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blahkugo · 4 years

Text

Manual

Terushima Yūji x Reader (Haikyuu!!)

Word Count: 4.5k

TW: dub/noncon (noncon filming & voyeurism), manipulation, drugs (weed and alcohol), implied virginity, degradation, exhibitionism, daddy kink

A night of danger and debauchery with the city’s infamous drug dealer.

It was a simple enough text that started it, but you’re not even sure how he got a hold of your number. A few days ago, a plain ‘hey’ had flashed across your screen and before you knew it, you were agreeing to go for a ride in his speedy car. ‘How fast is it?’ you had asked as an attempt to stall the conversation. But it was his reply that settled it for you: ‘As fast as you want it.’

It’s stupid how easily swayed you were, but the words left a knot in your stomach that you had never encountered before. Like a ship setting its anchor on the seafloor, though not one of anxiety nor tension caused by any of the usual stressors of your life—something entirely alien. The real issue wasn’t its unfamiliarity, but how much you took pleasure in it. And as ships do, the feeling set sail as quickly as it appeared, and you were left wistful and aching for its return.

Never had you been like your classmates at the private school, who used familial wealth to excuse week-long benders and avoid lengthy jail sentences, because never had you felt that depravity necessary. But as you make your way down the block, you envision daddy waking up to find his little girl simply vanished, and you can’t help the wicked smile that spreads across your face.

When you arrive at the grimy, red sports car— music blasting through the open windows despite the dead quiet of the block— that ball of thrill settles in your gut yet again. As long as you’re in the company of Terushima Yūji, you’re well aware that the feeling isn’t going to go away.

The car is low. So low, in fact, that you have to balance a hand on the roof and slide in legs first. How does he even drive around in this metal death trap without scraping the asphalt? Your leather skirt bunches and slips further up your thighs no matter how hard you tug it lower.

“Alright?” It’s the only form of greeting he calls out to you over the ear-splitting music. Terushima eyes your lustrous, bare legs resting in the passenger seat of his beat-up Camaro, but doesn’t bother turning down the tune. He’s not very polite, but you didn’t exactly accept his offer to be drowned in refinement, did you?

“I’m okay,” you shout, struggling to be heard over the booming voice rapping about ‘drugs and bitches.’ Typical. “How are you?” You’re not sure if it’ll break the ice, not even sure he wants to speak at all, but anything’s better than fidgeting awkwardly in your chair with nothing but the god awful music to drown out your anxiety.

He mumbles back a simple reply, fixing his gaze on your breasts straining against the tight, low cut tank. You fished the two-piece outfit out of the depths of your wardrobe, a revealing number borrowed from a friend that you never even bothered trying on before tonight. His stare has you itching to cross your arms over your chest, but you hold out. You can’t have him thinking you’re a prude, even if it is the truth.

His hand grips the stick shift lazily and before you know it, the engine is rumbling and you’re peeling away from the curb. Terushima’s driving is every bit as reckless as you assumed, stop signs appearing to be soft suggestions rather than mandatory decrees. The residential roads are practically deserted, but the lack of caution has your heart racing wildly all the same, fingers clutching at your seat. As the adrenaline rushes through your veins, your stomach sinks further into the frayed leather seat.

When the music is shut off abruptly, you believe he must finally want to speak to you, perhaps even exchange pleasantries— but the next words out of his mouth are a sly,

“Do me a favor, yeah?” You nod, before realizing his eyes are still fixed on the road ahead. It’s not like it matters anyways, because he continues on as if you had answered him. “Grab the bottle under your seat for me, princess.” Princess. It’s uttered so nonchalantly, but there’s a certain edge to his tone— the tiniest hint of a teasing lilt. You don’t like it, but logical as your brain may be, your stomach still swirls with butterflies.

Swiping at the floor, you search until your fingers make contact with glass. Low and behold, you pull out a bottle of–

“Smirnoff,” your eyes scan the label intently, attempting to place the emblem among the liquors you’ve seen at the country club. While you weren’t exactly expecting a water bottle— that’d be much too off brand for Terushima— you aren’t too keen on the idea of reckless and intoxicated driving. He glances towards you once, but doesn’t make a move towards the drink at all.

Only a few seconds later, he shoots you another look, single brow raised in quiet anticipation. The long-forgotten burdens of high school peer pressure washes over you again, fingers quivering as you unscrew the cap.

You’ve never had vodka straight out of the bottle, never had vodka in general except for when it’s mixed into your cocktails. But his expectation weighs heavy in the confined space. So, fuck it. What did you come out with him for if not to live a little?

Nail polish remover, children’s cough syrup, and liquid fire. That’s all you taste as the lukewarm fluid glides down your throat. The burn is unbearable, but a pool of warmth oozes through your chest and your hand relaxes a bit on the edge of your seat. You don’t even realize that you’re coughing.

“First time drinking?” He offers you a lazy smirk, tone edged in ridicule.

“What?” Holding your breath, you silently beg the itch in your throat to disappear. “No, I- I have wine with dinner.”

The laugh that rumbles through his throat is deep and hoarse, much too loud to be laughing at your comment— and thus, is only perceivable as taunting. Even so, you can’t deny the seduction threaded into his smoky vocals, or the wire deep within your core, pulled taut and ready to snap at any moment.

“Wine,” he snickers again. “You’re funny, you know that?” He swipes the booze out of your hands and chugs. If there’s ever a proper time to start worrying, it’d be now. But at least he stops for lights?

Besides, you can’t say you’re not enjoying the view. Terushima’s defined jaw ruts outward with every swill, his lips puckered towards the bottle as if his life depends on it. As cautious as you should be, he’s too pretty to keep your eyes focused anywhere else; your mouth surely knows it, practically salivating at his Adam's apple, bobbing as he gulps. If you reach your hand out just a few inches, you can run your fingertips against it and–

“Gross,” he pushes the bottle back towards you.

“Black cherry,” you counter, as if it’s an explanation for the disgusting taste.

“Is that the flavor I nicked? Damn, wasn’t paying enough attention,” he shrugs.

“Nicked?” Mouth agape, you stare intently at the side of his face and hope for a valid answer.

“Bottle looked lonely, so I swiped it,” he brushes a finger at the alcohol trickling down his lip; one of your own digits twitches in envy. “Is that too criminal for you, princess?”

So he is mocking you. The vodka must be melting your brain, because all your body comes up with in response is a wind chime of a soft laugh— an entirely foreign noise to your ears. It must be a mistake, or the music playing tricks on your hearing, because you don’t giggle.

Still, according to Terushima’s awful pet name, you have something to prove. Not sure how else to shut him up, you opt for the easiest way out.

“I’m not drunk enough for this.” The bottle meets your lips and liquid fire waltzes through you again. Seconds pass as you chug, the haziness of your last sip urging you to down just a teensy bit more. Just enough to get you tipsy, just enough to prove him wrong, just enough to drown out the voice in your head claiming this is a terrible idea.

This time, you don’t cough.

“‘Atta girl.”

Then, you’re drinking, and he’s drinking, and the two of you are having the grandest of times. Never mind the fact that he’s consumed far less alcohol than you have, or that lines are blurring and you’re no longer able to see straight. Gone is the anxiety you were plagued with upon meeting him and the worries that shadow you day and night in your regular life. And that’s all that really matters.

He blasts the music once again. Maybe it isn’t as terrible as you originally thought. A deep, pumping bass resonates through every bone in your body and Terushima seems to be pressing the pedals harder with every beat.

Up you go, higher, higher— higher?

Your eyes have been scouring the mischievous man next to you so intently that you never bothered to ask where you were going. But can you blame yourself? Even now, as you round up the side of a cliff, every thought passing through your murky brain pertains to him.

His lazy half smile that won’t drop, as if he’s keyed in on a secret that’s all his own, lidded eyes that make him look entirely apathetic and alluring all at once. Hell, even his fingers are beautiful. Slender and graceful, one hand is placed leisurely at the wheel and the other is shifting the gear stick with meticulous precision. Terushima Yūji has always struck you as raw and vulgar, but now you see there’s a sense of finesse to him as well— and of course, you’d need to be halfway into a drunken stupor to truly notice it.

You’re shaken from your thoughts once he cracks the windows, hair whipping around violently. If you only knew the lyrics to any of these songs, you’d be singing along. Instead, you settle for kicking your legs out the window and tapping your fingers to the beat. Who cares that your fingers are moving too slowly to match the rhythm?

Terushima says nothing at your erratic behavior, only smirks when your head leans against his shoulder and you stare idly up at him. Relief. It’s the only identifiable emotion you’re able to place in the midst of this haze. Yes, the world is foggy and black spots take over half your vision. But you hold onto that feeling— the breeze, the weightlessness. All the while, the anchor in your gut makes its home further into the sand.

“We’re here,” he chuckles, pointing at your windswept hair when you turn to him. It’s the first time his laugh sounds genuine, bubbling up naturally instead of forced and vicious. And he’s finally looking at you; not in stolen glances, with eyes glazed over in mockery or lust, but truly looking at you. You break out of the murkiness clouding your brain to catch what ‘here’ is, only to gasp at the sight in front of you.

He’s brought you to the very top of a cliff, overlooking the city. Cars and buildings seem nothing more than blips on a map, insects to your God-like view.

As beautiful as they are, the dazzling lights of the world below you pale in comparison to the deity seated inches away. It’s difficult to believe that you had never once taken notice of him, though your younger self filed him away as a troublemaker—an invaluable waste of space— based on gossiped knowledge and without a second glance.

“Y’know what I never noticed?” You’re well aware the words tumble out a whine, drawn out and a bit slurred, but proper diction is the last thing on your mind. “You’re really pretty.” As soon as you’ve said it, your face is set ablaze. Control yourself.

“Pretty? Haven’t heard that one before,” he throws his head back and you’re struck with that gruff, raspy laugh once again.

“But you are,” you’re unable to contain yourself at all now, all proper thoughts replaced by the cut of his cheekbones, the messy bleached hair tumbling over his sleek undercut— and best yet, the tiny piece of metal prodding through his tongue and now balanced between his teeth. “A pretty bad boy, with pretty teeth, and a pretty piercing, and you texted me why?” With the hurried words, another wave of heat spikes your body.

Perhaps his eyes brighten at your little confession, or perhaps his face gives away nothing. You can’t really tell much of anything.

“You really wanna know?” You nod hungrily at his whisper, his hushed tone teeming with temptation. Terushima creeps closer, so much so that you feel his breath fanning your face. Underneath the overwhelming scents of cigarettes and booze, he smells a bit like tea leaves. Strange, but pleasant. “Are you sure?” He’s smirking now, obviously finding your curiosity entertaining.

At the same time, one of his hands inches towards you— cautiously, deliberately, like a predator creeping towards its skittish prey. You tremble in your seat, unsure why the proximity has your heart beating out of its chest.

All at once, his hand shoots past you and towards the glove compartment. Terushima lets out a snicker, flashes you a brilliant set of teeth, and proudly offers you nothing: “Sorry, not tellin’ you.”

Your slurred gripes do nothing to sway the tease, who’s now engrossed by the itty bitty ziploc baggie he pulled from the glovebox. Though your head is spinning, you yourself can’t help but feel enthralled by his movements— staring shamelessly as he sprinkles the weed onto paper. His fingers prove precise yet again as he rolls the greens into pretty little cylinders.

Almond eyes meet yours only when he brings the wrap to his lips, gazing directly at you while his tongue slides across the paper. A chill prickles across your skin, but there’s only heat within the parked car.

Before you know it, he’s extending a large hand towards you, silently willing you to take the first hit. Somewhere far away, you hear your own voice mumbling, ‘I don’t know how to.’ As hard as you try to put up a front, to exude sex and confidence in front of this well-versed man, you’re not quite sure you can pretend your way through this one.

A wispy laugh, a sly comment and a wink later, two of his fingers have the joint pressed between your lips. ‘I’ll teach you,’ he promises, instructing you on precisely how to breathe. You barely register the palm fastened at your chest. Is he being a creep? Maybe he’s just trying to help. Either way, you don’t pay it much mind.

And then, smoke fills your lungs, fills your head, fills the already-depleting air of his tiny car. You’re coughing again, but he warned you of the burn this time, and ‘besides, it’ll get you higher.’

You were hoping to see chalky hues of pinks and blues, but the drug does nothing but provide you with lidded eyes and a tingle that runs from head to toe. A single stroke of your finger against the leathered seat sends waves of shivers throughout your arm. Your palm splayed against your own thigh feels unfamiliar and ticklish.

The buzz is only truly worth it when you finally turn to look at the wicked man next to you; Terushima has a slick smile dancing across his face, eyes heavy and probing you for any sort of reaction. The bleached blonde hair at the top of his head pales under the moonlight, suddenly seeming impossible to resist. When you reach out to grasp a strand, he moves quicker, gripping your fingers tightly between his.

“What do you think you’re doing?” His low drawl is lazy, more amused than genuinely angry. But your fingers twitch beneath his grasp all the same, completely embarrassed and still itching to touch his locks. “Princess doesn't know how to ask for things politely?” You don’t have to look into his eyes to feel the smugness radiating off of him.

“No, I-” There’s no saving face now, and he knows it as well as you do.

“Or are you just so used to getting what you want?” Even as he taunts you, his digits thread through yours, pulling you towards him so that your hands hover over his lips. “Is this what you wanted?”

You shake your head, but the thought of grazing his pillowy lips— of your trembling fingers exploring that tiny metal ball in his mouth— is now etched into your clouded brain.

“No? What about here?” He trails your digits down his crisp t-shirt, stopping only when you’ve reached his midriff. You should stop, should adhere to the yellow tape bound around this entire encounter; instead, you stare at the blonde with wide eyes, tongue poking out of your mouth as you debate your answer. He breathes an airy laugh, “use your words.”

But before you can, his lips are meshing into yours. And here are the hues of the pinks and blues you so desperately wished to see, hidden in his caress all this time. There’s heat, and heat, and more heat— and a quiet hum traveling from the very tip of your mouth to your toes, as you melt together.

When he releases your hands, they fly towards his hair, finally tugging at the soft pieces. A simple clasp of your waist and you’re moaning into his mouth, a warm welcome for his tongue to slide in. Embers spread through the tiny space, setting your lungs ablaze far quicker than any drug could. His cool, metal piercing tickles the roof of your mouth; if you were coherent enough, you may wonder what it would feel like skimming other stretches of skin.

But your thoughts are cotton candy melting at his touch and allowing one, singular thought: him, him, him.

Your sugar-spun mind loses track of the time he spends pressed into you. Seconds, minutes, hours later, he finally pulls away, the long string of saliva between you the only remnant of your lip-locked endeavors.

“It’s getting late,” his words are a whisper, a break in the heavy silence of heaving chests and spinning minds. You’d have thought the infamous heartbreaker would urge for more, and a part of you wishes that he would. But instead, he drives you back down the cliffside in silence, his hand on your thigh rooted in place, keeping you longing for another taste.

Only when you’re coming down from the high, still a bit tipsy, do you realize you’re almost home. Terushima’s fingers still play at the hem of your skirt, stroking at the fire deep in your gut. With all his teasing, you figure you may as well make your move now.

“You can pull over here,” you instruct, happy to have found your usual domineering voice. Perhaps it was buried under the weight of weed and wandering lips.

“Your house is another block away,” he refutes with a grumble, but heeds your demand anyways. When he turns to you, you’re caught in that bewitching gaze, finding yourself at a loss for words yet again. “Anything else you need?” The words are laced with possibility, a dangerous challenge. But any gall you felt coursing through your veins has vanished without a trace.

“No- I- I should get home,” your eyes drop, staring at a loose thread on his pants— and all at once, moving to leave the car. “Daddy’ll be mad if he catches me out.” The words are barely out of your mouth before he’s chuckling, repeating them.

“Daddy will be mad? You still call your father daddy?” And there’s the Yūji Terushima you thought you knew, mockery and taunts always at the tip of his tongue. You throw a weak punch against his chest, huffing in confusion.

“What’s so wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” He exclaims a bit too smugly, climbing out himself.

Next thing you know, you’re caught between his body and the hood of the car, sturdy arms trapping you in place. Chilled air nips at your bones; a single skim of his knee against your thigh and that cold is forgotten. You really should be at home.

“Terushima.” It’s funny how a single word— a person’s name— can contain a thousand different meanings. You’re not even sure how you say it, questioning the inflections of your cracked voice and wide eyes. He whispers your name right back, the gleam in his eyes magnifying tenfold.

You’re well aware he has you right where he wants you, a little bird caught in a cage, though you’re more than happy to be singing any song he asks.

But there’s only silence as you stare at each other beneath the flickering street light. So much so, you can hear your hearts pump blood, can hear the engine of a car rumbling by, can even hear your neighbor’s pesky dog barking a block away.

“Do you need something, or do you just like saying my na–”

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in.

It feels different now. Perhaps your nerves aren’t frenzied, and you don’t attain euphoria with every graze. But you feel him. You can taste the smoke on his tongue as it knocks against your teeth. Black cherry floods your brain, the same flavor that drifted you up that cliffside to begin with.

Terushima’s hands grab at your waist before you’re hoisted up and placed on the hood of the car. Gone are the lazy kisses of two heads in the clouds. His movements are quick and decisive, aggressive even. A hand roams your body, trailing under your tank and across your breasts. The other shoves aside your panties, nimble fingers circling your bud.

A low whimper leaves you when he runs a digit across your slit.

“Careful,” hot breath fans your lips as he chuckles, “too loud and he’ll hear us.”

But you can’t stop your wanton mewls. Not when he dips into you, curling his fingertips to hit a spot that has you seeing stars. Not when his teeth nip at your jaw, your neck, the shell of your ear— leaving soft marks behind. And most certainly not when you can feel his cock straining against your thigh.

“Fuck, Teru I–” Within minutes, your entire body trembles, hands clutching at soft hair as you chase your high.

“Tell daddy what you want,” his eyes pierce into yours, completely unashamed of his perversion of the pure term. You try to shake your head no, to refuse his order— but he simply flicks his wrist quicker, pumps into you faster. You’re so fucking close, too near the edge to care, so you simply allow the words to tumble out,

“Daddy p-please, I want to cum.”

A few circles on your clit, and you’re putty in his hands. The high hits you with a loud, leg-shaking cry— far more dizzying than any of the debaucheries of hours past.

You’re flipped over without a moment to breathe, breasts rammed into the frigid car hood. Terushima pulls your skirt up with one hand, the other nudging your cheek firmly against the metal.

Never would you have thought you’d be one for such public indecency, but the elation of your last orgasm still hasn't even completely resided. For the third time tonight, you find yourself drunk off the ambrosia of this wayward god.

“Beg for it,” he slides his cock up your slit, coating his thick member in your slick.

“Please Teru,” you whine helplessly. A loud slap echoes through the empty street as his hand meets the globe of your ass, the pain more shocking than painful.

It reminds you that anyone could walk out of their homes to see you being railed against a beat up car— and the thought of one of your neighbors waking up to that sight wracks your body with a twisted pleasure.

“What was that?” The bastard actually laughs, gruff and hearty, as you writhe against him.

“Daddy, I need you.” And then he’s thrusting into you, pushing into the tight ring of muscle. Though he prepped you, you claw at the car, searching for any sort of relief from the overwhelming pain.

A few snaps of his hips later, you relax as the stretch becomes bearable. He takes his time rutting into you, spreading your legs further, making sure you feel every inch of him deep inside you.

Only when you begin bouncing back to meet his drives does he quicken his pace, a single hand gripping your waist— five finger-shaped bruises you’re sure will be evidence for days to come. You barely recognize your own voice; high-pitched wails spill from your lips, curses and pleas and cries of ‘daddy’ like a broken record on replay.

“Look at the little slut, creaming all over me,” a particularly hard thrust sends you reeling, tears flowing freely down your face as you blabber mindlessly. “Who’d have thought the city’s very own ‘prude princess’ would be blacking out over some dick?”

You should be ridiculed, would be utterly offended by the insult, if not for the fact that his cock has you teetering the delicate line of consciousness. Those words are precisely what send you over the edge for the second time tonight.

“Fuck, stay right there,” a low, gravelly groan as Terushima continues pounding into you. Then, a few more prods and he’s following suit, pulling out to spill his seed all over your backside.

Vision still spotty, you finally turn to look at the beautiful man, hoping for rosy cheeks and that soft smile you believe is a secret saved just for you. Instead you’re met with a dull frown and a look of pure apathy.

He won’t even meet your eyes.

“Can you walk the block or should I drive you?” Though he poses the question, the lack of his typical liveliness tells you everything you need to know about his preference: he doesn’t have one.

Somewhere far away, you hear yourself tell him you’ll walk. Your head’s still caught on cloud nine, or perhaps it was only ever the ninth circle of hell—twisted and contorted by black cherry and rotten greens.

“Are you sure? You look a little shaken,” he laughs, that same hoarse tone you once thought charming now seeming gnarled and vicious. The taunts once endearing, now simply malicious.

From the corner of your eye you spot his phone, unlocked and teeming with messages. A flash of a familiar black leather skirt bunching, a flip of your hair, pieces of your purity plastered across his screen for the world to see.

You walk back home in silence.

