bess digs into the wraith wound to get some answers. And ugh. That was squishy grossness. Brad starts talking about the monster fights though. He tells them where to find the place.

The Winchesters bid Garth farewell. Garth is VERY WORRIED about them. “The old Sam and Dean” could handle a whole warehouse of monsters but the Supernormally Normal boys don’t stand a chance. Dean’s resolute. Fighting monsters, righting wrongs? That’s just who they are. Dean implores Garth to stay home with his wife and kids, and the Winchesters head off.

They arrive at midday outside the arena. Dean polishes off his SEVENTH grilled cheese sandwich and they gather weaponry to storm the place. Sam’s concerned that Garth’s theory that the Winchesters are normal is correct, and they need to take precautions. They gather extra ammo, dead man’s blood, and Dean pulls out his beloved precious weapon.

Upon entering, Sam immediately trips noisily over a bucket and Dean’s grilled cheese extravaganza decides to throw a party right back into his mouth. Dean races for a bathroom, leaving Sam to peruse the room holding the main fight cage.

While Dean is throwing up in the toilet, I desperately try to pretend this isn’t happening. I’m FINE with entrails but upchuck is a hard no, apparently. The bathroom stall opens and one of the monsters from the cold open’s fight night stands there, training Dean’s grenade launcher on him.

Sam and Dean end up locked in the cage-match cage (not to be confused with the CAGE cage). The monster, Cutty, owns the fight club. “Man? Monster? They’re at their best, their most pure, in the heat of competition.” Pardon me while I fake cough “Purgatory” for twenty-five minutes.

Cutty introduces them to their new friend, Maul, a huge monster who grimaces gloomily and flexes his muscles. He wants the Winchesters to fight Maul (together) in the cage match that evening.

Dean tries to tell a story to get out of the situation and I HAVE NEVER BEEN PROUDER. He draws on their legends - the mighty creatures they’ve taken down - and questions whether any MERE monster should even think about trying to attack them. Nobody’s buying what he’s selling.

A short commercial for the upcoming cage match plays. It’s….

AMAZING

All the monsters are gathered around, ready to watch the two mighty cage matches. KILLER WRAITH versus JAMAICA DJINN and MIGHTY MAUL versus THE WINCHESTERS!!!

It’s battle royale time, motherfuckers. When the first fight begins, Dean and Sam are locked up in cells just outside of the ring. “Just how I wanted to die,” Dean grouses. “With a freakin’ audience.” We shall not speak of the 200+ times we have witnessed Dean die on this show.

Dean pulls a nail from the ceiling and proceeds to try to pick the lock. He…fails. Miserably. Sam gives it a try on his lock and neither of them can pick it.

“Could we ever actually pick locks?” Sam asks, frustrated. I’m with others in guessing that both their natural and learned skills have been hugely demoted through Chuck’s interference and this downturn won’t last. But this is a great way to make them doubt themselves. This is the black moment in the hero’s journey - at least for this episode. They’ve never doubted themselves more! Dean delivers a stirring speech anyway. “We’re the best in the world. I say we go out there. We kick some ass.”

Cutty returns to fetch the Winchesters. “Shirts off,” he demands on the way. EYEBALLS EMOJI. But Sam and Dean are gone, the cage doors wide open! The episode rewinds, this time with another point of view. Who’s that lanky man in the floppy-eared hat walking through the crowd? It’s everyone’s favorite werewolf hero, that’s who. Garth frees them by just…BUSTING off the lock.

Outside, Sam and Dean are ready to flee. But Garth has other plans. He whips out a detonator and we get a quick clip show of Garth planting C4 around the club. The club is DECIMATED by fire. Maul survives, however, and strides out of the burning building. Garth goes up against him, but Maul knocks him out. Sam and Dean stand and face Maul, despite their low, low expectations of themselves. Like real damn heroes!

What follows is a HIGHLY comical fight. Sam and Dean do their absolute, precious best, but fortunately the fight seems to be operating on some modified Looney Toons rules.

Garth saves them with a machete through Maul’s head. “You got Garthed!”

Back at Garth’s home, Dean and Sam cradle the babies. “This Cas keeps looking at me weird,” Dean notes. “So kinda like the real Cas,” Sam says. OH SAM. OH SHOW. How we are blessed!

They head out, Dean clutching a bag of grilled cheese sandwiches from Bess. Sam and Dean thank Garth for saving them and call him a hero. Excuse me while I CRY FOR FIVE MINUTES this is so soft. “I guess I learned from the best,” Garth returns. Garth gives them a tip - a place in Alaska where you can go when your luck’s run bad. “There’s always a catch,” Garth warns.

They hug!

“You don’t smell so bad yourself,” Dean notes when he hugs Garth. “It’s Hai Karate,” Garth says. Guys. I love them.

Werewolves of London plays us out. Garth and Bess dance together through the window as the Winchesters get into the Impala. It’s. So. Precious. And. Warm.

“I always thought I could be a good dancer if I wanted to be,” Dean muses. Sam admits that Dean’s good at the Macarena. Ah, yes. My generation!

Dean and Sam reflect on their situation. Their lives are far from normal, so being “normal” is dangerous by its very nature. They need as many advantages as possible, so it’s time for a road trip to Alaska!

The music mounts dramatically! Triumphantly! It’s time to ride into the sunset!

Baby sputters out. “Son of a bitch!” Dean shouts as the screen fades to black.

Natasha: I can tell you IMMEDIATELY and WITHOUT RESERVATION that this episode is going to be on my short list of comfort rewatches for all eternity. <3

Werewolves of Quotedom:

Seriously?

Still a hugger, huh?

You smell so good!

You’re very strong

Fang maintenance is a B

Mommy, the giant’s crying!

I wanna be the guest star. Being the hero sucks.

You need a colonoscopy STAT

Just because God yanked the magic horseshoe out of our ass, doesn’t mean we’re gonna give up

I’m a growing boy!

I think you might be lactose intolerant now

You keep all your friends in a cage?

You know them. You don’t like them. The WINCHESTERS

You are SO STRONG

C4, a hunter’s best friend

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

#spn recap #spn 15x10 #the heroes journey #dean winchester #sam winchester #garth #supernatural season 15

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thepurplebutterflythings · 5 years

Text

Damsel in Distress (Part 6) - Jason Todd

Gif: Dxnninja on Tenor

Tagging: @awkward-28 n-o-e-l-12

Word Count: 3.5K

Paring: Jason Todd (Titans) x (f)Reader

Summary: Y/N wonders if Robin could ever betray her trust and if so, how. Alfred encourages Jason to tell Y/N the truth before things come out another way, explaining that Y/N might not react well if Jason doesn’t tell her himself.

Warnings: Angst

A/N: This is a little series I am doing about Jason Todd in Titans. I don’t know Comic!Jason very well so I’m taking all of this from the show, and at the moment he hasn’t been in very often, so please forgive any mischaracterizations.

Damsel in Distress Part 5 | Masterlist | Damsel in Distress Part 7

________________________________________________________________

Y/N gently stroked the chain and pendant given to her by Robin as she sat in Physics the next day. Jason had returned to sitting on the other side of the room, which hurt Y/N deep down, but she knew she would always be able to depend on Robin. That was why she stroked the necklace, she was thinking of Robin.

Sandy, who had taken Jason’s spot to keep Y/N company, frowned at the action done by her friend and leaned over as their lecture rambled on.

“Where’d that come from?” She asked Y/N, who blushed and looked down.

“Nowhere.”

“It’s the guy,” Sandy concluded from the shy expression dancing over Y/N’s face. “The guy you’re so secretive about.”

“Sandy!”

“Relax,” Sandy grinned widely, “I won’t tell a soul. I don’t get why you’re so hush-hush about this fella anyway if he makes you happy you should tell us more about him.”

“It’s complicated, Sandy,” Y/N sighed, “we’re not ashamed of each other, we love each other, but we’re just happy with just the two of us at the moment. The moment others start knowing…”

“Alright,” Sandy nodded and sighed, “but if the bastard breaks your heart, I’ll end him.”

Y/N sniggered quietly, and Jason at the other end of the room turned and looked. The moment they caught each other’s eye, Y/N went quiet and started whispering to Sandy again.

________________________________________________________________

“Hey Damsel,” Robin grinned at Y/N from the roof, causing her to turn and face him with an equally wide grin.

“Hey Knight,” Y/N greeted Robin with a peck on the cheek when he jumped down and landed in front of her. A very quick peck. Yet as she pulled away, Robin caught her lips in his own, causing her to giggle.

“I love your laugh,” he sighed. “It’s so lovely – like you.”

“Alright, sweet-talker, what do you want?” Y/N laughed again, sitting down.

“What? Can’t a guy just compliment the love of his life?”

“Love of his life?” Y/N asked quietly. The playfulness was gone, replaced by the sincerity and tenderness that Y/N had grown to associate with Robin. Robin smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck, taking the spot next to Y/N and taking her hands in his own gloved ones. Y/N remembered what they felt like without the gloves on, holding her close, trailing over her cheek and drawing shapes on her upper arm.

“Well,” Robin said, “We say we love each other all the time, don’t we?”

“Yeah, but that is very different from being the love of someone’s life, Robin.”

“Y/N Y/L/N, you, and I cannot stress this enough, are the love of my life.” Robin told her, “I cannot imagine having a life without you in it. As long as I have you in my life, I have something to come home to. I will always fight to get home to you. You are my anchor, my love, the one thing I cannot be without. You are the love of my life, and I hope you think the same about me.”

Y/N leaned forward and kissed him deeply, savouring the moment as though it could slip away at any moment and be a dream, a distant memory that she would only remember as an old woman after her life was nearly over, and Y/N was not going to let Robin be a memory. Robin was to be a part of her life, Y/N knew that now, and she was not going to let him go.

“Of course, I do,” Y/N whispered against his lips, “You are the love of my life, Robin, and I won’t lose you.”

“Promise me something?” Robin asked in a whisper.

“Anything.”

