#and he sucks so bad btw I hate his guts but he’s also my twisted babygirl

[bubblyhoney]

win for me

warnings: lAnGuAgE, alcohol consumption (both reader and all other characters are of age to drink), marijuana use, Making Out™️, a miniscule Flowers from 1970 reference. PSA: WHEN UR INTOXICATED AND/OR AT A PARTY, TELL UR FRIENDS WHO YOU WILL BE WITH AND WHERE YOU WILL BE AT ALL TIMES. DRINK AND PARTY SAFELY!

tags: sapnap x fem!reader

summary: a collection of moments throughout the beginning of your relationship

words: 5000

A/N: even though this isn’t my most organized or perfect fic this was so incredibly fun to write. and it’s a college!au!! one of my favs. hope you guys like!! let's pretend the pandemic doesn't exist for this one too (please wear ur masks btw)

-

Sophomore Year:

Smells like shit in here is your first thought upon entering the laundromat.

It does, in all honesty. What would you expect a place where college students wash three months of dirty clothes and comforters with vomit to smell like? Urine and just a hint of marijuana, incidentally. The door closes noisily behind you and a guy in a black baseball hat turns his head at the noise. Half of his face is hidden underneath the shadow of his scruff and he says nothing, but you still offer an obligatory polite-stranger smile. The place is pretty deserted, what for it being nearly 4 in the morning. And you’re a rare kind of customer; only a few things to wash and you brought your own detergent.

There’s an empty washer next to an old woman in an acid-trip of a parka, and you sweep past the few other patrons with your mesh bag close. The man in the hat nods at you as you pass, looking up from his phone.

Okay. Dark load in one and delicates in the other, you remind yourself. The quarters get pushed through the slot (not without dropping three and having to scramble to pick them up before they disappear between the machines) and you fill the dispensers with a flowery laundry detergent your roommates hates. Oh, and the clothes go in. Done. You relax into a cracked plastic booth around the corner of the machine, pulling a book of crosswords from your bag.

Somebody yelps halfway through filling out a five letter word (“a series of thoughts, images, and sensations occurring in a person's mind during sleep”) and you jump. Baseball Cap rips open the dryer, fumbling around and supplying a pair of gray sweatpants. You can’t help but watch. He digs through both front pockets, pulling out a wad of dollar bills. He sighs, shoves the pants back into the dryer, and starts it with a hard push.

“Gut feeling?” You ask. He looks around for a second and settles his gaze upon you. Nice eyebrows, you think.

“Yeah,” he laughs, slightly nervous. “Yeah. I wore them yesterday and just remembered I put some tip money in my pocket.” Leaning back onto the shelf behind him, he shoves his phone into his pocket and folds his arms tight to his chest.

“I feel you,” you empathize, and set down your pencil. “I washed a parking ticket with my underwear last week.”

He stutters out a laugh, nodding.

“That must’ve sucked,” he adds.

“Yeah.” You shrug. “I wasn’t going to pay it anyways, but would’ve been nice to keep it for memory’s sake.” Rubbing at your knee offhandedly, you just watch him. He’s cute. And easy to make conversation with.

“Hey, um,” he mutters and clears his throat. “Do you by chance know some guy named Karl? Tall, messy brown hair and a horrible laugh?”

You open your mouth, then close it.

“Actually—,” you start but huff out a laugh. “Yeah, he’s uh, he’s dating my roommate. Why’d you ask?”

Reaching a hand to rub at his neck, his face twists into something sheepish.

“I’ve seen you at some parties this semester. I didn’t mean to sound creepy like that— I just—yeah.” His cheeks flush pink and he looks down to the ground.

“No worries,” you say, barely even thinking. “I think I’ve seen you too. You’re in Delta Tau Delta, right?”

“Nah, nah,” he laughs. “Just got some friends in there.”

“Ah.” You nod.

The conversation falls into silence, but not uncomfortable silence. He pulls out his phone again, and you look back to the crossword in front of you. The old woman between you leaves with a humongous load of blankets and a small family leaves with a cart full of bags; now it’s just you two.

When the washer with your delicates ding you nearly jump two feet in the air. Exhaling, you set your work down and open the door.

“Shit,” you curse as two bras fall onto the tile. You reach down to get a hand on a black lace bra and hide it quickly under your elbow. A sneaker squeaks loud in the almost-empty room and you see Baseball Cap’s shoulders.

“Here.” He’s kneeling as he hands you your pink bra and you accept it, biting your lower lip.

“Thanks,” you mumbles, slightly embarrassed, and step back to shove those bras and a couple pairs of your underwear into your bag. He offers you a small smile and backs off to his own machines, humming an off-key version of Unchained Melody to himself. Your other load of laundry gets shoved right on top of your delicates.

It’s when you’re nearly out the door, bell jingling, that you think to look back.

“Hey,” you start, almost stuttering for no reason. “What’s your name?”

He turns, dark eyebrows raised.

“My—uh… My friends call me Sapnap. You can call me that too.” Rosy cheeks once again; you seem to be making him awfully nervous.

“Sapnap.” You try it in your mouth, pursing your lips. “Okay. I’ll see you around Sapnap.”

He nods, affirming your statement.

“See you around Y/N.”

It doesn’t hit you until you’re buckling your seatbelt and starting your car that you realize you didn’t tell him your name.

Perhaps he knew more about you than you thought.

Yeah, you laugh to yourself. Karl’s got a big mouth.

Junior Year:

It takes you a collective twelve minutes to go talk to him.

It’s quiet in the library, students that happen to come here to study or procrastinate few and far between the scattered tables. Your poison today is a 4 page history paper on Normandy that you’d been staring at the instructions for for days. You’d already written a bunch of, frankly, horseshit for the body, but the introduction and conclusion were throwing you for a loop.

The vibes in Ridgeback Hall were also certainly off, today more than any other day; the main help-desk was empty and everybody had to do the tedious task of locating niche textbooks themselves.

Lifting your head from the wood of the table, you squint and focus your vision on the guy in the white tee and denim jacket that had been the focus of your thoughts for minutes. He chews at the end of his pencil, mouth screwed up into a ball, and shoots daggers at the empty notebook in front of him. You’re surprised it hasn’t caught on fire yet just from his gaze.