#haikyuu fic #haikyuu #terushima yuuji #terushima smut #terushima yuuji x reader #tw dubcon #tw manipulation #tw drugs #tw weed #tw alcohol #tw virginity #tw degradation #tw exhibitionism #tw daddy kink #tw noncon

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mimithings97 · 5 years

Text

How to Make Him Cum 101 (M)

Summary: You’ll love each other in sickness and health, hungover or hangry, sexless or… well, it’s becoming a little harder for the pants to stay on despite the calls of ‘let’s take this slow’ on the first date.

Pairing: Jungkook x Y/N

Genre: University AU, Smut, Fluff, Angst (tiny bit), Crack

Warnings: (Plenty my friend) Handjob, Fingering, Squirting, Sex without protection, Tongue fucking, Jungkook being whipped, Chocking (brief), Dry Humping, Jungkook cumming in his pants, lots of swearing, lots of alcohol consumption, consumption of weed

Word Count: 15k (it was meant to be 10k, but I fucked it)

A/N: I love Jungkook in this, he’s a sweetheart who has no fucking idea what he’s doing. Took me way too long to write this and I’m sorry if it drags, but I split it into little scenes to make it more manageable. It’s also pretty casual - no real storyline. Enjoy and suggestions always welcome x

“I swear to fuck, if he throws up my £2000 bourbon...”

And by some miracle, neither the end of Taehyung’s sentence nor the £150 shot Namjoon halfheartedly threw back makes an appearance.

“Nah big man can handle his shit right Joon,” is the mere drunken support offered by Jimin. It’s also accompanied by an all-too heavy hand to the back that has the elder spluttering on air, the shot well and truly burning a hole in his stomach by now.

You observe from the distance of the kitchen, fortunately barricaded from the testosterone fest by the island and several misplaced sofas. It was Jimin’s idea to upgrade the sofa scheme to one that was more ‘drinking and smoking friendly’ so he liked to call it, taking a sufficient 30 minutes just to manoeuvre several pieces of furniture into a circle that centred around all too expensive liquors and cheap weed - the irony of the contrast had most certainly dawned on you.

Your unexpected appearance to the gathering was on the account of boyfriends hazy state. He was all ‘come save me’ and ‘i’m dying’ over your texted conversation but upon arrival, the boy was all over that tequila bottle like he was downing chocolate milk.

Despite your best intentions of remaining inconspicuous and merely Jungkook’s driver for the night went to shit when Jimin, unapologetic and somewhere between happily stoned and confident drunk demanded you join their escapades.

“Booze or bud but not neither Y/N.” Nothing like a typical Taehyung to welcome you to the action.

“Well you didn’t say I couldn’t have both,” is your reply that’s laced with a brazen tone and paired with a smirk.

You’re met with Taehyung tonguing his cheek.

“That’s my girl,” Jungkook shouts mid-laugh and gives you a smack to the ass for good measure. You find comfort in the gesture, so following his drifting hand to the point that you settle in his lap.

Jungkook must have drunk his weight in alcohol because it’s all touches from behind you, cold hands finding their way under cloth and onto warm skin, lips clamping down on your neck and teeth unforgiving on your ear lobe. Your boyfriend’s a modest guy even at worst, so his provoking actions are met with raised eyebrows on your behalf.

Slowly but surely, with the burn of smoke in your lungs and the even harsher burn of rich whiskey (because £2000 bourbon is a harsh no), Jungkook’s hands roam freely.

“Jesus mate, if you’d have fucked her the second time you would’ve had that pussy on hold, swear down.” Somewhere between your silent touches and unauthorized smoking of all of Namjoon’s weed, the conversation had delved into the topic of Jimin’s overly privileged sex life.

“That’s exactly what I said but the bitch pussied out,” Hobi pipes up from the corner where he’d faded away from being too legit faded - boy never could handle his smoke.

“Fuck off did I pussy ou-”

“Nahhh she had you whipped babe, that second shag wasn’t even on the cards,” you mouth speaks for you. Or more like your high speaks for you at this point.

You feel Kook smile into your shoulder from where his head was perched.

“This’ll be good,” it’s under Taehyung’s breath but not inaudible.

“Fuck do you mean, ‘she had me whipped’, she was all over me that night at Joon’s...” Jimin swigs mid-sentence, flushed from the buzz of liquor and his overly defensive tone, “had her wrapped around my little finger.”

… the opportunity was too good to miss.

“What little finger?” You refrain from laughing at your own remark for dramatic effect but Jungkook’s squeezing your sides and the lightness of your head betrays you.

Jimin’s eye contact with your falters as if his ego broken, and the others pass around comments along the lines of ‘fucking brilliant’ and ‘unlucky mate’.

You take a final drag before passing it behind you to the already seeking hand of your boyfriend who’s still amused by your smart-mouth.

“Jimin, I’m just saying,” you elaborate in hopes of restoring his cracked masculinity somewhat, “from what Stephanie told me, Mina had four guys on hold at that party and wasn’t inclined to let any of them stick in on her cos she’s got a full-on guy waiting for her away from uni.”

He huffs, throwing himself and his bottle backwards onto the sofa, causing it to slosh around and out. You peer over at Taehyung, waiting for the boy to morph into an expression of disgust because god knows, this sofa cover costs more than your rent, but he never does - eyes glazed and a small smile instead.

“Fucking brilliant, I was fifth on a girls ‘need to shag’ list.” You almost feel bad for the sod, but one thing Jimin could never do was keep his mouth shut when it needed to be. “At least I’m doing better than you, Y/N, you can’t even get a fuck off your boyfriend and you’ve been together for months.”

Taehyung’s smile drifts, Hobi shifts in his seat and Jungkook stiffens from behind you - the air dries up.

“Jimin, mate, come on,” Joon tries to reason, but as per usual Jimin keeps his mouth moving.

“I said what I said.”

Yeh, he sure fucking did. And if one thing was known to be uncharted conversation between the lot of you, then that was your and Jungkook’s abstinence. But in true style, Jimin just had to pry.

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

“Fuck it, maybe we should just have sex,” he finally says as you stall over wiping off your eyeliner to laugh at his exasperation. Jungkook wasn’t insecure but he was easily influenced when something hurt his pride - and you could tell, from Jimin’s comment, throughout the awkward air that lingered in the car, to just now, that he had been stewing on the dent to his ego from the moment it was spoken.

You want to tell him with all the sarcasm in the world how ‘romantic’ he’s being about it all, but you refrain to save further damage.

“Kook-”

“Nah, seriously Y/N, I’m tired of this shit…” you want to diffuse his state, but he persists, “and- I don’t really know what I’m waiting on now.”

“Baby,” you finally get a grip on his attention as he lets out a huff and welcomes you onto his lap. “You’ve had your reasons to wait on this, I’ve always respected that. But…” he groans and you lean into him as a warning to let you finish, “buttt, I’m not gonna respect any shit when you’re letting Jimin decide for you. Just cos the boy can’t get his dick wet doesn’t mean you have to.”

You feel him snicker against your shoulder as he lowers his head in frustration.

“You do this on your own time. Not mine,” you weave your fingers through his locks and anchor him to you, “not Jimin’s, not anyone but yours,” and finalise your sentiment by situating your lips on his temple.

With eyes fluttering shut into your touch and a heavy breath out he indulges in his insecurity. “I just can’t afford to lose you.” And you know it takes his booze-filled conscience to let you in.

You have to admit that there was some level of hurt you managed to hide at this point. That even after relishing in one another's company for 5 months, Jungkook still couldn’t find it in himself to trust you in that way. It was a mental thing, an emotional instinct of too many failed relationships where he was a victim to being cheated on, left after being used for sex and prayed on for good looks and unfortunate vulnerability. You knew within yourself you would never and could never do what so many have done before you. Fuck, you couldn’t even see yourself being sane and capable without him, ever, period. For that, you respected his decision - whilst frustratingly prolonged - because you knew he was worth the wait.

“I need you just as much as you need me.” You sense the slump in his shoulders, the heaviness of too many pressures and burdens weighing them down. That and his drug-induced state causing unwanted fatigue. “Hmm?” So you lift his chin and search his eyes till they meet yours, passing on a reassurance that he finally accepts with a curt nod.

“Yeh, I know.”

You press a kiss, or two to his lips and lean back to raise an eyebrow at him.

“Now are you gonna keep sulking to yourself like a bitch or let me make you cum?” His instant response is his eyes blowing out in shock of your statement before laughing into your chest. You know him well enough that he is using your chest to hide the blush in his cheeks but you don’t mention it.

Instead, you wiggle your hips with no subtlety into the twitch of his groin that seeks your mouth so desperately, laughing when he grabs you at the cheeks and pulls you away to say, “You’re fucking mental.” But against his lips you can’t help the, “-Nd you love me for it,” that is mumbled.

Yeah, this boy was definitely worth the wait.

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Weekends seem to roll around at a quickening pace when you have a needy boyfriend and even more demanding party schedule to fill the gaps. And by some freak of nature, you hadn’t managed to drop your education off a cliff in the meantime - in fact, you had begun to make a living off having beer in one hand and highlighter in the other.

University wasn’t a walk in the park, but you’d been enough of a devoted intellect in your first two years of it to allow yourself to drop off the map a little. So, after becoming a co-captain of the swim team somewhere into your second year, it was only a natural, human instinct kind of reaction that your fellow captain, the hunk of abs who graced poolside, would slip a few too many flirty remarks at you before you called him your boyfriend. He’d pined and you’d fallen - simple as.

He came with baggage though. Six boys and a whole lot of booze and weed. You were no saint before Jungkook, hell, you almost weren’t allowed swim captain because you’d slept in one too many of the guys beds. But as soon as you’d said ‘yes’ to the going out for drinks invitation he offered, you had also said ‘yes’ to the party on Saturday at Hoseok’s, and the one on Sunday down at the river, and for every weekend for the next 5 months. And slowly but surely, it was no longer, ‘this is my girlfriend’ as an introduction, but you asking the familiar face around the party with all urgency where the nearest bottle of tequila was.

It’s also how you’d landed yourself filthily hungover in your Monday lecture, listening to Professor Snape (nah, it’s his real name and all) with a noticeable shake in your hand and last nights mascara somewhere down your face.

“If you look that shit, then what the hell does Kook look like.” Mina, the best friend, the only one allowed to hold back your hair whilst you would throw up in a second-floor bathroom, and the roommate who made student life just a bit more bearable than the shit show it was.

She takes the seat next to you, her question probably rhetorical but you make the effort to reply, all the same.

“Still asleep in the bathtub I reckon.” Ah, yes, the boyfriend. At somewhere between 1 in the morning and blackout drunk you, Jungkook and your infamous competitiveness called for beer pong - minus the beer, add the vodka. So it was only gonna be a certain amount of time before both you and him were pushed into a cab on top of one another and drafted back to his flat so he could throw up in his bathtub.

“Jesus,” Mina mutters with a laugh, probably just relieved someone ordered your taxi to go to his and not your shared apartment - like hell was she listening to Jungkook throw up at 5 in the morning.

“Honestly, why does Yoongi host that shit on Sunday,” you groan into your laptop, turning down the brightness because you can already feel the afternoon hangover headache arising.

“He doesn’t have a 9am like the rest of us.”

“Fucker.”

Good host though, Yoongi. A postgrad, with his own two-storey apartment and too much time on his hands. You’d known him before the boyfriend too, working shifts with him in your first year at a music production company, both in the catering section because you had time to fill and tuition to pay and he was hoping to find his break into the industry. He fucked it though and has ended up with some crazy paid apprenticeship at a financial branch in the city centre.

“Oi, Bob’s this weekend?” Mina poses the question as the lights brighten in the lecture room and everyone starts shutting laptops - yours was shut ten minutes ago when you stopped listening and started wallowing in self-pity.

“Bob’s?” Bermuda Bobs. A club in the centre of town, and somewhat of a regular for Friday nights, when Hoseok had had just about enough of hosting. “Yeh. Yeh, I can do Bobs.”

Mina’s up and off before you can even open the zip on your bag, something about she’ll miss her lift to training, but you mumble that you’ll see her at the apartment later before you can see the back of her head.

All you can think as you conquer the steps to the exit of the hall is how much of a blessing a shower and a cup of tea would be - ‘so easily pleased’ Mina would say. So, when you look up from your phone to see Jungkook opposite where you walk out, a cup of tea in hand, you might just believe in fate.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he says, throat hoarse as he takes you bag from your shoulder and places the coffee into your welcoming hands. You laugh at him, a snort because it’s ironic considering the bloodshot eyes and beer-stained hair he sports.

“You were passed out in the bath legit an hour ago,” his hand finds yours despite your teasing and when you finally take the first sip of tea as you walk, anyone would think the noise you made was nothing short of an orgasm - Jungkook certainly takes notice. “Did you bring the car?”

He snorts, “Like fuck did I bring the car, I’m still drunk.”

“Babbbyy,” it’s a whine as you throw your head back and pull his hand to make your point into a tantrum.

“It’s literally a 5 minute walk babe, suck it up.” He continues ahead, but you go full 5 year old tactics on him, stopping in your tracks and whacking on your face the biggest pout your lips will allow.

He merely rolls his eyes and kisses it away before presenting his back to you, arms out, legs bent and you hop onto him like the spoilt girlfriend you are.

“You’re a brat, you know that.” Is all he says as he starts the walk out of the building and towards his, so you kiss behind his ear.

“Mmm, call me that again, it kinda turns me on.”

“Fucking filty,” but you see the crinkle in his eyes that lets you know that he loves you for it.

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

Friday nights roll around quicker than you know when Bob’s is calling. They start earlier than most nights as well - lecture leads to swim training, swim training calls for afternoon drinks at Warehouse and then Warehouse blurs into Pre’s that blurs into Bob’s.

So with beer curdling in your stomach, trying to flick the wing of your eyeliner and failing for the fifteenth time is as funny as Jimin’s pinkie to you and Mina.

She is, of course, ready. Has been for almost 2 hours, so whilst you struggle to slip into your dress, she finishes your eyeliner for you.

The buzz of your phone has both of you looking to the vibrating device in confusion, having to double-take with each other because the taxi isn’t supposed to be here until Jungkook is and he isn’t supposed to be here for another half an hour.

Your fumbling with a zip so it’s Mina who reaches for it, and when the screen lights her face, her features go from confused to ‘for fucks sake’ in less than a second. She turns it and that god awful photo of Jungkook and his swimming goggles on lights up the display.

“I’ll get the door.” She’s exasperated. He’s early and she can’t stand that - all it took was him showing up at the wrong time on a Wednesday whilst she was naked on the sofa with a girl between her legs that caused the ‘come when you’re fucking asked to come’ attitude - poor boy didn’t even know she was gay.

You do a once over in the mirror before the door swings open, Mina has a scowl but your boyfriend has a lime in one hand and tequila in the other, so you don’t care.

“Shit, you look hot,” Fuck, so does he, but he’s pressing a kiss to your lips before you can drink him in fully, “s’that dress new?”

“I did the makeup, thank me.” Mina was always loud, and speaking at the wrong places and in the wrong conversations.

“Kindly fuck off, you did the eyeliner and shit all else.” You turn back to Kook, now leaning against your wall, eyes still trained on you, or at least, your legs, and he looks fucking thirsty that’s for sure. “And yeh, got it when I went in the city the other week.” He replies with a nod and a smirk. Those damn bedroom eyes, they hold your gaze, as you fiddle with the clasp on the side of your dress.

Mine pipes up from the sidelines, “God, it’s like I’m watching a fucking mating ritual or something.” Jungkook scoffs and his shoulders ease as though he’s calming himself down, “Well, I’m ready so shots it is.” She grabs the bottle of tequila from Jungkook’s hand and is off into the kitchen without looking back.

“Who put a foot up her ass then?” He only says it once the door is closed, knowing he’ll get a whacking if Mina heard him, so you scowl at him, albeit through a smile.

“Oi, watch it,” you’re in front of him now, leaning into the arm he stretched out to embrace you in.

“Sorry,” and he means it. He genuinely likes Mina, you’re sure of it, but they go at each other like cats in an alley when you’re not there to referee it.

He’s warm around you, his shirt with buttons undone at the top so that the cologne he’s wearing goes right to your head - and to your core - either one. The proximity does the same to him as he takes a handful of your ass, groping so that when you gasp and try to pull away, he administers a slap.

You can’t deny you’re horny for him, and the way his trousers frame his bulge perfectly - you lick your lips subconsciously at the thought - but you can almost hear the sadness of Mina pouring and downing Tequila shots by herself.

“Fucker,” you whisper and lean out of his hold almost, only to see that fire in his eyes.

“I love this ass,” hands now sneaking underneath the fabric of your dress - like it was covering much anyway, but that doesn’t change the way his cold fingers spread across your behind and almost make you moan out. It’s when he takes your bottom lip in his teeth and pulls back agonizing slowly until it pops back into place that the moan you were stifling releases, slowly, seductively, and his crotch stirs at the thought of you making the same noise around his dick.

But if Kook can restrain himself enough into denying you a fuck for 5 months, then you can be just as disciplined now - whether the wetness on your thighs tells you something different or not.

You toy with him though.

At a pace nothing short of tormenting, you lean your leg into the space between his, drag your lips across his cheek to his ear and let your fingers draw a line from the gap in his shirt, underneath and across his chest, “But you know what’s better than this ass, baby?” You play the seductress with you voice, and you know it does bits to him.

Your question was rhetoric, but when he doesn’t reply, you can’t help but grab at his belt with a hand and tug his crotch into your leg. He sputters out breathily into your neck, “W-what?”

You lean back, wait for his eyes to open and gage the lust and excitement brewing within them before opening your mouth against his…

“...Tequila shots.” You smack his thigh, turn and are out the door before his erection can say ‘shit’.

Two can play at his game of denial.

Your all kinds of worked up despite your best efforts, but Mina’s got lime in her mouth and her face crinkled into an expression of disgust as you eye the empty shot glass on the counter, so it’s not like she’s gonna be sniffing out your hormones any time soon.

“Fucking shit, rancid, I hate it, don’t wanna drink ever, absolutely not,” you laugh at her outburst as you refill her shot glass for yourself.

“Lightweight,” you tease her as you throw it all back, wincing internally as you feel the hole burn in your throat, but suck it up for the sake of your competitive streak. She merely scoffs at you as the bedroom door swings open, Jungkook - still a fine piece of ass right now - tucking his shirt into his trousers. No way did he just finish himself off in that time, but your eyes travel down to his hard on that is very much still there. You can’t help the smirk.

“Kook, get your shot down you then we’re off,” Mina announces.

“Taxi here already?” he questions but she shakes her head as she now sports a wine bottle in her hand, and clearly a mouth full of wine as she fails to verbalise.

Shots are down, wine is drunk, and heads are well and truly dizzy when you reach the club. The cab was early much to Mina’s dismay, but that didn’t stop her from grabbing the tequila bottle from Jungkook and downing a healthy portion of the liquid before collapsing in instant regret - ‘we’ve all been there Min’ was your only advice. As for Jungkook. Well, the boy never showed when he was drunk until he would take his shirt off and shout he was wasted, so the only way you could gauge his state was by the way his fingers dug into your thigh the entire journey - you just couldn’t work out whether it was the alcohol or his dick talking.

“Y/NNN!” you hear before see Jimin, despite the music that reverberates through the floor and up your body. As always, he has bottle in hand and a girl in the other, but he releases her to embrace you.

It’s a love, hate with Jimin, but he was Jungkook’s best friend, so there was and could not be bad blood between the two of you - much the same to Jungkook and Mina. Jimin swam as well, so you were no strangers to sharing situations that required great comfort with one alone - such as you in a swimming costume and him in his damn speedos. There was only one thing better than Jimin in speedos though, and that was Jungkook in speedos.

“Where’s your boyfriend, he owes me a fucking drink,” and you point to the bar, where he leans over the counter in all his glory and much to the fortune of your eyes. Jimin escorts himself and the girl he’s with over to the bar before you can catch her name - she’s pretty, though, which is no surprise with Jimin’s taste.

It takes the next 30 minutes, or possibly longer because alcohol tends to blur hours to minutes before you’ve made conversation with everyone there. It’s almost admin now, having to do the rounds when all the people from swimming go out - a swim captain apparently has certain obligations of seeing everyone had a drink in hand and a ride to go home in. Kook was doing the same too, across the club, slowly but surely making his way towards you as he talked to some of the guys. He’d winked one too many times at you for it to be coincidence, and the alcohol you’d been consuming was screaming out to you now to fuck the pointless conversation and grind on your damn fit boyfriend.

“Fuck Josh, Mel, the boy can’t even get it up, and you’re too much of a hot piece of ass to waste on him,” Mina’s on one of her motivational talks with the social sec, Mel - absolute sweetheart, heart of gold and awful taste in men. Also the subject of Mina’s subconscious flirting for the last hour or so, but you don’t have the heart to tell Mina to stop - she’s drunk and probably horny knowing her.

“Y/N,” you’re face first in your vodka red bull (double), to hear Mina, having zoned out from her pining after she started getting emotional. “Y/N!” You finally ease up on the drink when you hear her this time.

“Hmm?” mouth half full.

