#shirtless john is my worst nightmare | 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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georgesdarkhorse · 5 years

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Fever- Part 1

Hi all! This is my new George fic, Fever, it will be told in four parts. Please leave a comment, like, or reblog if you enjoyed! Keep an eye out for part two, posted soon!

Part 1

Edie picked up her clipboard, and started checking off what had been completed in the past hour.

Additional toilet roll- check Clean bar- check Setup ticket booths- Sandy took care of that Add towels, cups, water pitchers to dressing rooms….

Her brow furrowed, had she brought the towels? Glancing at her watch, there was only 30 minutes until the doors opened, the band would be arriving any moment for a brief soundcheck. For the past hour she could hear chatter outside of the venue as eager ticket holders queued up, ready to fight for a spot close to the stage. Edie could hardly believe they were here that early, but from what she’d been told, tonight’s group was a local favorite. They called themselves The Beatles, and last week when they were at the Majestic, they played a nearly sold out show.

“Oi, girl, are you done? The boys are here.” Edie snapped her head up at the voice of the sound engineer, Bill. Though she had introduced herself when she got here, he apparently hadn’t taken the time to remember her name.

“Yes, I just have to run towels down to the dressing rooms, that’s all.”

“Alright, let’s make it quick, yeah?”

Edie nodded in agreement before heading off to the storage closet behind the bar. She loaded up on an armful of mismatched towels and started to make her way down to the dressing rooms under the stage. On her way she noticed the back door was open. Peeking out she spotted a group or boys, no older than she, working to unload a car. Though she was new, Edie suspected that they were a little more rough cut than what usually came through the Majestic. With long boyish hair, drain pipe pants, and black jackets they looked more like greasers than musicians. Not wanting to waste any more time, she turned and thundered down the stairs.

Noticing the closed dressing room door she let out an irritated sigh, silently cursing herself for not leaving it open. Shuffling the towels into one arm, she opened the door, only to be met with a shirtless man on the other side. His delicate eyes were wide with a surprise that mirrored Edie’s own.

Without much thought, and a burning blush on her face, Edie started to back out of the room. “Oh, oh god I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you were in here. Sorry, sorry.”

The boy recovered in an instant, replacing with the shocked expression with a smile, “S’alright. No harm done.” He reached for a shirt, pulling it over his head. “Those for us?” He asked before Edie had a chance to fully escape.

“Uh, yes, I forgot to bring them down. Where would you like them?” She hovered by the doorway, not knowing if it would be better to leave or stay put.

“Over on that table is fine, we’ll find a place for them.” The boy, now dressed, leaned against the long vanity counter, facing Edie. “Say, you’re not from here, are you?”

Edie shook her head, turning to face him, instantly swallowing. God was he just the cutest. They don’t make them like that back home. His face was soft, yet inquisitive. His long hair, brushed forward, played upon the innocence that his wide dark brown eyes invoked.

“No, I’m from New York. I’m only here for a few months visiting my Aunt and Uncle.” Over the past two weeks, she had repeated this same line day in and day out.

“Really? Why would you leave New York City for Liverpool?” His eyebrows knitted together, disbelief painted his features.

“Oh, no, I’m not from the city. I’m from New York State. The city is a few hours from me, Liverpool is actually much larger than where I’m from.”

His disbelief morphed into inquiry. “Really?” Edie nodded. The boy extended his hand, “Well, I’m Paul.”

She smiled, reciprocating his offering, “Edie.”

The sound of cases rolling across the stage rattled overhead. Soundcheck would begin in a matter of minutes. Edie was reminded of all that she had to do before the doors opened, but since she was standing here with Paul, she pushed it to the back of her mind.

“Edie. So when did you get here? I don’t remember seeing you last week when we played this hall.”

“About two weeks ago, but this is my first week working here. Back home I helped out at a dance hall and thought it would be nice to do it while I was here for the summer.”

“Mustn been hard to find work, there’s a billion little places around Liverpool you know.”

“Oh I’ve noticed, I applied to about half of them and this is the only one who would hire me.”

Paul pulled a face, but before he could answer, two other boys entered the dressing room. Edie recognized them as the ones by the car.

“We’ve been here for five bloody minutes and you’ve already wrangled yourself a bird Paulie. Is that a new record?” A tall boy with a prominent nose quipped as he and the other set a few bottles of beer on the counter. Edie felt her face flush.

“Oh come off it John, she works here. She’s an American you know. Edie, this is John and George, they’re me band mates.”

John looked at Edie with a new kind of interest and a mischievous glint in his eye. “An American, huh? What brings you all the way to cold, grey, rainy Liverpool and not bright and shiny London?”

“I have family here.” Her answer was shortened, now feeling uncomfortable with three sets of male eyes taking her in. “Uh, well, is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Not here, no.” John added, the corners of his mouth quirking into a smile.

Edie answered his cheeky comment with a cold glare. “Have a good show boys,” she said before leaving the dressing room and heading back to the lobby.

As much as their last conversation left Edie feeling a bit miffed, she couldn’t deny that The Beatles knew how to play, and they sure knew how to work a crowd. The other acts that blew through there seemed bland in comparison.

Though Liverpool was far, far different from her small American hometown, she could find solace in the live music. American rock had taken over the youth of England, and for a moment, while they played a Little Richard or Shirelles song, she could close her eyes and be transported into the hometown dancehall where she spent so many summer nights.

In late July The Beatles came to play again. This time Edie made sure to have all of her boxes checked before the band arrived, as she wished to avoid another conversation with John Lennon. From the dressing room conversation to his cocky stage presence, something about him made her uncomfortable. He seemed to be the type who loved to pick and get under one's skin. God, those were the worst type, weren’t they? Just down right arrogant.

A lot of local girls seemed to enjoy his crude behavior though, for reasons Edie didn’t understand. In fact, all of the boys seemed to be a bit of a local heartthrob among the ladies. From the moment they took the stage, the crowd was glued to them, calling their names and shrieking when they threw a wink into the crowd. Little did they realize that the boys couldn’t see much past the bright stage lights.

Unfortunately, her plan for avoidance was short lived when one of her co-workers passed on that the band needed another pitcher of water in their dressing room. By now the doors, or flood gates as they should more appropriately be named, had been opened and people were milling about the ballroom. Edie let out an irritated sigh, maneuvering a full pitcher through this crowd would be a nightmare.

This time, when she reached the dressing room door, it was open. The boys were sprawled out in the cramped room, limbs overlapping the arms of chairs and resting atop of the coffee table. Guitars adorned their laps, cigarettes were in their lips, and beer bottles were placed about. There was a jittery calm hanging in the air.

“Ah, Miss. America!” Paul greeted as Edie stepped into the room.

“The water you requested, can I leave it here?” She stepped over to the vanity counter, setting the pitcher down. John seemed to be preoccupied with his acoustic, picking away with the other guitarist, George.

“Sure, sure, you enjoy the show last time?” He asked, removing the cigarette from his mouth and flicking his ashes into the tray.

“Sure from what I heard. I don’t really get to watch that often, but I like how you played a lot of American tunes.”

“You didn’t watch?” John asked, still focusing on his guitar.

“No, not really. I’m too busy making sure people don’t sneak in.” John smirked.

“Well, why don’t you come to one of our other shows? We play a lot at the Cavern downtown,” Paul offered.

“Get acquainted with the riveting nightlife of Liverpool,” George added, and for the first time Edie actually saw him. She took in his sleepy brown eyes, sharp jaw, and thick eyebrows. He held a lot of the same innocence that Paul did, but his seemed more genuine, more pure, whereas Paul wore the innocence like a mask.

“I tend to busy here most nights. I’ll have to see what my schedule allows.”

Edie wished them well and politely excused herself from the dressing room. Since arriving in Liverpool, she hadn’t done much else other than work. During her first week here her cousin Charlie, by a strong suggestion from his mother, took Edie down to one of the local pubs. It wasn’t much fun though, as the bar was filled with Charlie’s shipyard mates.

The men were rough and handsy with their women, or at least ladies she suspected were their women. They had thick accents and smelled crude. Edie ended up keeping to herself, nestled in the corner of the bar feeling out of place, on edge, and homesick. Since then she has refused all Aunt Bea’s attempts to get her to tag along with Charlie.

But there was something exciting about the prospect of going to one of The Beatles shows. They seemed to have a hold on the Liverpool music scene at the moment, judging from the crowds here at the Majestic. Being a part of that energy would be something else. She would have to go alone of course, she didn’t really know anyone who would want to tag along. But at a concert that didn’t really matter, there was plenty of entertainment to divert your attention. How could you feel alone when you were sharing that same moment with countless others?

#fever #my writing #mine #George Harrison #george x reader #george harrison fanfiction #the beatles #the beatles fanfiction

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janeofcakes · 6 years

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Chapter 78

**I’m back! And here’s another chapter for y’all.**

(Two days later and John is scheduled to go home the next day. While he has been dying to go home to familiar surroundings and his own clothes, his own things and the life he shares with Sherlock, his thoughts are also full of nervous energy. He and Sherlock have spent a significant amount of time in his hospital room, readjusting to one another. In fact, Sherlock has seldom left his side - talking, laughing, bouncing ideas off one another. It’s been wonderful. Sherlock told him about Jim’s plan to explode Mycroft and a piece of Parliament along with him in more detail than Jim gave him, as well as other foiled schemes. He stops every so often and worries that he is talking too much, but John always assures him that he is talking the perfect amount. Each time, Sherlock smiles shyly and blushes and kisses John softly.

Sherlock catches him up on Mrs. Hudson, who has caught him up on Sherlock in return during her visits. Even though it was clearly a very difficult time for his flatmate, Mrs. Hudson manages to put a positive spin on every story and John can’t help but smile because she sounds much like she is talking about a son, not just a tenant. Likewise, John smiles during Sherlock’s stories when he refers to Greg and Molly with more friendship and affection. He rarely mentions Mycroft and, even though they were not on particularly good terms before the kidnapping, John is certain something happened between them while he was away. He makes a note to himself to ask Sherlock about it at some point.

In any case, the sum total of his days in hospital have assured John that he and Sherlock will be just fine when he moves back in. Better than fine. Being with Sherlock is not what worries him. It’s BEING with Sherlock that troubles him. They have shared many kisses and touches over the last few days, some quite heated, but they have not gone beyond a certain point. John has been shirtless the whole time and Sherlock has touched him, but has not ventured passed his belly. Even that has been hesitant, and any lower is off limits.