“Sapnap!” You whisper-shout, stretching your arms across the table as if it would make him any closer. A person with purple hair jumps at your voice but turns back to their laptop. “Sapnap!” you try again, tapping two fingers on the table. His head jerks up, eyebrows furrowed and an angry expression on his face, but softens at the sight of you.

“Y/N,” he counters, equally as loud but with a smile on his face.

“What’re you doing?”

“Calculus.” He sticks his tongue out, making an awfully tortured face. You laugh and wave your fingers at him, gesturing for him to come closer. He just huffs out a sigh, stacks all his papers in one pile, and gets up. The trek over to your table is short but he takes it so slowly you wonder if he always walks like that. Like a varsity basketball player who just got off a horse.

“You’re so slow.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles and settles into a chair across from you. “It’s 2 pm, give me a break. I need a Redbull.”

“Those are bad for you, you know,” you say matter-of-factly and drop your chin onto your hand. He’s even cuter from this angle, you think briefly. He just rolls his eyes.

“Whatever, Miss I’d-like-some-coffee-with-my-sugar-and-cream,” he teases, pointing to your venti iced coffee. It’s about as pale as the color of a band-aid. You just sigh and close your eyes. “You tired?” He flips his pencil in his hand and leans back into the seat, sighing.

“Yeah,” you mumble. “I haven’t slept yet today.”

“Wow, you’re dumb.” He looks scandalized. You just shrug.

“Perhaps. I don’t really know why I did it actually— just for funzies!” You raise an arm but let it drop back down. “I stayed up playing Sims.”

“Feel that. I play Minecraft with my buddies until like 2 am every night too. It’s nice,” he decides and folds his arms across his chest. Your eyes flit over to his strong arms, admiring the way his denim shirt looks around them. Thick.

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

“What?” He says too loudly and it warrants a ‘shush’ from another student. He reddens, but looks back down to you. “I—why do you ask?” You shrug, eyebrows raised.

“Just wondering. You’re too cute to not have one.”

“Right,” he huffs, but his cheeks stay pink. You two fall into easy silence, his eyes trained on the notebook in front of him and yours closed peacefully. “Are you dating anyone?”

They snap open not-so-peacefully.

“Nope. You wanna submit a boyfriend application?” A smile cracks your lips and he grins back.

“Maybe,” he replies and stares at your mouth. “I have to say—,” He stretches into a yawn. “I think I’m qualified.”

“Oh, yeah?” Your eyebrow quirks. “And why are you so qualified?”

“Well, first of all, I work at Ace Hardware. That’s where cool people work.” He presses one finger into his palm. Then two. “And I have a bunch of free time because said job at Ace Hardware only likes scheduling me in the mornings. Plus, I’m hot.” He shrugs.

You nod faux-seriously, considering his list.

“Those are very good qualities, sir. I’ll have to get back to you on that.” You pause. “Okay, I’ll schedule an interview. How’s 7 pm at the Chili’s on Main? Chili’s is the designated interview place.” You wiggle your eyebrows. He just smiles at you, shaking his head in disbelief.

“That was smooth.”

“Yeah, I know.” You carefully study your nails. “I’m pretty impressive.”

“Clearly,” he mutters and chuckles. “But I do like their salsa. And margaritas. We got a deal?” He holds out a large hand. You take it, squeezing tightly.

“Hell yes.”

When you see the man called Sapnap a week later, you are very obviously in a different state of mind.

Same state, same college town, but very different blood alcohol contents.

“Sappy!” You shout, raising your arms above your head with a stupid grin on your face. He turns, that familiar look of surprise evident in his expression.

“Y/N,” he laughs and approaches your group of friends in the kitchen. It’s Greek Wedding night at Delta Tau Delta, and you assume Sapnap came to support Delta’s “groom” Alex. You’d gotten uncharacteristically drunk, trading air for sangria, and you were now in the incredible stage where everyone was both your friend and your favorite person.

Throwing an arm around his shoulders, you mash your face into his bicep and giggle.

“Missed you so much,” you try to manage out of your mouth, but it comes out slurred and stuttered. “So much.” You’d gone to Chili’s two days before and promised another ‘interview’ in the next few days, but it felt like two months away from your beloved. Beloved friend, that is. Only one date.

“Yeah?” He places a hesitant hand on your back and nudges you into a standing position. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Oh, shhhh,” you mumble and close your eyes. “Only— a lot.” Blinking them back open, you zero your gaze in on a bottle of Ciroc half-empty and looking very tempting on the kitchen island across from where you’re leaned up against the kitchen sink. He catches your gaze and steps in front of you, pleasant face filling your vision. You gasp.

“You are so cute.” Sliding your palms up onto his face, you hold his scruffy cheeks in your hands and smile all dopey at him.

“Is that your brain or the alcohol telling you that?”

“Uh,” you swallow. “Both. And my heart.”

He just shakes his head and his chest moves with a heavy laugh.

“Glad to hear it.”

“Are you having fun?” You ask, all concerned and furrowed eyebrows. You look like you’re genuinely interested and worried about if he’s having a good time or not, and it makes his expression melt.

“I’m having lots of fun,” he passes over his shoulder as he flips on the tap and fills a red solo cup with water. “In fact, I’m gonna have a nice, cold glass of water right now.” He shakes it like an owner offering their dog a treat.

You eye the cup in his hand, having half a thought that this might be some sort of backwards psychology move. The other half wins.

“That sounds so good right now— can I drink some?” Your eyebrows pull together and your bottom lip drops into a pout. It makes him blink for a second. He remembers the little game you’re playing and just hands it over, smug. You gulp it down quickly and crush the empty plastic into your palm with an exaggerated exhale. “Hit the spot,” you sigh, and pat your stomach fondly.

“You hungry?” Sapnap asks you as he steadies you with two hands on your shoulders. Something pops into your head at his words: a set of two McChickens and an Oreo milkshake.

“Oh my God,” you gasp, and mirror him by placing your hands on his shoulders. “Can we go to McDonald’s?”