“Have you ever seen someone get eye fucked?” Her eyes flicker from you to something else, but you’re too caught up in the absurdity of her question to notice.

“The fuck?”

“Because I’m watching it happen right now,” and it’s a nod that finally directs your questioning gaze away from your best friend and to a figure at the bar, elbows tucked behind him, a bottle of beer at his side, legs to die for and eyes boring right into yours. He’s playing dirty tonight, is all you think. So despite the way your core tightens and the hair on your neck unknowingly rises, you feed into his game, the cat and mouse kind of thing he seems to be grabbing at, and put up your facade.

You're slow to get to him, but it’s deliberate. And instead of giving in to his gaze or his touch, you place your feet right beside his, leaning towards the bar and into the sight of the bartender.

It’s the raise of her eyebrows at you and the curt smile that prompts you to talk, “two shots of tequila please,” she begins to spin but you stop her, “oh, and plenty of salt and lime.”

It takes physical energy not to give in to human instinct - to touch and to grab him, to let go of the role play.

“Anyone would think you’re ordering for two,” his voice is gravely, and fuck if it doesn’t shoot straight down you. But his comment makes you smile, smirk actually.

“You say that as if I can’t handle my alcohol,” you raise an eyebrow to yourself, still feigning your confidence by not looking his way.

Two shots are lined up in front of you, limes perched on top, and a generously filled salt shaker to the left of them.

“Well tequila is a dangerous game to play,” you pick up either shot in your hand, and fight the urge to shiver as his words that are breathed against your ear. You round from the side of him, eyes finally lifting to his and filling some void that was there, but by no means lifting any tension between the two of you.

“Then let’s play dangerously,” you say, eyes sultry and him waiting on your every move, “the first one to have their salt, their shot and their lime gone first is the winner..”

“And what does the winning get?” Damn, he’s eager.

You lean in, but still don’t touch. “That’s for the winner to know, and the loser to find out.”

You can see a vague pick up in his breathing, a sheen of sweat forming against his brow and a vague smirk pulling at the edges of his mouth. Lifting the lime off your shot, he almost proceeds to do the same, about to take the shot to his lips but you stop him, instead pushing your shot into his vacant hand. The only explanation offered is when you take your lime down the column of your throat and down to your cleavage, before reaching to the salt that’s behind him. You pour a small mound of it onto your finger and follow the path that the lime drew. He eyes you like artwork, and doesn’t lift his gaze from your cleavage where you nestle the lime.

You pour more salt onto your forefinger, and his eyes finally lift in an expression of confusion, but words evade him - hell, he hasn’t taken a solid breath for the past minute. Slowly, tourturningly, you lean into him, carefully avoiding his shot, and catch his breath hitching as you press the point of your tongue into the base of his neck, dragging it upwards until you meet his jaw. You almost couldn’t stop yourself from proceeding further, drinking in the salty taste of him and eating away at his sanity with your tongue - but you refrain, all in the name of dramatic effect.

“Fuck,” is all he says as he keeps his breath hitched, and you push your finger down the line your tongue drew, spreading salt southwards.

He almost looks tapped out when you take his lime from between you, eyes completely glazed, and fortunately for you they blow out even further when you tug the belt of his trousers and place your lime in the waistband - like his erection wouldn’t have held it up anyways.

Retrieving one of the shots from his grasp, where his knuckles had turned white against the glass, you hold his gaze.

“I think you should go ahead,” you’re more breathy than you realised, even despite it being your game.

“I-I thought,” he has to clear his throat, “it’s who can do it the fastest,” it’s barely even a question with how quiet he mumbled the words - you’re not even sure he knew what he was saying.

“Who said I wanted to win, baby?” And he lets out a moan, a full blown moan before he encases your throat with his mouth, and he’s almost animalistic in the way he growls against your skin at the taste. He bites down when he reaches just above the lime and your eyes roll back unconsciously before opening to see him throw his head back with the shot, not a single wince in his eyes because they are so driven by desire. The shot glass is slammed behind him before he dives into your cleavage to retrieve the lime, and in some display of masculinity that almost has you keening he rips the lime from his mouth and tosses it behind you, juice rolling down his face and onto his jaw to linger with the line of salt that glistens there.

You don’t even realise you're on his throat until the overly salty taste pricks your mouth and you can feel his jaw tense beneath you. You're almost in a haze when the tequila sets your throat ablaze but you become fully conscious of the way he grabs a fistful of your hair, pushes you to the floor until your dress bunches and has you sucking at the lime that rests mockingly above his hard cock.

By some miracle you find yourself back up at eye level, chests heaving to the point of almost touching, and if you didn’t have a lime in your mouth right now you’d either be swearing obscenely in some gesture of saying ‘your so fucking hot’ or your lips would be around his dick.

With a gulp and a tilt of his head backwards, he gains a level of composure that allows him to ease the lime from your lips with his fingers, letting them brush at your skin to have you shivering.

It’s almost comical the way you both pant, eyes ablaze in each others, and completely oblivious to the outside world and how many, way too many people have seen your display. But there is nothing but the burn in your bodies right now as he grabs your hand wordlessly and drags you as fast as your heels will allow.

It’s like a switch had flipped in him somewhere back there. Even if this whole thing was roleplay, at least you knew how to play it with your boyfriend back there, knew the way he ticks and what would make his cock twitch - Jungkook’s normally easy to read like that. But when he almost breaks the disabled toilet door down with his hand, there is no game left to play - the restraints are off and the fire of lustful rage is fueled.

“You-” he slams you back against the door before its even swung shut and you can get a single word in. It’s carnal the way he’s latching onto your mouth, grabbing your hands that try to clasp at his neck and throw them up next to your head, and shoves a knee between your sopping thighs.

“I almost fucking came in my trousers back there when you got on your knees,” you don’t think you’ve ever heard his voice so low and rough before but it courses through you more than the heavy bass of the club music. “You had me stood there ready to fuck your mouth open, but you thought you’d fucking tease your way through it.”

He’s domineering and your completely and utterly keening for it. Even more so when the grip he has on your wrist tightens and brings it down to his crotch, forcing your latch onto the erection that strains sinfully, painfully in his trousers and you feel intimidated enough at his display that you don’t palm him, don’t give him a pleasureful squeeze like you normally would when you had more control of your emotions. But you're shocked and fucked out - beyond that even.

“You feel that shit. Fuck, I’ve never been this hard before,” you moan out lowly, finding it increasingly difficult to control your breathing, the nature of the lust in your body calling out for some friction on your body. But he stands there, eyes ablaze, panting his taunting remarks into your agape mouth. “You’re making it so damn hard not to fuck you.”

“Do it,” you whisper without even knowing and neither does Jungkook because the ringing in both of your ears is deafening.

“I’ve always wanted to see you fall apart around my cock… lose it as I fuck you,” his crotch starts riveting into your hand and you know he’s imaging what it would feel like with his dick nestled deep in your walls right now, “God I want to pound into you.”

“Fuck.”

Fuck, because never have his words been so dirty before.

“You’re so damn hot I actually can’t control myself right now,” and his dick follows his words. Your hand now acts as your pussy - in his head anyway - as the friction of his trousers begins sending him neck deep in pleasure.

You actually think you could come from watching it. How his head now bows into your neck and his teeth set into your skin because he can’t even control how slack his jaw has become. The way he’s getting harder and harder against your hand and his movements are constantly seeking more. Fucking hell, you’re both fully clothed, his dicks rock hard in his pants but he’s so pent up on you and the desire you’ve caused that he’s chasing an orgasm basically untouched.

“I- oh fuck.”

“Come on baby,” you feed him, words moaned against his ear and hand flattening more purposefully against him, “fuck me harder.”

“Argh- fuc-fucking hell,” he’s spurred on by the illusion you offer. His eyes rolled back in his head as he imagines the feeling of being balls deep in you.

“Think how good I’d feel. Fuck, you’d be so deep uhh,” you moan out at the end as the harshness of the way his hips snap into yours causes your hand nestled between you to deliciously rub on your clit.

You hadn’t realised that your dress had ridden up in the commotion of you sex driven states, that your ass was pressed up against the cool surface and gave you goosebumps despite the way you body oozes heat, that you panties were so wrecked by your arousal that your hand might as well be rubbing you raw. And with Jungkook’s quickening pace, the friction against your clit makes you all too driven to seek your end as well as his. It’s filthy.

“Ko-uh. Fuck, Kook, I need you fingers- ah,” your walls are throbbing at the thought, but his teeth remain deep set in the junction between your neck and shoulder, his hips still thrusting up and into your hand, so you think you’re desire has gone unheard.

But all too quickly, he forgets the end he was chasing.

Suddenly, he backs away from you, leaving you untouched and leaning forward into the air, whilst his cock screams in the confines of his trousers. He growls at the way he had to stop himself from cumming too soon.

“Baby,” it’s a whine from the back of your throat that you had no plan to release. But the way your chest heaves and your thighs cross one another for friction just spells to you and him just how inflamed your body is.

His eyes move away from your desperate ones, and his neck reclines back as he swallows - trying with all his strength to keep it together, to not cum from merely watching your cleavage, drenched in his and your sweat, rise and fall with the way your breathing staggers. Watching him is torture for yourself, but you don’t want to miss the way his cock throbs.

You have no idea how long you’re there, him grappling at his sanity and you watching him.

“Baby, I-”

“Fuck, don’t talk,” his face almost contorts in pain and his head lowers into his chest to halt his urge to look at you.

But, you’re horny and you're a brat, so you persist.

“Jungkook, I need you right now.”

Silence falls for a mere second.

Like a man possessed he lunges back towards your body, and before you can react he’s on his knees violently pushing the thin fabric of your dress up and ripping your panties down your legs.

“What don’t you understand about shut the fuck up.” And with that he’s on your clit, hands shoving your legs in opposite directions and over his shoulders so you lose your balance and end up speared on his tongue.

“Kook!” It’s a cry that’s shouted into the air when your head is thrown back - a reaction to both the immense feeling that tightens at your core and a warning to the man below you that you might just crush him.

But he’s devouring your pussy whole. He’s no longer tending to your clit, but lapping his tongue up and down the entire expanse of your slit, letting the muscle of his tongue slip into your entrance making your stomach drop every time. He’s hellbent on making you cum that’s for sure, because no matter the tug of your hands at his scalp to let up even just a little, he’s growling into you and plunging deeper.

You want to pull away, to finally take a break from the intense pressure on your core or maybe to breathe for the first time since he decided to drop to his knees. But you’re feet don’t touch the ground, literally, and he’s suspending you on his tongue.

His hands push you down further onto him and he growls into you, vibrations coursing through you that almost makes you cum then and there. But he breaks away.

“Fuck,” he sounds fucked out himself, taking in all the air he can, because god knows he was eating your pussy like it was oxygen. “Baby, you gotta cum on my tongue, please.”

He was the one eating you out, yet you had him pleading. Boy always did submit in the end, whether he liked it or not.

“Fingers then. Use your fingers,” and he obeys, releasing your thigh in favour of thrusting two of his digits deep into you. All your weight goes onto his shoulders and the two fingers set so far into your womb that you were crying out in pleasure. It wasn’t until his mouth resumed sucking on your clit that you lost all control of your tongue and rambled into the air like a mad woman.

“F-Fuckkk Kook. I want ah- fuck I want your cum inside me. I want your dick so bad,” he’s moaning with you and with your words, being spurred on by the image you paint. He curls his fingers deep inside you, and you lose yourself on the feeling - being so stimulated that you miss the fact you’re grinding on his face, thrusting up as if his fingers were really his cock. He’s moaning at it, at the way your pace picks up on his tongue and you’re seeking your end.

“Don’t stop, oh fuck, oh fuck, please- don’t stop.”

You’re driving yourself deeper and deeper into him and fuckkk if the pleasure hasn’t taken over your senses beyond belief. Your stomach pulls so tight with the need to release that you’re grappling at the strands of hair on the back of your boyfriend’s head and using them to anchor yourself. He’s purely a mouth and two fingers to fuck yourself on at this moment and you couldn’t stop yourself even if you tried.

“Shit, fuckk,” his fingers start going at a rate, not even your hips can keep up with, and he’s so deep you almost choke like the pressure inside you has reached up into your throat.

“Come on baby, fuck,” his gravelly voice seeks out for you to come all over him.

“Holy fuckin-” the feeling comes on so intense inside of you that you struggle to warn him, your breathing constricted almost into nothingness. You feel like you’re about to cum with such strength that you might die.

“I can’t Kook- oh fuckk.”

“Give it to me.”

His teeth clamp down on your clit at the same time as his fingers curl against that spot inside you that suddenly has everything spiralling at once.

“Don’t stoppp, don’t stop, oh fuck,” you sputter into the air as a band snaps in your lower stomach, blood pumping everywhere and anywhere in your body so that your hips begin spasming and convulsing on top of his mouth.

He whines into you as his mouth keep fastening all too strongly against your bud. It’s when the pressure that keeps falling in your stomach and Kook is forced to pull his fingers out of you that you feel your juices spill and keep spilling all over you and him.

“Holy fuck baby… Y/N shit.”

You tumble further and further and miss the noises that are pushed from your throat. In the intensity of the pleasure you also miss the way Jungkook’s body, his tongue on your clit, his fingers on your thigh and the ones lodged deep inside you, all tense up.

Shit.

You wonder if you’ve blacked out when the slump of your body takes over, the eventual air you take in in one large breath making your senses begin to come back all too strong. You’re broken from the waist down, legs numb to the point you can barely feel Jungkook’s teeth tight on your thigh and breath glazing the skin strongly. Shit, you can’t even feel how wet you are yet.

You know the weight he’s bearing on his shoulders, but you can’t muster the strength to move, merely loosening your hands from how tight they were wound in his locks and instead soothing down to his neck with your trembling fingers.

Finally, the spin in your head stops and your eyes are open enough so that you can look down at the sight below you.

He’s breathless and wet. Wet from sweat and the way you’d just squirted all over his tongue, fingers and trousers - well that’s what you figure anyways. His eyes are sewn shut though in the aftermath of it all, and your thoughts begin to piece together.

“Baby, you good?” you’re scared he has too much literal weight on his shoulders. You’re also scared he’s still painfully hard. “Kook?” and finally a coherent mumble of ‘yeh’ against your thigh tells you, no, you didn’t just kill your boyfriend by cumming on his face.

It’s a slow process the way he lets your legs down, and you wince as he does so because you swear his fingers just split you open. You also forgot about the heels practically taped to your feet, stumbling a little one foot at a time as he lowers you off his shoulders.

His eyelids still hang low, and he makes no move to join you at eye level, instead, pressing his face into your thigh and running his ragged breath there for too long.

“Fuck, seriously, you good baby?” your pussy still throbs, but your boyfriend is too still for you to take notice.

And suddenly he’s laughing. Wholeheartedly laughing into your skin, back, that’s slicked with sweat, raising up and down as he does so.

“Shit,” is all he says when his eyes, crinkled in laughter and exhaustion finally meet yours, peering up from his squat. It’s infectious and has you laughing too, albeit half heartedly because your throat hurts and you’re not sure if your lungs can take much more unnatural breathing.

“You literally just made me cum in my pants.”

Fuck. You’re eyes bulge and pass between the look of disbelief of his face, to the, now, very noticeable stain on his crotch, and back again. Boy literally just came untouched because you can still feel the imprint of one hand on your thigh and you’re pretty sure the other hand was occupied if you remember correctly.

“What the fuck!” Is all you can say.

“Yeh, I know ‘what the fuck!’ Sorry but since when could you squirt.” His legs are still shaking beneath him. “It made me just fucking shoot my load on sight.”

You’re laughing, bending at the waist to help the poor boy up to his feet, and he accepts the help as he finally towers over you and meets your eyes - both looking at each other with warmth and a vague emotion of disbelief, because as if he just came in his pants!

“Seriously, don’t know what the hell you just did to me, but I don’t think I’ll ever be that turned on ever in my life again,” he’s sputtering out now like a boy charged on drained hormones and ageing drunkness.

You laugh at his state and the way his eyes still bulge, grabbing the skin of his neck that’s thick with sweat and push a kiss to his lips. It doesn’t linger because you’re too spent and oxygen is like gold dust to you right now.

“So you enjoyed yourself I’m guessing?”

“Fucking hell did I!” You both can’t stop the way your laughter spills at the situation.

You see his shoulders eventually relax, his breathing less frequent and the look in his eyes turns soft.

“Fuck, I’m so in love with you.” Despite your heart still beating like it’s on steroids, you feel it skip a beat, equal to the way you can’t help the tug on the corners of your mouth.

“Cringy bastard,” you whisper next to his lips, a whole new warmth spreading through you at the way his eyes are filled with adoration.

“Only for you.”

“You make me sick.” But in your head, you’re saying the opposite, because you can’t fight the blush despite how generic his cringe worthy compliments hit.

With clothes vaguely realigned, you’re ready to join society once again, albeit hobbling, but your boyfriend refuses to break the bubble you’re in for just a second longer.

“Say it back.” And when you turn from the door to him, he’s actually pouting, eyes a little less bright as though you’re unspoken words have hit harder than you realised. “Please.”

Your relationship with Kook was built off backhanded compliments and competitive sarcasm, both equally easy-going people with a knack for not taking anything seriously. It was how you two worked. But there’s some things you can’t feign, and the way he said “I love you” with deliberate sadness was one of those things, because hell, you sure loved him too.

His cheeks nestled in both of your palms now as your soft eyes met his ones, vulnerable with the way he’d bared himself and pleaded after you, you spoke softly.

“I love you.”

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

“Fuck you, Kook. Stop acting like you own me.”

“Then don’t try to sleep with the whole swim team.”

Dick.

This shit is rare. Fighting Jungkook is rare. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen. Because whilst you’re both too easy going for your own good and take most things on the chin, jealousy hurts like a bitch.

“Jesus you’re fucking testing my patience.” You settle yourself deep in his kitchen, long strides over there because his presence alone is making you want to rip hairs out of your skull. But he’s there soon after, leaning to try to get into your line of sight as you busy yourself with a glass and fuck, where’s that bottle of wine.

“Nah, don’t act like I’m pushing you. I asked you why Jimin’s asking to meet you, and you can’t come up with a damn straight answer or show me your phone.” You find the wine in the fridge, pretending Jungkook is background noise like the petty bitch you are, but his words are ringing in your head louder than you care for. “Don’t treat me like I’m delusional.”

You slam the bottle down a little too hard on the counter and his eyes jump to the sound. But your expression is dead set, angry, persistent, but he’d say stubborn.

“You’re actually dumb. The whole fucking issue is that I shouldn’t have to tell you why someone texts me or not.” His mouth opens to argue but you’re off on one, “Whether it’s Jimin, whether it’s my mum, whether it was your fucking maintenance guy, it’s my phone, don’t check it, and don’t pretend you’re entitled to.”

His eyes narrow and you almost think there’s something in him contemplating your words, maybe, just maybe trying to hear you out and understand where you’re coming from. But if you were stubborn, then Jungkook was competitive - he wouldn't stop until you thought he was right.

“Why the fuck did he text you.”

You want to scream. You want to smash his glass against the floor and scream fucking murder. But instead you find your body tensing and you face heating up with the need to cry. He’s getting in your head and you hate it, because he’s never like this. He’s easy. He’s such good company and probably your best friend but why is he making it so hard to like, let alone love him right now.

“Fuck it. Here,” you fish in your pocket, eyes still on his despite the feeling of them heating up and the wetness pooling. You unlock your phone and push it to his chest. “God knows, we were just trying to arrange something for your birthday without you finding out, but you and your fucking jealousy can’t take that, can they Kook?”

You have so much more to say. Your head is spinning with the need to empty your gut of all the words you want to throw at him. About how jealousy is certainly not a virtue in this case, about how you can’t bear that he doesn’t trust you despite all you’ve given up for him, about how damn unfair he is being right now. But you hit his shoulder with yours and are half walking half running to his bathroom before you can contemplate what you’re doing.

“Y/N, fuck,” and of course now he’s apologetic. Calling after you in a tone that screams innocence but to you, he is anything but that right now.

You close the door with haste and push your back against it even faster.

The worst part is you’re not even that angry anymore. The tears fall in sadness.

“Baby,” his knock rattles the door but only gently in an attempt to be sensitive with you. He’s fucked up and he knows that, but there’s a combination of not wanting him to see you cry and the need to be away from him for a minute that has you still sitting by the door, not making any attempt to open it.

“Baby, I didn’t know- I wouldn’t have.”

“Jungkook can you give it a rest for one minute,” you sound pained. You feel it as well. Maybe you’re overreacting, you think, as you hear him sigh and mumble an ‘okay’ before his footsteps peter out into another room.

You cry more and continue to do so as you begin to run the bath, and then more tears flow when you watch yourself in the mirror as you tug at your stained cheeks with a cloth. Your tears are still wet on your cheeks when you lower yourself into the warm water and become absorbed in the feeling of it, melting away until you fall into the slumber of sleep. It’s the same slumber that doesn’t cause you to be startled when the door creaks open, your boyfriend pausing to take in your state before he strips himself down to join you.