This is both a relief and cause for concern to John. First, while he definitely wants Sherlock to touch him and fully intends to have sex with him again in the future, he does not want to now. The fact that Sherlock is clearly more than willing to give him all time he needs is a comfort. However, John has no idea when he will be ready to resume a proper physical relationship and, as patient as Sherlock can be, he can also be a brat. How long will the man be able to wait? What if he gets tired and wants out? Suppose he brings home another man some night to make his point. God, that would kill John. He knows he should just talk to Sherlock about it, but that makes him nervous too. So, he keeps all of his feelings to himself and muddles through.

John sits silently in the hospital bed, gazing at the wall across the room without seeing it. His eyes are wide and a few small steps from panic. It is early afternoon. Sherlock left nearly an hour earlier after they finished eating lunch. He was somewhat vague about what he was up to, but John knows it has something to do with the flat. Perhaps he feels obliged to tidy it before John’s return. Whatever it is, John is thinking about being back home now and his mind is charging full-on into every fear of what could happen.

While he may be, in many ways, scared out of his mind, John is frustrated. He has never been one to panic, has always been solid as a rock and calm under pressure. Even before all the catastrophe that is war, John was well prepared for stress. Being a combat medic only solidified his resolve. So what the fuck is wrong with him? He has never worried like this. He has always taken things as they come and look at him now.

He knows the answer, of course. So does Sherlock. That’s why neither of them has said anything about it directly. PTSD.)

G: Hey.

(John jumps in surprise and nearly tumbles from the bed. Greg rushes to his aid.)

G: Shit! Sorry. I didn’t realize you were that distracted. I mean, I could tell you were thinking, but…

J: No trouble. It’s nothing. I was just...somewhere else, I guess. (clapping his hands on his thighs) So, what’s up?

G: Mm. (with a knowing look) I had some time and thought I’d pop in. See how you’re doing.

J: You heard I’m going home tomorrow.

G: Yep. You’re nervous?

J: Is it that obvious?

G: I wasn’t made detective inspector for nothing.

J: (with a little laugh) Right.

G: You wanna talk about it?

(John looks at him hesitantly. He’s not sure how to explain or even where to begin. Greg just waits, looking at him with kind, brown eyes.)

J: You have to understand. I have no idea how I’ll react. It was a disaster last time. I could’ve killed him so many times and this was for so much longer and was so much worse.

(Greg nods thoughtfully.)

J: He’s been nothing but understanding. I just don’t know... I’m afraid I’ll punch him in the throat the first time his hand strays below the waist.

G: I see where you’re coming from. After your last experience, it makes sense that you’d feel this way. (John looks at him expectantly, seeing that he isn’t finished. He continues with the most genuine expression John has ever seen on him.) Honestly, John, that’s not what I see.

(Greg scoots his chair closer to the bed and leans in as if to emphasize his words.)

G: Your demeanor is nothing like it was last time. There’s no comparison. You’re not afraid to touch Sherlock and you don’t hesitate for a moment to let him touch you. You shared a very intimate moment in front of me, Molly, and Mycroft. Bloody Mycroft! And didn’t give a rat’s ass.

J: (looking pensive) Okay, so maybe it is different somehow, but I don’t know that any of it means the nightmares won’t start. That I won’t start to pull away again.

G: How does that make you feel?

J: You sound like my old therapist.

(Greg shrugs and revises the question.)

G: How does he make you feel?

(The words spill from John’s mouth before he can even think about them.)

J: Free. Like I’m home. I feel safe in his arms and I don’t want to be anywhere else.

(Greg has a pleasant and surprised smile on his lips when John’s mouth snap shut in embarrassment. The doctor’s cheeks flush pink when he sees his friend’s face and he looks away, then back. A moment of silent understanding passes between them. So absorbed in this wordless communication are they that they are both startled when the door to the room flies open and a certain tall consulting detective strides in.)

S: I’m sorry I’m late. I wanted...Greg. I didn’t know you would be here.

G: (standing) I thought I’d pay John a visit and congratulate him on going home tomorrow, but I was just on my way. If you two need anything, please let me know.

J & S: (talking over one another) Thank you. Thanks, Greg.

(Sherlock turns his head toward John and smiles. He quickly removes his coat and scarf and sits in the chair Greg just vacated.)

S: As I was saying, I meant to be back earlier, but I wanted everything to be ready at home and it took longer than I expected. I should have called you.

J: It’s fine. (sighing and taking the man’s larger hands in his own) But we do need to talk before tomorrow.

(Sherlock steels himself for what is to come, for the worst possible circumstance. While John has been very receptive to him, he knows it guarantees nothing and he can see in John’s eyes that something is troubling him. His next words come out as more of a statement than question.)

S: About the events of the last 65 days.

J: (slowly) Yes...and about living together again. I need things to be...different for a while. I don’t know how long. I just… I have some requests.

S: Oh. (trying to hide the disappointment in his voice and the flicker of despair in his silver eyes) Of course. I can move my things into your old room tonight if you’d like. You can have as much space as you need.

J: (brows shooting up to his hairline) What? No. God, no. That’s not what I’m talking about. Not at all.

S: It isn’t?

(John shakes his head with a smile of endearment on his face. Then the smile fades and he bites his lip, looking down at Sherlock’s hand and giving them a squeezes before continuing quietly.)

J: The only way for this to make any sense is for you to know what happened to me while I was with him. (meeting his eyes) Are you up to that?

S: John, I once said I would listen to all you want to tell me and help in any way I can. That still holds true. Whenever you are ready, whatever you want to say, I am here. The decision is yours.

(John looks at him in silence. He had thought about what to say, how to begin for the better part of the night while he lay awake in Sherlock’s arms. He thought he was prepared, but now the words fail him. He can only look at his flatmate’s face and imagine what it will look like once he starts talking. The thought is too much to bear, but he can’t go back now. He doesn’t want to go back.

He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. His eyes are already moist and he lowers them in shame. Before he even notices Sherlock moving, his arms are wrapped around John and pulling him close. Sherlock wants to tell him he doesn’t have to say or explain anything, but he knows how John Watson works. He not only wants to tell Sherlock, he needs to tell him. Keeping it bottled up will crush him, give Moriarty power over him, and there is no way John Watson will live under that man’s thumb.

Sherlock loosens his hold a bit and looks into John’s eyes, deciding the best thing to do is try to prompt John so he feels he has a place to start from. He slides his hands back down to hold John’s and speaks quietly.)

S: He sexually assaulted you.

(From the pain in his eyes to the way his voice caught in his throat over the word “assaulted”, John can imagine every torturous thought and feeling in Sherlock’s mind.)

J: (whispering) Yes.

(Sherlock’s eyes well up.)

J: Every night.

(An uncontrolled breath of shock escapes Sherlock’s lips, his eyes wide in despair and disbelief. John watches as his face crumbles. He is powerless to stop it, but he opens his mouth to try. Before he can, Sherlock suddenly jerks his hands away and rubs them furiously over his own eyes. John looks at him with wide eyes, feeling every fear is coming true. Sherlock doesn’t want him anymore, not after all that has happened. His soul is cracking and falling apart piece by piece, never to go back together again.

John feels as though he’s dying a little more with every passing second and it will only get worse, but he can’t stop now. He must tell Sherlock everything or it will haunt him the rest of his life and he won’t, he won’t let Jim control him.)

J: He...he started by drugging me. Then he used threats. It became very violent the last couple weeks.

(Sherlock’s breath catches and John stops. Tears are streaming down both men’s faces. Visions of the last two months play out in John’s mind in seconds and he is suddenly crushed under the burden he has carried. Guilt and shame, betrayal. Everything he has tried keep from destroying him since the night he broke and succumbed to Jim’s demands presses down on his chest and his head. The pain of it is incredible. And Sherlock doesn’t want him anymore, not after what he has done. John would have thought he’d be rendered mute by all of his feelings, but instead, words begin to pour from his mouth like a dam that burst.)

J: I’m sorry, Sherlock. God, I’m so sorry. I said I would never go to bed with him willingly. I promised myself. I promised you! And then I...I did. I didn’t try to stop him. I didn’t fight. I even fucking kissed him when he told me to. He came back again and again, night after night, and he never let up and I just went along with it and wanted...I wanted to die. But he was always there and he said he would kill… (stopping abruptly and shaking his head) And I did NOTHING! HE FUCKED THE SOUL RIGHT OUT OF ME!

S: John!

(Sherlock grasps his arms firmly, but gently and looks deep into his eyes, hoping with all his might that touching John this way doesn’t upset him. John goes silent. He looks lost and lonely, so lonely. Sherlock speaks steadily and quietly and makes sure never to break eye contact with his flatmate, the man he loves, the man he must comfort somehow.)

S: You did not allow him to do anything. You were not willing and coercion does not change the fact that he forced himself on you. It was emotional torture and it was vicious. You are not at fault or disloyal or damaged. He used your greatest loves against you and he relished it like only a madman would.

(John shakes his head and bites back sobs, wanting to believe Sherlock, but fearing that he is just hearing what he wants to.)

J: I can’t tell you anymore. I...I can’t.

S: (exhaling in quiet anger before responding, seeing it all clearly) He didn’t threaten you. He threatened me. He used me and you are afraid I will blame myself for that.

J: Yes, yes. (breath shuddering in his throat, misinterpreting Sherlock’s anger) And that you...won’t want me. You don’t want me anymore.

S: (eyes wide) What?

J: I’m...I… You could never want me after the things I’ve done. It’s okay. It is. I understand.

S: No! No! Listen to me, John. I love you as much as I ever have. I want you. I want to be with you. Now and for my whole life. I want to marry you.

J: (quiet, in disbelief) You don’t.

S: I do. (He cups John’s face in his hands looks at him with the most serious eyes.) I love you, John Watson. Nothing that has happened or that ever will happen is going to change that. You are the other half of my heart, the part of my soul that was always missing. No matter what Moriarty did to you or persuaded you to do, my feelings for you, my opinion of you will not change. I admire you and trust you and respect you...and I love you. Please believe me, John, because it’s true. Every word.

(John is sobbing openly now and nodding his head, bobbing in and out of Sherlock’s warm hands.)

J: I do. I believe you. I believe you. (He buries his face in Sherlock’s neck and cries, his whole body trembling.) I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

S: You have nothing to be sorry for, John.

(He wraps his arms around John and holds him tightly, tucking John’s head under his chin and kissing his head. John clutches at his body and sobs almost uncontrollably. The two men remain this way for some time. Sherlock comforting his doctor silently until the sobbing begins to lose its intensity and the quaking of his body lessens.