“Promise me that you will remember this when you know who I am under the mask.”

“Course,” Y/N nodded, even though she was taken back. The words hit Y/N hard and made her wonder once more who she was even with, and the way Robin spoke them made her wonder what would change between them when she knew who he was. Wouldn’t she like him anymore? No, she told herself, that was a silly notion to have. Y/N didn’t care about who was under the mask, what she loved about Robin was how connected they were emotionally, how kind and tender he was with her but how he could still make her laugh and smile and that he would always listen to her. Robin was perfect and there was nothing Y/N could think of that could change that. Robin could never betray her trust, could he?

Y/N shook those thoughts from her head and kissed Robin again. Now was no time for those sorts of thoughts, and anyway, how could Robin betray her trust? She couldn’t even imagine – unless he was someone she knew, someone who had hurt her before; why else would he ask her not to forget this moment. But anyway, Y/N believed that if Robin was someone she knew, she would have picked up on it a long time ago. It was probably now just anxiety for Robin, letting someone know who he was under the mask, someone he loved, someone he trusted, someone he didn’t want to lose.

“I do love you, Damsel.”

“I love you too, Knight,” Y/N said as Robin wrapped an arm around Y/N’s shoulder and they both sighed, looking out over to the skyline of Gotham.

The sun had set and the only light came from the street lights and the odd windows. It was around one in the morning and the city was sleeping, at least it seemed to be, it was the illusion of sleep because both Robin and Y/N knew what awoke in the night of Gotham – the crime, the danger, the evil behind every corner. Gotham was a pretty looking city from this point, but on ground level, it was horrid, and Y/N knew why people wanted to leave the place so quickly, but she couldn’t, she knew she couldn’t, being a Y/L/N meant a commitment to Gotham City, so she was destined to stay in Gotham. Y/N didn’t mind though – being wealthy in Gotham meant that she was safe anyway, but it was horrible to think of the people out there without money to protect them, who had to solely rely on Batman and Robin. Y/N looked at Robin from the corner of her eye and saw how Robin looked at the city, knowing how he couldn’t save everyone, and he was lucky in saving Y/N. Robin’s gloved fingers went to tracing the chain of her necklace, as though it was a reminder of something, and it was really, it was a reminder that they were bound together.

That was it, Y/N decided, that was what made Robin say those words to her, it was anxiety, in case next time he wasn’t lucky enough.

________________________________________________________________

“You can’t keep this up much longer,” Alfred said to Jason as they sat in the kitchen in Wayne Manor. Bruce was out at an event which Jason had no need, or even want, to attend. As a result of finding themselves alone in the grand house, Jason and Alfred decided to eat in the kitchen that night instead of the giant dining room, which was too big for three people, so two would be like ants at a picnic.

“I know, Alfred,” Jason sighed, “every time I get the nerve to tell her, to take the mask off, Y/N says something that makes me think that telling her in that moment would ruin it. I couldn’t do that to her, Alfred.”

“I understand, Master Jason,” Alfred nodded, “but one day you shall slip up and she will piece everything together herself, which would be worse than not telling her at all, and it would no doubt be worse than telling her yourself. Telling her yourself means that she and you trust each other, that you have a bond, letting her put it together herself implies that there is no trust, Master Jason. Do you trust her?”

“With my life,” Jason said.

“Then you must tell her, Master Jason,” Alfred insisted, “tell her soon before you slip up. Slipping up after this long would be a travesty.”

“I know that,” Jason sighed, “it’s just so daunting.”

“It is understandable to be nervous,” Alfred assured the young man, “but it will also be understandable for Miss Y/L/N to be upset if she were to discover the truth herself without you telling her.”

“Yeah,” Jason nodded, “you’re right. I know you’re right. It’s just… I’m scared of losing her, Alfred.”

“You’ll lose her if you don’t tell her, Master Jason.” Alfred told Jason, “tell her, or both of you will end up with broken hearts.”

Jason nodded in agreement. He’d tell Y/N, he’d tell her soon and he’d make sure that he didn’t slip up until he could tell her. Jason knew how he’d tell her. He would drop by one night as Robin, land on her balcony and tell her everything about how he felt about her, and that he wasn’t just saying that, he would reaffirm how Y/N was the love of his life and that he felt as though he didn’t see the beauty of life until meeting her and that with her in his life his reason for fighting and defending Gotham has grown and that he will always come back to her, if he would have him as Robin and as who he was under the mask, and after he had said that, he would take the mask off and tell Y/N who he truly was and that he hoped she could understand why he kept it a secret for so long and that he trusted her with his life, which is what telling her Jason Todd was Robin was doing – trusting Y/N with his life, both of them. Jason just hoped that it would all work out for them. Growing up how he did, Jason didn’t really believe happily ever afters but then he met Y/N and it actually felt possible for him, that he could have a fairy tale ending.

________________________________________________________________

“Y/N, darling, come here,” Mr Y/N/L called to his daughter. Y/N came from her room and into the living room where her father was, as was Bruce Wayne, sitting on their sofa with his usual stoic expression.

“Hey, what’s up?” She asked her father, letting her eyes dart to Bruce Wayne.

“Well, we were talking about the police situation in Gotham and I am trying to talk to Mr Wayne here about openly supporting those like Batman and Robin, and I was wondering, if it wasn’t too much bother for yourself, if you would mind recounting to Bruce here about the night Robin rescued you.”

“I don’t mind, Dad,” Y/N smiled awkwardly as she sat down on the sofa opposite Bruce and next to her father.

“In that case then, I have a few calls to make – do you mind?”

“Go ahead,” Y/N squeezed her father’s hand in assurance as he got up and left the room, leaving Y/N with Bruce Wayne, whose expression had not changed once. “Hello, Mr Wayne, I’m Y/N,” Y/N said, stretching her hand out to be shaken, of which Bruce complied with politely.

“Bruce is fine, Y/N,” he said, “I remember you from the Gala a few months back – you danced with Jason.”

“Yeah,” Y/N smiled at the memory, “I remember him telling me that Alfred taught him how to dance,” she chuckled a little.

“Yes, much to Jason’s horror I walked in on one of these lessons,” Bruce gave a tight-lipped smile. “It is good to know Jason has friends like you.”

“Yeah… friends…” Y/N sighed. Bruce seemed to notice the drop in Y/N’s mood but didn’t mention it. He merely gestured for Y/N to begin her tale of being rescued by Robin.

“What happened that night then?”

“Well,” Y/N hesitated, “if I’m honest it has gotten a little fuzzy now.”

“Then please tell me to the best of your ability.”

“I was coming home from a party – my ride ditched me I think,” Y/N explained, “and I got lost in a bad part of town. There was no signal. Just as I was wondering what to do, I felt a gun get pressed against my lower back and a man tell me not to scream and to go down the alley. I went down the alley, but I tried to fight him off and then I heard someone tell the guy he should have listened and then Robin dropped down. This is where I can’t remember much but the next thing, I remember was the guy with the gun on the ground and Robin repeatedly punching him. He didn’t stop until I put my hand on his shoulder.” Bruce’s attention peaked there, the fingers against his chin dropped away and his head moved to one side as he looked Y/N up and down in curiosity with narrowed eyes and lips pressed together.

“You stopped Robin from hurting the man further?”

“Well, I wanted to go home, and I was too scared to go alone, and honestly I was afraid he’d kill the man with how much he was punching him. The last thing needed around here is Batman or Robin adding murder to their warrants.” Y/N explained “Robin said he’d contact Batman to take care of the guy and then he comforted me until Batman arrived. Looking back on it, I feel so silly for crying like that, but Robin didn’t comment on it, he said it was alright to let it all out. He was so good to me that night. I felt safe with Robin.”

“It seems Robin has made an impression on you,” Bruce commented airily.

“I have always been of the mindset that people like Batman and Robin are needed, they serve a purpose, but meeting Robin, and experiencing how he comforted me and how he managed to calm me down and make me feel comfortable and safe around him, and how he cared… it’s hard not to have an impression made.” Y/N told him, “Robin is a good person, and so is Batman, I don’t care how much criticism I will get in the papers or online for supporting them. Supporting them is the right thing to do because who knows if I would be alive or dead if Robin wasn’t in that area that night.”

Y/N’s father walked back into the room before Bruce could respond to what Y/N had said, but he watched her closely as she stood up and hugged her father before bidding them both a goodbye and returning to her room, before she walked into her room, Y/N looked over her shoulder at Bruce and sighed.

“Bruce?” She said.

“Yes.”

“Can you tell Jason that… I hope we can talk soon?”

“Of course.”

________________________________________________________________

“Hey,” Jason said, jogging to catch up with Y/N, who in turn slowed down her pace to a stroll so Jason could catch his breath. They were in the hallways of their university, which were nearly empty as it was still quite early in the morning and not everyone wished to arrive before eight in the morning on a Monday. Most people didn’t sign up for an 8 AM lecture, but Y/N and Jason were required to attend for Physics.

“Hey yourself,” Y/N smiled, “long time no see.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Jason sighed as he apologised, “things have been weird with me lately.”

“I get it,” she said with a subtle nod, “my life hasn’t been the most normal as of late, for months actually,” Y/N confessed. Jason gave her an apologetic smile before gently bumping her shoulder with his as they walked side by side like they did before everything went weird.

“Bruce told me you were hoping we could talk,” Jason said quietly, “made me realize how much I missed talking to you.”

“I missed you too, Jace,” Y/N said, bumping his shoulder with her own as he had just done to her. The action caused them both to smile, blush and look down. It felt as though they were falling back into their old routine quickly like nothing had happened between them in the first place. It was nice. It was comforting. It was familiar.

“Nice necklace,” he said, gesturing to the chain with the robin on, “suits you.”

“Thanks,” Y/N blushed, “it was a gift,” she told him, “from someone, very, very important to me.”

Jason grinned widely and chuckled, looking down at the floor for a second before taking a step or two faster than Y/N.