He just shakes his head, grin wide on his lips, and shrugs. Perfect teeth, you think.

“I haven’t drank anything, so I’m good to drive.” He pulls his keys from his pocket. “I know you’re smashed right now so—do you feel safe with me?” The question falls from his mouth and you truly consider it, pulling your lip between your teeth.

“Yeah. I’ll take this just in case,” you say, and take a large dinner fork from the counter next to you. It has some red liquid on it that you brush off onto the fabric of your jeans.

“That’s actually gross.”

“Yeah.” You grip it tighter in your head. “But it’ll do the job if you try any shit. I’ll put this in your eyeball.” Brandishing it, a smile stretches onto your mouth. He just shakes his head and heads for the back door, jerking a hand in your direction to get you to follow him.

The cool night air explodes on your face when you step onto the porch and it makes you blink rapidly. Sapnap is right at your side, offering a forearm as you slowly make your way down the two back porch steps. A tall blonde smoking half of a blunt makes a grunt noise as you two pass and your knight-in-shining armor looks up.

“Gonna go get some food. Want anything?” Sapnap stops on the rocky path to the sidewalk, tilted up to hear the blonde’s response. The other guy shakes his head but nods to you in passing.

“I’ll tell her friends where she went,” says the blonde, and disappears through the sliding glass doors.

Your hand falls from his forearm to his hand and grasps it tightly, swinging back and forth as you stumble to his car. You flash him a grin that he just chuckles at.

“Watch your step,” he warns as you yank on the handle of the passenger door and nearly fall off of the curb.

“I’m fine,” you huff, and scramble to get yourself upright into the seat and buckled. He closes your door and jogs to the driver’s seat, climbing in and starting the engine quicker than your head comprehends.

The small space fills with the sound of Letters to Cleo as he’s maneuvering out of his parking spot and he slaps a hand at the stereo button almost immediately. His cheeks redden as he glances at you once.

“I love Letters to Cleo,” you admit, and switch it back on. Ah, Co-Pilot. A classic. “Be my co-pilot!” You sing, loud and sharp. He shakes his head but huffs out a reluctant laugh.

“My older sister loved them. Bit old for my taste, but—you know. Can’t deny that I love a little bit of 90’s angst.”

“Absolutely,” you nod vigorously and pick at your nail. “Oh!” The fork magically reappears at your side and you grab at it. “For my McChickens.”

“And for me,” he adds.

“Yup. You too.” But you drop it onto the seat and lean forward, fumbling with the volume dial until you feel the lead singer’s voice thumping into your heart. “I love this lady!” You shout and rock your head to the beat.

Shaking his head, his shoulders move in an easy laugh. The drive-thru line is kind of busy for 2 am, he notes, pulling in right behind a navy BMW sedan. But it moves quickly, especially when you’re moving in your seat, scream-singing the lyrics to I Want You To Want Me.

“Yeah,” he says, loud into the mic. “Two.”

“Alright.” The voice reports from the speaker, a background clicking joining their bored tone. “Two McChickens, a double cheeseburger—ketchup and pickle only— , a medium fry, and an Oreo McFlurry. Anything else, sir?”

Sapnap chews on his lip, and glances at you. You just give an encouraging thumbs up.

“That’ll be all,” he reports.

“Second window, and your total is $9.67.”

He barely has time to call a “thank you so much!” before the line ends with a click. Rude.

“Jesus Christ,” you moan the second you sink your teeth into your first sandwich.

“Agreed,” he mumbles and pushes as much cheeseburger he can fit into his mouth.

“This,” you start, swallowing. “is the sexiest thing I’ve encountered in all of my years. I thank all higher powers when I consume McChickens…” Trailing off for dramatic effect, you stare down the sandwich before mimicking a dinosaur war cry and practically shoving it down your throat. He just nods in agreement.

“It’s so nice out tonight,” Sapnap comments, swinging a look out his rolled-down window. He parked right in front of the Campus Quad, large bubbling fountain the show to your dinner. And some geese fighting each other for half a rotting hot dog.

“Mhm.” You crumple up your wrapper trash and toss it into the empty paper bag. “Could totally go for a swim.”

He turns and gives you a look. You look right back.

“Should we?” It’s barely a question.

“Um, hell yes,” is all it takes for you to say before you’re clambering out of the car and starting for the fountain. He follows closely after, jogging to catch up with your borderline track-star sprints.

“Wait up!” He calls as you reach the border of the fountain.

“Ugh,” you sigh, impatient. “Hurry up.”

“Mouthy,” he grumbles before kicking off his shoes and bending to fold his pants up over his knees. You just climb straight in and brave the cold.

Squealing, you hop from one foot to the other, shoulders tight as you get used to the freezing water. He laughs and climbs in right beside you.

“Shit,” he curses, and shivers. “This sucks.”

“You suck,” you quip right back and splash around. He stares, disgusted, at the water soaking up your jeans all the way up to your knees.

“You’re gross for wearing jeans in a fountain. That’s worse than wet socks.” He starts to move around as feeling comes back into his toes.

“What, would you prefer me taking my pants off?” A sassy look paints your face and he rolls his eyes.

“No, but you could’ve folded them up like a normal person.”

“I think you forget,” you start, and splash a palmful of water his way. “I’m quirky.”

He gasps, face twisting as the water hits his thighs.

“You’re dead.”

If campus police were patrolling the Quad right now, they’d see two college juniors wading around in a fountain, water up to their knees, having a competition to see who can inflict the most damage. He won, it seems, because your shirt is drenched all the way up to your ribs.

“Okay!” You shout, hands spread to brace yourself. The water in his palm falls. “I’m cold and I want my other McChicken.”

“Fine,” he sighs, and with some difficulty manages to get out of the fountain and back into his shoes. You just make your way back over to his car barefoot, braving the mulch and poorly-sanded concrete.

You both finish your food quickly, discussing menial things like how fast food restaurants always skimp on the pickles and how it’s truly a disservice to the world that so many people don’t know it’s Biggie singing the song Kat dances on the table to in the 1999 classic 10 Things I Hate About You.

When Sapnap pulls up to your house, he shifts the car into park and lets loose a heavy sigh. You whip around, hand on your buckle, and sport a very confused look on your face.