Sensing John’s need for a break, Sherlock shifts his body and John’s with it so they are both lying on the bed. His arms are still wrapped around John, who rests his head against Sherlock’s chest. Half of his body on Sherlock’s body, John feels warmth spread through him, making what was once cold, what he hadn’t even realized was cold, warm again. Alive. He blinks slowly, a serene expression on his face. Somehow, in spite of everything, John feels safe and loved. As the last tear falls, he feels something stir in his chest. Something he hasn’t felt since he was taken from Sherlock’s side. A small smile finds his lips as he snuggles in closely to his detective and lets his body relax completely.)

S: John? (He pauses a moment, stroking John’s hair softly.) I know there is more you want to tell me, but give yourself some time. I’m not going anywhere. Get some rest now. We can talk again when you’re ready.

J: (very quietly) Thank you.

#Sherlock #sherlockholmes #sherlock loves john #sherlock fanfic #johnwatson #johnlock #Johnlock fanfic #sherlock and john fanfic #hurt john

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gaymafia · 7 years

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I’m legitimately curious why people didn’t like the last Jedi? I saw it and thought it was okay? Is there something I missed or? Like it wasn’t great but it was passable?

ok so i wasnt gonna do this here bc nobody fucking asked but u asked so thank u but also strap in ur ready for a while ride

TLJ spoilers, obviously. also my issues are going to be numbered in no particular order bc my thoughts on this movie are so fucking scrambled but here we go

1. Kyle Ron. First of all fuck Ryeanne for making me see so many goddamn closeups of Adam Driver’s ugly ass face. I did not need to see all that he is so goddamn ugly especially that fucking shirtless scene where he looks like a block of pasty ass pale wood.

But for real, Kylo Ren. I don’t actually take issue with his existence, because Kyle really does excellently represent rich ass white boys who have everything handed to them but throw a hissy fit when they face the slightest adversity an throw tantrums all the time. It’s nice to see a villain that represents most people real-life nightmares instead of like, a Sexy Temptress or Old Evil Man or whatever. That being said, kyle is not given the villain’s treatment in this movie. if you cut out all the scenes where ryan is not actively sucking adam driver’s dick and jizzing all over himself over kyle’s angsty white boy angst, the movie has virtually no real plot (”oh no we are in space with no fuel, nobody is going to do anything except get mad at each other, miscommunicate, and deliberately make all the characters of color worthless while separating Finn and Poe bc fuck the gays”). So much of the movie is spent not just establishing how kyle became kyle (which is good! backstory for villains is good!), but trying to get us to like, sympathize with him? which is the shitty part. I dont care that Luke “”””tried to kill”’’’ (he didn’t) kyle. kyle had turned to the dark side before luke’s mistake. kyle had a million and one chances to change his mind from the start of TFA to the end of TLJ, and he never did. Kyle is an evil guy. We need one of those. He’s a great evil guy bc he’s got so many shitty qualities. But ryin doesnt want us to hate kyle, even tho hes the villain. why the fuck doesnt reean want us to hate kyle? bc rayan is also a shitty little man who thinks giving ur white boy a sob story makes him a sympathetic villain and sidelining ur characters of color will help.

also again the fucking shirtless scene what the shit man that was so gross

2. Will be broken down into A, B, C, etc. bc TLJ treats its characters of color like SHIT.

2A. Finn. Finn gets put in a coma bc why would anyone want to write anything interesting for john boyega its not like hes the MOST BEAUTIFUL MAN and the MOST TALENTED ACTOR who is being sidelined bc ryun hates black people. Yeah Finn is totally into Rey and he wants to save her and is willing to desert the rebellion for her. that happened in the first movie but why give your characters real arcs when you can recycle old ones to jerk off to kyle ron. the rose thing happens, shes like “we can disable the tracking” and like TWO SECONDS after he was dead set on desertion he’s totally down to risk his life for the rebellion at rey’s expense? that sure is a quick 180 with no real reason why and no writing to explain it! then there was the whole “separate finn and poe” thing ryain pulled for the shits and giggles.

2B. Rose. I was pretty chill with Rose, she had a dope backstory, her sister was badass, and I liked that they made that connection off the bat. I’m not mad about anything rayn did with her character but i genuinely believe thats only because i havent thought about it enough yet. give me a week and i’ll figure out how rain fucked it up. open to suggestions.

2C. Poe. Full offense but was I supposed to be mad at Poe for coming up with a plan when that bitch Holdo was like “I’m not gonna tell you my plan sit tight and be convinced we are all going to die :)” i legitimately did not understand how I was supposed to be mad at poe for doing what he thought was best for the rebellion after he asked holdo what the plan was and she was deliberately obstinate and refused to even be like “dont worry i have a plan” she was just like. so dumb. Also poe got thrown around a lot and i am A Little Suspicious of how much physical violence he experienced compared to many other characters.

2D. You guessed what was next! The slaps! Super awesome how the two men of color were slapped by white people!!!! So deep!!!!!!! For real tho uh the second time i saw this movie someone in the audience laughed when poe got slapped by space hitler hux and uh??? not funny. not funny or cute or clever to use the guy you built your entire nazi imagery on to slap the one black man on your cast. i dont care if it was supposed to make us “hate hux” or whatever more. i already hated hux reyn. you could have used that screentime in your 3 fucking hour long movie for something valuable, like giving finn a character arc, or literally anything else besides that goddamn slap. i was livid watching that.

and then with leia and poe? i get that part of the conflict was internal in the resistance and one of the major themes was how failure is the best teacher and all that but like? maybe stop physically assaulting all your characters of color? maybe uhhhh at least think about that first??

2E. like i mentioned before one of the obvious themes was how failure is the best teacher so naturally all the major characters had to fail at something, and then learn from their mistake to be better next time. with luke it was fucking up with kyle, with rey it was being naive enough to think kyle could turn, with poe it was the dreadnaught thing, finn was left out of this because raan dooesn give a shit abt finn bc hes a racist bastard, etc. but it was incredibly transparent how all of the white characters’ mistakes meant either personal losses or something small scale with one person, while the mistakes of the characters of color (poe/finn/rose) were all ones that cost the rebellion the vast majority of their forces. rey got out of her fight with kyle and snoke unscathed. luke got a lot of guilt and character development. What did finn poe and rose get? the deaths of like 99% of the resistance on their shoulders. A little too coincidental that even though rey LITERALLY GAVE HERSELF OVER TO SNOKE she was totally fine a-ok no real scars, finn and poe and rose doing their best to save the rebellion while admiral holdo refuses to tell them anything costs the resistance so fucking much. rey does the DUMBEST FUCKING THING with no real consequences and finn and poe and rose try their best and are punished severely for it.

2F. Really convenient how everything finn, poe, and rose did ended up being useless and just cost the rebellion lives, whereas at least rey’s mishap got snoke killed and taught her a lesson. reeeeaaaalllllyyyyyy convenient how finn, poe, and rose’s plan was a huge waste of time. it would have been much better for us to see an actual plot line with them that contributed to the story and their characterizations instead of “send them on a goose chase, make it pointless in the end, physically brutalize them along the way.

3. R*yl* bullSHIT: ryyn had a really fun time with a lot of very rape-y scenes in this movie. the whole force-connection thing with kyle and rey was soooooo uncalled for, it reeked of non-con fantasies, catered to the r*yl*s like nothing ever before, and was so goddamn gross. the obvious invasion of privacy and lack of consent was nasty, using it as a shitty device to make rey “come around” on kyle was NASTY and that whole thing was nasty. i know im not articulating this well but there was so much about that whole thing that bothered me. i just know reyhan was so fucking into it, inserting kyle into rey’s life, forcing her to completely drop all of her characterization in the first movie to suddenly thing kyle can be good, acting as if rey hasnt seen all the shit and known what hes done. the whole thing was gross and a really obvious example of why men shouldn’t be allowed to direct movies.

4. killing snoke was a dumbass fucking mistake. kyle is a tantrum-throwing temper-losing toddler. snoke was evil and mysterious and shit idk. we knew he was powerful as fuck, he looked like a testicle which is a great villain imo, he was the darth sidious and they killed him off while kyle is still in like. ep2!Anakin levels of angst. i get that kyle is already powerful or whatever but like. hes not cold and calculated the way snoke was. kyle is a good villain, but a weak main baddie bc hes dumb as fuck. he let the rebellion get away bc he was pissed at luke. that was dumb as fuck. kyle is ruined by his emotions, and snoke was a scarier main baddie bc he wasnt so fucking dumb lol

5. it was so fucking long. there were so many scenes that could have been cut or shortened. why did we need to see luke milking the tiddy of that weird alien cow thing. why did we need to see kyle ron shirtless. why did we need so many goddamn shots of the fucking porgs.

6. ya the porgs are cute or whatever but like. that whole “look at how sad the cute big-eyes porg is when chewie is eating his friend” thing was so dumb. i dunno why but i hated that the most. that was the worst thing the porgs did. they were cute but like chill disney u know they like ran algorithm after algorithm to make that porg the cutest it could be with science or some bullshit and like? thats dumb.

7. i get that the humor in star wars movies is shifting but i felt like there was too much of it and it was dumb. a lot of the riffs werent funny and there were too many of them for a star wars film. star wars usually doesnt take itself too seriously, but this one was a little too much for me.

8. there were too many plot twists for shock value. the story went on too long. it should have ended earlier but it didnt. i dont know why ryenn decided to have like 6 different climaxes but it was too much. should have let there be one climax buddy. thats it.

9. holdo. besides holdo being the white feminist icon why didnt she just fucking tell poe the plan. why. why was so deliberately obstinate when it was doing no good. like yeah of course poe sent out a crew to try to save the rebellion all u told him to shut up and let you handle it! obvously what she did in the end was badass or whatever but like uh hun next time dont be a piece of shit and then get mad when people react to you being a piece of shit. i would have been okay with all that happening if holdo wasnt treated like some hero who never made any mistakes. she did make a mistake, and that was refusing to tell poe what her plan was when she knew he was absolutely the type to do whatever he could to save the rebellion whether he had her permission or not. also apparently holdo is a lesbian or bi or not straight or something in like the comics or whatever and like 1. classic bury ur gays but also 2. no more word of god gay characters if a character is not gay in the movies i will not give you the gay cred for it sorry homophobes

10. i didnt buy the story w luke and kyle at lukes jedi training facility or whatever. surprisingly, i was ok with lukes story line and character development, and actually agreed with it for the most part, but i just like. i dunno i didnt feel like that was something luke would do. not because luke is infallible (even tho he is my gay dad who has never done anything wrong ever) but because the entire original trilogy is luke believing darth vader could be saved. and while im not opposed to luke changing his mind about whether or not everyone could be turned away from the dark side (luke was young and optimistic in the original trilogy, and as he grew older he would learn more about the jedi and their history like the whole speech he gave rey about how the jedi have to end bc theyre lowkey shitty). i actually kind of liked luke’s hot take on the jedi, because it was lowkey my hot take on the jedi (esp the prequels jedi who were shitty as Fuuuuuck but we are ignoring the prequels for now lbr) but also because i could believe it was a view luke would come to as he aged. but impulsively drawing his lightsaber to kill kyle before he had actually done anything bad, after suspecting that kyle had darkness in him for a while, even though he felt like he had failed? it just didnt feel like luke to me. i felt more like raeyn had chosen that particular backstory to try to make kyle a more sympathetic villain rather than give a believable and in-character back story for the characters. i understand that luke’s failure ultimately has to lead to the creation of kyle ron in this story line, but that didnt feel like the right failure to me. maybe this is just me being nitpicky but that felt off to me too and i dont know if i can quite pinpoint why.