“Glad to know I’m that special to you, Damsel,” he said carelessly. Y/N stopped in her tracks, as did Jason – the realization of what he said had dawned on him the moment the words left his mouth. He slipped up. Of all the moments, of all the times to slip up. Jason wished more than anything that he could go back and stop himself from speaking, stop himself from running up to her, but Bruce telling him that Y/N hoped they could talk soon caused him to forgo any common-sense to please her, then this had happened.

Y/N stood rooted to the spot, pointing at him with an open mouth. Damsel. He called her Damsel. The words he said had meaning to her. The tone he spoke in was identical to his. The chuckle and the playful grin as he spoke. Y/N thought there was no way two people could do the exact same thing. Not even twins were completely identical.

“What did you just say?”

“No-no-nothing,” Jason stuttered quickly, “absolutely nothing. So tell me, how're your parents?” he said trying to change the subject. Jason turned to walk towards Y/N, but she shook her head and took a step back.

“No. You said ‘Damsel’,” Y/N said quietly, “you said, ‘glad to know I’m that special to you,’ and then you called me ‘Damsel’. Only one person would ever call me ‘Damsel’, and it is not Jason Todd.”

Y/N’s mouth went dry and she started shaking her head as she put two and two together. Jason Todd was Robin. Robin was Jason Todd. Robin, the love of her life, was standing right before her now, without his mask. Her eyes felt damp. Why didn’t he tell her? Y/N thought. He knew for so long how upset she had been with the distance between Jason and herself and that she felt she was to blame by rejecting him, and it turned out that he was there the whole time and didn’t tell her. She thought they were close, Robin and herself, and that they could tell each other anything, and that they were so connected that their secrets could be shared, and then the words Jason had said to her as Robin came back into her head – to remember that night on the balcony when she saw who was under the mask. She also remembered the thoughts she had that night. She wondered what Robin could ever do to betray her, and the only thing she could think of was Robin being someone she knew and someone who hurt her. The phone call she made to Jason where she left the message saying that Jason was her friend and that she missed him, and how upset she was when Jason texted Alfred to get him out of a conversation with her and how much it pained her to realise he was avoiding her. Jason knew all of this as Robin, but he didn’t do anything to fix it.

“Y/N…”

“You’re Robin?” She said. The moment the words came from her mouth, Jason covered her mouth with his hand and quickly pulled her into an empty lecture hall, pushing her against the wall next to the door and whispered quietly.

“Please don’t be loud and draw attention,” he begged, “and I’ll take my hand away,” he promised. Y/N nodded and Jason slowly pulled his hand away. Y/N remained perfectly still against the wall as Jason stepped back. She didn’t meet his eye, keeping her eyes firmly on the ground. “Please say something.”

“You’re Robin?” Y/N repeated, vaguely glancing up.

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t tell me.”

“I wanted to.”

“You didn’t tell me,” she said again, “for months you came by as Robin and avoided me as Jason and knew how upset I was over all of it and didn’t tell me. Instead, you chose to keep it quiet and slip up.”

Y/N wrapped her arms around herself. For months this had been going on. Y/N had trusted him and told him things as Robin that he had no right knowing as Jason, and not only that but the words of love exchanged between them, the promises, the actions, the kisses. God, it hurt so much to realise it.

“I was planning to tell you.”

“But you didn’t, Jason,” Y/N snapped holding back tears. Y/N couldn’t take it anymore; she threw open the door and stormed out into the hallway, Jason following closely.

“Y/N!” He called, but Y/N had turned on her heel and ran. Y/N ran down the hall, she ran out of the doors, she ran from the building. Y/N ran from Jason Todd, and when she was far away from Jason, Y/N cried.

#damsel in distress #Jason Todd #Jason Todd Titans #Jason Todd imagine #Jason Todd x Reader #jason todd x y/n #Robin imagine #robin x reader #Jason Todd Robin #Robin Jason Todd #Titans #Titans DC #Fanfiction #imagine #oneshot

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timeisacephalopod · 5 years

Text

Snapshot

A lil Ned/ Peter AU because these boys don’t get enough love! They’re aged up, so they’re in their twenties rather than teens, but still. Its a celeb AU also- Peter plays Spider-Man instead of being him.

“Oh my god I can’t go out there,” Ned hisses at Michelle. She looks nonplussed but she always looks like that even when there are celebrities here. Ok, there are always celebrities here but Ned doesn’t really care about most of them its just that he happens to be a huge Spider-Man nerd and Peter Parker is the best person he’s ever seen cast as the character. Toby Maguire was a travesty, and Andrew Garfield is pretty but not the perfect fit. Peter Parker though, Ned has never seen someone bring the character to life the way he does. Everything about him is absolutely perfect and now he’s sitting at a table with Tony Stark and okay this is... this...

“Ned, get your head out of your ass, he’s in your section,” Michelle tells him.

“You’ve got this!” Liz tells him over the little half wall that separates him from the kitchen area she’s in.

Yeah, he’s got this. He’s totally got this- Peter Parker is just a regular dude looking for food and Ned happens to know the food here is good. He probably eats too much of it, though to be fair he works a lot. Celebrities give good tips and he has school bills to pay for and also rent.

He starts walking over and okay never mind he does not got this he’s a lowly fat boy in school walking towards a person who plays one of the most iconic characters on television right now he is not worthy. He goes to turn around and give his table to Michelle when Peter god damn Parker notices him and smiles, waving a little excitedly and Ned has no choice now he has to go over.

“Uh, hey. I’m waiter, I’ll be your Ned this evening. I mean I’m a waiter, my name is Ned. I will be waiting. On the food. With the food, on you. Um. I’m going to shut up now,” he says, wishing he could banish himself to the shadow realm forever for that. Holy Christ he managed to embarrass the hell out of himself in less than two seconds this is the worst day of his life he hopes the earth gets hit by an astroid large enough that he’ll die long before he has to deal with poor Peter.

Yeah, Peter knows Ned is embarrassed but it was cute, watching him flounder a little. “Do you ever get used to that?” he asks Tony.

He shakes his head, “not really. I mean you get used to it in a way that you kind of expect it, but not in a way where you can really accept why people treat you that way. Or I didn’t, I know a lot of people who kind of let that kind of treatment go to your head and we’ve all watched what happens when child stars leave Disney. It really does fuck with people to have everyone treat you like a god only for them to turn around and get pissed off that you act like one now too.”

Shit, yeah Peter has seen that happen plenty but that’s just... not him. He grew up in Queens and didn’t even think he had a shot at landing the role of a lifetime. Hell, he would have ended up working a shitty dead end job because he couldn’t afford to go to college if not for Tony finding him at an improv group and deciding he had enough talent to fund his education. He’s always loved acting, putting on a show, and boy that has come back to bite him in the ass in really weird ways but in the end things worked out really well. Except for the part with the crazy fans, he doesn’t care for that, but that’s part of the job so.

“Hm. It wouldn’t be like... creepy to ask a fan out, right? Like because they’d be way less likely to say no to you? Would that be weird? I think that might be weird I won’t say anything,” he says, sealing his own fate.

Tony laughs, “depends on the fan and that one isn’t the type to worship you and also isn’t the type to stalk you. Keep in mind that consent goes both ways and fans are just as likely to ignore your boundaries. Maybe more, actually, since totally ignoring our privacy and personal space is considered normal and kind of encouraged. But that guy- just flustered. Probably a comic book nerd too,” he says.

If he’s a comic nerd Peter doesn’t see why he’d like Peter much. He can’t even believe the amount of blowback he got from the comic fandom over the fact that he’s trans and playing Spider-Man. Yeah, he obviously expected some blowback because that’s... well, normal not that he wants to admit that casual transphobia is alive and well. But it is, and he expected it, but the sheer amount of people that thought just that part of who he is should disqualify him from playing the character was nuts. Thankfully Peter Quill happens to be a crazy bastard and basically told everyone and their dogs to shove it because he knows what he’s doing. Which, to be fair, he does. And casting happens to be a skill he’s especially good with.

“Think you might be wrong about the comic nerd thing,” Peter says. Comic nerds are bird brains, he has decided.

“If you say so, kid,” Tony says and Peter can tell Tony thinks he’s right but he doesn’t say it.

Tony is trying to explain how he and Arthur Curry of all people ended up in a relationship when Ned comes back with food. Poor guy already suffered through drinks and Peter tried to talk to him to try and make him feel more comfortable but it didn’t really work. So when he comes back over Peter grins, “that smells so good,” he says and he is starving. Being stuck under film lights all day is actually exhausting work contrary to popular belief and obviously he gets fed but he’s like a bottomless pit with food. Can’t ever seem to get enough, but he’s always that way. The bonus is now that people read him as a guy no one asks if he should eat that much they just kind of assume he’s a glutton. Which, yay, because pastries.

“Um yeah, its pretty good. I’ve tried basically everything here except the caviar and the escargot because I draw the line at rich people food that sounds like it should be poor people food,” he says and Tony snorts, laughing into his hand.

“Yeah, guess fish eggs kind of do sound more like a thing poor people would eat than rich people. Weird. Also, not good- I’ve tried it and I don’t get the hype,” he says, shrugging.

“Tastes like spunk, I don’t get it either,” Tony says and the response obviously surprises Ned because he looks at Tony with a shocked expression on his face which, in hindsight, is probably why he doesn’t notice Peter’s food go overboard and into his lap. He jumps up before the hot food can do damage, then winces when the plate ends up in several pieces on the ground and Ned looks horrified.

“Its okay!” Peter says fast. “Things happen!”

“I am so sorry!” Ned says, eyes wide in horror.

“Its fine! I’ve had worse things thrown at me,” he says fast. Which is true, but also.