You know he’s there when he gently sinks into the water behind you, but you make no attempt to move out of the way his knees encase you. His touch is apprehensive and careful, and you can practically hear the thoughts in his head move at a thousand miles an hour.

You know Jungkook. You know all too well that right now, he’s cut up inside, thinking of every way possible to take back time and to undo the stupid shit he was spouting earlier. He’s thinking about how fucked up he was to let jealousy do that to him, to get the better of his, and he’s thinking of every which way to make it right to you. You know, because you’re the same. We’re all in the wrong at some point, and everyone is more than the worst thing they’ve ever done.

So you grab at his hands that still hover in the air with unspoken uncertainty and you pull them to yourself, tight, and on your neck there is a desperate sigh of relief.

“I’m so sorry,” his tone is so apologetic you almost start crying all over again, but exhaustion and the need to forgive are all too strong. “Y/N, I’m so sorry, I-”

You know there are more words he wants to say, maybe to show you how bad he feels, maybe he’ll try and justify himself, but either way, you’re pushover ass forgave him before the argument even happened. You also simply like the boy too goddamn much to see him splutter in your neck because he’s scared he’ll lose you.

With your lips pressed to the back of his hands that you’ve encased in yours, you mutter, “Shhh, I know you are.”

The water sloshes in the distance somewhere as he pulls you tighter to him like you’re an anchor and if he lets you go he’ll be lost. Kisses are placed down your neck gently and you let your eyes flutter shut again because you can’t lie in that he is the most comforting place to you right now.

Silence falls but not uncomfortably, fingers brushing skin like its china and breathing soft as you both give into each others touch.

“I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you.”

Maybe you are too forgiving Your mother always told you you were - ‘people won’t be so kind to your patience one day Y/N.’ - that’s what she’d told you. And she’s probably right that one day you’ll come to find that you’ve been used and abused for all the ‘it's okay’s’ and ‘I forgive you’s’ you’d uttered. But you didn’t use forgiveness as an easy way out, you used it when it was deserved. And Jungkook’s jealousy, whilst fucking annoying, was a human instinct - possibly more of a male instinct than female, you think - but it’s a natural reaction all the same. Compromise instead of conclusion.

“You have to start trusting me, you know.”

“I know,” a hasty response, maybe because he actually has realised he needs to trust you or maybe he just doesn’t want to prolong discussion. You hope and believe the first,

“You can’t keep this jealousy thing up. Particularly not with Jimin, I don’t want to be the reason your shit is ruined, it’s too good.”

The two of them best friends from the womb. But boys apparently will be boys and think any dick that goes near their girlfriend is aiming for one place and one place only, whether 21 years into friendship or not.

“I know.” The repeat of words makes you think he’s not listening to you, but then he sighs. “It’s just- I can’t- Fuck! He drives me up the wall, says all kinds of shit behind your back and mine about how fit you are because he knows it grills me.” This is new. “And then he sends you texts when I didn’t even know you had each others number and you won’t tell me what they are. It just fucked with my head and when you end up picturing the worst it’s hard to get that picture out of your head.”

It made sense, and he was getting angry with himself by the way his tone spiked, so you diffuse the tension.

“Hmm but if you weren’t so jealous your birthday wouldn’t have been ruined,” you feel his head slump and then he laughs, and you laugh, and then he’s squeezing you and forcing your eyes to his.

“You make me mental that’s why,” you’re close but he makes no move to kiss you, “and I’m sorry that I got like that when I had no reason to do so. I’ll change that I promise,” he sounded sincere, looked sincere, and you’re a sucker for the way he’s naked and so close his breath hits your smile that you’re kissing him before you can feign trust.

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

“You know you almost got me in big shit the other day,” the bell rings above your head as you and Jimin leave the cold in favour of the warmth of the bar. Thursday nights didn’t call for many people, so you found a seat easily at a booth, casual wear on and smile dancing across that idiots face.

“Kook told me.” Of course he did, “As if he got his dick caught between his legs because I sent you a text. Like does he really think I’d shag you.”

You scoff, “Cheers for that.”

“You know what I mean. If I got the chance I’d fucking take it, but Kook’s my brother,” and to be fair you did know what he meant. In fact it was a miracle Jungkook had been all calm and breezy when you’d told him you were meeting Jimin for drinks - maybe it was this new thing he was trying called ‘play it cool and let her do her own thing’ - even so, you liked it.

You end up ordering beers, after all, it is only a Thursday so that means no hard spirits, but it’s also the afternoon so that means alcohol.

“I’m glad to hear you’re not gonna pounce Jim.” He laughs, you laugh, thank god, because ever since you and Jungkook had shouted about the texting and Jimin issue, you were scared you’d have to keep a distance from the boy to prevent awkwardness. “How you been anyways?”

“Is that another way of saying who’ve I fucked since we last spoke,” his eyebrows wiggle like he’s got something to be proud about.

“Jesus, you only do think with your dick don’t you?”

“Come onn, ask me who I took home the other night,” he’s leaning forward with a smile that you want to smother, but you humour him for the sake of conversation.

“Which unlucky bird shared your bed the other night then?” You say it with a downward tone to express your distaste for the way your conversation has headed. You also nod a thank you to the waiter who’d brought beers over, pint on either side of the table.

“Well, maybe you should ask your roommate.”

Beer must fly out of your nose, mouth and ears with the way you choke. Literally, you’re spluttering everywhere and he’s laughing and you’re sure it’s a sick joke, but his smile says otherwise.

“She’s fucking gay!” That’s all you come up with. You know your roommate like the back of your hand, or so you think, and every part of you is wracking every part of your brain right now for some conversation where she said she’d shag Jimin, or shag a guy in fact. Nope, nothing.

“I thought so too, clearly she didn’t.” You’re angry at him by the way you scoff and take another long sip of your beer but you don’t even know why. Maybe you’re angry at her, but that also kind of feels invalid.

“As if she didn’t tell me.” He just shrugs. “... nah what the fuck man!”

“Listen, talk to her about it. I’m pretty sure I was mad drunk, so was she, and she left before I woke up so…” The last bit sounds about right, Mia was never one for sticking around for morning cuddles, but it’s all just wrong and it’s stewing in your head like a bad memory.

You're still questioning your entire existence it seems like when the conversation moves onto why you’re really here, or as Jimin says it, “So if the fucker knows we’re doing something for his birthday now, does that mean we actually have to do it?”

God, he’s hard to talk to. You find yourself for half your conversations with Jimin either saying ‘fuck off’ or your scoffing. You do the latter now.

“We were doing something anyway, don’t act like you don’t care. But yeh, he knows, so why don’t we just fucking put in money for alcohol and bud and hit up the beach or something at Hobi’s. Simples.”

Jimin downs his pint - it’s a Thursday and you don’t know why - and then nods, “Yeh, sounds like I can fuck with that. But let’s tell Taehyung cos he’s rich and loves weed more than the next person.”

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

Like hell was there booze and weed. Taehyung had done the most, with Namjoon, and there was enough for 200 people to get fucked 10 times over, which with the 70 people that were apparently already at the beach, seemed like a mass death wish.

Hoseok, poor Hoseok, was hosting. You’d asked and he’d accepted like the selfless man he is and also because he loves Jungkook like a mother loves her child. It wasn’t his uni place, but his parent's beach house on the part of the coast where the beach stretched 20 yards deep and the water felt like the arctic on your skin, but even so, the parties out there were sick.

You can just tell by the boyish grin on your boyfriends face he knows exactly the way this route takes you, the taxi driver, however, keeps giving you evils through the mirror probably because this journey is long and you’re not even on a real road at this point. But the vodka already in your system means you don’t care and you hold Jungkook’s hand in full-fledged excitement.

You swear you’re not corny.

He keeps his hand in yours even when you pay the driver, and tightens it further when everyone around the back of the cabin rings out in a chorus of ‘surprise’. He even holds your hand when he’s handed both a beer and a joint, somehow juggling them both in his free one.

Somewhere along the line between sharing conversations and drinking yourself silly, he whispers a ‘thank you’ in your ear, and presses a grateful kiss onto your lips.

The sun had been low for a while, with the expanded horizon offering the perfect view to watch it set.

Still not corny, you promise.

But the smoke flowing through your system and the light hum of alcohol to accompany it just doesn’t allow for you to leave his side. Even through conversation after conversation, ‘happy birthday’ handshakes that made him switch which hand he was holding you with just so he didn’t let go, and even when the boys attempted a birthday bumps, you were there, glued tight.

“Fuck it, I wanna skinny dip!” Oh Jimin, oh that poor poor boy and his utterly delusional brain.

“Mate, that’s the high talking, leave it out.” You’re glad your boyfriend speaks sense when intoxicated because Tae’s there behind him clapping his back, encouraging him.

“Jim, legit 5 degrees right now, your dick’ll fall off if you go anywhere close to the sea.” And Namjoon, also ever with the straight head. Ah, you say that, but when you turn to the geez he chucks the small end of a lit blunt in his mouth and then swallows it down with beer - I guess his head will be going sideways now, in T-minus 5 seconds.

“You guys are pussys, my dick’ll just shrivel a bit…”

“Fucking rancid, don’t wanna hear it.” Throwing your half empty beer can also seems to do the trick of shutting him up about his dick as he hangs his jaw that’s dripping with beer, warm from being half finished.

“Bitch.”

“Oi! None of that, Park.” Jungkook’s tone is serious but he’s smiling all the same, content in the setting he’s in, not despite of but because of the deluded conversation, the weird dynamic you guys all have, the way he’s just himself, and the fact you’re there too, with a vice grip on his hand.

It’s all breathy laughs and the occasional pressing of lips on your neck from where you’re sat on your boyfriend’s lap, as the conversation delves from somewhere between Jimin’s sex life (surprise surprise) to what Hoseok would look like on steroids - the mutual group decision, so, so, wrong.

“Baby, I wanna get going.”

“Hm?” You were caught in laughter and didn’t think you heard him right, so you turn in his lap to throw an arm around his shoulder, all eyes and ears for your man.

“I kind of wanna get going home.”

You’re surprised, looking through the glaze in his eyes to see if he’s too stoned or not having a good time, but you just see him content gaze, boring adoration into yours. Leaving now would also make you the first to leave, and it was his party.

“You wanna go like right now, right now?”

“Mmm,” and there’s something you can't pinpoint in his expression, apprehension maybe.

“Okay, should I be worried? You’re good right?”

And his head drops to make you think ‘shit’, but then he’s laughing, shoulders shaking under your tense arms before he grabs at your face and places a kiss on either cheek. The blush creeps up on you before you can hide your face in his shoulder.

“I’m fine, so good.” It’s almost a shout of a confession as he throws his head back to demonstrate the emotion behind the words, but the way his smile lifts to his eyes tells you all you need to know. You’re still not quite getting why the happy boy you’re perching on wants to ditch his own surprise party, but each to their own, you think.

“Okay? You’re sure you don’t want to stay?”

Affirming you’re correct with a head shake, he leans in once again, squeezing at your sides ungraciously tight before smashing his lips to yours in a rough, open mouthed kiss that is neither something you were ready for or something you’re about to do with Jimin and Namjoon next to you.

So, you’re both laughing, him attempting to plaster his lips to your face and you swatting as his arm that fixes you in place to him.

“Kook fu- baby,” you begin to scramble away and he lets you, laughing out at the way you flatten your hair and fumble at you jeans as a means to compose yourself, “Time and a place, you dick.”

Stares and smiles are all you give each other as the ambient sounds of others continue around you. It’s like that with him - the world keeps buzzing around you but you’re not in that world, you’re somewhere too deep in his.

Please believe me, you’re not cringy!

“Come back,” hand out, legs spread wide to make room for you and you cannot help the way your feet appease his every word.

You’re eyes down on him, and his up at you, blown full with love, lust and everything in between and you settle in the warmth of his proximity and in the heat of his gaze.

“I love you.”

So you kiss him, because, “I love you too Kook.”

“Now order that fucking taxi, I wanted to go all of two hours ago.” And there he is, earning himself another smack to the arm.

“You bastard, you’re lucky I’m whipped.”

“Yeh you fucking are Y/N!” Jimin can suck a dick, the wanker. Throwing a final middle finger up to the offending boy and holding the other hand out for your boyfriend, you get onto the route home.

Silence is not always a bad thing. You’d told yourself that the whole way home. You especially knew how car journeys when inconceivably high and drunk could make the head spin and the voice mute, but neither of you were inconceivably high or drunk. His hand was still there on yours from beach to taxi, taxi to apartment, apartment to bedroom, but the smile was gone.

“Baby, what’s wrong, talk to me.”

“Mmm?” Playing it off, yet he still won’t look at you - the boy never could do confrontation or telling you what he wants.

He’s across the room, carrying the tea he’d made you to your side of the bed when you told him you’d felt a headache coming on. And you’re there just watching, the moping, the shrug and the way he now stops as you reach out your hand to tug at his shirt.

“Oi, look at me.” Eventually, and what looks like with effort, he does. “You gonna talk to me now, or what?” And you begin to worry at the way his gaze digs into your face, eyes pouring emotion that is scattered in so many different directions you can’t keep up. Is he sad? Nervous? Why would he be nervous?

“I love you.” There’s more to be said just in the way those three words come out, and it scares you.

“Okayy…”

“Like I really love you. So much sometimes I don’t know what I’m doing with you.”

“Koo-” He grabs at your neck and finally takes control of his voice, no longer apprehensive and filled with mixed signals, but so affirmative that it takes every word from your mouth.

“You’ve waited for me Y/N. So fucking long. I’ve been shit to you as well recently. I just can’t fathom that you’re here and you’re mine and it fucking scares me, you have to get that.” Eyes well on both his and your side, as words unspoken, are finally spilt. Maybe it’s the occasion or the alcohol but you don’t care. “Everything about you is everything I ever want and what happens if I fuck it up and lose it. I can’t lose you.”

“I can’t lose you.” It’s a mantra spoken by him on so many occasions, like if he says it, it’ll never happen.

“And what if I feel the same, Kook.” Forehead to forehead now and so deep into the caverns of his eyes, you’d give him your whole soul if he asked.

“You do?.. Feel the same?” You’re sure he knows you do. You’re sure he hasn’t been deaf to the thousands of ‘I love you’s’ and wholehearted confessions made by you. But he’s fragile to the extent that he needs to hear it. Needs to hear you say that you’re willing to lose everything here.

In a passing breath you whisper your confession, “yes,” and he squeezes at the hairs at the back of your neck that stand on end with every goosebump in your body.

The tears fall just as he puts his lips to yours and oxygen becomes gold dust with the way you’re so breath taken. But it’s the happy kind of breath taken, that feeling right before christmas as a kid when you know everything’s waiting for you on the other side of sleep, that feeling where the sinking dries up in your stomach and every fibre of you body buzzes uncontrollably, the kind of breath taken where you smile and laugh in full-fledged giddiness.

Pulling away, you do just that, laugh against his mouth, smile without thought, and despite the tears that drip onto your lips you keep kissing at him, peck after peck because he’s laughing and crying with you.

Fuck, this was the moment you were converted to cringe. You didn’t give two shits about it either.

“I thought you were about to fucking break up with me, you absolute knob!” He thumb scoops up the tears as he laughs at you, sniffling to himself in the emotion of the moment that you two were still somewhere swept up in.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Maybe.”

Before the last tear is swept away at the motion of his thumb on your cheek, Kook ducks down and sweeps you up, over his shoulder and then with a not so forgiving thump to your back, you hit the bed - looks like he forgot his bed was made of fucking rocks, great for sex though, no squeak. And suddenly it dawns on you as hard as you just hit that mattress. That look in his eyes, now, earlier at the beach, the entire strung out fucking monologue he just gave you. All in the name of sex.

“Can we- you want to- do it.”

Fuck, it’s actually happening.

You suppress the butterflies with a laugh that surfaces from the way he stutters.

“Well, what the fuck dyou want me to say. We’ve waited 5 months and you want me to just say, ‘oi Y/N, let me fuck you’.”

But the laughing doesn’t seize.

“I’m sure fucking not saying I want to make love to you, because imagine that gettin relayed to the boys. Instantly my dick goes from a 7 on hard to a 5.”

“Aw babe, give yourself credit, you’re at least a 5 and a half.”

“Bitch.”

And with that he presses his full weight into you, smiling into the kiss that sucks deep into your lips, harsh but tender in all the right places. It turns you on the way he goes slow with you, maps outlines on your skin with his touches, and it makes you even hornier when his boner slowly grows into the meat of your thigh.

It’s a moan in response to him biting your lip that has him off you and flipping the position so you straddle him. But tight jeans don’t accommodate for being on top, the fucking inconvenient bitch, so it’s with the slow teasing pace, that he seems to be going for, that you take as the jeans come off.

“Fuck,” is whispered somewhere between you purchasing yourself right on his crotch and the way you raise you crop top over naked breasts.

This is not uncharted territory. The two of you aren’t nuns who have abstained from everything and anything in your relationship. No, you’re far from holy. But the way your boyfriend gapes, eyes blown and breathing sharp, he’s like a virgin on steroids.

When you lean into his body, claiming his lips once again you notice the shaking, the way his body uncontrollable shivers underneath you despite the perspiration that soaks through his shirt.

“Baby, you’re shaking,” you whisper into his mouth, and he simply nods a frantic ‘yes’ against you. “Kook, calm down, relax, baby,” and after grasping gently at his chin to pry his lips off yours, you find his gaze, eyes blown in lust and fear.

“Okay? I’m all yours,” you take his hand and lead it to your breast, then ushering it towards the steady beat of your heart, felt beneath trembling fingertips. “All yours.”

Running your hands over the tension in his biceps, you attempt to put him at ease with the roll of your hips. His bulge hadn’t gone unnoticed for a second and it was perfectly place with the tip resting on your clit, that you could probably both go to town like that - who said romance was dead!

“Fuck Y/N.”

“There you go,” you push him on, sucking into the rift between his neck and his shoulders and strong arms now scoop over and round to your ass. The squeeze is convincing, hard enough that you don’t fight back the moan and hard enough that your hips move that little bit harsher.

Breaths are heavy in your ear as you find yourself slipping deeper into the pleasure of the moment, but you know he’ll never take the initiative and make the first move.

“You’re so hard Kook.”

A groan in all he responds as you hit that spot just on his tip that he loves so much.

“I want you so bad.”

“Fuck, me too,” and desperation for more than the slow grind you opted for overcomes him. Lips latch onto yours in a harsh display as he flips you once again.

You can’t help but smirk to yourself, pure filthy excitement taking over the fibres of your body as he stares down at you now, hungry and horny.

“Fuck, I’ve wanted this so bad for so long Y/N you have no idea.”

“Off,” and he gets the message with how his shirt is off and somewhere across the room without his dick leaving its place nestled in your crotch.

“I’ve been dying to have you, all of you.” His teeth are clawing at the skin of your neck as he pants out his dirty confession to the rhythm of his hips.

“You’ve been dying to fuck me, Kook?” It’s a teasing tone, but there’s no hiding the breathiness behind your voice.

“Fuck yeh.”

“Then go ahead and fuck me.”

When his gaze meets yours, his eyes are wide and disbelieving. But you’re more focused on the stain of his lips from sunken teeth and the way his hair sticks to his face from sweat. You also haven’t failed to miss the bare, toned torso pressed neatly onto your chest - abs to die for and v lines that leave the eyes wandering an unholy amount of southward.

“You want me to go in raw?” You feign laughter at how giddy he looks at the prospect.

“Birth controls a saint innit.”

“Fuck, I’m scared I’ll come in two seconds.” Great turn on. You think, you don’t say.

His trousers are off fast but when it comes to your panties, he’s calculated in the way he lowers himself to eyes level with your core, breathing haphazardly in his lust induced state into the material that he proceeds to run down the length of your leg and off at your feet.

Eyes trail up your body as he crawls his way back to your now exposed core, “Jesus, you’re so sexy.”

“Jungkook! What would God say if he heard you talk about his son that way!”

His head literally drops and he groans, as if the turn off button hadn’t already been switched when he told you he’d blow his load as soon as dick met pussy.

“I literally have no words Y/N.”

“Well, you better put that mouth to better use then baby.”

“Bitch.”

But his tongue is darted out and into your folds, no matter the reluctance, and he soon finds that same taste, bitter and sweet all at once that draws him in every fucking time.

“Fuck Kook.” The reaction is instant, spine arched away from the mattress as his tongue sets to work inside you, darting in and out so fast that your hips couldn’t keep up if they tried. It’s when he flattens it against your clit and the hand once pinning down a thigh pushes two fingers in so fucking deep that the moans spill.

“Shit that’s tight,” he mutters to himself more than anyone as his delving fingers reach that spot that has you stringing his name and curses into an aimless sentence. And the scene below you is even hotter than the feeling at your core, Jungkook, nestled between your legs with lips to clit, hand to pussy, and hips rutting desperately into the mattress. He’s a whole fucking view and it has you keening with your hands rooted in his hair that are telling him wordlessly not to let up.

When his eyes meet yours, you knows its game over, smirk overtaking his features as his fingers piston and fuck you open, thumb taking over the role his lips had on your clit just so he gets to watch you fall apart under him.

“That’s it baby, cum for me.”