11. rey was a dumbass fucking bitch in this movie. rey could not be a dumbass fucking bitch to survive as a scavenger who was orphaned at birth on jakku. rey would have had to be smart and not as fucking DUMB as she was in this movie. now im getting heated so i cant articulate this well but she just did so many dumb things that anybody who had to raise themselves would have never done. she would never have delivered herself over to kyle ron like what a dumb fucking idea. who wrote this goddamn movie. fuck u ryeen.

12. why did yoda come back as a force ghost. where is anakins force ghost. he would be so fucking pissed at kyle right now. he would be mad as hell. he would have ended this thing. he would have called kyle out like the shitdickbitch he is and put him in his place. i get that yoda is more like ancient and orginal star wars jedi knowledge shit or whatever and like more of an authority on the jedi but like anakin is off in like force ghost hawaii drinking force ghost martinis while his shitty fucking grandson is being a piece of shit?? nah man anakin would have shut that shit down they better bring him back for ep IX and i expect hayden christensen himself to show up to bitch at kyle about what a fucking dumbass he is.

tbh theres probably more like i know there’s a ton of little things i hated but as scathing as this review is there were things i liked. visually speaking it was a very beautiful movie when we werent getting atrocious close ups of adam drivers ugly ass face. i originally hated but have come to appreciate the darker tone, since it mirrors the mood of TESB in that the rebellion seems dead but obviously isnt bc this is star wars. i liked luke. i dunno. i had a lot of issues with the movie obviously. to be quite honest i cant actually think of anything else i liked atm which is telling.

anyway if anybody actually reads this long ass fucking post feel free to respond with what you hated abt TLJ

#star wars #the last jedi #star wars ep viii #im probs gonna get hate for this but whtvr #anonymous #ask

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roomfullofcunts · 6 years

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Ha ha oops I wrote some of that hillbilly AU.

Move to the countryside, they said.

It’ll be fun, they said.

You won’t get shot at anymore, they said.

Rook reached for his service pistol, swearing. He was starting to wish he’d stayed in New York.

The Seed ranch had turned out to be a sprawling lumber mansion. Not exactly what Rook had expected when he was sent to call upon what sheriff Whitehorse had generously dubbed “the village crazies”.

”Time for you to pull your weight around here,” the sheriff had said dryly, handing him a thick folder. ”Might wanna read that before you head out to the ranch. The Seeds aren’t people you want to fuck with, though the only physical threat there is the oldest brother, Jacob. John’s the youngest, he used to be a lawyer in the big city,” he said with a sniff - Whitehorse always spoke of lawyers like they were snakes in the grass. ”He’s the one causing the trouble this time. Wants to sue the Masons over a peach tree that he claims reaches over their fence.”

Rook had just looked at him blankly. This is what cops do in Hope county? he wondered. Whitehorse seemed to read his mind. ”Listen, the Seeds are a pest, but if we can keep the peace them and the rest of the county, we all benefit. Trust me. Oh, er, and-” he broke off, pulling out a dusty ballistic vest. ”Wear this. Just in case.”

It was swelteringly hot, the dry Montana summer giving its best as he climbed out of his car and started marching toward the massive front door. He wondered how bad these people could really be, after all, the worst things he’d come across in Hope County so far was a few bar fights and DUIs. Not exactly a beehive of action.

His thoughts were scattered when a shot rang through the yard.

“Motherfuck,” he grunted, flinging himself behind a barrel presumably meant for collecting rain water.

He was about to announce himself when the door burst open, revealing a ginger on steroids wielding a sawed-off shotgun.

He’d done two tours in the middle east before he’d joined the NYPD. He was naive and thought he could help people. Be the thin blue line. But being a cop in New York City turned out to be its own kind of war, and in the end he hadn’t been sure what side he was fighting for. The second time he got shot in the line of duty was what made his family beg him to rethink his life choices, to move back home.

”You’ve had enough excitement for one man to last a lifetime,” his dad had said on the phone. ”And your mama needs help with the garden.”

And so he’d applied for a transfer (and weren’t the looks that earned him at the precinct worth remembering - ”you’re moving to Montana?!”), and moved back to his old home town, just in time to attend the unexpected funeral of his father.

Not exactly the fresh start he’d hoped for.

But the quiet was nice. Not just the summer nights that soothed away his nightmares, or the calm rains that washed away the dust, or the flow of water at his favourite fishing hole. No, the job *was* easier. And it was nice. Real nice. Most of the time. Old habits die hard, and he found himself occasionally missing the adrenaline of a chase.

He wondered if he should start waving his gun around or try talking to the red-head, when someone else ran out, shoving Rambo back.

“Fuck, Jacob, are you fucking blind?!” screeched a weaselly voice, and Rook dared to lean out a little more from behind his protective barrel. Jacob, the oldest sibling then, lowered his gun reluctantly. Rook assumed the younger man was John Seed - only a lawyer would wear a vest on a day like this. He was gesturing frantically at Rook’s car.

“You can’t fire your gun at cops, they’ll haul you to county jail faster than you can whip out your dick.”

Rook stood up, feeling the situation had been sufficiently defused. He holstered his gun and approached the porch cautiously. He opened his mouth to introduce himself, but John glared at him, arms folded over his chest.

“You’re tresspassing,” he said, voice overly pleasant, eyes crinkled in a mocking smile. Rook disliked him instantly.

He started unfolding the copy he had of the Seeds’ letter, feeling perspiration that wasn’t entitely from the sun begin to itch at his temple. He was about to address John about the peach tree spat, when a low, gentle voice from behind him made him jump.

“For every breach of trust, whether it is for an ox, for a donkey, for a sheep, for a cloak, or for any kind of lost thing, of which one says, ‘This is it,’ the case of both parties shall come before God. The one whom God condemns shall pay double to his neighbor.”

Rook whirled around and came face to face with a shirtless man covered in tattoos, wearing yellow aviators and a manbun. Where the fuck had he crept up from?

He was watching Rook with an unreadable expression on his face, not saying another word. Joseph Seed, Rook presumed. He gave Rook the heebie jeebies, and he turned to look at the youngest brother awkwardly over his shoulder.

At that moment a window on one of the upper floors flew open, and a young woman with pale hair poked her head out.

“Jacob you shooting at my date again?!” she called down, leaning so far out the window Rook twitched to run under her, worried she’d fall.

“I told you if you kill any of my dates again I’ll fucking tear your cock off!”

Nevermind, thought Rook, backing up a little.

He looked at John, who was wearing murder on his face.

“Fuck’s sake. We’ll talk in the barn, gotta check up on the calves anyway,” he said, giving Rook an impatient wave of his hand. Rook followed him, sidling awkwardly past Joseph Seed, who kept observing him with that blank, serene expression. Rook suppressed a shudder, and hurried after John.

#my fic #john seed #joseph seed #jacob seed #faith seed #far cry 5 #hope county #deputy #rook #how do I add a read more on mobile?#not exactly crackfic #but not completely serious either #Boundary Disputes

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clemsfilmdiary · 4 years

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The Worst of June 2020

Worst Film: The Fluffer

Runners Up: Moonwalker, Turner & Hooch

Most Problematic Film: Léon: The Professional (pedophilia, sexualization of 12-year-old Natalie Portman)

Runners Up: Dredd (police brutality, black villain), Gone with the Wind (confederate nostalgia, whitewashing of slavery), Witness (police brutality, racial profiling)

Worst Performance: Andrew Stevens in 10 to Midnight

Runners Up: Clint Eastwood in In the Line of Fire, Harrison Ford in Witness, Tom Hanks in Turner & Hooch, Heather Langenkamp in A Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors, Sylvester Stallone, John Lithgow and Janine Turner in Cliffhanger, Lisa Wilcox in A Nightmare on Elm Street 4: The Dream Master and A Nightmare on Elm Street 5: The Dream Child

Most Overrated Film: The Death and Life of Marsha P. Johnson

Runners Up: Funny Face, A Single Man, Da 5 Bloods, Edward II, The Godfather: Part II, My Beautiful Laundrette, Two for the Road

Most Overrated Performance: Harrison Ford in Witness

Runners Up: Audrey Hepburn in Two for the Road, Al Pacino in The Godfather: Part II

Worst Screen Couple: Fred Astaire and Audrey Hepburn in Funny Face

Runner Up: Tom Hanks and Mare Winningham in Turner & Hooch

Most Unsightly Screen Presence: Andrew Tiernan in Edward II

Most Loathsome Screen Presence: Jasper Newell in We Need to Talk About Kevin

Runners Up: Charles Bronson in 10 to Midnight, Patricia Clarkson in Dogville, Sara Hjort Ditlevsen in Borgman, Karina Fernandez in Another Year, Albert Finney and Audrey Hepburn in Two for the Road, Ezra Miller in We Need to Talk About Kevin, Robert Mitchum in One Shoe Makes It Murder, Natalie Portman and Jean Reno in Léon: The Professional, Mélanie Thierry in Da 5 Bloods, Andrew Tiernan in Edward II

Most Obnoxious Score: The Death and Life of Marsha P. Johnson (Bryce Dessner)

Runners Up: Da 5 Bloods (Terence Blanchard), A Single Man (Abel Korzeniowski)

Assorted Displeasures:

- Grotesque claymation, demonic robot transformation sequence in Moonwalker

- Air of vapid 60s nostalgia and fashion snobbery in A Single Man

- Anti-porn lesbians, garish post-stonewall expressions of pride in After Stonewall

- Tom Hanks' gratuitous shirtless and underwear scenes in Turner & Hooch

#list #worst of the month

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kalinara · 7 years

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So, in honor of my anonymous prompt earlier, I will write a post about why Rip Hunter, as a character, appeals to me.