“I’m tired,” is all he says. Head falling onto the seat, he rolls over to give you a half-lidded look. You nod empathetically and climb very carefully out of his passenger seat. Your drunk muscles haven't caught up to your mainly sober brain, which is impairing your ability to look like a functioning human being.

“Thank you for tonight,” you chirp, smiling in at him with your arms folded on the open window sill. The half-drank Oreo McFlurry is lukewarm in your hand. He stares at your flushed lips.

“Anytime you want a drunk McChicken let me know.” He winks. “I have a gift card.”

“You spoil me,” you coo, and step up onto the sidewalk. “I’ll see you sometime soon, yeah?”

He nods, pursed lips fighting a grin.

Cute, you both think at the same time.

Sometime soon, somehow, means the very next day.

It’s breezy yet uncharacteristically hot out, and certainly way too bright for a hungover Y/N.

You’re sat on the porch swing, nursing a hot decaf coffee with lots of sugar and cream. Sunglasses sit comfortably on your nose, but you still have to squint. The pills you took have yet to kick in, so all you have to do is wait and try not to vomit into your mug. Suddenly, your phone lights up and buzzes to life. You press the green button and lift to your ear.

“What do you want?” Your voice is awfully froggy, you realize, and clear your throat.

“Good morning to you too.” Sapnap’s voice rings clear yet husky into your ear. The corners of your lips twitch up into a smile. God, you’re whipped just for the sound of his voice.

“It is definitely not a good morning,” you grumble and switch him into speaker phone. You drop the phone into your lap and stretch out further on the swing.

“Good morning for me,” he chirps cheerfully. “Take anything for the headache?”

“Yes,” you report, sounding like a pouting child and rubbing two fingers into your temple. “Some idiot fed me ice cream last night so this morning I woke up having to both shit and throw up.”

“Aww,” he sympathizes, sounding way too entertained. “That sounds like a you problem.” You stuck out your tongue, but upon realizing he can’t see it, make a ‘hmph’ noise into the mic. “Anyways. I called to see if you wanted to go get breakfast with me. Waffle House, specifically.” You make a face but lift yourself up off the swing, wincing.

“I saw a rat eat an entire piece of french toast there once. But—sure. I’ll pay.” He starts to whine, but you scoff. “Let me love you, bitch. You pay for my McDonald’s and I pay for your pancakes. Easy trade.”

“Whatever. See you in five.” He hangs up right as you twist the front door open and drop your phone onto the couch.

“Who’re you talking to?” comes from the kitchen and you jump, pressing a hand to your chest. A shirtless Karl enters the living room with a bowl of fruit loops in his hand.

“Jesus Christ,” you breathe, and duck into the hall closet for your pair of dirty tennis shoes. “I was talking to Sapnap.”

“Oh,” he says around his mouthful of cereal with a grin. “You guys dating yet?”

You pass him a weird look, bending to tie your shoes.

“Gimme like two weeks. I’ll have him at my beck and call,” you laugh and collapse back into the couch.

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” He quirks an eyebrow and exits stage left into your roommate’s room.

The few minutes it takes for Sapnap to come to your house are short but filled with contemplation. Do you really want to date him? He’s certainly cute enough. Nice enough. And smart enough. He seems to like you too—

A honk interrupts your thoughts. Always having to be obnoxious, huh?

“You’re annoying,” you mumble as you buckle your seatbelt. He just shrugs, tiny smile tugging his lips, and shifts into drive. The short trip to Waffle House proves more quiet than lively. He seems awake, actually, so you attribute the silence to your tumultuous thoughts. The music is nice, though. Bikini Kill is perfect for 10 am.

After you two order (three chocolate chip pancakes for him and two regular waffles with a side of hashbrowns for you), he finally breaks the silence.

“Hey, are we dating?”

You pause with your lip on the rim of your orange juice. Your gaze falls from his lips to his fingers wrapped around the coffee mug. Two silver rings adorn both his middle fingers and they glint underneath the fluorescent lights.

“Do you wanna?” You squint back up at him. The tips of his ears flush pink.

“I-uh… Yeah. Yes,” he says simply. You try to hide a smile, but realize there’s no point.

“Okay.” You take a long drink of your orange juice. “I really like you. A lot. A surprising amount, actually; I haven’t really dated seriously since highschool.”

He nods, shuffling his feet on the tile. What else does he have to be nervous about? you wonder.

“I’ve… kindasortamaybelikedyousincesophmoreyear,” he mumbles and you swallow.

“Huh?” Leaning forward, you set your glass down.

“Um,” he starts but doesn’t finish.

“Did you say you’ve liked me since sophomore year?”

“...Maybe.” His coffee becomes the most interesting thing in the world, apparently. “Do you remember that one time during the Summer Carnival where Karl lost his phone?”

“Uh—yes! Yeah, actually. I do remember that. He found it in the porta-potty. What about it?” The waitress sets down both your plates in front of you and you offer her a smile in thanks before she trundles off to the drink station. You pick up your fork and wait for him to continue.

“I left two hours early because you invited Michael from your computer science class.” You pause around your mouthful of potato and he just stares back, trying not to grin. “Yeah. I thought you were hot and left early because you brought another guy.”

“Michael is gay,” you say slowly.

“Yup.” He nods and shoves a forkful of pancake into his mouth. “Isn’t that so stupid?”

“So stupid,” you tease but your cheeks blush pink.

“Anyways. Now I’m dating you, so. Win for me.”

“Ditto,” you murmur, and manage to fit half of your first waffle into your mouth. “This is the easiest it’s ever been to start dating someone.”

“It’s ‘cause we’re cool, I’m pretty sure,” comes from a mouthful of pancake.

“That’s facts.”

The rest of Pancake House is bustling, a few families with young kids and some other hungover college students scarfing down similar breakfast foods and confections. You two barely give any other customers the time of day, too wrapped up in conversation and each other. The waitress gets a heavy tip after an hour and a half of struggling to swallow dough soaked in syrup and chocolate.

Sapnap walks you to your door after breakfast, hand on your waist and pressed to your side. It feels good. Right.