Ned rolls his eyes, “all those people who decided you couldn’t play Spider-Man because of some comic book inaccuracy or whatever bullshit need to look at those comics again because in issue 1034, which was released eight weeks before you even got the role, Gwen Stacy asks if you can lay eggs. Tom Holland, not you, you just play him. Whatever. Anyway, Gwen Stacy is a genius so she’d definitely know that only lady spiders can lay eggs. Also, Spider-Man is well known for his slightly high pitched voice and sure, people can argue that’s because he’s a teenager but I was sixteen once too and by then my voice was normal, so for Tom Holland to have hit puberty that late its totally acceptable to consider the effects of T on his voice and also- wait, no, oh my god. You don’t give a shit about any of this, people suck. They’re transphobes and also you have the perfect frame for it and lets be real, Christian Bale would have been a better choice than Toby fucking Maguire,” he says, flapping a hand around and wincing at his rant.

Peter raises an eyebrow, “there’s actual comic text evidence for trans Spider-Man?” he asks and Ned shrugs, cheeks turning a little red.

“I mean, you kinda gotta dig but if they can randomly make Captain America HYDRA and then unmake him HYDRA when everyone hated that shit trans Spider-Man is much less controversial. Actually, its totally inconsequential because why would that affect being Spider-Man, it just means you gotta take T and you- Tom Holland not you- got bit by a radioactive spider. Is being trans really more unrealistic than that? Because any idiot who claims realism probably need to pull their head out of their ass because the real world ain’t got super soldier serum to give you a shredded bod. Which, by the way, is my kind diet plan- just taking some experimental serum and come out hot. You don’t care about that either, oh my god, I’m getting comic nerd on a celebrity and also your food and-” Peter cuts Ned off to save him from himself.

“I think I might be in love with you, Ned,” he says and then winces, looking to Tony in a panic. Why the hell would he even say that!

“What he means,” Tony interjects smoothly, “is that he thinks you’re adorable, and he wants you number. Maybe a date, if you’re comfortable.”

Ned stares for a long moment. “Oh my god this is exactly season two episode four where MJ asks Gwen out for you even though that’s dumb because MJ and Gwen clearly belong with each other,” Ned says, eyes wide.

“Yeah I know right? Peter- Quill-” he clarifies when he remembers too late there’s two Peters involved in Spider-Man, “keeps pushing for it but stupid TV people won’t let him. So now he’s writing them as gay as possible to piss everyone off, except its kind of backfiring because now everyone thinks he’s queerbaiting but he’s not he’s queer expliciting as much as he can before someone fires him. Also yeah, I just don’t think Gwen is a good match for my character anyways, I mean she’s nice and all that but they’re kind of... platonic. Oh, um, do you know what a Miles Morales is?” he asks because Quill mentioned him and Peter has no idea who that is.

Ned does because he lets out a loud noise that’s halfway between a huff and a squeal and Peter is sure he’s never heard a noise like it before. “Oh my god they’re introducing Miles Morales! Yes!”

Tony throws a dinner roll at him and it bounces off his head, “you shit head, don’t give away spoilers!” he says like it isn’t a meme that Peter consistently gives stuff away. At this point they’ve started using it as marketing material it happens so often. Like that time he opened a supposedly internal poster on his Instagram and faked being shocked when he realized it wasn’t supposed to be public. Everyone ate it up even if they all knew it was fake- obviously it was considering the video was never taken down, but the fans loved it anyway.

“Give me every single spoiler now!” Ned says, excitement written all over his features.

Peter considers saying no but he’s not good at peer pressure, its how he got talked into doing shrooms when he was thirteen and that was a bad plan. “The multiverse explodes and one of the spider people dies but I can’t tell you which one,” he says quickly. Tony throws another roll at him for it but he can’t help it.

Ned lets out a loud screech, “oh my god if Peter Quill kills you I’ll go kill him!” he yells way too loud. People turn to stare and Peter waves them off.

“Talking about a TV show!” he assures people and Ned, to his credit, looks like he kind of wants the earth to swallow him.

“Peter doesn’t die,” Tony says, “and we’re going to leave before Dipshit McGee lets any more spoilers loose. You might not want to tell anyone any of that stuff, people will find you and I really wish that was a joke but its not. You’ll get like twelve cease and desist letters.”

“That’s true, I have like fifty of them in frames and also I’ve been banned from reading scripts until shooting schedule because I really am terrible at keeping things secret and this is really Quill’s fault for telling me any of this stuff and hey wait I don’t have his number yet,” he says and Tony drags him off.

“I’ll get his number and pay, you stop spoiling Quill’s hard work before he decides to kill you next,” Tony says.

#peter parker x ned leeds #fanfiction #alternate universe #writing

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strainingfororiginality · 7 years

Text

Chapter 2.4 - Paradise

Note from Author:

I have struggled a bit with this part for some time. I’d written a part of it quite a while ago and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to take this route down the story UNTIL the Mister Quinlan comics came out late last year and my decision was solidified. I plan on writing a much more detailed explanation, but I was ridiculously disappointed in the characterization given to us for Tasa.

I know that my standards for a Female Character probably surpass most readers out there (I actually expect them to have some kind of agency and not just be a “beautiful” accessory) and Quintus was originally pitched to us as a character that is driven by some fundamentally incredible LOVE. He seeks the Master because of this great love that was lost and, without going into too much of a rant here about, we were given a sexy lamp instead.

Out of 5 issues, she spoke a total of six times. Six. She had zero agency on the story itself and Quintus repeatedly just called her beautiful. There is so much more I can go into about this, but I will stop digressing for now. For those who are disappointed with what I’ve done, I simply cannot apologize. And for those who use the very tiresome excuse of “woman of her time” --> Here.

Two for the taking

You can have it all at once if you make it sane

Its gonna drive you

Back down the roads and the streets and pavements

Stamping your ground and the rules that shaped us

(That shaped us)

(I could walk you)

(That shaped us)

It was a crippling sorrow with which he struggled to cope. He felt like he should have been numb to this type of grief by now, but there was something fundamentally different about it. What the prophet had confessed to him had invoked an overwhelming and unshakable guilt.

The debate within him raged between two particular considerations and he was unsure which one pained him more. Had it been that he, inadvertently, destroyed any chance she may have had at eventually rising to Heaven? Or was it more selfish than that? Was it that he would never lay eyes on her again. Never speak to her again. Never hear her again. Never touch. Never taste. Never … smell?

The last thought was false. Occasionally, he was certain he could smell her. The breeze would shift and he would get just the faintest whiff of her … Angelica.

But of these two considerations, he would tell himself often that it was indeed the former which caused him more grief, because the latter was merely selfish, right? Was this not his plan though? Was this not what he expected when he took that bomb to that island that night?

Not exactly. No. He knew he had to leave her there, yes, but he would remind himself that he expected he would not continue at all, in any existence or form. He had expected oblivion, not this ... torment. This … purgatory.

Considering the former was significantly worse. Had he damned her? What could possibly be her fate now? There were too many questions and he knew he would never be given their answers. Was her fate sealed, on Earth, alone while he was expected to live in paradise alone? After he had released her, would she grow old and die still? What would happen to her soul then? Inevitably, he would circle back to wondering if saving her that day had been selfish or not. He would assure himself there had been no way to know, but he would hate himself a little bit more each time nonetheless.

After a while, he eventually accepted that both things pained him equally. He’d dealt with the latter before when he lost his wife. He also thought he might never see Tasa again and he’d continued to exist for nearly two thousand years after that loss, had he not? He could endure this then, right? It should get easier … However, he knew that this was somehow distinctly different. This misery affected more than just his heart, he felt this ache seeping into his very soul.

After he saw the queue at the Hall of Visitation, he left Ephraim and Rebecca there, promising to return later. The doctor had grabbed his arm and whispered lowly in his ear so that none would hear. "Find me after I’m back. I’ll tell you what I see."

"Thank you, Doctor." Of this, he was extremely grateful as it gave him something to look forward to and now he waited. Honestly, he wasn’t sure how long it would be as he’d never seen a line so long, wrapping around the building several hundred times and he was told that it was backed up for months. That when the strigoi outbreak had first occurred, the hall had been closed and this was the backlog that had occurred.

Eventually, the prophet left him to wander. It was obvious that he was able to shift, as they called it, without need for aid. This ability had even shocked his watchers when it had first occurred. He could not spontaneously be in a place of his choice yet, but he seemed to be able to walk to it without the need for a pre-existing paths. They said this was a power of the Earth Seraphim and Hayyoth alone.

When he first began to explore, he kept his strigoi appearance but found that people didn’t take well to it even in Heaven. Most, if not all, who resided here were beautiful and he accepted that. Man was obsessed with beauty and if people could change how they looked, of course everyone would chose to be beautiful. On some fundamental level, this saddened him quite a bit as everyone he met seemed to look almost the exact same.

Beauty, as it is widely accepted, tends to sum to the absence of anything unique. In the end, he found himself conforming with it, simply because he did not wish to draw attention. He had actually laughed at one point, because in the end, it was an odd feeling to be so … generic. He had turned heads when he was alive and now, he blurred into the background. Years spent wishing to be a man, wishing to be the same and now that he had it, he realized what a travesty that desire actually was.

During his endless stroll, his shadows always in tow, he found Elysium first. It was exactly as he had always imagined it. Perfect. Beautiful. Generic. Boring. Rolling fields filled with Greeks and Romans. As he walked the streets and markets, he recognized many, though none recognized him. He did not stay long, as he feared seeing someone in particular.

Periodically, he would feel the itch of Hathų looking for him and he would go, finding her easily. He had learned to leave his frustration with her behind as he actually found her pleasant to be around. She had qualities that reminded him of Dawn a bit. She was quite defiant and her eyes were incredibly expressive, but eventually this was too much to bear and he would part her company again.

Next, he found Valhalla and Fólkvangr. At first, he was confused when he found six different versions of Valhalla and, uncharacteristic of them, his guards offered up a verbal explanation to his obvious confusion. An explanation that he wound up hearing quite often, repeated all throughout this ideal realm. "Everyone is entitled to their own version of Paradise."

He found Vaikuntha, Tian, and Tlalocan next. Each journey he finished made the next all that much easier, as it was simply a matter of applying his imagination to the steps he was taking. Next was The Fields Of Aaru, Tír na nÓg, and Otherworld.