The big thing, for me, is that he's complicated. He's a very flawed man but a good man.

And when we meet him, he is in the worst place imaginable, having suffered the single worst loss that I think a human being can suffer. He's fucked up, half out of his mind with loss, grief and trauma, and he's embarking on a domino effect of bad decisions and consequences.

And I love that. Because it feels, viscerally, real.

I've said before that I think Rip Hunter is probably the closest thing that the CW-verse has to a realistic, recognizable portrayal of a trauma survivor. And I find it compellng.

Trauma in the Arrowverse tends to be written one of two ways, in my opinion. The first, is the "trauma, what trauma" category. Take for example, Ray Palmer. In a very short amount of time, he loses a fiancee, he loses his business, he's captured and imprisoned for months by Damien Darhk. And as far as the narrative is concerned, this might as well never have happened.

This is not a criticism of Ray as a character, or Brandon Routh as an actor, but I think it's fair to say that the writers are not particularly interested in showing Ray dealing with any of these traumas. It gives us a character who apparently incredibly resillient and irrepressible. But probably not terribly realistic. We as an audience have to project what he must be feeling/experiencing beneath that facade onto him because, thus far, the show hasn't given us anything deeper.

Kara Danvers is, in some ways, another example of this. Supergirl does, occasionally, bother to show us a real aftermath of the significant losses that Kara's suffered throughout her life. But all too often, it seems to go forgotten entirely. She is someone who is strong enough to remain a light, joyous person despite horrible experiences. But it's hard sometimes to tell when this is the intended portrayal, or the show has sometimes forgotten that those experiences have happened at all.

The other type of trauma in the CW-verse is what I call Batman or Arrow trauma. Basically, it's the special province of the Arrow characters.

Unlike the first category, these characters' trauma is acknowledged. But only in according to a very specific formula:

The character starts out as an ordinary young person, maybe a bit shallow, thoughtless or arrogant, but generally a good-hearted person. Then through the course of events, they are transformed. They emerge from the other side of their trauma as strong, powerful badasses.

Of course, they're tormented too: and we see that, generally through attractive moonlit brooding shots. Maybe a spot of temper or the occasional bit of assholishness. But in truth, their social interactions never seem to suffer too much. They never seem to have trouble collecting friends and allies.

They'll have very aesthetically placed scars (always on the torso or the back. To be properly showcased in a shirtless scene. Never in the face. Never in a way that damages their beauty, or makes physical movement difficult.)

They'll have flashbacks or nightmares, but we rarely see anything undignified. We don't, for example, get to see them shouting or reacting to something that isn't there in a public or embarrassing way. Hell, we don't generally even get to see them cry afterward. We might get to see them breathe heavily, they may look pale and shaken. But never unattractively so.

This is not to say that these characters aren't suffering. But in a narrative sense, we get the sense that the trauma is...well...worth it. It's turned these characters into beautiful monsters and every element of their trauma is presented for the audience's benefit.

Rip Hunter doesn't fall into either of these categories to me. He's not a Ray Palmer or a Kara Danvers. His trauma is a major part of the storyline. It's very prominently featured and never forgotten. He therefore is not a man who is cheerfully resilient through truly terrible experiences.

He's not an Oliver Queen or a Sara Lance either, though. Rip didn't come out of his trauma a stronger, more powerful person. In fact, by all accounts (the Time Masters, John Valor, Eobard Thawne), Rip appeared to have been considerably more formidable before he'd lost his family.

Rip's trauma didn't make him a badass. It just broke him.

He's not a beautiful monster. He's a broken, destroyed wreck of a man.

And his symptoms are far less attractive. We don't generally see Rip come out of a flashback or a nightmare, pulling himself together with noble effort. No, we see Rip crying brokenly, alone, in a corner of an empty cargo bay. Or staring at a hologram, in his shirtsleeves, for a week at a time, inconveniencing and annoying his entire team.

Rip, like Oliver, has moments of temper, but when Rip lashes out, it's at people who aren't as patient or long-suffering as Oliver's friends. And he gets immediate consequences for it. (see: Marooned). He will bend over backward to throw himself into the fire for his team, but at the same time, he doesn't seem to be remotely able to connect to them on any human level. The man is wrapped up around lies and secrets, even with the people he trusts most. And he could never be described as the heart or the inspirational figure of the team, even at his best.

We've never seen any scars on Rip. I'd imagine he doesn't have any at all, despite the injuries we know he's suffered, because Gideon can heal pretty much anything.

So we never see Rip take off his shirt, showing impressive musculature adorned by scars to show us exactly what he's endured. Actually, the only time we ever see Rip shirtless at all, it's while in that Sauna in Failsafe, in a scene where he's intended to look as defenseless and weak as possible. (Though the subsequent fight scene does show that there is some musculature there after all.)

You can ask any Rip fan about that scene, and even the ones who find him/Arthur Darvill very attractive do not talk positively about that scene. Because it's not intended to be attractive.

Basically, everything about Rip's trauma showcases him as weak, unattractive, unlikeable, and even a burden at times.

And I often wonder if that isn't part of why Rip is so unpopular as a character. Because, well, this is a wish-fulfillment type of genre. And we admire people like Ray or Kara who can smile after the worst of their experiences. We admire people like Oliver and Sara, who come out of hell stronger.

Rip suffers in that comparison. How can he not? He’s a “wet blanket”.

But, at the same time, I think that's part of what makes Rip so compelling to me. I look at Rip, the patterns, the flaws, the ugliness, and I feel like I recognize what I see.

In the midst of the comic book fantasy, I feel like Rip Hunter is a glimpse of something raw, visceral and REAL.

So, I'm invested. Far more than I really ought to be. And I find it very easy to become indignant on behalf of a character who is maligned for his humanity, while his complexities are ignored and diminished.

Rip's story, at its heart, will always be a story of survival and slow, painful healing. And to me, it will always be the most compelling part of Legends of Tomorrow.

#rip hunter #legends of tomorrow

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searchforthescars · 7 years

Text

Little Beast - Chapter 3/?

She looks at her lap in shyness or shame - she doesn't know which, but the feeling is familiar - and sees her left hand, unwrapped and awful in the light. She holds it up in John’s full view. “In case you haven't noticed, I'm not normal.”

He reaches for it and she lets him run long, delicate fingers over the overlarge palm. “Being badass is better, anyway,” he murmurs, his thumb stroking the scar around her wrist.

You don't have to tell me, his eyes say.

She wants to tell him.

Chapter One || Chapter Two

You could drown in those eyes, I said.

The fact of his pulse,

the way he pulled his body in, out of shyness or shame or a desire

not to disturb the air around him.

Everyone could see the way his muscles worked,

the way we look like animals,

his skin barely keeping him inside.

- Little Beast, Richard Siken

She wakes up to sun creeping through the blinds. John is asleep in the ratty armchair near the couch, his limbs askew, his hair messy. She takes her blanket, covers him up, and props a pillow under his head.

She remembers falling asleep last night with her head on his shoulder, his heartbeat thrumming pleasantly somewhere near her ear. When she rubs the back of her hand over her cheek, she feels dried salt.

She remembers a nightmare, the faint tendrils of it teasing at her consciousness. Otan was there, she remembers that much, and the thought of them together again, safe in their apartment, is enough to make a lump rise in her throat, fast and insistent. For a moment it isn’t John she’s caring for, but Otan. She can pretend that she’s woken up after a late night and he’s still asleep beside her, his hair a mess, his shirt wrinkled. He stayed up late last night going over the budget and the jobs they had lined up, she pretends, and he needs to sleep.

He used to be the responsible one, the money minder and the conscientious one alike. And then he got older and made friends that took him from her, but she never minded. She owes him her life. She never allows herself to forget. [On Ao3]

She shakes her head, the cobwebs of her dream floating away, and John stirs with her motion. She freezes, waiting for him to wake, but when he doesn’t, she silently reaches for her shoes, lacing them efficiently and harshly. She’s going for a run to clear her head.

What is she doing? Emori begins to pummel herself as she slips from the apartment. The door clicks shut but she has no way of locking it. With a sigh, she digs a bobby pin out of her pocket and finesses the lock so no one from the outside can get in. Otan taught her that trick when they only had one set of keys between them.

There’s that pang again. She is not allowed to miss him. She is not allowed to mourn him - not when it’s her fault he's gone. Her left hand feels unbearably heavy at her side, weighing her down as she clatters and runs down the service stairs of John’s building.

She takes the final corner before the exit door too sharply and bangs her shoulder against the wall. It's hard concrete, tagged with graffiti, and suddenly she is back in the Baltimore warehouse, cowering in the corner, the walls and floor splattered with his blood.

Her heart clenches. She runs faster, her loose hair flying around her face in time with the wind and her gait. Her feet take her down to the highway, and all the way up to the house where she was taken. She climbs the stairs to the room that would have been hers and runs her good hand over the graffiti she remembers from their first day here.

I was not happy when I wrote this.

“Me either,” she says aloud, voice harsh in the silence. The sadness she felt at those words is gone. There's no room for softness in her anymore.

Her backpack is still in her ransacked room, sitting in the corner in a sad, lumpy heap. The scavenged and stolen tech she and Otan worked so hard for was long gone, but her clothes and the small sum of money she had sewn into the backpack’s lining still remained. She crams everything she can inside and does not look back as she smashes the front lock to the house on her way out.

You’re relying on someone’s kindness. That's a stupid thing to do, Otan’s voice chides as she walks toward the highway.

“Shut up,” she says to the desolate road. “I’m the sensible one, not you.”

She wonders if John will let her stay. His trust is a strange thing; it seems hard to earn but easy to keep. She's seen it before, this naive earnestness, this wordless prayer to be wanted, to be loved. Those things used to make a home in her own reflection before they were sacrificed on a kitchen table in D.C., a basement step in Boston, a warehouse floor in Baltimore. The blood and bile on her hands terrifies her. It's why she learned to run.

She does like John, though, truly. Something about him fits so perfectly with something about her. He doesn't need her to be anything other than what she is. It's a strange acceptance but she finds it to be safe.

She lets herself into the service stairs, finding the fire door unlocked and disarmed just as she left it. She wiggles John’s front door handle until the lock disengages and, though she’s worried about waking him, she can’t suppress the smirk of satisfaction at her success.

John must have woken up while she was gone. He’s in the kitchen, wearing rumpled pajamas and an annoyed grimace, with his hand in the toaster, chipping away at something with a butter knife.

“I wasn't sure you'd come back.” He winces as a piece of burned bread goes flying to the floor. “Normally I'd have breakfast ready by now but-”

“But you broke the toaster,” she says, hearing the fond exasperation in her voice, allowing it to stay.