“I’ll see you Wednesday right?” You ask, turning to him with hopeful eyes. How could he resist?

“Definitely. Wouldn’t miss Game Night for the world— I can’t wait to beat your ass at Uno.”

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” You murmur but you’re already slinging an arm around his shoulder and bringing his mouth down to yours.

You taste like sugar, he thinks. His hands find the small of your back easily, pressing you further forward into him. You hum at that, tracking a hand up the back of his neck and into his hair to grip it between your fingers.

He smells both musky and sweet and cool at the same time: heaven. One of his hands slides up to grip at your neck, thumb rubbing at your jaw, and you make a pleased noise into his mouth. There it is.

“Y/N!” Shrieks from inside your house and you jump, pulling away from Sapnap with a smack.

“What?” You yell back, irritated, and he just laughs as he dips to press a kiss to your cheek.

“Stop tonguing your boyfriend and come help me with my photography project.”

“God damn it,” you sigh and drop your hands. His slide down to just rest on your hips, comfortable. “I have to go.” You're annoyed, that’s for sure, and he prays you aren’t too mean to your roommate.

“Alright.” He dips for a quick kiss one last time. Okay, two more times. Maybe three. But he pulls away, grinning. “I’ll see you Wednesday.”

And then he’s stepping off your porch, walking to his car with his hands in his pockets. You watch his back fondly.

God, boyfriend. He’s your boyfriend. Boynap. Sapfriend. You can’t decide on a name, but all sounds perfect.

Perfectly him.

-

A/N: ask or send me some stuff!! requests, rants, anything. :D comments = welcome!

[1kook]

distractions

jeon jungkook x (f) reader

summary: “Soft.” / “No shit,” you say, “you’re deep between my boobs.” tags: gamer kook, soft bf jeon, extensive knowledge of the MCU (Mario Cinematic Universe) warnings: nsfw; mostly tit play, dry humping, slight praise, jizzing in ur pants like ur fifteen again wc: 3k barely 

when u have 34827 other fics to finish but ur brain hyper focuses on this image at 1 in the morning. not proofread bc idk ppl 

ty for all the nice comments on skirt chasers btw<333

There were a lot of things about Jungkook that you didn’t learn until you were official. Like the fact he rarely matches his socks unless they’re cool socks. Or that he prefers his pancakes pre-drizzled with syrup. Not necessarily bad things, just aspects the general public wouldn’t normally see. In fact, the worst “trait” you’ve learned about Jungkook in the past year is how easily distracted he can get. Nothing crazy, just tiny actions, like forgetting to eat for three hours because he refuses to leave his Wii until he can beat the guys in three rounds of Super Smash Bros. Ultimate in the Mushroom Kingdom stage. Strangely specific, but it’s Jungkook and you’ve long since learned he’s an enigma.

Times like now, when you creep up behind him as he continues screeching into his headset, voice cracking every now and then in that adorable way it does when he’s overwhelmed. You are no stranger to Jungkook’s apartment, having visited more times than you can count, and even dropping by and doing a little dusting while he was on tour. However, you’re surprised you can see the back of his coconut hair from the low backing of his new computer chair. He’d told you he recently threw away his big leather, super villain gaming chair because it’d started to tear, but it was a fact you hadn’t really paid much attention to.

Now, however, you’re feeling a little happy he did, because it means you can slide your palms around his shoulders in somewhat of a back hug. It’s way better than having to walk all the way in front of him, and you bite down on a grin when he mutters the softest “hi, baby.”

“Which stage are we battling on today?” You murmur, pinching the tip of his mic to twist it away. Faintly, you can hear Taehyung’s voice shout a greeting your way.

Another button smash of his remote, hands enveloping the tiny device. “Wii Fit Studio with Wario,” he replies, eyes flickering across the screen like his life depends on it. You snort.

“I thought you hated Wario,” you point out, and move with him when he jumps after being shot off the screen.

He looks at you for the first time as he waits for his character to respawn. “Changed my mind. He’s just misunderstood. Listen to my theory, babe,” he starts, and you let go of him because you have the back of a ninety year old war veteran and can only hunch over for so long. You take up a very bodyguard-esque position behind him, watching him play and gently pressing your thumbs into his shoulders. “Imagine this. You’re a kid trying to have fun and this other kid who looks exactly like you but better is somehow also cooler than you.”

You hum, letting go of his shoulders to toy with his hair. You pull it into a makeshift ponytail and giggle, not that Jungkook minds, too immersed in his game and his sudden loving Wario speech to care. “Then, you get older and this same dude is still getting all the credit for being exactly like you. On top of that, his little brother is doing the same to your little brother! I’d be so pissed.”

You let his hair drop, and then quickly brush the strands away from his face when he whines. “Uh huh. But theoretically speaking, aren’t you the Mario of your little universe?” Jungkook is silent. “If we’re going by your little story, I hardly doubt there’s another Jeon doing better than you,” you point out.

Jungkook’s Wario gets blown off the screen for the last time, and he’s left blankly staring at the screen. You poke his neck. “I don’t wish to discuss this further,” he says rather matter of factly. You laugh, shaking him and his seat. “Baby, why would you say that!” He cries.

You smile, flicking the switch on his headset before pushing it off his head. Jungkook moans again, head lolling back to glare up at you. “I finally come to terms with the fact that Mario is the true asshole, just to find out I’m Mario? Fucking absurd.”

You roll your eyes at his dramatics, fingers dancing down the stretched column of his neck. “Listen, no one told you to go out and create an entire deep backstory for the Mario Cinematic Universe.”

He scoffs, eyes fluttering shut as he continues basking in your soft caresses. “The MCU,” he chuckles under his breath. On screen, Taehyung is still fighting with whoever else they were playing with tonight, a little Isabelle and Dark Samus dancing across the screen.

Meanwhile, you’re still absentmindedly running your fingertips along Jungkook’s skin. For a second, you think he’s asleep by the deepening of his breaths, his body so soft and relaxed beneath your touch, but then he gets one of those weird twitches of his, and pushes his head between your breasts.

“Ah,” he sighs, eyes still shut. “Soft.”