The last he visited was Shamayim. He knew he was just distracting himself while he occasionally checked on Ephraim, still waiting in that ridiculous queue. His next planned stop was Cockaigne when he heard Hathų scratching for him again. He found her sitting patiently for him in a cafe in Elysium.

Smiling as she watched him approach, she waved to the chair across from her and he sat slowly, his guards keeping a good distance this time and affording them actual privacy. The longer they stayed with him, it seemed the more they grew to trust him or, more likely, grew bored of watching him entirely.

"It has been some time." Her voice and smile were both pleasant as always.

"Indeed."

"Where have you been lately?" She asked, expressing real interest and he told her of the things he’d seen and the places he’d found. He was shocked to realize that she had not seen most of them herself.

"I never venture far from my … family." She explained. “Not many do. And, it is quite difficult to see these places without shifting to them. Plus, it is not common to be so restless in Heaven.”

"If you ever wish to see them, I can take you." He offered her and she was pleased at his offer of friendship. “This is, if you find yourself curious enough to venture far.”

They sat for a quiet moment before she ordered them both teas and he took it, but did not drink from the cup immediately. "You should try it. This shop has become one of my favorite places."

"I do not need it." He explained.

"Nothing here is for the need, Quintus. It is just for the experience." He shrugged but complied, taking a drink of the sweet, warm liquid. It was supposed to be pleasant, but the caloric thickness of the dairy added to it still made him a bit uneasy. He cringed at the texture.

"You have seen many places, but ... have you found all of your lost yet?" She pushed and he could read her worry for him.

Note from Author: There was more planned here, but as I’ve received feedback to get the story along, I’ll skip it all for now. If I receive enough desire to hear more about the rekindling of old friendships, maybe I can be convinced to write one shots about them.

All went in the fire, drowning in the sea.

A red dawn, oh red font.

Caught up in the sea. All went in the sea

If only if only. If only if only.

Did you want to find a way (fight) (fly away)

I always saw me love

I will be love befallen

I will lay my teeth

I'll wait for growing

"I have seen many of them." He had found a number of people and had even spoken with most of them briefly. Decimus, Tacitus, Sertorius, Abraham, and William. He had even seen Liviana from a distance and found her absolutely perfect in appearance. She had not been so on Earth and her new look had been off putting to him so he had selfishly avoided her entirely. He would later feel guilty about that, but he would not seek her out again because she was happy and there was no need to remind her of the unfortunate life she had lived for his own personal gain.

"Yet you still wander." She pointed out as he nodded to her statement.

"I am not sure what else to do quite yet."

"If no one place suites you, then you can have something made that might." She suggested.

"I can have something made for me?" He stared down at the half full cup as the server came by. She might have asked if he wanted to try another, but he waved her off rudely without looking up and she left them in peace.

"Someplace. Yes. It's all … malleable here."

"Malleable?" He questioned, unsure of what to make of her abstract answer.

"There are The Shapers … those who can make worlds for others."

"Worlds?" He laughed. “My own personal paradise?”

"You’ve already been to a number of them. They did not always exist here, but they were sculpted from people’s imaginations. If you cannot find something that can make you happy, then they can help shape it for you." She offered.

"You think they can bring me happiness?" He doubted succinctly and she looked at his solemn face, “You think they bring me what I truly … desire?”

"Perhaps. They can bring you places and they can bring you things. And … if you want people, then they can even bring you shadows of them." She looked down at her cup as she spoke because she knew this was not what he wished to hear and he could read the shame on her face for even suggesting it.

"Mere shadows are not what I desire, Prophet."

"Desire is a … tricky word, Invictus." When he offered nothing more, she asked finally. “Do you have more loved ones to visit?”

"A few."

"What of your parents? Have you been back to see the Densus couple?"

"Not yet. No."

"You told Honoria you would." She reminded him and he sighed heavily. He did not need her lectures.

"I know and I will. They have not called to me and I am not yet ready." He pursed his lips together and he knew the prophet would not leave it as such as she continued to push.

"What about the woman you called mother?" She dug the name from her memory. “Ancharia, right?”

"Yes. She has called me to several times but …" He trailed off as he looked at the other customers seated around the quaint tea house. Everyone always seemed happy but he knew it wasn’t really happiness he was seeing. It was complacency. How was he supposed to spend eternity like this?

"But you ignored her?" She asked.

"She is not who I remembered her to be." Ancharia had been … different than his memories told him. He was significantly disappointed in that reunion and he was unsure how to act around her now that he had had time to mull it over. “Do not worry about me, please. I will find her again … when I am ready.” He qualified.

"And …" She hesitated, pulling on her own fingernails nervously before she spoke. “And what about your wife?”

He shuttered as it was apparent that the prophet had been listening that terrible night when he had confessed to his Poet about his wife. "I see." He said as he raised an eyebrow to her and she shrugged innocently. “How often were you present for my private conversations, princess?”

"Not as often as you probably assume." She answered. “I would usually only see when she was … in distress.” Yes. In that moment, before he had told Dawn about his wife, he had put the Poet in much … distress.

The silence was palpable before he finally spoke, repeating again what he’d said multiple times already. "I will find her when I am--"

"When you are ready." She finished his sentence as she sighed.

"Is it not up to me?" He asked, hoping she might grant him privacy. “I know you mean well, but I do not appreciate the pressure.”

"What keeps you from her? The words that you spoke that night about her were … “ Hathų trailed off as he could see her replaying them in her mind as he did the same.

"I have loved one and only one in all of my life, and I plan to ONLY love her. My time here draws to a close, I can feel it, and whatever afterlife awaits me, whether it be the fields or Tartarus, whether it be Heaven or even Hell, I go there with her on my mind and in my heart, always. She awaits me in eternity. It would be … unfair to you for me to pretend otherwise. Do you not deserve to find the same?"

He cringed at the memory of these words as he spoke. "Cruel." He finished her sentence but she shook her head. This was not the word he really wished to use. There were several that would have been more honest. Cowardly … Spineless … Scared … Lies.

"Memorable." She offered instead.

"Please do not remind me of that night." He sneered, unable to mask his growing annoyance at the mention of it. There were many things he regretted in his long life, and this particular moment topped that list. He would have gladly burned down Rome again, if he could just take back what he had said to his Poet that night. “Have you called me here to remind me of my regrets? I do not need you to do that for me, princess. I can do that all on my own.”

"Forgive me. It is not my place, but--"

"No, it is not your place."

"It is just … the way that you spoke of her that night … of your wife … I would have assumed you would seek her out immediately. Afterall, as you stated, she is the love of your life--"

Quintus shifted in his chair as he shook his head, interrupting her as quickly as he could. "This is none of your business, princess." He considered leaving but he stayed as something urged him to stay. Another itch … another … Patience Quintus.

"What is it then?" Hathų pressed gently. “Is it shame? Do you feel guilty about your attraction to Dawn? Does it make you feel as if you betrayed your wife?” He knew she was only trying to help, but a part of him screamed to get up and leave her sitting here alone … if it wasn’t for that itch. Patience Quintus. “You were alone for a very long time. You should not feel guilty that you--”

"My reasons are my own. I …" Why must she push him so hard? If he verbalized it, it would make the situation all the more real and he was not ready to accept what he had realized about Tasa quite yet. “I question many things still …”

"Question what exactly, Quintus?"

"Destiny." He could not move his eyes from his cooling tea. “Fate. Circumstance. Consequence. Eventualities … The Future … ”

"Your destiny has been achieved." She sighed. “Fate is finished with you just as it is finished with me. Now we can rest and you can finally move on.”

Yes. Exactly. She was spot on because this was what he feared the most. "But I question what my fate was, specifically." He found her dark brown eyes lovely and her lashes were impressively thick. He often stared at her lashes more than any other part of her face most times. His Poet had thick lashes as well … Had? Has.

"Your fate? To save the world? To defeat The Seventh?" She smiled.

"No." He shook his head. “Of that, I am no longer certain. I chose to believe it may have been her.”

Hathų seemed to be perplexed by this statement and she prodded gently. "What do you mean her?"

All the signs. Consequence and circumstance and eventuality. He thought about both of the dragonflies. The one for Dawn and the one for Tasa that last day. He considered telling Hathų everything, but he didn’t see a purpose to it. It was all cRaZy, right? What was the point of such a sign if Fate was just going to take her away from him that very same day.

He was concerned that he had misinterpreted it entirely. Was it not that he was supposed to let his wife go, or was it the complete opposite? Did it mean that he was supposed to let the Poet go instead? This was maddening and he muttered his next statement lowly. "The Master said we are all just pawns in a bigger game. I wonder what that game might be."

This statement caused her discomfort and he noted it immediately as she squeaked a timid response, grabbing her ear again as she rubbed it. This was her tell and he knew she was still hiding something from him each time she stroked it. "Does it matter? Whatever unfolds, neither of us will be a part of it going forward now. Our roles are done."

"And you just accept that? You do not seem like someone who would just accept that." He shrugged. “But after two thousands years, I cannot just … sit on the sidelines.” He stated firmly. Did she not understand that was simply not his nature?

"This is not easy for me either." She stared at her tea and he understood now that these visits were not just for his benefit. She was struggling to cope with her own inability to act. “But it is how it is now.”

"Yet it still makes me wonder. If everything that happened was … planned. If it was all by design, then I have just been manipulated since the beginning." His response was entirely toneless. “And, if that is true, then free will itself is a lie.”

"I don’t think anything has been by design, Quintus." She frowned. “It cannot be.”

"Why not?" His brows furrowed.

"Because …" She peered within the tea shop behind him briefly before looking back to his eyes. “Everything's a mess. The world is a cruel and terrible place. I will not accept that. This can’t be how it was supposed to play out.”

He chuckled lowly. Indeed. "Perhaps so. That still does not nullify my concern."

"What is troubling you? What drives these doubts?" She pressed him again and he knew that as he was learning to read her, she was learning to read him as well. “What is the point of these questions?”