“Holy fuc- shitt. Jungkook.” And your moans are the hottest things he’s ever heard as you tumble into a hell of a fucking orgasm. Shocks ripple through your body with the rate of his fingers and everything pulses as you cum, and keep fucking cumming.

Kook can barely help the way his cock seeks better friction against the mattress because of the bliss written on your face. And he almost forgets to let up on the frantic way his fingers still fuck you because your glistening chest lifting up and down in the light has his focus completely elsewhere.

“Kook, I can’t.”

“Sorry baby,” he lets up with one final kiss to your clit, the jolt of pain and pleasure causing you to whine briefly. His cock twitches at the sound.

“Y/N I’m so hard, please.”

You drag him up with the hand still woven deep in his locks so he’s eye level, and dick level with the place he wants it most. Wordlessly and still driven by the buzz from your orgasm, your hand guides him into you and fuck if the moan against your mouth isn’t the best thing you’ve ever heard.

“Holy fuck.” Nestling his head into the crook of your neck with deep breaths to accompany it, you can tell he’s trying to hold back the feeling of his balls tightening and ignore the way you still pulse from your orgasm. It’s tight and it’s so fucking bare because he’s never gone raw before. Fuck, neither of you have had sex in six months so the feeling might just make you both combust on the spot.

“Slowly baby, it’s been a while.” You’d known he’d reach your stomach just from the way he fucked your throat every other day - his girth is nothing far from impressive and it’s stretching you without even moving.

Light kisses press their way from neck to jaw to mouth as he pulls out to the hilt and then back in, slowly, tantalising slowly so that you both moan into the other's mouths, breathy and completely consumed by the feeling of each other.

“Fuck I’m never gonna get enough of this now.”

“Mmm,” you really hoped he wouldn’t.

“God I love you so much, your pussy is actual heaven.” And you hate to say the way the praise goes straight to your core, but your boyfriend can most certainly tell from the clench you hold his dick in. “Fuckkk, so good.”

It’s slow and it’s deep and he’s hitting your g-spot and clit with every roll of his hips. Throughout the murmurs of affection and sex filled admissions, you grasp at each other's skin, his hands pulling your hair so your mouth meets his and your hands across the muscles in his back that flex under your fingers with each thrust.

It’s when he drags one hand to your throat and grips at it to balance his sped-up movements that you’re finding yourself teetering towards the edge again, spilling words never spoken and sounds never heard but he’s saving every one of them to memory.

“Faster baby please,” and he obliges instantly as he dives into you hard and fast, “babyy oh shit.”

“Y/N you’re clenching so fucking hard right now,” but he’s left you breathless to the point of no reply.

Several punishing slams that also attack your clit have eyes rolling and you biting down into his shoulder, suppressing the scream that surfaced without your consent.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna cum.” He keeps pounding away, forcing you deeper and deeper into a spiral of pleasure, until his lips are on yours and he ruts a final few times, grunting and moaning into your mouth. “So good, so good,” and he repeats this until he’s still above you and finally the hand wound into your neck lessens it’s pressure so the throb in your body and up to your head dies into a tingle.

It’s the most content and blissful silence, post orgasm, wrapped in the warm and wet body of your boyfriend. That is until he begins mumbling inconceivable words into the shoulder he decided to rest on.

“What baby?”

“I said,” lifting himself to eye level, and he’s a fucking sight for sore eyes. “Worth the fucking wait.”

And with a tired, fucked out smile, light kiss to his lips, you can most certainly agree.

Worth the fucking wait.

#jeon jungkook #jungkook #BTS jungkook #bts #bts smut #bts one shot #jungkook one shot #jungkook smut #BTS au #jeon jungguk #jungkook drabble #bts jeongkook #jungkook things

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nuricurry · 3 years

Text

Saint Seiya | Shura, PG-13; "see what's inside"

He still remembers what his father used to tell him about fear. “It’s better to be feared than to be loved. Love is weak. Love is fickle. Fear isn’t something that goes away.” He thinks his father probably has a point. After all, it wasn’t love that kept his mother around. It wasn’t love for his anger, love for how he would break things, love for the horrible things he said to her, or the bruises he left on her face and her arms. It was fear that kept his mother close, fear that stopped her from running away. It wasn’t that his mother loved his father enough to have his children. It was that she was too afraid to refuse him. It wasn’t that she loved Shura enough to stay behind, when she should have tried to get away. It was that she was afraid of what worse his father would do to him if she left. Fear was a powerful tool. It was a weapon with no shield, a toxin with no cure. It was the vorpal sword, the unbreakable steel. It had no equal, and it had no conqueror. Fear lived in the hearts of all men, and that was why it could never truly be erased.

The first time he learned that he was capable of causing fear was the day he finally stood up to his father. It is all a blur to him now. There was a fight, he thinks, though there was always a fight. His father yelling. His mother sobbing. The thick, meaty sound of flesh hitting flesh. He sees his hands, his face, he sees the blood, and that’s all he sees, until he lifts his head, and catches sight of his mother’s face. He sees the fear in her eyes, and that’s all he remembers. That’s all he has to explain why he was taken away, why leaves home, and becomes part of Sanctuary. He’s eight when he begins his training. A late bloomer, some of the instructors call him, as if he was always meant to be where he was, he just took longer than others to get to the same place. That’s a nice thought; better than what he thinks is the reality, that he is here only because he had nowhere else to go. In Sanctuary, he’s taught about Athena. He learns that she is a force of peace, of goodness. That she encourages trust and faith, she does not ask for fear. He likes to hear about Athena. He likes to learn about a goddess who offers hope, someone who rules out of love, rather than a desire for control. (Maybe, he thinks to himself, that is what his father would have been like, if he knew how to love, instead of how to invoke fear.) Training for him comes easy. It’s patterns. It’s structure. It��s the same thing every day. It’s secure. After spending the first several years of his life in constant chaos, the confines of rituals come as nothing short of a relief. He wakes up at the same time every morning, he eats his meals, attends his classes, does his chores, all on a cycle, it becomes familiar, safe, and he relishes in that. Developing his skills fall into that same pattern; it’s a process that builds upon itself. Each day he gets stronger, and each day he learns more. It takes time, but there’s a linear progression, there’s a predictable trajectory, and it’s seeing those changes that motivates him. It also helped that Aiolos always encouraged him too. Aiolos is older than him, more experienced, more confident. Aiolos is loved in Sanctuary, admired, and Shura is no exception. Aiolos has an easy smile, a warm laugh, Aiolos is someone who is easy to love, because there is nothing about Aiolos that isn’t loveable. When Aiolos earns his cloth, he’s humble, but proud. He thanks Pope Shion for deeming him worthy. He thanks Athena for allowing him the chance to serve her, even though her new incarnation is not yet born. He thanks his teachers for guiding him on his journey. Later, he thanks Shura for believing in him, and for the gift he brings him after the ceremony is over, and the crowds have dispersed. He is fifteen when he first thinks he understands love. He is young and naive and punch-drunk, when Aiolos places a hand on his shoulder and calls him his friend, when he says that he looked for him in the crowd after he earned his cloth, hoping to find Shura there with a smile on his face. He thinks he knows what it means to love someone in that moment, because he loves Aiolos’ smile and he wants to protect his laugh, and he dreams of the life where the two of them can be saints together, where he can learn more about love. It isn’t until Shura earns his own cloth, it isn’t until he learns the weight of the duty that comes with being a saint of Athena, that he realizes that sometimes, loving someone is what leads to fear. ”He betrayed us. He betrayed Athena.” He doesn’t want to believe it, because he loves him. He chases Aiolos down with a weight pressing down in his chest because he doesn’t want to be proven wrong. He loves Aiolos, and it’s that love that makes him hesitate, when he finally confronts him, and sees him with that baby cradled in his arms. Aiolos’ body lies at the bottom of a ravine and he is the one that put him there because of his fear. His fear that if he stopped and asked Aiolos to explain, he would learn that his love was misplaced, that love alone was not enough to keep even Aiolos from failing

in his duty. He learns to fear himself after Aiolos. Though, perhaps he always feared part of himself. He thinks back to his childhood, to the last day he can remember seeing his father. The day with the blood, the day that his mother looked at him with fear in her eyes. She must have known what he was, before even he did. It doesn’t matter, he decides in time. His father had a point. Fear is better than love. With fear, he knows what to expect. With fear, there’s no surprise when it hurts, when it backfires, when it stings. “Anyone ever tell you that you think too hard about the stupidest shit?” Deathmask is blunt, crass, and unpleasant. But he’s honest, and Shura can respect that. At least, as much as he can respect anything about Deathmask. Their methods are too different, their standards too opposite. But he is a gold saint all the same, he earned his place the same as Shura, and so he doesn’t challenge him, nor does he refuse his company when it’s imposed upon him. Deathmask buys them alcohol, and by that, he means that Deathmask steals liquor from the bar in the small town just beyond Sanctuary’s borders. Deathmask has long legs and broad shoulders and he hasn't looked a day under nineteen since he hit his first growth spurt at eleven; when he was fifteen he could pass for a solid twenty-three if he tried. So he doesn't have to steal the beer, he could just buy it. But that means having money, at least enough money to buy beer and weed, and Deathmask, who is a weed-smoking shitlord, never has enough money to ever buy anything 'and weed' at the same time. He has his priorities, and they include going to Athens to get a bunch of weed, then stealing cheap vodka before returning to Sanctuary, and harassing Shura in his temple.

“Don’t be jealous because you’re incapable of thinking at all, Deathmask.” Aphrodite joins them sometimes. If there’s alcohol, always, but if there’s not, sometimes. He seems more fickle about company, more selective with his time. Deathmask likes to fill the days with anything that catches his interest, while Aphrodite curates his diversions. How the three of them became...whatever they were, he still doesn’t know. It just became routine at some point, it just became part of the fabric of his day. Like his training, like his chores, like his guilt, spending time with them was a habit now, it was something that he does without thinking about it. Not that all habits are healthy. He trains his body until it bleeds. Until the muscles of his shoulder are torn and the bone dislocated. He hones his weapon to be razor-sharp, and he does not care about the cost. He only notices that it’s strange when someone else points it out to him, when he’s bent over Deathmask’s back, and Aphrodite presses his lips to the maligned blade of his shoulder that is pressed taut against his skin. “Why do you do this to yourself?” Aphrodite asks later, as they’re lying on their backs, and the room smells like sweat and sex. He doesn’t know what encourages him to be honest. Perhaps it’s the pot, or the booze, or the sex. Perhaps it’s the need to get the words out of his mouth, because he’s afraid if he keeps them inside they’ll start to rot where they’re lodged behind his teeth. “Because I am afraid of what will happen if I don’t.” Neither says anything for some time after that, not until Deathmask can no longer bear the silence, and mutters, “That’s fucked up.” He notices it after a while, how after his moment of honestly the way Deathmask seems to be afraid to touch him at times. How when they walk beside one another and their knuckles bump, the backs of their hands brush, his hand will hover, not touching him, but lingering, almost as if waiting for some sign to do more. He will touch Shura’s back when he walks behind him, alerting him to his intention to pass by, but it will be just a quick skirting of his fingers over the collar of his shirt. Not touching him directly. Not establishing full contact. He doesn’t say anything about it, at least not to Deathmask. What he does is speak to Aphrodite, in hushed tones late at night, when the two of them are standing together on watch, looking out from the highest peak of Sanctuary to the valley of buildings below. The flickering of torches in windows and along rocky trails are like a mirror reflecting the sky above, and it’s a quiet time, a peaceful time, where there is nothing but the two of them and the soft, warm Greek wind blowing their voices out into the ether. “He’s an idiot,” Aphrodite says simply, as if there is no other explanation needed. As if that excuses everything. And, maybe to him, it does. He has low expectations of Deathmask’s emotional intelligence, and therefore can’t be disappointed if he never meets them, and can be pleasantly surprised if he surpasses them. It’s a method of self-preservation that he never quite mastered. “He’s afraid of me,” Shura corrects him. Aphrodite says nothing, he just lifts a hand upwards, slender, deft fingers tucking a stray strand of pale hair behind his ear. He isn’t looking at Shura, he’s looking at those hundreds of star-torches, he’s making constellations of the lights in Sanctuary’s windows, and avoiding Shura’s eyes. “Are you afraid of me too?” “No.” It isn’t said in a rush. It isn’t fired out of his mouth like a bullet, he doesn’t say it quickly just to prove that it’s true. His voice, that low, melodic timbre, is quiet, the sound soft but clear. It always feels as if he is whispering into Shura’s ear even when he’s several feet away, and right then is no different. Except he does step forward, he moved in close, and it’s Shura that those pianist fingers of his touch next. He slips his hand between his back and the waistband of his pants, then turns it around and moves it up, into his shirt, following the column of his spine.

Shura can’t help but shiver, gasp, from both the touch, but also the cool wind that blows against his skin, sneaking in between the gaps in his clothes that Aphrodite makes. His nails, long, filed smooth but still sharp, dig into the meat of his shoulder blade, and then Aphrodite’s chin is on his shoulder, and his lips against his ear. “I’m not afraid of you,” he says again, “The only thing that could ever frighten me would be you realizing what I am actually afraid of.” “What is that?” he asks softly, because he needs to know. Aphrodite only smiles before kissing him, and never answers his question.

#saint seiya #fanfiction #capricorn shura #gold saints #pisces aphrodite #cancer deathmask

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kpersonkwriter · 4 years

Text

Comfort Zone

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader Oneshot (College AU, Established relationship AU)

Word Count: 5840

Genre: Smutttttttt, some fluff

Warnings: Smut, temperature play (ice cubes), blindfold play (male receiving)

A/N: Written at 2 in the morning because insomnia is a whole ass bitch. But stay safe lovelies.

Anyone who knew you well knew that you were an enigma in itself. You were full of oxymorons – both hot and cold, both an extrovert and introvert and both a believer in the sciences and maths yet a believer in religion and the likes of astrology. You were a photography student, preferring to capture a story through the lens rather than be the focus of said lens, yet you were calculated, you always had a plan and thought things through before you did them. You hated parties – or any social interaction to be fair – preferring to coop up in your room with your camera and trusty Netflix selection. So anyone who saw what you were doing that night you met your boyfriend would have thought you were crazy and have told you to get checked out.

For one, you had gone to this party voluntarily, shocking your friends, and had even been the one to suggest going in the first place. You were the one to host pres in your room for your friends – Hwa Young, Ji Hye and Yoon Ah – before the three of you took an Uber to the house where the party was being held. One of your friends – although friends was a stretch – whom you had met on your course was throwing a congratulatory party and had invited you in one of the last lectures of the term that you two shared. You being you, of course hesitated, trying to come up with a socially acceptable excuse rather than “sorry I don’t know you that well to hang out at a party with you” for that seemed a tad rude. However, it was during your last lecture that following week that you had a change of heart and decided to go to the party anyway. Maybe it was because you too were fed up with the dissertation as well or the fact that you recently saw an Instagram post of your ex-boyfriend with his new girlfriend. It caught you off guard since he had been the one to bring up the future, including marriage, yet decided to move on less than a month after he had broken up with you. You scoffed thinking about it, he had been tearful and said that he just didn’t love you anymore and that he had felt sorry for stringing you along. Complete and utter bullshit. The naïve you at the time was distraught yet your dissertation had to be completed and the party to finish it all of seemed to be a worthy distraction, and you supposed, a welcome change than sitting in your dorm room by yourself as the smell of flatmate’s weed seeped through the cracks of your door.

It was two and a half hours into the party when you became tipsy. Ji Hye and Yoon Ah having left with their respective girlfriend and boyfriend, as you stayed with Hwa Young, both of you currently engaged in a beer pong battle with two members of the football team. Hwa Young had asked if you were sure when you suggested this but honestly the sour taste that Instagram post had left you, alongside the overwhelming relief of submitting your dissertation, meant that you wanted to just forget everything. The spectators that had gathered you were hollering and shouting encouragement for you were the last ball with the winner being decided by your next shot. You smirked as you glanced at the two boys opposite you – Taehyung and Hoseok – if you remembered correctly as they wiped their mouths with the backs of their hands of the beer – or Jack Daniels – they had consumed. House rules meant that some cups had beer whist others had a JD with Red Bull instead. You made your shot with the only thing guiding it being hope as you hoped that you’d win. You heard the cheers before you as you were enveloped into a hug by Hwa Young and some other people you didn’t know. The crowd dispersed after the boys took their shots of Bacardi (they said it was their least favourite liquor) as they walked up to you.

“So I guess we owe you celebratory drinks?” Hoseok winked eyeing Hwa Young up and down, gesturing to the drinks station.

“I guess you do.” She giggled slotting his arms in his before turning to look at you. “You coming?”

“Nah, I’ll probably leave in a bit anyway. Go have fun.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure. Go!” You lightly pushed her towards Hoseok as they made there way to the alcohol. You sighed, your introverted nature meaning that all the mingling had made you tired as the alcohol lessened its effects on you. You had a right mind to leave when someone handed you a cup in front of you. You eyed it suspiciously as you turned to face the man in front of you. And fuck. He was gorgeous. He was at least a head taller than you yet his body proportion was perfect. His lips were a beautiful glossy red and in all honesty you wanted to kiss him. His chest was broad and judging by your uni sports hoodie that he wore, you gathered he was on a sports team, quite possibly with Taehyung who had mentioned he was in a sports team in passing although you couldn’t remember which. His doe eyes looked at you expectantly for some sort of an answer whilst his raised eyebrows asked you whether or not you were going to take the cup at all.

“What is it?”

“Just water. A thank you drink for crushing Hoseok-hyung and Taehyung-hyung at beer pong.” He grinned.

“If it’s a thank you drink surely it should be some sort of alcohol?”

“Maybe, but you look done with everyone here so thought water would be better.”

“Thanks.”

It was a somewhat awkward conversation but you the more you two talked that night, the more you realised he was so far from the jock stereotype that movies and dramas portrayed. However, He was incredibly shy, fingers fidgeting with the sleeves of his hoodie, occasionally wiping his presumably sweaty palms on his jeans. It was only after you two moved to a quieter area, taking a seat on the pavement outside, that he made eye contact with you and started to let his personality shine through. You two ended up bonding over photography since he had a strong interest in videography. He had told you that he had been responsible for the Varsity video that year that went viral amongst your university for its impressive videography skills. He was scheduled to play football but was side-lined with an injury so decided to video everything instead. It quickly spread through social media and soon everyone had seen the video, it being projected on the plasma screens in the gym, the café, the shop, the library and the lobby of the lecture centre. As a result, Jung Kook had been somewhat of a celebrity within the football team and of course, almost naturally, the cheerleading squad. You had heard reports, and had witnessed that evening, that he would be approached by multiple girls in clubs yet refused their advances but paid no attention to them since you frankly just didn’t give a shit nor was he in your social circle. You also bonded over the love of dogs and was surprised to learn that you volunteered at the same local dog shelter although you had never ran into each other due to conflicting class schedules and thus free time. You chatted about your latest intake of dogs that had been found as strays in Mexico and how you had hoped that they’d find their adopted homes soon. And it was then, almost two hours later, that he stuttered asked if you wanted to walk two of the dogs together that weekend.

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

It was now 9 months later after your first date together and even that first date was to much debate between Jungkook and you. He claimed that since he did not label it as a date, your first date was actually two weeks later for a hot chocolate date, both of you disliking coffee for its’ bitterness. However, you claimed it was of course. Either way, you were still together three months later and currently on your way home from work.

Tonight was date night and you were sure Jungkook would have let himself in with the key to your apartment that you gave to him shyly as he left after a late movie night a couple of months ago. Yet you didn’t know what to expect that night. You two had been taken things slow, you being Jungkook’s first “proper” girlfriend and the scar that your ex had left you, and so you two hadn’t had sex yet. Jungkook had sex a couple of times before university, he told you, but they were fuelled by teenage desire and awkwardness that he said, in his own words, that he hadn’t had “proper” sex. However, he wanted you to be comfortable with him in opening up and trusting him before, as well as wanting to get to know you properly. You respected that and didn’t press him after that although you two had kissed but always left it with heavy pants from them instead.

As you stepped into your apartment that you had bought with Hwa Young after you two graduated (although she was currently on a Italy trip with Hoseok), you were hit with an intoxicating aroma, your stomach grumbling at the smell.

“Jungkook I’m home!”

“In the kitchen!”

“Hey,” You smiled, hugging his waist as the aroma of the pasta sauce hitting your nose. “Jungkook, did you cook?” You asked although the answer was clearly obvious at the image in front of you. Jungkook had a dishcloth thrown over his shoulder with a large red stain – suspiciously like red wine – at the bottom of his shirt with his grey jogging bottoms and barefeet. Ah, the typical Asian.

He turned round to give you a kiss as he noticed you staring and smiled sheepishly. “I spilled a bit and I didn’t bring a spare change of clothes.” And of course his broad chest would never fit in any of your tops.