“That,” he points the knife at the offending burnt crust, “got stuck.”

“Sure, John.” Emori opens the fridge, staring inside appraisingly. He actually has food, more food than she'd ever seen in one house. She reaches for the carton of eggs, holding it clumsily in her left hand. “Just eat these. They’re good, right?”

He looks at her in confusion. “You've never had eggs before?” When she shakes her head, he blinks in surprise, then snatches the carton from her hand. “Sit down. I'm making you breakfast.”

He fries the eggs with careful precision, then makes her toast with butter and pours her a cup of coffee while she eats. He makes a plate for himself too and sits across from her at the card table and folding chairs that pretend to be a dining room set.

“So...what?” John asks around a mouthful of toast. “You're one of those people who don't eat breakfast?”

She shakes her head, dividing the rest of her eggs in half. Some for now, some for later. “Just never really had it.”

She can feel his eyes on her moments before he reaches out, takes the fork from her hand, and pushes her egg piles back together. “Normal people eat lunch too.” His voice is quiet. She senses that he understands.

He reaches for it and she lets him run long, delicate fingers over the overlarge palm. “Being badass is better, anyway,” he murmurs, his thumb stroking the scar around her wrist.

You don't have to tell me, his eyes say.

She wants to tell him.

“I was fourteen. I found out that my mother abandoned me because of it. My brother never told me. I tried to cut it off because I was angry and hurt.” There. It doesn't sound so horrible. And it's the truth, mostly. She left out the worst part, but what he knows won't hurt him.

John is looking at her with gentle eyes that hold a bit of sadness and pain. They're blue, endlessly hurt and startlingly beautiful. His thumb is still rubbing gentle circles on her wrist. She focuses on the feeling, narrows her body’s awareness to the single place where his hand makes contact.

He says something she doesn't hear and releases her after a moment, mumbling an apology and clearing the table. Before she can think, she jumps to her feet, taking her plate to the sink.

“Why are you sorry?” she asks lowly, leaning against the counter. John is pointedly not meeting her eyes.

“I don't-” he clears his throat, starts again. “I don't touch people.”

She frowns. “I should be saying sorry, then.”

He sighs in frustration. She knows it's not meant for her so she keeps her silence. He ducks into the bathroom for a shower after the kitchen is clean and she stands before the photo frames on the wall, the only decoration in the place, and looks.

They're nice pictures, at least to her untrained eye. One is a group photo taken in front of the diner by an obviously shaky hand. Emori recognizes some faces - John and Miller, Raven and Bellamy, Luna and Lexa, Anya and Lincoln - but she doesn't recognize the dark-skinned girl next to Lexa, the blonde with her arms around Bellamy’s shoulder or the thin girl with piercing eyes on Bellamy’s other side.

The second photo is of Raven, Bellamy, Miller and John seated in a location Emori’s never seen. Captioned with The Core Four in blocky script, it depicts them exactly as they are: Bellamy with his nose in a book, Raven elbows-deep in a mechanical project, Miller twirling his beanie around his finger and John staring into the distance. She traces his profile with her eyes for a long moment before moving on.

The final photo is probably her favorite. It's him, in his house on his couch, his elbows braced on his knees. He's looking just past the camera with an expression that is almost soft.

“I didn't want to keep it up,” he says from around the corner, making her jump in surprise. “But she insisted.”

“She?” Emori asks, trying to keep her face neutral even though he's shirtless and flushed from the shower’s warm water. He's pretty in a lean, easy way. She wonders how his collarbone would feel under her fingers.

“Costia.” He points to the first picture, to the girl next to Lexa. “She was a photographer. She wanted to be, anyway.” To Emori’s frown, he says, “She died last year. Lexa still hasn't recovered. I keep the pictures up for her.”

“I didn't know you were into this artsy shit,” she teases.

He grins. “You have much to learn, I guess.”

She hums, lets her eyes flicker over his torso and is rewarded with a flush crawling over his cheeks and chest. “I guess.”

She doesn't let her eyes stray from the pictures again until he walks away and even then she catches an unwitting glimpse of his bare back. She sees scars arching over his shoulders. They look like nail marks. She is almost angry at the sight.

“So are you staying?” he asks as she sprawls out on the couch with a needle and thread, hell-bent on repairing the damage done to the shirts and jeans in her backpack. She wants to look better, she decides, if only so John will stop buying her clothes.

She watches as he perches next to her. He sounds hopeful, looks it too. She knows she should crush the gleam in his eye but, for the first time in a long while, she can't make herself choose the survivor’s move.

“If you want me to.”

“I kind of do,” he admits.

“Okay,” she says and watches in wonder as a slow, real smile spreads over his face.

This is bad, Otan's voice tickles the back of her brain. You should not do this.

Emori pricks her finger with the needle. His voice is silent. The blood drips onto her black shirt. Beside her, John leans back against the couch and closes his eyes. He sleeps a lot, she observes, but the circles under his eyes never seem to disappear.

“Where'd you get the clothes?” he asks, lids fluttering,

She shrugs, though he can't see. “Salvation Army. Dumpsters. Lost and founds.” She smirks, a memory tugging at her. “I used to steal quarters from my brother to wash them at a laundromat. I hated dirty clothes.”

John opens his eyes halfway, appraising her from under long lashes. “What, your mom didn't give a shit?” It sounds harsh, but she supposes it’s fair. She doesn’t blame him for being sensitive to neglectful parents, not after his own life’s experience.

Emori stares at the shirt in her lap. “I didn't really know either of my parents. Otan - my brother - took care of us.”

John’s eyes close again as he spreads his arms out, resting them on the back of the couch, close enough to touch her shoulder. His fingers absently play with her hair and she leans into the feel of it, the gentle tug at her scalp, the soft sounds as the strands rasp against his callouses.

“I know a guy,” he starts with a sigh. “His name’s Bellamy.” She remembers him from the beach. He had kind eyes, worried and dark but with crinkles around them from smiling. “He has a kid sister, Octavia, and his mom basically put him in charge of her when she was born. He worked to give her what she needed and took care of her no matter what. It sucked for him but she turned out okay.” He looks sideways at her. “I'm glad your brother did that for you.”

Emori fights to keep the lump in her throat from choking her. “You don’t like him, do you? Bellamy, I mean.”

John smirks. “Nah. He’s a dick. But then, I did threaten his sister, so maybe that's why he hates me.” He lifts his head from the couch. “Are all brothers like that? Or was it just him?”

Emori laughs. “Otan trusted me. But he didn't trust anyone else with me.”

John’s fingers are still tangled in her hair. He gives it a gentle tug. “I wouldn't bet against you.”

“Good. You'd lose.”

His lips quirk upwards. “Am I going to have to worry about you stealing my quarters?” He's still teasing. She likes it.

“I don't know.” She leans forward, gives him a look over her shoulder. “I guess you'll just have to keep an eye on me.”

She swears she could hear him swallow. His fingers tighten in her hair. His eyes are wide open, looking at her, looking through her. She meets his intense stare and, for a delirious moment, wonders what it would be like to kiss him.

They walk down to the diner because they're both too lazy to cook dinner. As Emori suspects, Miller and Bryan are there, along with Lexa, Bellamy and the slender blue-eyed girl Emori saw in the picture.

“Mori, this is Octavia,” John introduces. Emori feels her heart stutter at the nickname.

“Hey.” Octavia brushes her hands on her jeans and shakes Emori’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too.” Emori jams both hands into her pockets. “John told me about you.”

Octavia barks a short laugh. “What did he say?”

“That your brother’s a dick,” John calls from further down the counter.

“Well,” Octavia winks at Emori before asking John if he's going to stand there all day or order something.

John orders for both of them, insisting that Emori can't make informed culinary decisions. After passing the orders to Miller, Octavia fixes John with a glare. “Bellamy’s been trying to call you.”

“Sorry. My phone was off.” John doesn’t sound sorry. Emori hides a smirk.

“It’s fine,” Bellamy pops out from behind the office, sighing laboriously. “Anya wanted that chili recipe you made the other day.” Emori wonders if it’s the same chili he made for her. “Just write it down for her when you get a chance?” He grabs his keys from his jacket pocket. “I’ve gotta get more ice. Don’t burn the place down while I’m gone, O.”

Octavia mutters something about making no promises. John’s snort makes Emori laugh. The startled look he gives her is rewarding.

“J!” Emori turns to see Raven waving at them from a booth. Luna sits across from her, eerily still. “Come sit with us!”

John sighs. “I'm sorry in advance,” he whispers, leading the way. Luna presses her shoulder against the wall so John can sit beside her and Emori slides in next to Raven.

“I'm sorry,” she's quick to say as her foot clangs against the outside of Raven’s brace.

“Don't worry about it,” Raven waves her off, passing half her French fries to John. “It's not like I can feel it anyway.”

John looks distinctly pained. Emori wonders why, but Raven drops the subject before she can ask. “Luna, have you met Emori?”

Luna’s face is unreadable. Emori wonders if she has already forgotten her from the beach. “We’ve met,” is all she says, dark eyes boring into her.

Raven is one of those people that makes it easy to just exist around her. Emori guesses it's because her mind moves faster than anyone else’s. John keeps trying to include her in the conversation but she doesn't mind listening to Raven talk to John about mutual friends and whatever ridiculous thing happened at her job that day.

“She works at a mechanical engineering lab,” John tells her at one point when Raven stops to breathe. “Her brain is always turned on.”

“That's a poor choice of words,” Luna mutters. Raven chokes on her burger in surprise. John stands up, reaches over and whacks her on the back, smiling when Emori laughs.

“Who knew Luna would get to the innuendo before me?” Raven quips, her lips twisting into a smirk. Luna tosses some hair over her shoulder with a satisfied look in her eyes.

Emori envies how Luna moves: self-assured, soft, peaceful. It's the kind of grace that comes with the knowledge that your place in the world is secure. Emori has never had that luxury. She's not sure what she would do with it now.

They return their trays to Octavia, who’s leaning with her forearms braced on the front counter, looking outside, watching what looks to be a heated exchange between Bellamy and another boy with long dark hair. Bellamy is blocking him from entering the diner and the mystery man does not look happy.

“Is that him?” Raven asks in a hushed tone. When Octavia nods, Raven whistles under her breath. “Damn, Baby Blake.”

“Dating another cradle-robber?” John sizes the guy up. “He doesn't look as old as the last one.”

Octavia shoves him none-too-gently. “I thought Lincoln was dead, ” she hisses. “Now shut the fuck up.”