"I ... question whether my feelings were ever my own." He rolled his head in annoyance of his own statement. “I question if any of it was ever real …”

"Quintus--" He could see her raise her eyebrow out of his peripheral vision, but he continued with his words while he stared to the now cold liquid in his cup.

"Was the entire thing manipulation? Was I drawn to her simply because of ... “ He needed to be discrete. “Our similarities?"

"Quintus." She said again as she reached across the table, gripping his closest hand with both of hers. He could have pulled it out of her grasp, but he found her touch warm and somewhat comforting. Her heart was kind. “That is absurd. This is what you have been doing? You have been questioning your feelings for her?”

"I was … “ He cleared his throat quietly. “ … attracted to her. I had not felt that type of … attraction for nearly 400 years." Confessing this to Hathų was less embarrassing than he had expected as he found he did not care anymore. He’d only ever confessed this once before, and he was dead now. What does any of it matter now? “My body reacted to her in a way I could not control and I question if it was perhaps because of what she was.” He frowned slightly. “Was it driven by something outside of my own control? Was I manipulated into it all? By design … perhaps even--”

"Quintus." She interrupted him as she shook her head, turning to look at his guards and pointing to the taller one. “What do you think of Bene Puriel?”

Turning to look at his guards again, he found Puriel standing tall, her stature perfectly erect as always with her hand on her sword and Dukiel, as always, had his finger up his nose. "She is … pleasant."

"No. She is beautiful." Hathų sighed. “She is perfection itself.”

Quintus looked again and nodded. "Indeed. She is. So what?"

"She is … similar to you, is she not?" Hathų’s discrete implication was that Puriel was an Angel, like him … like his Poet. He shrugged off her statement but she continued with another question. “And are you attracted to her in a similar way?”

"Attracted?" He was perturbed at the ridiculous question. “No. I am not. But that is not the same.”

"But why not?" Hathų smiled mischievously. “She is beautiful and strong and intelligent. She is loyal and experienced and--”

"What is your point?" He countered. “It is obviously not the same … here.”

"She is like you, right?" She whispered the next part lowly. “She is angelic, just as you are. Are you attracted to her? Do you desire her?”

Quintus shook his head. "No, that is not equivalent. I am just a spirit, I have no Qliphoth, no body that can desire--"

"And there it is. That is your mistake, Quintus." She hummed, taking another innocent drink of her beverage, quite pleased with her words. He squinted at her as he wasn’t following her explanation at all. It was not the same thing at all.

"In what way?" He didn’t make mistakes. “There is no physical desire--”

"That is your mistake, Quintus." She repeated and he glared at her, not appreciating the repetition. “Angels don’t function the same way man does. Specifically not in that regard.”

"Explain." He remained calm even in light of her demeaning tone.

"You said you hadn’t been … attracted to anyone in 400 years?" She asked and he nodded once. “Was it attraction or was it that your body no longer willing to comply with your manly needs?” She peered down to his lap and and he felt himself flush with heat over the embarrassment of it. Did she really want him to describe it in detail to her?

"Get to your point, princess." This title was supposed to be an insult but she giggled at it now, seeming to accept fully. “Do you find my problem amusing?” He was clearly displeased now.

"It is not your perceived problem that I find amusing." She shrugged as she smiled simply. “It is your ignorance surrounding it.”

"My … “ He coughed at her, frustration leaking into his voice. “Ignorance?!?"

"You are Hayyoth, Quintus. More so now than ever before. You have been getting stronger the older you get, yes?" She asked and he nodded.

"Ozryel’s divinity grew stronger within me each passing year." He accepted.

"Grows." She corrected his tense. The implication being that it was still happening. “Yes. You were born more man than angel. But the older you are, the more that scale shifts from one side to the other … the more angel than man you become.”

"And what does this have to do with my … performance problem?" He was impressed with the calmness of the ensuing conversation. He was more curious at this point than insulted as he was dead and there was no need to be in shame over it any longer.

"What you are perceiving as a problem, is actually quite the opposite." She smiled as she winked at him strangely. “You did not break, you evolved.”

"Continue." He said.

"Man was built in such a way as to promote the generation of new souls. The Garden of Eden was a garden, afterall. It’s entire purpose was to grow and harvest souls from the Pool of Creation." He listened intently, unsure where she was going with this quite yet.

"To increase this crop’s yield, he was created as a physically sexual creature. Driven by factors very nearly out of his own control, his body can react to stimulus even if he does not wish it to. His Qliphoth is controlled by physical forces. Hormones, pheromones and DNA, all in play to drive him to act on physical desires. To procreate. He has been programmed this way. In a way, this drives a divide between his Qliphoth and his soul. It is a curse of Mankind."

She paused to catch her breath and he shrugged. "Yes. So, what? You are saying angels aren’t sexual? If what you are saying is true and I am more angel than man now, then I would not have been attracted to anyone at all."

"No, Quintus. I am trying to explain that they function on an entirely different level than man. They are not driven to blindly reproduce with all suitable mates, to blinding create new souls for the sake of pleasure and physical need. They don’t just see someone that might be a good genetic match and … hop on it." She giggled at her own words as she blushed slightly. “When they feel a sexual attraction that is only because there is a fundamental bond that has formed.”

"Fundamental bond?"

"Love." She confirmed simply. “And love is attached to the soul, not the body. With man, lust and love can be entirely mutually exclusive, but for divine beings, one cannot exist without the other. And this type of desire needs no Qliphoth to exist within you … even now.”

He paused for a brief and quiet moment as he tried to internalize her explanation. "I have been told that love has been disproven. That it is simply oxytocin in your brain." He grinned as Hathų ruffled her nose at him.

"Oxy-What?" She questioned in annoyance. “Who told you that?!?” She prodded aggressively.

"No. No one. No one." He chuckled lowly to himself as he recalled that awkward conversation they had shared in the cabin and he found his chuckle had turned into a full blown laugh. “It was just something that Dawn said to me.”

"Of course it was." Hathų shook her head.

"Because I told her that I loved her." Quintus shrugged as he bit back another laugh as he smiled, remembering that his Poet was such a strange, little creature. “That I was … in love with her.”

"Why would she say something like that to you?" Her confusion was profound.

"I do not think she believed me." He confessed to Hathų. “My words … that regrettable night … gave her reason to harbour much doubt.“

"Sometimes she is her own worst enemy."

Quintus laughed again in agreement. "Indeed."

She looked up sharply as surprise spread over her dark face. "Wait … when did you tell her this?" The curiosity in her voice made Quintus smile. He was grateful they had had some amount of privacy from her prying eyes that day.

"Do you not know?" He asked in amusement. “I assumed you were always watching us ... even then.”

"Even when?" She seemed distressed now. “But … When did you tell her that?” Shock oozed from her face. “What happened that final day?”

Quintus smiled as he enjoyed knowing something she did not for once. "It matters not. Does it? Not now … " The smile was short lived.

"Umm … no. I suppose it does not." She looked guilty for some reason and shelved her desire to know as she realized there was no way he was going to tell her more. “But no, it is not oxy-what-not.”

"Tocin." He corrected and Hathų huffed as she waved a disapproving arm in the air.

"Love is not a chemical. What you felt for her was not a chemical. It was not hormones, or pheromones or even by design. You hit a tipping point nearly 400 years ago and your body fundamentally changed when it occurred. Your will has been and will always be your own."

"You are saying …" He reconsidered the vulgarness of his next words before he said them, but he said them anyways, being comfortable enough around her now to not care if he might insult her any longer. “I wanted to fuck her because I loved her … rather than--”

"Rather than loving her because you wanted fuck her. It is a subtle, but remarkably powerful distinction, is it not?"

"Indeed." He smiled as he found himself accepting it. It clarified something quite profound that he was struggling with, concerning his wife as well. She had quickly alleviated something sinister that had been weighing on his mind for weeks. His love for her was his own. With one important conversation, she’d returned the control he felt like he’d lost over his own body four hundred years ago as well as the doubts that had grown over that change. “Thank you.”

There was a brief pause as the breeze pushed through the square and Quintus looked up to her staring at him patiently as he asked. "How do you know so much about this?"

"It is not secret … and … I have many friends who are … like you." Her rubbed her ear again and Quintus smirked, cataloging the statements that made her do this so that he could eventually work out a theory for it. Releasing her ear, she frowned at him. “But, you should not spend so much time alone. It is enabling such doubt to fester.”

"I am fine." He was so far from fine right now, but he knew he thought he could handle it. The last woman he loved, he had lost and he survived for thousands of years, had he not? “And, I am clearly not alone. It is not permitted. I have Puriel and Dukiel.” He smirked, unable to keep a straight face at his own joke.

She entirely ignored his quip. "I found this shop not very long ago. I was looking for someone and I happened across it. It had become one of my favorite places. I even brought your friend Abraham here." She smiled as she waved the server over. “Do you like your tea? Would you like to try another flavor?”

"No." He pouted. “I told you I do not like tea. Is there somewhere I can get blood instead?” He lied. He actually quite liked tea.

"What is preventing you, Quintus?" She pushed gently. “You have been free for months now.” Damn, she was back on that top again.

"Indeed. So what is a few more months when I have waited tens of thousands already?" He brought the cup up to his lips and considered another drink, but cringed as he put it back down. He found even the smell distasteful.

"What drives this hesitation?" She pressed again. Defiant. She was so used to getting her way and he knew she didn’t care that he didn’t wish to speak of it with her.

"Please stop. It is not that simple." Staring down into the cup that was now entirely cold, he waved his hand over it, heating it back up instantly. It was getting easier and easier to manipulate things around him and Hathų gasped in surprise at the act before he spoke. “I am not the same … person … I was back then. As you have just explained to me. I was very young and quite naive. Many things have changed. And … what if … ”

Gif by @5disilk

A different server was there again, interrupting them as she asked if he would like to try another flavor since he clearly didn’t like what he had. Never breaking his gaze on the cup, he shook his head and she retreated.

"What if?" Hathų poked him to continue.

"What if she is not as I remembered her." He asked, but he knew this was just an excuse. “Just like Ancharia?”