“I’ve got one of your hoodies that I stole in my room. Pass the shirt so I can get it out.” He tossed it to you and you went to soak the shirt in the stain remover and water and let it soak before you dressed yourself and came out back into the kitchen to hand him your his hoodie. Yet you forgot he would be shirtless. You couldn’t help but linger your eyes over him as you watched him move around the kitchen, stood over the stove and stirring the sauce. He had a large tattoo – a dragon – covering his right shoulder and although this hadn’t necessarily been the first time seeing him shirtless (he loved to walk around shirtless when it was just you two in the apartment), it never ceased to amaze you at how devilishly and unfairly handsome he could be.

“When will dinner be ready? I’ll set the table.”

“Oh, is 10 minutes ok with you?”

“You’d better be careful Jungkook,” you warned him playfully. “I may never let you leave.”

Dinner was incredible, the pasta being delicious, although you refused seconds due to the simple laws of physics making any additional food in your stuffed stomach being impossible. You watched your boyfriend eat, a big smile painting your face, before he cleaned the plates and putting them in the sink before coming to sit next to you on the sofa, sipping your wine, as you put something on TV.

An hour later into some rom com, Jung Kook spoke. “I want to have sex tonight Y/N.”

Your attention was immediately diverted from the scene on TV as you escaped his arms and turned to face him. “You sure?”

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while and I’m sure Y/N.” He was fidgety again, reminiscent of the time when you first met, as he avoided your gaze. Smiling, you reached to lift his chin so he met your eyes.

“Tell me.”

“Huh?”

“Tell me what you’ve thought about.” You challenged him softly. Jungkook’s face turned a bright shade of red, eyes wanting so much to skirt away again. “Tell me Kook.”

His face turned an even deeper shade of crimson, blush only increasing at the thought of his fantasies about you.

“I’ve urm… thought of you dominating me.”

“Go on.” You smiled, swinging a leg over him to straddle him. You noticed the hiss in a breath of surprise as his hands grabbing her thighs.

“I’ve thought about you teasing me until I beg and you calling me…” He trailed off but a small kiss on neck urged him to carry on. “baby boy.” It was a whisper and you knew why. It was the complete opposite to the classic jock stereotype – manly and loud – yet you supposed Jung Kook was the complete opposite of a jock in many levels.

“Are you sure Kook? I don’t want you to do this and regret it.” Your eyes were almost black with desire and you were seriously testing your every ounce of self – control.

“I’m sure Y/N… I want to do it.”

“Ok… Safe word is red ok?” You gently kissed him on the lips as you felt him nod with a small “ok” before lifting a hand to cup the side of his face and you could honestly just sit and stare at his perfect face. Jungkook’s eyes slid closed as he leaned into your touch as they opened again as you brushed your thumb back and forth as your boyfriend mirrored your movement on your thighs. You snaked your hand to the back of his neck, weaving fingers into his hair, as you started to pepper kisses on the chamber of his neck. You would have missed the quiet moan if it had not be so close to your ear.

“Jungkook?”

“Hm?”

“Take me to the bedroom?” He nodded, lifting you up and taking you to your bedroom. Sitting down on the bed, you continued to straddle him, and moved to kiss him.

Every man had “their” style of kissing which could tell you a lot about the man himself. Sometimes two people simply didn’t click – teeth hit teeth, tongues worked against each other. Some were wetter, others were invaders as the entire length of their tongue whilst others barely penetrated your mouth. Some men were slow, savouring the slow rhythm, whilst others were heated and fast. And of course, some men were pythons, opening their mouths so wide that you feared you were witnessing a black hole. Of course every person had their own preference of kissers, and you? You hated the pythons and wet kissers but liked men who would let you set the pace. Jungkook was the one who let you set the pace.

Kissing Jungkook was a bit like coming home. It was comfortable for his lips were so soft and like silk which cushioned your lips. His lips were, you supposed, like your head hitting the pillow when your body was aching with the flu, it was a relief that you desperately needed. You couldn’t pinpoint “what” he was doing with the way he moved his mouth and tongue except describing it as being exactly right, with his tongue dancing with yours softly and elegantly.

Jungkook groaned as you slipped a hand underneath his hoodie, guiding the offensive item of clothing over his head, as you admired the beauty in front of you. And Jungkook was definitely a thing of beauty. He was unworldly. You ran your fingertips across his pecs that others dreamed about, then his shoulders and down the lines of his arms which he used every football practice and game. The crisp contours of his stomach, the clear definition of his pecs, the incredible construction of his arms all created a beautiful study in human form, each part of his body being the perfect form for the intended function of playing football weekly and having practice twice a week. You intended to study every bit of your boyfriend as you enjoyed his muscles twitch as you skimmed your fingertips across.

You leaned down, still straddling him, as you kissed his neck leaving a trail of hickeys up his neck before pushing yourself up to taste his chest. However, Jungkook seemed to have other ideas.

“Y/N… I want to touch you first.” He placed his hand on your wrists, stopping you. You smiled and settled back in his lap as Jungkook moves his hands to your sides as you hooked your fingers to take off your t-shirt that you had changed into, lifting it clean off your body. You were desperate by now, rocking your hips against Jungkook’s growing erection in his trousers, moans being heard as his hands reached to unhook your bra, pulling it off and throwing if to off to somewhere on the floor.

The moment that he started to explore your breasts and nipples was the moment you realised that your boyfriend was truly good, excellent even, at everything. And that he was truly an oxymoron, like you. The very few jocks that you had been with were sloppy, them presenting a front that they were a sex god when in reality they couldn’t even locate the clit. But Jungkook? He was a natural prodigy. Either that or he had been with more women that he let on, and you trusted his words.

He studied your face for the slightest indication of your pleasure and responded to the slightest movement or sound that you made as he worked your touch on you. He’d barely begun on lightly biting your nipples, having sucked hickeys on the flesh of your breast, and you were already uninhibited at his ministrations.

“What do you want Y/N? I want you to tell me.”

You pressed off his lap before standing, pulling off your panties and dropping them to the floor, before climbing onto Jungkook’s lap.

“Please Y/N. I want to make you feel good.” It was sexy, his desire to make you happy and satisfied, and you smiled as you took his hands, guiding it between your legs, moving it up and down your lips.

“You’re wet.” It was a breathless statement.

“You make me.” You bought his hand up to your lips before sucking on them, maintaining eye contact all the time, and you swore that you saw his eyes turn to black with lust. That seemed to have flicked the switch inside him as he pushed one of his fingers inside you, causing your body to spasm at the feeling and throwing your head back and crying out in pleasure. You matched the pace of his fingers by riding him, breathing becoming heavy.

“Tell me what you want Y/N.” Jungkook whispered, almost breathless at the sight, sound and feeling of you becoming undone at his touch.

“Deeper Kook.” You, the strong, stubborn one in your friendship group that never took no for an answer, had resorted to begging now.

Jungkook listened immediately to what you asked, adding another finger before thrusting deep inside. You yelled as he hit the sweet spot inside you.

“Right there Kook! Don’t stop.” You yelled as he hit the sweet spot. “Add another finger Kook, please.” You just about panted out, changing into a sigh of pleasure as he thrust three fingers into you. He took his other hand and placed it on your clit and started his next assault of ministrations there forcing you to collapse in pleasure on his shoulder for the combination of him rubbing your clit and you riding his fingers was almost overwhelming. Jungkook caught on immediately, not stopping his assault.

“Right there. Right there. Don’t stop Kook. Faster. Harder.” You panted in his ear and it only fuelled Jungkook to go faster and harder, something about you getting closer to your orgasm turning him on immensely.

You couldn’t take anymore of his perfect assault and you hit an earth shattering orgasm, screaming his name, eyes rolling to the back of your head as your body spasmed over and over as Jungkook looked at you almost in wonder, as if he questioned if he was really the one to make you feel like that. He felt your muscles contracting around your fingers as you collapsed against his chest, your body eventually relaxing and sagging against him. Pants from both yourself and Jungkook filled the room as you came down from your high and Jungkook as he held you in his arms.

But apparently that wasn’t enough for Jungkook, who resumed his assault with the intensity that had driven you over the edge. It wasn’t long before another orgasm hit you like a ton of bricks as you jerked and contracted on his fingers again with pleasure as Jungkook held you again as you shook again. You immediately felt the loss as Jungkook withdrew his fingers as he held you tight against him, stroking your hair and whispering compliments and ‘are you ok?’s into your ear.

After regaining a sense of yourself and some energy, you moved up to kiss him again as your hands moved down to his waist to his jogging bottoms and hooked your thumbs under the elastic, Jungkook freezing mid-kiss as his breath hitched. You slid his trousers free of his hips and moved to allow you slid them down his legs, throwing them somewhere to the side. Jungkook hissed as his erection was free from his trouser – he went commando since you were the only one home in the apartment – as his eyes were glued to you leaving a trail of kisses down his body.

“Fuck,” you unknowingly muttered looking back up to catch his eyes unable to control your expression of just pure awe. You had seen long cocks, short cocks, thick cocks, thin cocks, pretty ones and ugly ones but this was the most beautiful cock you had ever seen. He was huge and thick, although not unnervingly so.

“I hope that’s a good fuck?”

“You play in the men’s football team and you’ve probably seen all the guy’s cocks. You must know that you’re… impressive.”

“I know that I’m larger than average.” He said sheepishly as you rolled your eyes at what you deemed as the understatement of the century. “But the girls that I’ve been with said that I hurt them and I… don’t want to hurt you Y/N.” The concern was evident in his features and you smiled as Jungkook’s nature shone through even in times like this. Contrary to the tough guy image as a jock, he would stop and at least pet every stray dog that you met on your walks or would point out beautiful flowers along your walks. He had a gentle soul and it was a stark contrast to the competition driven player he was on the pitch.

“If you take it slow then I’ll be fine and once I adjust it won’t hurt. But first I want to blindfold you if you’re ok with that.”

“I’d love that Y/N.” He broke into a smile as you got up to your chest of drawers, pulling out a tie that you had once worn to a Halloween party a year ago (and had regretted thus leaving an hour into said party).

He was entranced and completely fixated by you as you moved up towards him again, kissing his stomach as they clenched in reaction.

“What’s the safe word Kook?”

“Red.”

“Good.”

“Y/N,” Your name escaped his lips as he sucked in another sharp breath as you pressed a kiss to the head of his now raging cock. It was now an angry red, itching to be inside you as you wrapped the tie around his head, making sure to completely block his eyes. You instructed him to lie down and he did, with his head resting on the pillow, lips parted in anticipation and his cock impossibly hard.

Jungkook forgot to breath momentarily when you placed a hand on his chest, slowly lettings your fingernails rake his chest, drawing light feather circles around his shoulder. To Jungkook however, it was a painfully teasing touch as goose bumps erupted across his skin. You were teasing him with the lightest of touches that sent his nerves on end, as he waited for you to touch the next bit of skin, hypnotising him as no – one had ever touched him like you were currently doing. The next touch on his pecs were so light that it almost tickled with each touch bringing nerve endings to life. Jungkook honestly felt that his pecs were on fire with the perfect feeling of your teasing touch as his body jerked in reaction as his breathing became suddenly ragged as he didn’t know how to handle the sensation that you’d shocked him with.

“Wait here Kook.” You whispered into his ear as an idea struck you, smiling devilishly although he couldn’t see. You made your way to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge as you made your way back. When you came back, you took a deep gulp of the water that had been in the fridge for three days as you held the freezing water in your mouth. Once satisfied, you leaned into Jungkook again who immediately smiled at your closeness as you wrapped your lips around the head of his cock. Jungkook let out an audible groan, hands feeling your head as he wrapped his hands around the back of your hair, pulling your more deeply into his mouth. His body involuntarily jerked upwards, his cock hitting the roof of your mouth.

“Shit I’m so sorry Y/N. I didn’t mean to do that.” He moved his hands to pull the tie from his eyes as you saw the pain in his eyes. You smiled, hoping to reassure him a little, before grabbing his hands and holding them against his sides. You then smirked as you angled your head forward and slowly ran your tongue down his length from the tip before taking him deep into the back of your throat with no warning.

“Y/N!” Jungkook breathed, hands formed into tight fists.

Jungkook’s entire length didn’t fit into your mouth, since you had a small gag reflex, so you added your hand to the mix and began working his length with your fist and mouth, varying the speed and pressure. You heard Jungkook’s moans and groans and it had been minutes of you sucking him, deepthroating him as well as giving him a hand job and Jungkook’s reaction was almost absent. He didn’t even seem to be on edge and you frowned as you sat back.

“Am I doing something wrong Kook?”

“Of course not.”

“Buy you’re not close to coming?”

“You want me to… cum in your mouth?” It was such an innocent question which reflected his puppy dog expression that he had on his face at that moment in time, minus the hair that stuck to his forehead from the sweat or his flushed cheeks.

“Of course Kook. I want to taste you.” You replied, straight – faced, as if it was the most matter of fact thing.

“I-“ It was cut off as you took him back into your mouth again, smiling around his as you heard and felt Jungkook succumb to the pleasure. Loud moans echoed in the room as you increased your intensity, one hand around the base of his cock and the other cupping his balls, palming and playing with them as you bought him closer and closer to his high. Jungkook was trembling by now and his hands grabbed your hair as he yelled your name as he came, body going rigid as he released in your mouth. You continued to gently suck him as he released more into your mouth, swallowing every bit of him deeply, meeting Jungkook’s eyes. His jaw dropped and you smiled, using a finger to wipe some from the corner of your mouth, Jungkook continuing to stare as his mouth opened then shut as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

You slid back up to his chest and nestled into his side as he held you tight, placing a kiss to your hair as you traced lazy circles with your nails. In all honestly, you were dripping wet from sucking and teasing him, high from the response you’d been given, yet you didn’t want to overwhelm your boyfriend.

“Let me know when you want to continue.” You whispered in his ear.

It couldn’t have been more than 5 minutes before Jungkook said he was ready.

“Thank god.” You blurted out for you were so wet from sucking him.

“Y/N, are you sure you want to do this?” He held you against his sides. You took his hands between your legs to show him how wet you were for him.

“I’m sure Kook.”

“I don’t want to hurt you Y/N.”

“I promise that you won’t hurt me. I’ll take it slow.”

“Promise?”

“Promise Kook.” You kissed him, hoping that you reassured him enough. It seemed to work as you felt tension leave his body as he deepened the kiss.

“I know you want me to fully dominate you but next time. Tonight we’re taking things slow.” You kissed him one last time as you moved to straddle him, as you did earlier, Jungkook groaning as he felt your wetness on his cock.

“Y/N please.” He begged and you took it as a sign to sit on him so that he entered you. You took it slow, his length and girth stretching you completely. The sharp pain of the first inch of him lasted moments longer than it normally took to feel comfortable because he was so big but you waited before taking a few more inches of him. You had tried your best to hide your pain as not to worry Jungkook but it was evidently futile.

“Y/N are you ok?” Jungkook asked in a panic. He tried to pull out of you but you held his hips firmly against you.

“I’m fine Kook. Just need to adjust a bit.” You smiled, stroking his cheek.

“For as long you need.”

It struck you then that he hadn’t taken any pleasure at all, too focused on you instead, as he held your hips so that you didn’t completely take him in. It felt impossibly long for you to fully take him in, adjusting to his big size, but it eventually dissipated as pleasure overtook to be the overwhelming feeling.

“Kook,” you cried as your breath hitched. “Move.”

It was a tentative, small movement at first as you cried his name again and dug your nails into his shoulders. You could tell that he believed that you weren’t in pain anymore when his own eyes clenched shut as he allowed pleasure to hit as you continued to ride him, enjoying Jungkook turning his attention to your breast as he licked, bit and sucked them, causing you to moan loudly.

“Y/N… I’m going to…”

“Then do Kook.”

“Want to be on top when I do.” It was a grunt and you knew that he was doing everything in his power to not coming. He moved so that now he was on top, thrusting in and out of you, revelling the feeling of how you felt. You were everything that he had dreamed about and more, with your hair an imperfect mess, stray strands sticking to the sweat on your forehead. Your lips were slightly swollen from kissing him that night and he could honestly spend the rest of his life just kissing you. Your neck were sure to be peppered with hickeys the next day but he couldn’t care less when it looked so inviting. Your breasts were the same as he moved to massage one of them in his hand whilst holding your nipple in between his teeth and lightly pulling upwards. And the best thing of all in his opinion were your eyes. They lit up talking about photography especially with your master’s degree show and submission of your portfolio coming up, cried at the ending scene from Marley and Me and were currently dark with lust yet still radiated the pure love that you had for him.

“Want you to go harder.”

“It’s been too long… I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I promise to tell if you’re hurting me ok?” You urged him down to be able to kiss him again as you started to match his thrusts to let him know that you were ready. Jungkook got the hint as he increased his speed as you urged him on.

“Harder Kook please.” You begged as he pushed stronger and deeper, your moans and begging serving as encouragement. He moved his weight from his forearms to wrapping his hands around your shoulders, holding you and bracing your body as he thrusted harder into you.

You kept begging for more and Jungkook pounded into you with such intensity you hadn’t though possible, you gritting your teeth at the force as his hands were sure to leave imprints on your shoulders as he pulled them as he slammed into you.

“Feels so good Kook. Let go.” He kept thrusting and it eventually became too much for both of you as you came first, walls pulsing around him as you cried his name, panting heavily. It was that image that threw him off the edge as he came impossibly deep inside you, releasing his cum as he slumped on top of you, although being careful that he wouldn’t crush you with his body weight. Heavy panting filled the room as he pressed a small kiss to your shoulder.

“Love you Y/N.”

“I love you too Kook.” You smiled, matching his.

Once you had gained some sense of normality and control, he gently placed you beside him on the bed before coming back shortly after with a glass of water in his hand and a towel from the bathroom.

“Here.” He gave you the water as you gulped down a sip as Jungkook moved to wipe the wetness from your thighs with the towel.

“How did that compare to your imagination?”

“100 times better. Thank you.” He threw the towel to the floor before joining you in the bed, holding you in his arms. He traced lazy circles across your stomach as his built size enveloped you – you loved how little you felt wrapped around him.

“You’re so tiny.” He whispered.

“Can still kick your ass baby boy.” And both you and Jungkook had content smiles painted on your faces as you let sleep take over you. Who knew that stepping outside your comfort zone would let you meet your comfort zone? You guessed that life was weird and funny like that.

#bts #bts fanfic #jungkook fic #jeongkook smut #jungkook fluff #bts writing #jeon jungkook #jeon jungkook writing

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nicolehampton · 3 years

Text

{ OLIVIA O’BRIEN . CIS FEMALE . 24 . SHE/HER } did you see that { NICOLE HAMPTON } just pulled up in hidden hills with { BRODY ROBERTS } sitting next to them in the passengers seat - isn’t that cute ! you know, for a { LATE NIGHT TALK SHOW HOST & MODEL }, i’ve heard they’re really { SELF-INDULGENT }, but that they make up for it by being so { APPEALING }. i see them all the time on snapchat && yesterday in US WEEKLY i read that they { HAVE } a son named asher - can you believe that ?!

{ OLIVIA O’BRIEN . CIS FEMALE . 24 . SHE/HER } did you see that { NICOLE HAMPTON } just pulled up in hidden hills with { DEREK KING } sitting next to them in the passengers seat - isn’t that cute ! you know, for a { LATE NIGHT TALK SHOW HOST & MODEL }, i’ve heard they’re really { SELF-INDULGENT }, but that they make up for it by being so { APPEALING }. i see them all the time on snapchat && yesterday in US WEEKLY i read that they { HAVE } a son named zeus - can you believe that ?! **zeus is her oldest child

TW: MENTIONS OF ABUSE, DRUGS, LIQUOR

i’ll edit and add zeus and derek into her bio when i can figure out how to piece them in correctly && after i’ve plotted with my pairs xoxo

basic info.

name. nicole janelle hampton. birth date. september 14, 1996. pronouns. she/her. species. rebel child. hometown. beverly hills, ca. sexuality. bisexual. occupation. host of THE LATE LATE SHOW WITH NICOLE HAMPTON & model

physical.

height. 5'1. eye color. green. hair color. brunette/blonde. build. petite/curvey. tattoos. 9. piercings. 8. scars. one on her left upper thigh. style. boho chic. faceclaim. olivia o’brien.

in-depth.

zodiac. virgo. mbti. intp. mental. depression. eyesight. excellent. drug use. some, weed, cocaine, molly. alcohol use. socially. languages. english, french.

basics.

◦ nicknames: nicki, niks, nik, baby, that bitch.

◦ age: 24

◦ hair: blonde

◦ eyes: greenish blue

◦ sexuality: bisexual

◦ family: zeus king (son) age 6, asher brody roberts (son) age 5, noel hampton (older sister) age 25, ivette hampton (mother estranged) age 39, david hampton (father estranged) age 41.

bio.◦

Nicole, being the baby of the family, was an angel from the time she was born until around 16. In her infancy she was, as her family praised, one of the most peaceful children they’d ever encountered. Her mother adored her, despite the fact that Nicole was a through-and-through daddy’s girl. Her parents were the head chair members for the CBS broadcasting network. As a result, she grew up loving all things pretty and glittery - and even becoming spoiled in her youth. She was an avid wearer of makeup and spent much of her time playing dress-up with her sister.