“No shit,” you say, “you’re deep between my boobs.”

The little shit snuggles closer at your words. “My favorite place in the world,” he croons, and you pinch his neck for his stupidity. “Tell me when they’re done,” he mumbles, sounding as if he’s actually gonna fall asleep.

You relent, continuing your gentle massaging of the muscles in his neck as you tune into the match on screen. You’re not exactly sure which one Taehyung is, but your gut tells you he’s probably playing as Isabelle, so you root for her. You’re weirdly into it, jumping every time a good spar happens.

By the time the match ends (literally only like 4 minutes later) and you check on your boyfriend, he’s snuggled his way between the valley of your breasts, his cute nose poking out from between. “Oh my god,” you sigh, having to take a momentary pause to collect yourself from the sight.

Jungkook giggles.

“Well. Taehyung’s done,” you inform him, and he hums though he doesn’t really seem to care about Smash anymore. His hands go slack around his remote, crawling up to dwarf yours.

He sighs, sounding so happy with himself. “Baby, you’re so soft,” he hums, and you try desperately, and you mean desperately, to ignore the sudden drop of his voice, his hands ever so gently tangling with yours.

You try to hit him with the facts, because you know where this will go if you don’t. “Well, breasts are made up of mostly fatty tissue, and lobes for producing milk,” you inform him.

Contrary to your goal, the handsome smile that envelopes his face has you fighting down the curl in your stomach. You can never win.

“You know I love when you talk anatomical to me,” he purrs, and it takes everything in you to not punch him straight in those pearly whites.

You don’t have enough time to respond, too caught up in a mental pep talk to re-evaluate what your body considered attractive. Jungkook’s corny jokes should definitely not be high on the list, but your rock hard nipples said otherwise. “So, you gonna let me suck on them or what?”

“I hate you,” you groan, reaching over to completely unplug Jungkook’s headset because you were absolutely terrified of creating an accidental porno with your celebrity boyfriend.

Jungkook chuckles. “No you don’t,” he teased, finally wiggling his way away from you to whirl his seat around. “Could feel your nip nops pressing into my forehead. No bra today? She’s bold.”

“She’s bold and embarrassed that her boyfriend calls them nip nops,” you sigh, climbing into his lap. His remote presses hard against your thigh, and you yelp before he tugs it out and throws it on the desk behind him. Vaguely, you register the screen lighting up behind Jungkook, but then he’s nudging your shirt upwards.

He’s barely brushed his hands against you, but you’re already shivering and squirming in his lap. “Relax for me, baby,” he assures you, a new depth slowly creeping around his words. “Gonna take care of you, alright?”

You nod, breath already caught in your throat just from the way he looks at you. He flashes you another smile, bunny teeth slightly pressed against his lower lip, before he’s pushing your shirt above your chest, and marveling at your boobs.

You don’t miss the way his gaze becomes glossy, eyes hyper focused on the rise and fall of your chest. Just as you’re about to urge him to do something, he’s reaching up to brush his thumb around your nipple. “Oh,” you blurt out, the skin around your nipple rising with goosebumps.

Jungkook lets out a soft huff of air at your reaction. “So sensitive. Bet I could make you come just by touching your tits, baby.”

You scoff, choking back another sound when he does the same to the other nipple. “I wanna say I doubt it, but I feel like you’ll prove me wrong,” you retort.

At this, Jungkook smirks. “Oh, so now it’s an expectation?” He smiles, and it’s the last angelic side of him you see before he’s ducking down and latching his supple lips around your breast.

Immediately, your back arches forward, hands scrambling to grip onto his shoulders as he licks across your breast. “J-Jeon, wait—“ you cry, body shaking at the way his tongue dances around your nipple.

Your hands tangle themselves in his hair, tugging and twisting it as he flicks his tongue back and forth, knocking it against the hard pebble. You moan, and almost choke when he pulls away with a lewd pop.

His lips are glossy from his own saliva, red from the friction. He’s looking at your glistening breast like a starved man, thumb returning to glide over his own messy artwork. “So pretty,” he hums, Puckering his lips to blow a soft tuft of air against it. You shiver. “Aren’t you the softest little thing,” he says, one hand falling to your waist and gently easing you closer to his crotch. His sweatpants do nothing to conceal how he’s feeling.

You hate to admit how your insides had turned into a Fruit Gusher the second he started sucking on your boob, and now that you think of, you'd be absolutely embarrassed if you did come from just this.

As if sensing your inner turmoil, Jungkook meets your gaze. “I fucking knew it,” he says, slightly out of breath. You furrow your eyebrows, to which he pointedly raises his and gestures to his crotch. “You started pressing down so hard on me the second I got my mouth on you,” he brags, and as if to punctuate his statement, grinds his hips upward into you. “Did sucking your titty make you that wet, doll?”

Your cheeks flush at his words. Belatedly, you nod, your eyes falling to his lips that quirk up into a smile. “Oh, you’re just so desperate to be touched, aren’t you?” He continues, and then reaches up to pinch your nipple between two rough fingers.

You gasp, body arching into him. The pain is new, but definitely welcomed. “Yes,” you cry out, hand reaching out to grapple around his wrist. Though you try to tug it away, it feels disgustingly good and you know he knows, which is why he gives it a slight tug.

Finally, when he lets go of you, he doesn’t hesitate to lower himself down by your other, ignored breast. “I wanna see you cream your shorts, okay? So I’m gonna suck your other titty until you’re near tears, baby,” he states, before giving you a soft push of his hips.

“Please, be gentle,” you choke out, words stuck the moment he wraps his lips around you. This time, he’s ruthless with his tongue. He traces it all over, tonguing your nipple like a lollipop. It feels nice, the wet caress, that you don’t see that bite coming at all. You moan, body unconsciously pushing away from him in surprise.

“Nuh uh,” Jungkook tuts, strong arms wrapping around your lower back to bring you back into his embraces. This closer position has your core pressing down directly over his dick, and the sudden double stimulation has your vision momentarily going white. “Gonna give you a pretty little bite right under your tit, doll,” he announces, and in a scary act of trust, presses his fingers into your spine until you’re staring at the ceiling, the only thing supporting you his strong arms. He nudged your breast with his nose until he finds the perfect spot to place his impromptu hickey.