"It is always a possibility. People, dead or alive, are allowed to change, but … you loved this woman, yes? Does she not deserve to see you at least? With a love like you described, I imagine she misses you as well."

Quintus rolled his head in frustration as he grunted. "Were you married, prophet?" He asked, simply and she nodded. “Were you reunited with your husband here?”

"No. My Earthly husband and I did not persevere but I know many who have. Look at Honoria and Sempronius." She smiled and her next thought obviously brought her much joy as her smile only deepened. “But … I have love here and I was re-married after I arrived.”

"You have a husband … here?" He was shocked by this, as she had never mentioned it and she nodded merrily. “I should like to meet the one who would have seduced the great prophet some time.”

There was the ear rub again and he smirked. This subject made her nervous. "No. He works … a lot." She shook her head.

"There is … work … in Heaven?"

"Some people enjoy working and yes, there is. Even this shop owner" She waved towards the waitress as she spoke. “She chooses to work, though she need not do so. It is the act of bringing joy to another that they enjoy. The act of contributing something of value. Or, people get bored.”

"Yes. I can definitely see the latter … " He said as his voice trailed off. Heaven was full of complacency.

"Do not change the subject, Invictus. She would want you to be happy." He didn’t appreciate this sentence at all.

"I do not need you--"

"Dawn would not wish this on you. She would want you to be happy, Quintus." She reached for his hand and he pulled it away from her, placing it in his lap. “I know it.”

"Do not push m--"

"Take as long as you require." She was quite pushy right now. “Mourn for as long as you need, but know that she wouldn’t wish this existence on you. She would want you to be happy, even if it was with someone else.”

"You do not know what she would want." He spat and he might have spoke again, but she took the conversation from him.

"Do you not want her to find happiness as well?" She asked and her words shook something loose within him. He had not actually considered that yet and he felt nauseous at the thought of it. Could another man be touching her? Oh gods.

"If any man touches her, I will end him. I swear it." He began to sneer through a clenched jaw as his eyes grew quite mad. “He would die a death so pain--”

"Quintus!" Hathų caught him mid-sentence as she chastised his impending words. “You are dead! You cannot end anyone!”

"Mea est!!!" He slapped the table hard and drew the attention of those around them while Hathų hide her face in shame. “If any man touches her and his soul comes through here, I will make him wish he had been sent to the pit! Pedicabo ego eum in aeternum!”

"Oh my god!" Hathų brought her hands over her ears as she spoke. “You are being a child. You are parted forever, you cannot expect her to remain as broken as you are choosing to stay.” She huffed at him with seething disappointment and he stared down at his cup, pouting yet again. “And do not change the subject. Is it guilt? Is that why you are delaying--”

"It is guilt." He interrupted with an admission but he shook his head as he considered his words carefully next. “But not in the way that you are assuming.”

"I understand, Quintus. You planned to only love one. Change happens. You fell in love again, it happens. Feeling guilty loving her--"

"I do not feel guilty for loving Dawn!" He spat, unable to cool the growing anger that showed through his eyes as his hands slapped palm down on the wooden table again, creating an even louder noise that drew even more attention from those seated around them. “Nor will I ever feel guilty for that.”

For the first time since they started speaking, she looked almost afraid to say anything else for fear of invoking even more anger from him, but she drew a quick breath as she looked around nervously. "Then what is it? Explain it to me."

"I am guilty because … " He placed his hand in his hands as he breathed out heavily. Was she really going to make him say this out loud? Oh gods. It already hurt so badly to just know it. If he spoke it, he felt like it would make it absolutely certain. “I do not love Tasa any longer … and now, because of your words today, I actually question if I ever did.”

Hathų’s face flushed with complete shock as her hand covered her mouth quickly. This was not what she was expecting to hear and she pushed her chair back quickly. "We should go talk about this … let’s … go for a walk."

Quintus blinked at her and then shrugged, but as he heard the voice behind him, Hathų’s eyes grew even wider as her face continued to get redder.

"I am sorry to be a bother again, but is there a problem here?" Oh gods … that voice. It was ... her voice. Quintus locked eyes with Hathų as the prophet hid her face behind her hands and no further words escaped his mouth. Just as with Honoria, he froze, unable to turn to face the woman. “If you are that displeased, I can bring another.”

"I am very sorry for the commotion." Hathų apologized as she stuttered. “C-c-can you get the green one for him to try?” She asked and Quintus tried to refuse vehemently, waving his hand back and forth over his cup as he finally looked up into the woman’s face and his refusal halted instantly. The last time he had seen those eyes, he had removed her head from her body with a sword.

She looked exactly the same, not having changed anything about herself. And why would she? She had always been breathtaking. It was what had drawn him to her to begin with. Dark hair, equally dark eyes and beautifully olive skin.

She hadn’t spoken because he’d halted her each time she’d come to their table and now he stared up at her with wide and shocked eyes. "If that is alright with you?" She smiled at him and he felt himself nodding only once as she walked away. She hadn’t recognized him. Of course she hadn’t, he looked so very different now and his head swam with nervousness.

Tasa.

"You knew." He glared at Hathų as she took an uncomfortable sip of her drink, staring off to the right. He hated being manipulated.

"I am sorry." She frowned. “I found her after you told Dawn about her that night. She is quite lovel--”

"You manipulated me." He sneered and he might have bit another insult back to her, but Tasa was back as she set another cup in front of him, flashing her incredible smile at him. As she looked at him this time, she furrowed her brows.

"I am so sorry to interrupt you again, but … have we met before?" She cocked her head to the right. “You seem familiar to me.” She spoke but he had no words with which to respond and this caused Hathų to shift uncomfortably slightly.

"It is possible, as my friend did not always look as he does now." She began but Quintus halted her immediately.

"No. I am sure we have not." He smiled and Tasa nodded.

"Let me know if you find this one distasteful as well, we can always try another." Her smile was exactly the same and he shuddered as he remembered looking forward to this exact moment for millennia. Each time he had rubbed the locket … picturing her eyes, her lips, her hair …

He placed his head into his hand again as the memory of throwing the locket into the river flashed back across his mind. His head swam again and Hathų pressed further.

"Why did you say that? Why did you not just admit who you are?"

"I do not know. I …" Quintus shook his head. “She … she did not recognize me.”

"Of course she didn’t! You are quite …" Hathų blushed. “Handsome now. Well … “ She paused again, realizing her insult. “Not saying that you were not handsome before but--”

"I know I was a monster before, but … not even my voice?" He had known her by her voice alone. Turning around in his seat, he watched her carefully. Noticing his lingering staring, she smiled back to him nervously and he spun back around in embarrassment. “Oh gods. What have you done??” His face went back into his hands as he questioned Hathų again. “I was not ready for this.”

"You would have never been ready. We both know that." She shook her head as his fury with her was only growing.

"You do not know that! It was not your right!" The tables directly around them turned to see the commotion that his raised voice was causing yet again. It was an unnatural thing to be displeased in Heaven and he’d never seen people arguing here. In Valhalla, yes … constantly. But not here in Elysium, not even once. He felt flustered and cornered by the entire experience that she had architected.

"That is why I said I am sorry. But, it is done. The band aid is off." She shrugged. “Now … go and talk to her. Tell her who you are or just … change yourself and let her see you.”

He shook his head as he gripped the cup in both hands, staring blankly at the table as he lifted it and took a drink, forgetting that he hated the taste of it. Sneering at the liquid, he set it back down before he snuck another look over his shoulder again.

A woman, who looked remarkably like Tasa, emerged from the shop with a tray full of drinks, handing it to his wife as she spoke her. She had been the second server who had come and he hadn’t looked up at her face either, but he had not recognized her voice. The last time he heard her, she was so very young. "Mum, here."

Mum? Mum?!? He stared at the woman as she re-entered the shop, through the glass windows as the recognition struck him quickly.

Sura.

Oh gods.

She was grown now and she looked far more beautiful than he had imagined she would have, had she been allowed to grow up. That was not surprising, as everyone here was beautiful, weren’t they?

He spun back around and took another drink of his terrible tea, finishing it off fully as he stared blankly at the table for a moment more.

"Quintus." Hathų started to push again, but his hand flew, a finger pointing directly to her face.

"Do not speak to me again. You are a conniving snake!" He whispered lowly as he spied over his shoulder yet again, whipping back around quickly as Tasa turned their direction. Hathų complied, taking another silent drink.

"If you will not go to speak with her, then I will. I did not think you ever such a coward!" Hathų threatened and Quintus took a deep breath as he stood bravely from his chair. He turned to face Tasa and took a single step as that damn itch in his mind returned and he paused. Patience Quintus. Wait for it.

I'm giving you up

I've forgiven it all

You set me free, oh

And in that brief hesitation, at that moment, a man approached his wife. As she turned, the look of happy recognition spread across her face and Quintus halted completely.

"Hello Amenzu." She smiled at him as he closed the distance between them. Quintus could only watch with a mouth agape. Amenzu … he knew that name. He’d heard Tasa speak it in her sleep once before. She had cried it out with more pain than he had ever heard in her voice. He woke her from the nightmare and she had cried in his arms. “My love.” Quintus stood a step back but stood and watched as she sat the man at a close table. He smiled as he reached out to touch her arm, stroking it gently while she bent to kiss him. The way that she looked at that man … she had never looked at him this way.

Amenzu … was the name of …

He repeated the name in his mind again as he heard Hathų gasp a whisper from behind him. "She has met someone new?!?"

It had been a very long time. It was quite reasonable to assume that she would not have waited for him all that time, but he knew the prophet’s statement was not accurate. No, he knew this name and she had not met someone new.

Amenzu … was the name of …

"Dad!" Sura emerged from the shop with her own gleeful greeting and he watched as the two women sat at the table. “How was your trip, did you--”

Amenzu … was the name of Tasa’s dead husband.

He had died years before Quintus had taken his family. The Romans had slaughtered him and enslaved his family. Turning back around, he didn’t listen to their ensuing conversation as he slipped very slowly back into his seat, covering his face quickly with both of his hands.