Her parents wanted their children involved in extracurriculars from a young age, forcing Nicole into singing lessons and dance classes which filled much of her free time. To further monopolize on much of Nicole’s childhood, she was ushered into numerous beauty pageants alongside her sister, feeling entirely inadequate whenever the crown wasn’t bestowed upon her (however rare those times were). Through her own interest, she discovered a passion for writing music and its accompanying lyrics. A habit she carried with her throughout her entire life. Nicole had always whirred with creative energy, and constantly cracked jokes.

Nicole’s ambitions and personality unexpectedly shifted when she entered High School. This was where she truly found a way in which to grow into herself. Seemingly overnight (to those around her) she transitioned from a dainty wallflower into a turbulent, exciting, free-spirited (and self proclaimed) wild child. Much to the dismay of her loving family (her mother complaining that she was the source of a near constant “nikki-ache”, or migraine in layman's terms). On her 15th birthday, as if a gift from the universe, she was offered a modeling contract from a renowned modeling agency, Zarzar. It was through her pursuit of modeling that she got a taste, and addiction to the limelight. A year later, on her 16th birthday, she won the title of Miss Teen California. Between modeling and her consistent extracurriculars she continued to foster a stronger tendency to be rebellious and “wild”. She found herself on a never-ending merry-go-round of parties, drinking and sneaking out. With this newly forged nightlife she began dabbling in something more sinister, deciding that the drink simply wasn’t enough, she began finding drugs, another viable rebellion. ( i mean what good is having family money if you don’t spend daddy’s hard-earned cash on drugs, right? ) Despite being the center of attention, which is what she thought was all she’d possibly need, sweet Nicole also noticed she never truly seemed happy.

Often she struggled with depression as a result of pressure placed on her to be the perfect picture daughter her parents desperately wanted her to be. Even though she was always her father’s little princess, she struggled to find independence, her own footing, and her place in the world.

At the age of 18, Nicole moved out on her own savings due to an on-going struggle with drugs ( mostly cocaine, but she wasn’t really picky...she liked to joke that she abused any and everything equally ) and seemingly never-ending fights at home which caused a considerable rift between her and the rest of the picture-perfect Hampton family.

That same year, Nicole found a new way to establish herself and maintain her lifestyle. she began stripping at Synn Gentleman’s Club, a high-end strip club in West Hollywood. She’d met many of her current connections while stripping, subsequently cutting off all connection with her family soon after, except for her sister.

Right before her 19th birthday during a shift at Synn, she was assigned to work the VIP section wherein she met a man by the name Brody Roberts, a reputable ( and darkly alluring ) producer and director, who quickly took a liking to Nicole. It didn’t take long for them to hit it off. he’d frequent the club she worked, getting only a dance. Once the two were done, he’d leave her an egregious tip and venture from the club until the following night.

The two engaged in this dangerous courtship for long enough that brody became tiresome of this charade and presented Nicole with a devious ultimatum: in order for her livelihood to continue ( ie. getting bestowed large sums of money nightly ) she’d have to renounce her days on the pole for days on his arm (or face immediate termination and blacklisting from any and all reputable clubs within a feasible radius). An offer she couldn’t refuse. She knew he would be able to support her and offer the life she’d once been accustomed to before falling out with her family.

Soon thereafter, Nicole had found herself living with brody and became his kept woman. her days were filled with a monotony of repetition that Nicole quickly realized she wanted to escape. she’d managed to save enough money to find herself a small place and the day before she signed the lease, she fainted from exhaustion during her morning run and was taken to the hospital. upon receiving bloodwork the cause of her fainting was actually an unknown pregnancy.

Nine months later, they welcomed a son, Asher Brody Roberts.

Asher was a difficult baby ( often sick, colicky ) causing additional strain on a relationship which had already nearly met its end. That's when Nicole made her change. It started small, distancing her own finances from that of her son’s father, she then began to dabble in music and amassed a sizable social media following which allowed her to jump-start her career separate from her estranged boyfriend.

Two years later, with meticulous planning and the help of her best friend Olivia and Olivia’s boyfriend Jaxson King Nicole was able to move all of her and asher’s belongings out of the home during a week long shoot that brody was on.

Nicole did not get a clean nor healthy break from a relationship that had already drained her for the better part of four years. She knew that she had lost part of her formative years (being 18 when she’d met the man with whom she would share a part of her life forever, and stuck until she was 22) to Brody, a manipulative and narcissistic man who she hated to adore. Her heart ached every single time she’d hear his specific text tone, or see his name take over her phone screen. She’d wanted desperately to contact the police, to see what kind of assistance she could get from what she only knew as harassment (ultimately to be talked off the ledge by Olivia).

Nearly a week after Nicole had made her grand (and melodramatic) departure in the night, she found herself in a meeting over coffee with the man whose bed she’d shared for years. She was anxious and cranky and was met with cold smugness from her counterpart. Brody, a smart and wealthy man, was not going to relinquish his prize without a painful fight. As he sipped his coffee, and with all of the curtness he would bestow upon a perfect stranger, Brody announced to her that if she did not willfully come back - he would charge her with the kidnapping of his son. A toddler.

Nicole spiraled in that very second. She knew he meant it, and she knew that with his power and connections (all fueled by money) he could paint her into the narrative that best suited him, and that would force her to lose custody. With reluctance and all of the self-preservation she could muster, Nicole collected her and Asher’s belongings and returned to the home she thought she’d managed to escape.

It didn’t take long for Brody to feel comfortable again, thinking he’d created a chess game that he couldn’t lose. He began taking on more projects, longer commitments of his time, while Nicole was left to plot alone with their son. It was during one of these extended periods of Brody-ness bliss that Nicole's wandering eye and coyote-caught-in-a-trap mentality bested her. She’d met another man.

Theo, the focus of her attention, was the antithesis of Brody: sensitive, kind, wholesome, charismatic and most of all not a blatant narcissist. He was genuinely, unapologetically and irrevocably good. Everything she hadn’t sought out, nor thought she wanted. Yet, everything she needed. Nicole found herself diving headfirst into a hidden relationship. She brought him around her son, whom he was fantastic with, and she knew in that second: she was going to run to him.

Nicole convinced Theo to contact a lawyer on her behalf so as to not leave a trace that Brody could stumble upon. She found the legal course of action that she could take in order to move herself and Asher out of the home Brody owned, and made her second escape. Straight into the arms and home of her secret lover.

Brody discovered, to his grand dismay, that he had no legal recourse for Nicole and that he would inevitably have to allow this sleeping dog to lie. The two worked out a custody arrangement that neither were truly happy with, and she found a new false sense of security in their world.

Having rid herself of the relationship that was hindering her and Theo’s happiness, the two allowed themselves to date. To even make the leap into falling in love. They dated for a little over a year and in that time Nicole’s life had taken a turn. She found the independence she’d longed for, her career took an upturn. For the first time in her life, Nicole was unstoppable.

After dating for a year, Nicole and Theo decided to get married. The couple took their time planning the wedding, Theo understanding Nicole’s struggles, and hesitancy in regards to marriage. He’d been kind, patient, and loving which prompted Nicole to take the leap during a trip to Aspen. They planned a speedy wedding and everything appeared copacetic until mid-ceremony when the officiant asked if there were any objections and no other than an uninvited guest spoke out.

At that moment Nicole was faced with a difficult decision: she could marry the man she had grown to love or forfeit him for the man she knew was bad for her… in every sense, two could be hazardous to one-another.

In a moment of panic, Nicole chose self-preservation. Sparing herself the internal turmoil of being stuck with a choice she didn’t feel right, she fled from the altar and in a flash of white disappeared from the church. In her wake, she left behind two shell-shocked men, and a conglomeration of confused attendees.

During the days that followed Nicole sought refugee on the couches and spare beds of friends who welcomed her and her son while her former fiance packed her things and the memories of the life they were once committed to sharing.

While still reeling from everything that had transpired during the aforementioned weeks, she had managed to gain a sense of resolve and clarity for the first time in her adult life. She was without a romantic partner for the first time in her adult years, and instead, her life was now solely committed to herself and her son. She got a place for the two of them, somewhere she was proud to call home and make their own. She found stronger footing in her musical career, something she’d been unable to fully dedicate herself to before. And she managed to gather the reigns on her own life, without the assistance of anyone else.

Nicole had built herself into a woman she didn’t think she’d ever become. Someone who her son deserved. A bright, powerful individual with a life uniquely her own. Who had finally gotten the self-respect to realize she didn’t require a man to get by. That her own tenacity could carry her to places she’d only dreamed.

Granted, in this whirlwind of growth and development, she didn’t avoid a struggle here and there. Namely in the form of waking up in the bed of a man that she didn’t belong with. A man whose son she raised alone.

#hhhq:intros

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sadly-too-sad · 4 years

Text

I think it's time to take up some challenges.

I think I'm ready to face the world. I'm ready to meet new people. I think I'm ready.

All these years, I was trying to find myself. I was lost, love made made me melt. I did things because everyone else wanted me to do them. I didn't know what I was doing. It's hard to explain the things I had in my head. Everything was dark. I had no future eventhough I had dreams. Music was my saviour. I read, I wrote, I listened, I survived.

I remember all the things I did. From the days I got drunk to the days I slept whenever I felt sad. I skipped everything. I was running away from responsibilities. I was hiding in a dark world inside my head. I talked to myself. I wrote about things which came to my mind. I burned my old diaries. I deleted old pictures. I killed my own happiness. I was a mess. Maybe I needed a doctor but I never met one. I took all the pain by myself. I drank till I couldn't unlock my phone. I got high and danced to the saddest songs with tears. Memories kept flashing and I kept on ignoring myself. I ignored my existence. I ignored my responsibilities. I didn't attend lectures. I didn't sit for exams. I spend my money on cigarettes and liquor over food. Was I addicted or did I really needed them to escape reality. I didn't know...

I went with the flow. Shot after shot, cigarette after cigarette. My life kept on going. I didn't see a future. I didn't know the work I skip will come back in return. Maybe it was Karma. The bicth came back. Exams were hitting me hard. The regular C+ wasn't there, instead I failed. I started losing. With all the failures, I started to drink more. From one pill to two pills. From two to three. Things started getting worse... Until, the day I ALMOST DIED.

I've lost my nerves several times but I had never felt such thing ever before. I couldn't breathe. My heart was pumping faster than the a techno beat. I remember, it stopped and everything was silent. I could hear myself. My voice talking to me. I tried to listen to my voice but couldn't focus. I couldn't even move my fingers nor lips. It was painful. I didn't breathe after throwing up for several times. I tried to open my eyes but I couldn't. I saw the scenes of me coming to the bathroom, closing the door and sit on the commode. I wish I could explain it better but I only have those fearful scenes in my head. I remember those scenes and I will never forget them in my life. To be honest, it was where I wanted to stop. It was my biggest turning point of my life. I was there with the same five people for more than a year together. Getting drunk, doing drugs and popping pills. I even did deliveries as I was looking quite younger than everyone else. It was fun and I enjoyed it. We spent all our money on it and we didn't even care about it. It was the biggest mistake we did. Today, it's December, the 11th, 2020. I'm sober. I went to no doctor or counsellor. It was me who decided to quit. It was me who wanted to change. I remember how I started by skipping the cigarettes. I hope everyone will find a way to overcome pain, stress and sadness without getting into drinking or doing drugs. I wish the society becomes more kind to the ones who are in need. I hope people will realise what they want and what they need despite of making bad decisions even though it creates great memories. I'm not discouraging drinking or smoking weed or even doing drugs and popping pills. It's all upto you. But I hope, you'll not get addicted to your dreams, and escaping reality as they are consuming you unintentionally.

It took me this whole year, the 2020 to overcome my previous mistakes. Even though I made great memories I wanted to change because no one will come to you and give you money for the drugs nor, nobody will push you to achieve your dreams. It you for you, me for me. #Build yourself #Change #Live

Make good memories. Help each other. Spread love. I LOVE YOU ♥️

Cheers 🍀✨

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monstaxardeur · 4 years

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𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝙼𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎

You had been offered an audition by a bunch of acquaintances you met through friends and social circles. These guys were making a short film, a horror short and it sparked your interest, you said you were down for it but truth be told there was a lot of unexplained tension with these guys. Sure he was cute the supposed director of the film but one of his friends was cuter and you thought working with him could be fun and a chance to maybe hit it off? So you had the address and you were eighty-five percent sure it was going to be a dingy looking place and if it smelled of liquor and weed then perhaps it was the right place. When you reached the destination it turned out to be a rented out trailer, it looked like a wrong place to be at in all the scandalous ways. But then again you weren't exactly a saint either nor were you that gullible.

You helped yourself in after you had called the guy and he had said you were in fact at the right place so you could go in and that he and his pals would be there in a bit, luckily they never showed up though. The place was cramped and of course, boys were a mess. There were empty liquor bottles, a not so well hidden box of condoms lying around, signs of rolled joints and the air reeking faintly of sex and cigarettes. You didn't expect anyone to be there as you crunched down on the mint candy you were having. Still intrigued that even if these guys were chaotic they were somewhat serious about their work, the research and script scraps weren't bad at all. You didn't even hear anyone walk behind you but then a voice jolted you and you turned around and almost held in your breath 'fuck it's him..'

"Can I help you?" He asked arching a brow, he was wearing a black hoodie with a beanie that showed off his forehead and the perfect little eyebrow piercing. You hadn't heard him talk since you two never interacted but his voice was deep and you could feel something in the pit of your stomach. "Oh hi, I'm here for the audition." You pointed at the scattered scripts and he looked unamused initially but he did eye you up and down and you noticed, when he noticed you noticed the tension suddenly shifted in the air. "Right...uhm look I don't know when they will be back so.." he trailed off waving his hand like letting you get the hint. "I guess I'll wait then, uhm thank you, you are?" You asked not getting the hint at first that he didn’t want anyone around, "Changkyun or Daniel whatever floats your boat." He replied but sighed thinking 'clearly she can't be that dumb..' "You didn't think this was like an actual audition right?" He got straight to the point and you who had been looking around the old vintage pinup posters turned to look at him and smirked taking a few steps towards him. "I know, I just wasn't opposed to the entire idea of whatever you want to call this." You replied flashing a smile and you could see he was amused now holding back a chuckle, his canines showing. "But I guess I'll come around later then." You decided to leave realizing by now he had been giving hints that you should come back later and you hated being the one to annoy someone if they didn't want you there. You were halfway down the step to the trailer’s door when he spoke, "You know I could take the audition for you." You turned to see him while he grabbed a bottle of beer from the mini-fridge popping it open. "I could put in a good word for you." You could hear the playfulness in his voice, you knew he was hot but didn't think he would be sexy as fuck when he flirted like that, his voice didn't help you either and you held back a grin. "You'd do that?" You asked stepping back up, "Yeah I could do that, no biggie." and he took a sip of his soju sort of waiting for your response and you couldn't help but bite your lip, "Do you have all the preparations you need for the audition." You asked as you stepped up rather close and he inched closer as well, any closer and you could probably taste his soju flavored lips. "Don't worry about that baby girl I got you covered." His voice was low and felt like it dropped an octave.

The sound of low dirty trap music was on repeat as your hands were pinned over your head loosely tied by his belt. He was denying you pleasure edging you each time just to fuck with you all over. You felt two of his digits move slow and teasingly inside you while his thumb rubbed on to your bud. "I saw you eyeing me hungrily at the party, lingering gazes." His voice was menacingly teasing and he bit down on your collarbone again, each time going lower leaving another mark in its trail. "...and vouyerism, you think I didn't notice you watching me from the shadows while I made out with someone else?" The memory flashed before you and you did remember it had been arousing in various ways and you felt him curl a finger inside you making you arch your back. "Baby girl if we're gonna do this I need you to be loud for me, can you do that for me?" He asked cooing, untying your hands and kissing you until you were swallowing your moans. He removed his hand from inside of you and you whined spewing a few curses. "Fuck…" You breathed and really wanted to change things up. Power play wasn't what he had imagined but it definitely turned him on. You pushed him back and climbed over him grinding down onto him while kissing his lips till they were badly swollen. "You've been such a fucking brat." you hissed between the kisses and saw the spark in his eyes and it made you smile "Say do you like it when I take control baby boy." Changkyun hands lazily traced over your breasts making you hitch a breath and he breathed "Fuck..say it again...please." he asked and you grinned that he took a liking to being referred to as the baby boy. "I said.." and you adjusted yourself on to his length straddling him and he threw his head back from the feeling "..you're a baby boy." You cooed softly leaning down for softer fluttering kisses. The movements were slow and languid until you both found a rhythm and your moans and whines fueled Changkyun. His lust hazed eyes raked your bouncing body on top of him and he reached out to wrap his hands around your neck. That feeling of adrenaline and the airflow being toyed with made you throw your head back and claw at his chest leaving faint red streaks. He kept applying and releasing pressure with one hand using his other to stimulate your clit and you cried out from the rising pleasure. "I-I'm close Changkyun." He sat up to pull your bodies closer, fingers entwining in your colour tipped locks. He thrusted upwards harder to reach deeper inside you and you couldn't help but cry out, your pleasure contorted face made him curse and he growled, "Louder, I want to hear my name louder." He demanded with a groan and were going breathless as you felt the coil in your belly and he kept thrusting into you while his name spilled from your lips like erotic poetry. You came undone not long after feeling blissed out, your grip loosened as he pushed you back down, chasing his own release. You clawed lightly at his thighs letting him unravel and as he did he traced your swollen lips with his thumb, "I know you can take more of me, I am not done with you yet." It was something about the power play that got you both off. He pulled out only to turn you over and move inside you again, he left softer kisses this time on your shoulder and the back of your neck. His hands constantly tugging lightly at your hair. "It's gonna be long night baby girl but I’ll make it worthwhile." He spoke low in your ear. The night was followed by intense pleasure, possibly the most misbehaviour you'd ever done.

He walked you out by dawn break, you tried to cover your marks with the makeup in your bag but really it was a pathetic excuse. He was just standing by the door in his denims and chugged down the flask. "So uhm do you think I'll see you again?" You asked but were taken aback by his blunt honesty. "No I don't think so sweetheart." and he smiled that damned dimpled smile. "Yeah sure cool, it was great while it lasted..thanks." You replied casually shrugging off the god awful pang you felt in your heart somewhere followed by endless self-criticism for catching feelings. "Be careful on your way back." He had said when you walked away. He had scarred and bruised your heart with need and affection in the worst possible ways but like any other mature adult, you buried it like a dirty little secret of yours. You never did see him again but no one ever did you good like him either.

#monsta x #i.m #changkyun #monsta x imagines #monsta x scenarios

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battletowered-archived · 4 years

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Drugs & Alcohol

||TW: under the cut for discussion of drugs||

I’ve talked about this a few times before, but I thought it would be interesting to add in a little more information on his prior experience.

Leon doesn’t actively use much: the two main ones being Weed and Alcohol, and even those are usually pretty rare.

Leon saves drinking for special occasions, things like events, anniversaries, and holidays. He never gets drunk, either, usually stopping at just getting tipsy for a couple of reasons: a. being that he doesn’t like how it feels to get drunk and lose motor function nor does he like the feeling of having memory gaps the next day. B, Leon loses ALL semblance of a filter when he starts to drink, which isn’t great for a champion/chairperson/CEO. It’s pretty easy to know what he’s thinking normally, but even moreso when he’s drunk, and considering his reluctance to actually talk about his feelings, it’s difficult do deal with it when he’s sober again. If he gets drunk in a private setting with someone, it’s a sign of trust for him-- he thinks they won’t judge him for whatever dumb thoughts he says tipsy.

As for weed, Leon does that one in the privacy of his own home. Usually he opts for eating it over smoking it because he’s not a huge fan of the smell, and he plans it for nights when he doesn’t have anything else planned. He does it because he uses it as a method of destressing-- he’ll get high, enjoy it for an hour or so, and then sleep like a baby, and that’s the entirety of the appeal for him. It feels nice, and then he sleeps like a log. He sort of self medicates with it because his PTSD gives him bad nightmares and makes him lose sleep, so if he gets to a point where it’s affecting his every day work, he’ll get stoned and get a full night’s sleep, and usually feel a little better once he’s sobered up.

As for things that Leon doesn’t actively use but has experimented with OR been around when it was being used:

Leon has smoked a cigarette or two, but he doesn’t enjoy the way that they make him feel physically or mentally. Plus the smell makes him nauseous.

Leon has been to some post event parties (mostly during his tenure in the champion seat) and has been offered some harder drugs but never accepted. He’s been offered things which he didn’t know what they were, but by far the most harrowing experience that he’s ever had was at one of these events when he was around 16-- he was offered Cocaine in the restroom by people who he would have assumed were straight edged because of their position in their respective companies. The experience shook him enough to bring it up with Oleana (which is saying something, because she intimidated the hell out of him as a teenager), and there was hell to pay, and it’s stuck with him for years. It’s part of why he’s as protective as he is over younger people in the league and why he tends to hover around the younger folks in league parties because he doesn’t want them to get caught up in that sort of situation.

Leon has never had first-hand experience with most other hallucinogenics/hard drugs, but he leans pretty hard toward the “more dangerous than they’re worth” in most cases.