It’s right against the bottom curve, where your skin folds over, that he settles on. “Need you to to sit nice and still for me. You can do that, right baby?” Jungkook says, big doe eyes looking up at you. You nod your head quickly.

His teeth are cold, unlike the rest of his mouth. “Jungkook!” You moan, toes curling and thighs attempting to clamp shit. They hit the outside of the chair instead, slightly squeezing around his thin waist. “You’re s-so good to me,” you wail, pushing down into his covered cock for friction.

As much as you wanted to act like this wouldn’t affect you, your body is no liar. Fingers tangled in his long curls, you find yourself gently rutting against him. Much to your surprise, this makes him break away, a thin bridge of saliva connecting his mouth to your chest. You mourn when it finally breaks.

“Told you to stay still, doll,” Jungkook warns, one set of long fingers sprawling on the small of your back as the other reaches up. “You had all the time in the world to work yourself on me, but you wanna choose now?” He gently reprimands you, twisting your nipple between two pinched fingers. You mewl. “Promise you’ll be good?”

“I can’t,” you whine, desperation seeping into your voice as your traitorous hips jolt forward again. You nearly fall onto him when a particular nudge of his cock over your core feels just right. “Want your cock so bad,” you wail, throwing all hesitation out the window as you begin full on humping yourself against his crotch.

Jungkook sighs, trying to act annoyed with you but the twitch of his cock beneath you cannot lie. “Well I’m not done having fun with you,” he says, though the way his words are tinged with complaints, you can tell he’s trying hard not to pout. Nonetheless, he latches his mouth around your breast again, and you nearly faint when he rolls your nipple between his teeth.

“Jeon,” you cry, looking down with probably the world’s worst quadruple chin only to catch him absolutely savoring your titty. He’s got his eyes closed, pink tongue licking across every inch he can get. His arms are wrapped around the smallest part of your waist like he can’t possibly fathom letting you go. When he moans, a whole new found wetness coats your walls. You choke on a sob, “I-I love you, Jungkook.”

You can feel a smirk pressed around your breast. It’s this moment when Jungkook finally gives up on his little quest to tame you, hips bucking up to meet your offbeat grinds against him. He pulls off your breast with another wet pop, though he’s slightly lower than you from how consumed he was when sucking you tits. He has to make a little effort to stretch his neck up to look at you, and even then it’s over the top of his nose that he gazes at you.

His lips pucker slightly, and the next time you grind down onto him has them brushing against your lower lip. “That’s it,” he croons, admiring the different expressions that contort your face as you become closer and closer to your orgasm. “Come all over your pretty panties for me, baby,” he encourages, sucking your lower lip between his.

His mouth had been so dangerous to you today, licking and sucking in all the right spots, but nothing has ever felt as right as having it on yours. “I-I’m sorry,” you whimper, fingers knitting themselves in his hair.

“Don’t be,” he comforts, gripping your hips and swiveling you in a circular motion. “Next time you’ll do better, won’t you?”

You nod, head bouncing like a bobble head. He smiles, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. Your thighs twitch. “I was gone for so long,” he rambles, hips picking up their pace the second he hears your breath hitch in your throat. “Didn’t think you’d become so sensitive and needy.”

A faint smile passes through your lips, and your toes curl and your belly tightens in that delicious way it does right before orgasm. Another grind against Jungkook, and he sighs “I love you,” as you cream your pants like a dweeby high schooler being touched for the first time.

Jungkook’s gentle movements halt the moment he sees that orgasmic face overtake you, pressing soft smooches all over the bottom half of your face, peppering your lips with them, until your fingers finally loosen in his hair.

“Fuck, I’m embarrassed,” you huff out, feeling gross and sticky in all the worst spots. Jungkook chuckles, and you can still feel his hard cock nudging the insides of your thighs.

“Nah,” he says. “It’ll make it easier for me to slide in.”

Even in your post orgasmic state, his words have a brand new coil of heat revving up. God, you were whipped for him. “Bed?” You ask, and he nods as you clamber off his lap, tugging down your shirt.

Immediately, he whirls around and catches sight of his abandon Smash game. “Huh.” He says, and you already feel the distraction staple itself into his mind. “Have you ever noticed how Dark Pit—“

You cut him off, gliding your hands around his neck and slowly craning it back until you can give him a tiny Spider-Man kiss. “If you make me cum a second time I promise I’ll listen to whatever theory you have about him,” you purr, punctuating your words with a tiny smooch.

The screen is off in record time.

[tibbinswrites]

Hi x could you do #327 for canon destiel please? Btw I love your work, you wright so eloquently x

You’re so sweet! Thank you! Sorry it’s taken me so long. I wasn’t sure what to do for this one, but then I was re-organising my fanfic folder and came across a wip that I’d started ages ago but never got around to making something out of it. And with a little tweaking, seemed to fit the prompt pretty well :D I hope you like it.

I’ve now done prompts for: #1, #2, #4 and #16, #9, #10, #20, #33, #77, #78, #170 (part 1), (part 2), #327 and #502 and I’ve got a possible part 3 of #170 pending. I’m not accepting any more prompts at the moment.

Also, just in case you hadn’t heard already, I’m part of an incredible destiel anthology. Our indegogo page is live here and there are tiers ranging from simply gorgeous PDF copies and all the podfics to beautiful print books and a bunch of other merch like bookmarks and art prints. We’re at an amazing 78% funded already! Check it out.

Warning for mentions of torture (hell flashback)

Enjoy ^_^

Prompt 327: “I could hear you… breathing.”

Dean woke gasping, sweat-soaked and tangled in his sheets. It took him a few seconds to remember where he was, a few more for his eyes to adjust to the near-black, and almost a full minute after that for the thumping of his heart to slow and his breathing to calm.

Just a nightmare.

He was used to waking up like this, but the Déjà vu didn’t make it any easier. Sure, he could joke about it in the daylight, be cavalier or even talk seriously about the fact that his nightmares were a regular occurrence if there was a need, but in the dark, with his dream still blurring the edges of his vision, it was impossible to be anything other than afraid.