Amenzu ... was the name of Sura’s father.

She had not met anyone new and Quintus exhaled deeply, keeping his face from view as he slowly processed what he had just witnessed. He’d waited to be with Tasa for nearly two thousand years, thinking of her every single day, pining for her beauty and her soft voice and … her songs.

This entire time … she’d been here in Heaven … with the love of her mortal life … happy.

And it was not him.

It had never been him.

Hathų watched in silent horror as the situation unfolded before them. Covering his face, she was sure he had started to weep lowly, his chest heaving slightly.

"Quintus. Oh my god. I am so sorry. I am so sorry." She tried to apologize profusely as she had never seen him cry, but as his hands melted away from his face, she realized he was not crying. He was … laughing.

Meeting her eyes, he smiled. "I was guilty that she may have waited for me for two thousand years and … " His face was the happiest that she had seen since he’d arrived and he stood quickly, knocking the chair to the ground behind him. “I … I … am free. I must go.”

And like that, Quintus was gone. There was no movement from him, he just shifted out of Elysium instantly and she bolted up as well, swinging around to the guards who were still idly standing, unaware of his disappearance. Her sudden movement cued them onto it and as they came running, Hathų shook her head.

"Ah crap. That backfired."

And finally I'm forced to face the truth

No matter what I say

I'm, not over you

Quintus stood and stared at the ridiculous queue into the final waiting room. The guards had been told not let him through, but when he spied Ephraim sitting idly in the room, he waved and the doctor returned his gesture enthusiastically. Quintus innocently pointed to him, turning to the Bene Elohim guard. "Do you mind if I speak with my friend for just a moment?"

The guard nearly refused but then permitted him entrance. People were quite trusting here it seemed. "Make it quick."

As he walked to greet Goodweather, he watched as the large monitor on the far wall switched to another symbol and a man sprung up, walking to the door that was flashing. He placed a small ticket into a slot on the side and the door opened. There were ten doors total and he looked over at Ephraim’s ticket as he approached.

"Great timing man!" Ephraim smiled at her and waved a piece of paper at him with a strange symbol on it. “I’m next!”

Quintus blinked. "How … fortuitous." The timing was perfect then? How? He smiled as the Professor’s words graced his memory as the monitor flipped to Ephraim’s number and the far right door’s light came on. “There are no coincidences, only eventualities, Doctor. I do apologize.”

"Sorry for what?" Ephraim asked with profound confusion.

The ticket was in Quintus' hand quickly as he released his human appearance to focus his energy better and fluidly pushed Ephraim down to the ground with enough force to send him sliding across the ground to trip the running guards like a bowling ball. They had been eyeing him suspiciously since permitting him entrance and they were fast, but not as fast as he was. The ticket was in the slot and he was through the door, closing it behind him and snapping the handle off before they even managed to pull themselves back up from the ground.

The room itself was quite tiny, no more than four feet in any direction with a single monitor on the wall. He heard the voice giving him direction. "Please imagine the loved one that you would like to visit." This was easily the most modern place he’d seen in his travels yet.

Imagine his loved one. Done.

The experience itself was not unlike shifting entirely. He felt the reality of the room melt away as it was replaced all around him and he found himself standing in a very loud and very packed room. It took him a moment to realize it was a reception of some sort. People danced around him gleefully, dressed with fancy attire. He seemed to be standing in the very center of the large hall, and as people danced around him, they took no notice of his existence at all, passing through him as if he was only a hologram

Fleeing the dance floor, stepping through people as he walked, he spun around and around as he searched for his intended target.

Where the hell was she? There were too many people and he began to get frustrated as he did not know how long he might have. He knew that time here was spinning faster than Heaven, but they would remove him from the room eventually.

The frustration melted away quickly as he took a step back, finally realizing what this celebration was for. Seated at the closest table, Dutch and Fet were seated in front of everyone. They were laughing and drink and … Dutch was wearing a magnificent white dress. He’d never seen Fet wear anything so fancy and they both looked so very … happy.

"This is to Mr. and Mrs. Fet!" Gus stood from the seat beside Fet as he started to tap his wine glass with his knife. Quintus had failed to recognize Gus as well until he spoke and his eyes slowly shifted from right to left as he looked at Gus … Fet … Dutch … her. She was sitting next to Dutch and Quintus found himself starting to smile. He’d never seen her in such a costume.

She was wearing … a dress. It matched Gus’ and Fet’s ties exactly as he understood she was matching the wedding party. Yes. And her hair was in an impressive configuration on top of her head. He was disappointed that her face was heavily painted and therefore hiding all of her spots but the colors around her eyes made them pop. God how he missed that color. Her cheeks were a bit plumper than he last remembered them, but he didn’t care.

"Hey, Mr. and Mrs. Velders!" Dutch screamed at Gus as the married couple complied with the clanking that Gus had invoked around the entire hall and kissed deeply. It was obvious there was much drinking occurring and as Quintus began to step forward, Fet and Dutch stood and took to the dance floor again.

He paused momentarily as Gus approached her.

"Come on shorty!" He tried to pull her from her chair and she vehemently refused, finally speaking.

"No no. I’m good. My feet are killing me!" She chortled to the aggressive boxer through a massive grin.

"Ah come on!" He seemed to beg her, tugging on her arm again and she shook her.

"I’m good! I’m good!" She giggled and he caved. “Maybe on a slower song, ok?”

"Aight. Aight! Imma hold you to that!" Gus flashed a big smile before he retreated to the dance floor, quickly finding a replacement dance partner.

Quintus approached slowly, sliding himself down onto Dutch’s char as he stared at her face in quiet awe. She watched and smiled and laughed at the spectacle of Gus and Fet on the dance floor and he watched her closely. At one point, he reached out and attempted to touch her shoulder, but his hand passed through her.

It was in this moment that she turned and faced Dutch’s chair and he thought maybe she had felt him. He considered touching her again, but as he raised his hand, he found it trembling and he brought it back down.

She was here … she was … safe. Ozryel was full of shit. And she was … happy. Of this, he was completely certain until he watched as she waited for her friends to be entirely distracted by their own happiness and her fake smile faded away. He watched her stand, grabbing her empty wine glass and the nearly full bottle from the table as she walked towards the back of the room, sitting at a far and empty table alone. He followed her, resisting the urge to touch her again.

She filled her glass to the top and she finished it, watching her friends from the back of the room. Gus returned to their table to find her for the next slow song, but she’d hidden herself in the corner well enough that he he gave up on this quest and returned to the dance floor alone. Another glass and the bottle was finished, so she helped herself to the next bottle in the middle of her new table, filling the glass and downing it quickly again. It was at the end of the fourth glass that she shifted her attention from the dance floor to the table cloth as she stared blankly at it and the tears started.

The happiness had been a mask. Quintus saw it. Quintus felt it.

Broken.

He watched as she grabbed the next bottle, pouring her fifth glass and he wished desperately to stop her. Did they not see what was happening? He shifted his attention back to the dance floor and shook his head at their ignorance. Did they not see this? How could they be missing this? He was angry but he knew it wasn’t their fault. He knew this was his.

She began to drink the newly refilled glass and he reached out, placing his hand over hers as it went through, resting on the table, partially phased through hers. Damnation. Not being able to touch her was torturous.

"Libellula." He leaned in towards her as far as he could, trying to brush his forehead against her temple, desperate to feel this touch, but his skin simply phased through hers. “Please … please do not be sad. I am --” here with you. You are not alone. These were the words that he would have spoke, had the hands not grabbed his shoulders from behind, ripping him away from her as he screamed.

The force and speed at which he was flung left him breathless and as his back connected with the waiting room floor, he stared up into the silver helmet of the Governor, whose voice bellowed at a volume that even he had not heard from the archangel before.

"You were warned."

He stared up into the helmet as he smiled marvelously. Regardless of what punishment might come next, he regretting nothing. There was nothing that they could do to him that wouldn’t be worth what he had just experienced. For the first time since he’d arrived, Quintus breathed a sigh of relief as his smile grew even more. Michael, however, did not appreciate the smirk.

“I regret nothing.”

"You fucking little shit!!!"

Quintus was fulling prepared for some kind of snark rebuttal but darkness overwhelmed him as the end of the staff connected with the side of his head.

Gus would never take no for an answer, so she’d just lied to him. And why the fuck not? Everyone was a liar, weren’t they? Once he was distracted with the tall, slender woman that seemed to like him, she retreated to the back of the room. Sliding into the seat near the corner, she felt safe to let her guard down. It was exhausting but she’d put on a good display for Fet and Dutch today. It was their day and she really was happy for them, regardless of what she did next.

She’d never been a Maid of Honor before, and considering most of Dutch’s friends were dead she’d gladly accepted the responsibility, though there had been an argument about her actually having to wear a dress.

She poured herself another glass as she slipped those damn shoes off under the table, resolving to just leaving them there and walking out bare foot.

Knowing she should stop after the second glass, she poured and downed her third. Then she poured her fourth and she found herself spirally again.

"Stop drinking. Stop. You know nothing good will come from it."

"I know."

She promised herself she wouldn’t do this here … not on this day. Gus had forced her to promise him in fact, but he was busy now and she felt herself plummeting.

"This day isn’t about you. Be happy for them."

"I am."

She urged herself to stop, but she found herself crying nonetheless. The weakness of it frustrated her deeply. She was better than this, right? Stronger. Hardened. How foolish was it? It had been eight months now and she … needed to pull herself back together. This was bordering on pathetic.

She regarded her hand for a moment, staring at it strangely as a feeling of comfort spread across her. Reaching up to her temple, she touched a single spot on it when his voice tickled gently across her wrecked mind and she stuttered a small whispered gasp.

"Q-Q-Quintus?"

#quinlan fanfic #mr. quinlan fanfic #quintus sertorius fanfic #the strain fanfic #quintus densus #an insatiable ache #chapter 1 #part 10 #tasa #the dhl #closure #sorry not sorry

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