Emori tries to tamp down the protective anger that wells within her when Octavia touches John. She focuses instead on Bellamy’s angry eyes as he turns his back on Mystery Man and stalks into the diner, slamming the door behind him.

“Watch it!” Anya barks from in the office around the corner.

“Sorry,” Bellamy's voice is sheepish but his face is anything but. “So, O, you wanna tell me about that?”

“Not really,” Octavia ducks into the back. Mouthing a curse, Bellamy follows her.

John turns to Emori with the barest hint of amusement flickering over his features. “And that's the diner,” he says, expanding his arms in a ta-da gesture.

“Don't you all have homes to get to?” Lincoln questions good-naturedly as he sidles through the front door with two boxes in each hand. The boy Bellamy had fought with slips in behind him, probably hoping Lincoln’s hulking presence is enough to hide him.

“This is going to be interesting,” Emori whispers to Luna, who is watching the scope of the room with calculating eyes.

“Ah, I love the straights,” Lexa sighs, sidling up to Luna, green eyes sparkling with amusement. “They're so...entertaining.”

“Don't be so superior,” Luna scolds like an older sister, Emori notices. “It's not a good look on you.”

Bellamy and the other boy size one another up again while Octavia watches, obviously praying for an interruption.

“So you're the guy.” Subtlety isn't lost on Raven, apparently. Emori watches in consternation and surprise as Raven appraises him.

“Illian,” he introduces himself, shaking Raven’s hand with a close-lipped smile.

“Oh, we know.” She and John share a look. By now, a small cluster has formed near the front of the diner; Miller and Octavia have come out to circle around Illian alongside Raven and John. If this was her old neighborhood, punches would be thrown any minute now. But Emori only senses the friends’ worry about the happiness of one of their own.

When Raven starts making small talk with Illian and Octavia’s frown eases into a mild squint, John separates himself from the crowd. “We can go if you want,” he tells her, his tone almost apologetic. “I didn’t mean for it to get this far.”

Emori feels something warm bloom in her chest. “I don’t mind. I like it.”

He gives her the strangest look. “Why?”

“They’re your friends. Your family.” She hears the raw longing in her voice, tries to tamp it down and fails miserably. “They love you.”

John frowns ever-so-slightly and Emori wants to question his doubts but there isn’t time for that, not when Bellamy claps a hand on his shoulder as he walks past and John flinches.

There’s that protectiveness again, that anger that someone would hurt him. “Watch it,” she growls.

“It’s nothing,” John murmurs in her ear. She’s torn between concentrating on the shivers running down her spine and staring at Bellamy until he caves under her glare.

In the end, she does both.

John doesn’t ask until they’re a block away from the diner. “What was that for?” he asks softly, kicking a pebble into the gutter.

“He hurt you.”

“He barely touched me!”

“You flinched.” She chances a look at him. His eyes are dark, fixed somewhere ahead of them that only he could see. “Why?”

“I don’t like people touching me,” he says. “And I don’t touch people.” She reaches out her right hand, fingertips brushing against the pale skin of his wrist. He doesn’t flinch, just looks at her in equal parts surprise and fascination.

She raises an eyebrow. “I don’t mind when it's you,” he admits.

Her heart is loud and triumphant in her chest. “I don't either,” she murmurs and lets him wrap his arm around her shoulders.

He doesn't speak until they're in the cocoon of his dark apartment, buried under blankets and nestled into either end of the couch.

“I had good parents,” he says, voice breaking the silence. “They loved me and loved each other. And then I got sick and my dad died and my mom hated me after that.”

He pulls his knees to his chest and curls his fingers into tight fists. “She drank,” he continued. “A lot. And the last thing she said before she died was that I killed my father.”

He shrinks in on himself with every word, burrowing deeper and deeper into some dark place in his mind. Emori wants to hold him, to touch his cheek and bury her face in his neck. “No one loved me then. So I tried to escape. And now I'm here.” He is silent again. His self-hatred hangs heavy in the air. She's suddenly glad she didn't tell him this morning that she was drunk when she tried to take off her hand.

Emori stretches her legs out, feeling the blanket’s warmth slip away, and when he doesn't react to her motion, she looks and sees that his eyes are closed, lids fluttering slowly as he falls into slumber.

She pulls the covers up under his chin and rests her right hand against his cheek for a moment. “Someone loves you now, John,” she whispers, a lump in her throat. He can’t hear her. That’s why she says it.

She falls asleep with her bare feet against his legs and the sound of his breathing in her ears. She wakes up to his knuckles brushing gently over her cheek and opens her eyes to his sleepy look of gratitude.

#memori fanfiction #dailymemori #memorifanfic #daisytachi #lindseysfandoms #bombshellsandbluebells

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hope-for-olicity · 8 years

Text

Distractions

What could happen if the spoilers for 5x20 are accurate and there is flashback sex in 4.5. I’ve been writing this since last night so part of my reason for my reflective post today.

Thanks so much to @almondblossomme as this story came out of our conversation and she was kind enough to proof this for me. Also available on AO3.

July 2016

Clang, clang, clang

Felicity had tried focusing on her work, she had tried headphones but short of actually leaving the lair she could not ignore the beautiful sight that was Oliver Queen on the salmon ladder, shirtless. The man was dripping in sweat. What was he trying to do to her??

Oliver tried to hide his smirk he knew exactly what watching him on the salmon ladder did to Felicity. Otherwise, he would at least put a shirt on. But she always looks so sad, she tries to hide it but he knows her. How he wishes he could help her but that clearly isn’t his place anymore as the ex-fiancee. He jumps down, towels himself off, as he wipes the towel over his face he sneaks a peek and yes Felicity is watching.

Felicity can’t help but think how nice it would be just have that. She knows Oliver would never refuse her and maybe it would help her forget, just for a little while. She quickly shook her head, she didn’t deserve to forget. She was a murderer. She should be punished. She had even considered turning herself in - but she quickly realized that it also put Oliver at risk and she could never do that.

So lost in thought she didn’t hear Oliver come up on the landing in his Arrow suit.

“Hey,” he said softy. Oliver knew how jumpy she was lately.

Felicity jumped anyway and knocked an empty coffee cup off the table, Oliver quickly caught it before it even hit the floor. “Still have those awesome reflexes I see,” she smiled at him. Pretending everything was okay.

Oliver knew the smile was for his benefit and it killed him that she couldn’t be honest with him. But he’d lost the right to expect her confidence when he betrayed her trust. “I’m going to head out. Check out that area where that street gang has been causing problems lately. Just recon. I’ll call in if I need help Overwatch.”

“Sounds like a plan. I’ll be here Green Arrow.” Oliver waved and Felicity watched him head toward his Ducati. She waited until she heard the sound of the bike in the distance and turned back to her computers.

She quickly pulled up another Facebook page. It wasn’t easy to find information on an entire dead city. Not many people left to post obits but Facebook profiles, turns out they are everlasting. She looked for all those who were living in Havenrock and looked at their profiles: their pictures of friends and family, their interests - she wanted to know each and everyone of her victims.

She hit upon the profile of Emily Rose. Emily was a single mother with a four year old daughter named Claire. Claire was adorable. And suddenly it was too much. She began to sob for the life Emily and Claire would never have. The life they would never have because she killed them.

She was crying so hard she didn’t hear Oliver come back. Oliver had a gut feeling that he should come back. He didn’t know why but he decided to obey it. As soon as he parked the bike he heard it. Felicity’s moans and sobs. Her pain. She, his Felicity was in agony, it physically hurt him to hear the sounds of her cries. He had known she was not okay but this, this was far worst than he had expected.

Oliver cautiously walked back into the lair. It was clear Felicity still didn’t know he was there. He looked at her from behind, she looked like a shell of herself. Where had his strong, brave, confident Felicity gone? He wanted to go gather her in his arm and promise that everything was going to be okay. But she wouldn’t want that and he knew that would never be true.

So he did the next best thing. The thing he would do if she were a friend like John, he grabbed the good Russian vodka and two glasses.

Felicity was so consumed in her own grief she didn’t hear him come up on the landing. He quietly laid down his supplies and went to her. “Felicity,” she didn’t hear him or ignored him, he wasn’t sure.

“Fel-ici-ty” he said softly. He knew it was dirty to use his old tricks to get her attention but he really didn’t want to scare her.

“Oliver,” she slowly raised her head, she took off her glasses and wiped the tears from her eyes, she looked around for a tissue, Oliver held one out, she wiped her nose and eyes. “Oliver I’m so sorry, a moment of weakness. You didn’t try to reach me, did you?” Might as well try to downplay this, if at all possible.

“No. And Felicity you can have as many moments of weakness as you want. You have been through more than most experience in a lifetime in a year. Here,” Oliver turned and poured them each a glass of vodka, turned back to hand her one.

“No mix?” Felicity tried to joke.

“You still don’t have to be funny for me Felicity.” he said seriously.

“Okay, what should we drink to?” Felicity said her voice still raw from crying.

“Friends?” Oliver couldn’t help question. Is that what they were now. It felt so empty. Felicity was the love of his life. Not just a friend.

Felicity thought about it for a minute, Oliver would never be just a friend, then raised her glass. “To friends.”

They both quickly shot back their vodka. Oliver reacted as though he had just drank water, he’d become accustomed to vodka while being part of the Bratva. Felicity on the other hand, was a regular human, she let out a litany of swear words. Before finally settling on “Damn it Oliver are you trying to kill me?”

Oliver couldn’t help but laugh. “Sorry, you never had any problem shooting tequila in Bali, I thought you’d be fine with this.”

“That tequila had nothing on this!” She looked down at her glass. Then held out again. “More, please.”

“Are you sure? You didn’t seem to like it the first time.”

“Yes, it was a distraction. I want more. Please.”

Oliver poured them each another glass. As he handed Felicity her glass, he took the opportunity to really look at her. She was so beautiful. But she had also lost weight she couldn’t afford to lose and she looked like she hadn’t slept in a while the dark circles were starting to show especially now that her tears had washed away some of her make up. He wondered when was the last time she’d eaten.

Felicity took the glass of the awful vodka from Oliver. God it was terrible. But it did provide an escape. An escape she didn’t deserve but one that she was going to take. Maybe she could drink herself to sleep. Maybe that would stop the nightmares. She knew Oliver was looking at her. She caught him doing that often. He still cared which was sweet but she didn’t deserve it. She shot her second glass of vodka.

Oliver noticed less curses this time. But he didn’t think she liked it any better. He drank his shot and went to put the vodka away.

“No! No, where you going? Bring it back!” Felicity said a little too desperately.

“Okay, one more and then you are cut off Felicity.” Oliver said sternly.