When the fear faded as the familiar shapes of his room began to emerge from the gloom, he was left with an even more familiar frustration. He hated that Alastair still had sway over him. The demon had been dead for over ten years but his skin still rippled with cold dread whenever his mind wandered in that particular downwards direction. In some ways Dean had never left Hell, in some ways, Alastair had won and even after all these years, that rankled on him in a way that few things did.

He tried to kick off the sheets but on discovering that they’d wrapped around his ankle had to reach down and yank them from him with his hands, grumbling at the extra inconvenience. He stripped the bed without needing to turn on the light, this was a common enough occurrence that he had the process down. Bare duvet and pillows in one pile, gross bottom sheet, pillow cases and duvet cover in another. According to his blinking alarm clock it was almost five am anyway, he wouldn’t be getting any more sleep tonight. He braced himself and then switched on his bedside lamp, sucking in a breath through his teeth as the too-bright, too-sudden light stabbed into his retinas, ruining his night vision. He squinted for a few moments until he could blink without it feeling like the beginnings of a headache and then set about re-making the bed with fresh sheets, tucking in the corners military-tight, fluffing the pillows before placing them perfectly. When he was done, his bed looked like it had never been slept in.

He dropped the soiled sheets into his hamper and then headed to shower; his skin was oily with drying sweat and as it cooled it only made him shiver, the kind of shaky that travelled through muscles and up into the head, that wouldn’t go away unless he scrubbed off all evidence that anything was wrong.

Once in the bathroom he yanked off his clothes, left them in a damp pile by the door and twisted the shower knob on.

The spray was icy when it when hit him but warmed quickly and soon it was at that perfect temperature just over the line of scalding. He stopped shivering and let the water relax him, making sure to jerk his brain back if it threatened to wander to the reason he was taking a shower at five in the morning, to the clammy hands he still felt the imprints of, the nasal voice, those cold eyes alight with malice, delight at his pain, that face he will never forget.

He took a deep breath to steady himself, his stomach twisting unpleasantly, and almost choked on water.

“Are you thirsty, Dean?” Alastair taunted, holding his head under a spray of liquid. And Dean was, he was parched, he hadn’t had anything to drink in more than twenty years and Hell never let him forget it. So he opened his mouth, because that was the game, and the water burned like acid.

Dean yanked his head back from the spray, spluttering, choking, burning. And it didn’t matter that he knew he was safe, that the water was only not, not actually painful, that he was in the bunker and Sam was just down the hall, he stumbled from the shower, naked and dripping and definitely not clean yet, to hunch over the toilet bowl and retch until his stomach was empty. Of course the acid in his throat didn’t help that particular memory to face but once he was done he felt better. The remainder of his shower was embarrassingly rushed and tepid and he stepped out, rubbed himself with a towel and tried not to think. He brushed his teeth with a little more force than necessary and gargled some mouthwash, all the while avoiding his reflection in the mirror. When he left the bathroom he dressed quickly. There was no point hanging around his room. Staring blankly at a wall wouldn’t exactly help the shadows retreat.

He opened the door to find Cas leaning against the wall opposite. He straightened when he saw Dean, and Dean was tempted to just close the door again. Instead he sighed and stepped out into the chilly hallway.

“Let me guess,” Dean said, trying to hide the tremble in his voice. “Just passing by?”

“No.” Cas said, as blunt as ever. “I felt your distress.”

Well that was embarrassing. He rubbed at the back of his neck before folding his arms. It had been a long time since he’d had a nightmare that bad.

“So you thought you’d just… hang out here?”

“I could hear you… breathing,” Cas said with a slight cough that translated ‘breathing’ into ‘violently throwing up’. “I wasn’t sure I’d be welcome.”

“You wouldn’t’ve been,” was Dean’s immediate response, though some of the unease in his gut had lessened. Seeing Cas there calmed him, and Alastair’s voice retreated back to the box it usually lived in.

Cas nodded like he expected as much. “I figured you were still in my radius nonetheless.”

“Your… what?”

Cas’ lips jumped up at the edges a little, the way they did when Dean showed his ignorance about angels, despite living with one. Dean was still too raw from his nightmare to get pissy about it. It was nice just to see Cas smile.

“My radius. All angels have a—I suppose you could say—calming presence.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, mouth curling into a smirk of his own. “Bullshit.”

Cas shrugged. “It’s mostly only effective on the unconscious,” he paused, fighting another smile, “or the weak-willed.”

“Hey!”

Cas’ laugh was soft, only barely hitting the tiles so it wrapped around the two of them but went no further. Suddenly, Dean felt a little less cold. “Humans tend not to have room for it when they’re awake. Your minds are always so busy that an outside influence is easily disregarded.”

“You sayin’ I don’t have much goin’ on upstairs?” Dean asked, trying to sound offended but knew that the smile on his face was giving him away. God, how could he feel anything other than fond with Cas standing there all straight lines and strong shoulders, his eyes gentle as sunrise? Maybe Cas was right, with Cas taking up more than half his senses, there was just no room left for the fear stuck to him. He felt it slide off and for once, didn’t worry about it coming back.

“No. I’m saying that if it works—if it’s working now—it’s because you’re letting it, because trust me.”

Dean stepped forward, and didn’t think about it too much when he stepped in close and let his hands curve around Cas’ waist to rest at the base of his spine. He dropped his head to rest it in the crook of Cas’ neck and breathed deeply.

“Well that’s true enough,” he murmured.

If Cas was surprised, he didn’t show it. His own arms came up to hold Dean tight and they just stood there. There was no expectation in the embrace, though perhaps there should have been. Nor were there nerves, though there definitely should have been. It was just… easy, in the way that things between them never were. It was comfort and accepting comfort and Dean felt that this moment, while it might not change anything between them, was important. That maybe it wasn’t anything between them that needed to change, but something inside Dean that just had.

And while he wasn’t quite ready to delve head first into it yet, with his bare feet on the icy tile, Cas’ warmth and scent and feeling of home surrounding the rest of him, the remnants of a nightmare trickling from his bloodstream, Dean was pretty sure that Cas wouldn’t have to wait much longer.