She nodded solemnly.

He poured them each another glass. He knew even he would start feeling it after this next glass. But if this provided Felicity some mild relief who was he to stand in the way.

Oliver turned and handed Felicity her glass and noticed the the Facebook profile up on Felicity screen for the first time. “Who is Emily Rose?”

Felicity eyes again welled with tears. She quickly shot back her vodka. “No one….not no one of course she is someone. I knew her in college.” But Felicity knew Oliver wasn’t buying her story.

Oliver looked closer. He saw that she was from Havenrock and it suddenly hit him what she was doing. “Felicity are you looking at the Facebook profiles of the people from Havenrock?” Oh my god...he didn’t know what to do because he knew the answer.

“Felicity, oh Felicity! Come here!” He didn’t care anymore if it was proper or the right thing to do. He needed to comfort her. Felicity was in so much pain and she was inflicting more upon herself.

At first Felicity was able to resist Oliver. “No, Oliver don’t you see I don’t deserve comfort. Emily and Claire Rose aren’t going to get comfort.” The tears started to stream down her face again.

Oliver knew it was wrong but he had to comfort her. His wonderful, good Felicity thought she deserved to be punished. He hauled her into his arms, it was like suddenly the fight went out of her and Felicity sagged against Oliver and he just let her cry.

He rubbed her back and hoped he was providing some comfort. He would have offered words but he wasn’t sure Felicity was ready or wanted to hear them. So he offered himself, his body as a form of comfort.

Felicity promised she’d only let him hold her for a minute. She didn’t deserve it but she could have a minute of feeling comforted. She knew it as wrong. She pulled back for a moment and looked in his eyes. She was shocked to see the love and concerned reflected in them. She knew she should run. She could feel herself sinking. He was right there, she just wanted to kiss him.

And the next thing she knew, she was kissing him and it was glorious. It was like the thing she needed most in life that she didn’t know she needed. She moaned.

Oliver kissed her back. How could he not kiss her back? She needed him and he would be here for her. He was ignoring the voice in his head reminding him, he was not drunk and this was wrong. He was taking advantage of a vulnerable woman. He should stop this now. Then he heard her moan and he was done for.

*****

A short while later as Felicity was picking up her clothes off the floor next to the conference room table she knew she had made a huge mistake on so many levels.

She felt like crying all over again. It wasn’t that the sex was bad. Sex with Oliver could never be bad. It’s that she didn’t deserve to feel that good and now she had confused Oliver. She could never go back to him and she had just slept with him. She was going to hurt him.

Oliver had gone into the locker room to put different clothes on, he wasn’t going to put the Arrow suit back on. He felt so guilty. What a horrible friend he was. She was vulnerable and he took advantage of her for his own needs. What kind of person does that?

When he came back out Felicity was straightening her clothes. She thought it was best to be honest right away. “Oliver listen, I don’t want there to be any confusion.”

“Me either. Felicity I’m so sorry…”

“No, you don’t have any reason to be sorry Oliver. This is on me. I’m sorry. I pushed.”

“Felicity, you didn’t make me do anything I didn’t want to. But I should have stopped it. Felicity…”

“Okay, let’s just think of it as a slip up.” She looked to Oliver for agreement.

“Okay.”

“So we will just pretend this didn’t happen.”

“Okay, but Felicity we need to talk about Havenrock.”

“NO.” She practically shouted in her loud voice.

Oliver looked a little shocked.

“Havenrock is my problem. I’m working on it. Please leave me be with it. Please,” she was practically begging.

“Okay, I won’t bring it up but can you promise to come to me if you ever feel like it’s becoming too much? I’m here Felicity and I want to be here for you.”

“Okay.”

*****

April 2017

It had been almost a year since they had been in such close quarters. Stuck in an elevator. How cliche.

Oliver had deliberately halted them between floors, with the office space below and lair above, to avoid getting caught. He had recently been outed as the Green Arrow and now Felicity and he were on the run. To her credit she had yet to say I told you so when it came to Susan.

He was actually surprised when Felicity agreed to run with him. It’s not as though her name was being broadcasted worldwide. And now they were sitting in the cramped elevator waiting to make their next move. He looked over at Felicity. She looked so tired. So many times he’d wanted to ask if she was okay but the only time he had since that night she blew him off.

Poor Oliver, after everything she tried to do to protect him, joining Helix to help take down Prometheus and now he was hurt anyway. She had underestimated Susan. Her gut told her she was trouble but she thought it was jealousy and Oliver insisted he had it under control.

And now they were stuck in this elevator alone.

“Hey, you okay?” Oliver asked. There wasn’t much light in the stopped elevator, only emergency power so he squinted looking over at Felicity seated on the floor.

“Sure.”

“Sure? Felicity we are stuck in an elevator on the run for our lives and you are fine?” Oliver was clearly frustrated. “Why don’t you just tell me the truth?”

Felicity didn’t know if it was because she was tired or because Oliver brought up the the truth but she snapped. “The truth? Oliver that is a bit rich - ALL puns intended, coming from you! WE don’t do the truth, or did you forget? We stopped the truth a long time ago. It was the reason we broke up and then when it crept out in July we swept it under the rug.”

“July?!” Oliver head popped up and his voice rose. “How dare you bring up July we both agreed not to talk about that. You can’t pin that on me? I know taking advantage of you was wrong but I didn’t lie about anything else that night or since.”

“Well I did.” She said glumly.

“You did what?” He tried to see her face in the darkness. “Felicity, what did you do?”

“There is no need to talk about it now.” She was trying to talk herself backward even though she knew it was impossible.

“We are going to talk about it now Felicity. I’ve followed your rules long enough - since July actually and I’m tired of them. I want to know how you are? I want to know what is going on with you and don’t tell me NOTHING.” Oliver knew this might be the only moment he could force answers out of her - trapped in an elevator.

“Calm down Oliver! You don’t have to act like you care all of a sudden.” Felicity knew it was a low blow. She knew Oliver would always care about her but she was trying to distract him. She wasn’t ready to talk because she honestly had no idea how Oliver was going to take it and it’s not like she could storm out.

Oliver took a deep breathe. “Felicity you know I care. You do right?” he peered at her through the darkness and saw her nod her head. “I know what you are doing. I know all about distractions. I know you are worried about telling me about whatever it is you are hiding but I’m not going anywhere - literally” he winked at her even though he knew she probably couldn’t see it.

“I know Oliver. But it’s just hard to talk about.”

“Felicity, I am the last person who should be pushing someone else to spill their secrets, especially after you have shown such patience with mine. But your secrets are eating you inside and I worry about some of your recent decisions. I love you Felicity and I hate watching you go through this alone.”

It was the I love you that broke her. She suspected he might still love her, he had said always, but then there was Susan and she told him to move on. What if he didn’t love her once he saw the real her? She was no longer his light.

“Felicity, I can practically hear you thinking. Please baby, talk to me.” He reached out and took her hand. When she didn’t pull away, he took this as a good sign.

“Okay where should I start?”

“Anywhere you feel comfortable.” he wait for her to speak. “Okay, how about something simple, how are you?”

“Tired.”

He could sense this was going to be a long process. “Okay, tired. Have you been sleeping?”

“No, not much. I haven’t been sleeping for a long time.”

“Since Billy died?”

“No before that.”

“Before that as in….”

Silence.

“Felicity, come on, why aren’t you sleeping? Did you ever go talk to someone about Havenrock?” He felt her try to tug her hand away and he held it tighter. Struck a nerve. He knew he would.

“Yes it’s about Havenrock, no I haven’t talked to anyone. I told you I’m handling it.” Felicity snapped at him.

“Felicity that clearly isn’t working. How about you talk to me? I promise not to judge you.”

“I’ll think about it.” she said quietly.

Oliver knew that was probably the best he could do with that one. “Okay how about you tell the long story about how you helped John get out of prison that led to joining Helix.”

“I didn’t realize you knew the group’s name.”

“John told me some of it but Felicity, I need to hear it from you.”

“It happened when you were in Hub City getting Dinah, the group Helix contacted me through my old Hacker name and offered me intel to help John. I met a member of Helix and she gave me the Pandora key. The key contents had information about everyone you can imagine and could be used to bring down a lot of bad people.”

“So you saw it as a way to help?”

“Yes! I need to make amends for what I did. I can never bring those people back but I have to do something. Helix offered me that opportunity.”

“So you joined them? To help fight bad people?”

“Yes.”

“Was Team Arrow not doing enough? I’m confused.”

“Team Arrow wasn’t getting anywhere with our fight against Prometheus. I was seeing the toll it was taking on you. I needed to help you. So I joined Helix.”

“Okay.” Oliver took another breath. “First let me say I totally understand what you did and why. I just have one more question.”

“Just one more?”

“Maybe two, but I’ll ask them together”

“Okay”

“Did you realize how dark Helix was when you joined them? Did you think they could be connected to Prometheus?”

“Yes, I did realize they were dark but sometimes you have to fight fire with fire. I learned that from you. Secondly, no I don’t think they are connected with Prometheus. Why do you think they are?”

“I have my suspicions.”

“What happens now?” she couldn’t hide the concern in her voice.

“Now we move forward.”

“Oliver, we are stuck in an elevator.”

“Always with the jokes. I meant we move forward together.”

“Together? Oliver are you saying what I think you are saying?”

He smiled and it almost lit up the dark elevator. “Yes, Felicity Smoak you heard me right together. I am yours. In whatever way you will have me. I tried everything to distract myself from you. I dated Susan Williams! I’m done with distractions. So even if we move forward as platonic friends - I’m moving forward with you. You are no longer alone.”

“Well, I don’t know how good I’d be at being platonic friends with you. The last time we tried that we ended up losing our clothes. How about we take things slow. I love you Oliver. I never stopped. But I’m not ready for a relationship. I’m not okay.”

Oliver leaned forward and pulled her into his arms. He kissed her forehead. “It’s okay that you are not okay Felicity. We are going to work on that together. We are in this together from here on out. There will be no more distractions.”

“No more salmon ladder?” Felicity started to giggle.

“Well maybe one distraction.” Oliver couldn’t help but laugh too.

And suddenly, maybe it was the tension or all the emotions - they were both laughing. They leaned into one another trying to keep quiet. After a while Felicity realized Oliver had become very quiet. She looked up and he was looking down at her with so much love in his eyes. Felicity could resist, she boosted herself up to meet his lips.

It was a kiss with a promise of things to come. Because they both knew that they were heading forward together.

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#olicity fanfiction #arrow speculation #arrow 5x20 #arrow spoilers #My Fanfic #MyFanfic

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