Leon tries to be a good influence, and even if he’d prefer that his kids and brother don’t use drugs or alcohol until they’re older and fully developed enough to make those decisions on their own, he’d much rather just let them experiment a little bit in the safety of his home. In his mind, that’s better than the alternative of them doing it somewhere unsafe OR doing it somewhere that they aren’t able to get help if they need it. So he’ll turn a sort-of blind eye to it: he’ll let them experiment if they ask him, or if they want to “sneak” into his liquor cabinet so long as they’re somewhere he can keep an eye on them and make sure nothing goes awry. Needless to say, though, he definitely wouldn’t sit by and let them experiment with anything super extreme.

Another thing that doesn’t come up all that often, but is important to note, Leon will step in and help people get home safely if they don’t have a ride when they’re high/drunk and can’t call their own for some reason. That goes for both his adult friends AND his younger colleagues and family. Again, he’d rather they get home safe than do something stupid out of fear of calling a parent/guardian.

#ooc || off the clock #Leon || Keep your eyes ahead and your mind open #answered #Headcanons || Thoughts and Memories #tw: drugs #tw: drug mention #tw: alcohol #tw: alcohol mention #drugs #drug metnion #alcohol #alcohol mention #||if i have to sum it up he doesn't think its ALL bad||#||but he thinks it definitely requires being educated and that its best saved for fully developed adults

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deathdoors · 4 years

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𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐒 ! meredith here. nineteen twenty, they/them or she/her, the best admin in the world. it’s why i’m using manny for my gif for this, when he’s the best and my mascot on the main <3 if it ain’t broke don’t fix it. so: a little about me ! i’m a libra, from new jersey, in my second year of college, use a lot of emojis, have recently and embarrassingly been both playing fortnite ( i know ) and reading like 2 books a night, which might seem like it makes me smart but actually just makes me go to bed at seven in the morning. which also makes me a dumb bitch. on to the show !

name: emma phillips age: thirty occupation: preschool teacher trope: the wide eyed idealist aesthetic: fresh baked chocolate chip cookies, wildflowers in a vase, half empty bottles of pink wine, stopping to pet every dog, happy tears, rom-com movie nights, coffee with too much cream and sugar.

emma was born and raised in the suburbs outside springfield, missouri. her mother was incredibly anxious and doting, disliking emma riding bikes in the streets with the other kids and climbing trees, etc she was thus much closer to her dad: camping trips, bedtime stories, the works. she adored him, and when her twin younger siblings were born, emma’s mother interpereted being a daddy’s girl as hating her, and started ignoring emma when she wasn’t scolding her, instead focusing a much more positive attention on the twins.

then, of course, because life sucks, her dad got sick of it and left without so much as a goodbye. ran off with his secretary when emma was twelve, leaving her with a toxic mom and two little toddler twins. she entered mom mode when her mom’s anxiety turned to severe, don’t get out of bed depression ... emma was cooking for the twins ( and failing miserably, most of the time it was pizza and frozen dinners. to emma’s credit, that did include frozen vegetables. ) helping them with schoolwork, getting them to and from school, etc.

her grandparents were semi - well off, and sent some money to the phillips clan, but emma got a job as soon as she was able. the combination of the two, and her mom’s on and off working was enough to not go hungry. the twins could go on some field trips, there was enough for new clothes when they grew like weeds ... but obviously, no pre-teen / teen wants to constantly care for little kids. it sucked.

the money continued when her grandfather died when she was sixteen, and then, a little while later, right before emma graduated high school, her grandmother died, leaving them her house in fort elms, washington.

the phillips clan moved there, with a month left of high school for emma. as soon as she turned eighteen, a mere month after graduation: emma was kicked out of the house. her mother wanted nothing to do with her anymore, saying emma was tearing her away from the twins. for the rest of their childhoods, emma was not allowed to see either of her siblings, with emma’s mother telling them that she had left on purpose.

thus: she went to college, moved out of the house into a new apartment, fell in love and pined boyfriendless for years like some kind of loser, was incredibly on and off, got cheated on. she hasn’t been able to land a mans since, despite wanting a storybook romance.

while all that was happening, she got a degree, teaching at the fancy private preschool school in town. remember when i said she entered mom mode when her dad left ? yeah. she never left it, apparently. she loves her job, though. lots of stickers.

tl;dr: toxic mom, dad left when she was 12, effectively raised her younger siblings. moved to fort elms when she was about to turn 18, finished out high school, and was kicked out. she became a preschool teacher, inexplicably staying in fort elms.

personality: emma is kind hearted and optimistic — she's a little bit of a people pleaser, and a lot a bit of a hopeless romantic. she's pretty friendly / chatty, and considers people her friends approximately .5 seconds after meeting them. she's a little naive in the sense that she believes everyone is good, or can be good with just a little effort, and is pretty forgiving. she's much more of a go with the group kind of person, and hates being alone.

tw alcoholism, depression;

name: philippa “pippa” espina age: twenty-two occupation: unemployed trope: fallen princess aesthetic: bottles of vodka, half burnt cigarettes, red lipstick, shattered glass, parties going late into the night, adept fingers rolling joints, sleeping in late, the twinkle of a chandelier.

in retrospect, pippa was destined to be spoiled: she never got attention as a child, and her parents had money, and anyone who's seen a movie about rich kids knows that's a cocktail for disaster. california born and bred, pippa was used to two things by the time she could toddle: the sun, and getting what she wanted.

her father was a successful ... something with a desk and lots of people reporting to him, she never even payed attention. her mother was more focused on tennis practices and galas and book clubs where they just drank wine. a series of nannies raised her: not one or two where she could bond with, cling to the maternal attention she desired.

instead, her frequent temper tantrums and outbursts lead to them either quitting or getting fired when pippa made up stories: she was so mean to me, i think she's stealing from the jewelry box, she's been drinking your fancy wine. she didn't know why she was doing it. maybe it was the way her mother would stroke her hair gently, eyes blurry with drunkeness saying they'd work on finding someone better to take care of her. for all her twisted lies, pippa could be brutally honest. yet she never asked her mother why she couldn't take care of her.

by the time pippa had hit the sixth grade, she'd been kicked out of two of the private schools in the area. her third was all all girl's school, full of catholic sensibilities and a headmistress that refused to dismiss pippa, no matter how much she acted out.

she was twelve the first time she was the one breaking into the liquor cabinet, little sips of sweet liquors that made her head feel fuzzy. a lock was placed on it three weeks later, and she didn't get drunk again until high school. but pippa decided she liked that feeling, and more importantly, she liked the feeling of her parents finally looking at her.

at one of the rare family meals a month after her thirteenth birthday, pippa said i don't want a nanny anymore at the same time that her father said we're moving to washington. some business deal her father's company had made with the military base, it was a wonderful town. she didn't want to hear it. another tantrum she was far too old for, a slap across the face. selfish brat.

they moved to washington three days later. she didn’t have a nanny.

pippa was never popular in high school, nor unpopular. she was a bit of an outcast: mean and pretty only got you so far if you were already top dog, and she wasn't. she, however, threw big parties that drew the attention of high schoolers and the lamer end of the college crowd. holidays, breaks, every weekend: an unlimited supply of all the weed and alcohol at pippa's house, combined with the loud thunk of music and no one to get mad at you if you broke a vase or woke up on the floor the next morning. her parents were rarely ever home.

when they were, however, things weren't pretty. slammed glasses on tables, shouts so loud they made voices sore. pippa would stand there and she would cry until her face was red, and say sorry for breaking things, and the next day her parents would give her a new allowance and a kiss atop the head. that was their apology. she never accepted it. she kept the money and embraced back, of course. but she never meant it. she would do the same thing again, and again, and again.

attention was better than any drug, and almost as good as the bottom end of a bottle or a shot glass. she was mean and she was catty, sure, but then she was warm and fun and bought you lunch. by the time she had made stronger connections, latching on to the only two people, the only two friends she had was easy. they were her friends, and thus everyone else was her enemy.

after high school, she didn't do anything. no college, no job. her parties persisted, and so did kisses behind locked doors and afternoons spent sleeping off a hangover until she woke up and did it again. she was still mean, still catty, still desperate for attention: growth had been stunted, immaturity and a desperation making her miserable to be around.

she doesn't know why she does it. not even deep down: sometimes, it's like she's staring down at her own body, watching herself be cruel or unkind, sparking up a joint to call someone a bitch and someone a cow, or taking another shot and whispering into the nearest fellow partygoers' ear that they should go upstairs. sometimes she wakes up and feels like she's the worst person in the world. especially after one of those partygoers is the ex of one of those two friends. she feels like the worst person in the world, and she likes it better then, she decides. at least then she feels something.

tl;dr: rich bitch, loves partying, classic mean girl. not so functional alcoholic, hooks up with a lot of people. turbulent relationship with her parents, desperate for attention. definitely needs a therapist and a psychiatrist.

personality: pippa is very ... sugar and ice. or more aptly, sugar and fire. as long as you follow her my way or the highway mentality and give her plenty of attention, she'll drag you along on all her plans, lavish you with attention ... until she doesn't anymore. she's reckless and self-centered, but she's a hell of a lot of fun. if you manage to get into her inner circle, she'd take a bullet for you, but ... well, as mentioned before she still might sleep with your ex <3 or ur current bf, honestly.

tw bullying, anxiety, depression, suicide;

name: theodore "teddy" larsen age: twenty-three occupation: graduate student trope: shrinking violet aesthetic: pages and pages of notes, shiny comic book pages, freshly sharpened pencils, home cooked meals, deep shaky breaths, science fiction movies, 100% exams, thick books full of knowledge

theodore larsen came out of the womb miserable. he was a colicky baby, born to a loving, young american mother and a his british professor father in england. he was a quiet child, once he grew out of the constant exhausted crying: much preferring the company of his mom than other kids. he was smart though, and a heavy reader.

when he spoke was when the trouble began: as his vocabulary began to grow and he talked more and more, a stutter came with it. he spoke kindly and eloquently for his age, but he struggled sometimes to get words out. kids were cruel, naturally, and it only made teddy more reclusive.

out of isolation came anxiety: he was an intensely worried child, mostly involved with his parents rather than people his age. an investment in books, comics, nonficiton, novels. teddy was perfectly content with books as his friends, and of course, his mother, his favorite person in the world.

and then his world came crashing down. nothing horrific: no one died, no one was sick. but when the only thing that brings you comfort is security and repetition, your father cheating on your mother and moving across the world is a pretty far crash to the bottom. port elms, washington: his mother’s hometown, where teddy would finish out high school.

he was relentlessly bullied, still. the label of new kid paired with a lack of social grace and nerdy dispotion, there might as well have been a target painted on his back. he had one friend, endlessly kind to him. she’d saved his life, figuratively, and he saved hers literally, an appearance at her house shortly after her suicide attempt.

it made sense that he’d have one too. depression was a dark shroud that hung over him, exacerbated anxious behaviors. that was months ago now. a secret, locked inside him, not quite ready to come out. therapy, once a week. maybe twice.

he’s not excited about finishing his degree, not really. he feels good about teaching, it’s what he wants to do. but the idea of being back in fort elms high isn’t exactly leaving a good taste in his mouth. he’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it, no matter how much it makes his heart beat faster and his palms sweat. he’s got all the time in the world

tl;dr: nervous mess, bullying target, has one real friend. very sensitive mama’s boy. british accent, moved to fort elms when he was in high school. sad. doesn’t like his dad very much.

personality: the nerdiest mf alive. teddy is a total sweetheart, very socially awkward, and pretty damn smart. he know a lot about typical nerdy shit. superheroes, star trek. he LOVES star wars. he's also in a band, playing bass. fun times. he's nervous as hell — also super cautious, he never likes to do anything without it being meticulously planned. total mamas boy.

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theseviolentdelightss · 5 years

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Counting Paths XVII

Series Summary: After a lifetime on the run from the Empire, Reader makes a move that could have drastic impacts for both friend and foe. A Reader insert/fanfic. Gifs belong to their respective owners.

Word Count: 4386

Author’s Note: Sorry again for the wait.

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX Part X Part XI Part XII Part XIII Part XIV Part XV Part XVI

It was cold when you awoke. Eyes fluttering slowly as the memories came flooding back. The cantina, the code black, running yourself ragged which would explain why it felt as if someone had taken every muscle in your body and rung them out like a soaked cloth.

“Called it!” The sound of Roland's voice, while a small comfort, did nothing to stifle the pounding in your head nor the ringing in your ears. It rather enhanced it, earning an agitated groan from you as your eyes struggled to adjust. “Two hours and fourteen minutes, everybody pay up!”

All around you came the sound of grumbles. Money being dug out of pockets and wallets as Roland chuckled proudly. His paw out and ready for the taking.

“Did you seriously take bets on how long I would be passed out?” You asked coolly once the crowd had cleared. Narrowing your eyes as you stared down the older rebel, hands over flowing with newly acquired credits.

“No...” Roland stuttered. If you hadn't known better you would have sworn you saw guilt in his eyes as he adverted his gaze. Catching a glimpse of your reflection it was easy to see why.

Fainting from exhaustion and dehydration had done you no favors. The color in your cheeks had yet to return and your hands trembled as you ran them over your face. Apparently the first medic on site had struggled to find a vein, leaving the inside of your elbow an abstract mess off deep purple and sickly yellow skin. The bruise bloomed around the needle in your arm like a dying violet. Growing more gruesome by the moment.

When word first made it to Roland that you had ran out of the bunker with less than three minutes to spare he had assumed it was just another rumor. They seemed to have been following you as of late. Sprouting like weeds about your feet. It was only when Penny began to panic, pushing through the rows of bunks and cots towards the small infirmary area that he began to believe it. Nearly 30 flights of stairs and you had ran it three times in under five minutes. It was no wonder the exhaustion had gotten the better of you, not to mention the liquor. “Well maybe-”

“Give it!” You held your hand out, turning your attention away as you waited.

Dragging his feet Roland placed the pile of money into your palm. Licking your thumb you flipped through it before handing over a small percentage.

“Finders fee.” You smirked softly, feeling your head beginning to clear.

Following the IV in your arm you recognized the mixture hanging above you. A combination of saline and nutrients. Glancing around it was obvious that you weren't the only casualty of today's surprising great escape. A handful of cots sat occupied in the dimness. Strangers with swollen ankles and knees, a man with a thick piece of gauze wrapped about his head. Even from this distance you could spot where the blood had began to seep through. On the cot nearest you Penny lay dozing with no sign of visual injuries. Gently pushing aside her red curls you couldn't help but chuckle as the drool ran down her cheek. For now she would be fine, the hangover wouldn't hit her till she woke up.

“Where's Zara?”

“Off sleeping I think. Took some skinny kid half an hour to convince her you'd be fine.” Roland replied. “Want me to go tell her you're up?”

“No let her rest.”

“They need you.” Roland's eyes again shifted to the ground as he spoke. “In the control room.”

“Why?” You asked, unsure as to why the Rebellion saw need to punish you so quickly. Sure, you had disobeyed a direct order which in itself wasn't a first, but no one had gotten seriously hurt. Minus the guard you had punched but he had it coming. You still had the scar beneath your hairline from where he had struck you long ago. That was well worth a week of messhall duty. Still, that wasn't an urgent matter, not enough to warrant a trip to the control room in the middle of a code black no less.

“The hell if I know.” Roland spit bitterly. He was an amazing soldier yet for all his military prowess he hated authority more than a hormonal teenager. “Captain Andor ordered me to stay here and fetch ya as soon as you woke up so hop to it.”

“You do see the IV in my arm right?”

Licking his thumb and forefinger Roland reached forward, snatched the plastic butterfly wings on either side of the thin needle and slid it out from under your skin like a warrior drawing a sword.

“For fucks sake Roland!” You hissed, reaching up to smack the curly haired man across the back of the head. What had only moments before been a dull ache now stung white hot. “There's a reason people don't actually do that you jackass!”

A half roll of gauze and a handful of curses later Roland was escorting you through the dark tunnels that lead to the lowest level. To keep the temperature from spiking most everyone had been spread out among the various floors. The bunker itself had seven and at its heart sat the war council. The most highly concentrated area of people and still it did nothing to stave off the cold. By the time you made it through the beehive of workers busy at various consoles and tablets you could faintly see your breath in front of your face. Wrapping your arms around yourself you tried to find some degree of warmth. Dragging the sleeves of your jacket over the palms of your hands as Roland motioned you forward.

“Baby...” Roland muttered, side eyeing you as you began to shiver.

“Not all of us have been blessed with blubber to keep us warm.” You replied, eyeing Roland's protruding gut. Typically you weren't one to shame a person for their body but considering this was the same man who had only minutes before ripped an IV from your arm, you found it in yourself to make an exception. Thankfully it shut him up, allowing you a few moments of silence before coming to a stop outside a large set of wooden double doors. Unlike most on base these had been built in the old style that swung inwardly rather than sliding open or closed.

“From here on out your on your own kid.” Roland leaned against the wall as he spoke, retrieving a small knife from his pocket he began to pic the dried grease out from under his fingernails.

Sighing you knocked on the old wood nervously. The door opened with a low groan, kicking up a whirl of dust around your feet as you slipped inside. The space was noticeably cooler, the mood even more so.

“Sargent L/N please come forward.” Mon Mothma spoke calmly as always. She was a decent and honorable woman but that didn't mean her composed demeanor wasn't hiding an ugly truth.

Perhaps they had finally decided you were too much of a liability.

Maybe this most recent act of defiance truly was the last straw.

Stepping forward into the dim light your eyes scanned the various faces for anyone who might speak on your behalf. Cassian's dark eyes found you instantly, as if your gaze had been magnetically drawn to him. He stood with his arms crossed, jaw tense as if he were grinding his teeth. Draven sat at the large wooden table that stood in the center of the room. A massive piece carved with the same script and symbols as the door behind you. It had likely been there as long as the temple itself. Standing strong for hundreds of years. You couldn't help but drag your fingers across the surface as you made you way to your seat.

“We have serious matters to discuss.”

The edge to the ginger haired woman's tone might have upset you if it weren't for a sickening realization, one that washed over you like an icy wave.

“Where is Theodren?” You asked instantly, trying hard to hide the fear growing inside you. The silence that followed was no help, seconds ticking by like hours as you waited. “Where is-”

“We don't know.” Mon Mothma replied, her tone gentler than before yet straight to the point. No time for curtsies. “Commander Theodren had departed for Bakura shortly before we were alerted of an Imperial patrol entering our atmosphere. Until the code black has been lifted any attempts to contact him are impossible.”

It felt as if the floor had been ripped out from beneath you. That weightless feeling of falling that jolts you awake. Surely you must be dreaming. Your luck may have been notoriously bad but this was nightmarish. Grabbing a hold of the table for support you allowed your body to slump into the chair nearest you. Mon Mothma continued to speak, for how long you can't be sure, it wasn't until General Draven snapped his fingers in front of your face that your mind cleared. Glazed eyes blinking for the first time in minutes.

“Sergant L/N?” Mothma spoke calmly, holding out a hand to hush Draven as she stepped closer. The room was dim but it may as well have been pitch black. Even with eyes open you looked but did not see. It was only Theodren you thought of and the space where he should have stood. “You're bleeding.”

The words had no sooner left the woman's mouth when you felt the first drop collide with the back of your hand. Closing your eyes tightly you allowed a second and third to fall before reaching for the source. A stream of blood trailed from your right nostril. Stickily coating your fingertips and leaving the taste of metal on your lips. Out of the corner of your eye you watched as Cassian moved forward. His face calm and composed as ever. Before he could step any further you were already standing. Hand held firmly against your nose trying in vain to stem the flow. It made sense, your tears had long ago been used up, only blood remained to spare.

“I apologize...” You muttered, pushing yourself away from the table and towards the large doors you had came in through. They sprawled open rather easily at your touch. The chill of the room a distant memory as the heat bloomed at the base of your neck and began to spread. The mix of worry and fear enveloping you as you searched for an exit, not caring where it went. It was solitude you yearned for. A space of your own where you could internalize the wars currently raging between your head and your heart.

Sighing you spotted a door that led through yet another dark hallway. Pushing your way further down till the last door stood waiting. Without so much as a knock you let yourself in. The stale smell of dust and age rushing up to greet you as you stepped inside. Rows of empty shelves lined the walls. The pale light above flickering out as you settled to the floor.

You hadn't prayed in years. After everything you had done you doubted the anyone would pay you so much as a passing thought. Still, even as the cold seeped through your bones you found yourself murmuring the words. Blood stained hands held tightly together.

“I didn't know you prayed.”

“I don't-” You replied, red eyes adjusting to the small lantern the captain held in his hands. “not usually at least.”

“Neither do I.”

“Why not?”

“Because they were never answered.” Cassian's eyed you cautiously as he knelt in front of you. Noting that the bleeding that had provided you a perfect out had yet to stop. Sitting the lantern to the side Cassian dug his hands into his pocket, retrieving a clean rag he leaned forward to press it delicately around your nose.

“Mine were never answered either.” Your voice felt small as you reached forward, trying to take a hold of the rag yourself, expecting Cassian to let go yet he held on.

“What were you thinking?”

“Excuse me?”

There was no hiding the tone to your voice. It was one thing to question yourself. The last thing you needed right now was Cassian doing the same.

“I told you to stay where you were.” Cassian replied calmly, ignoring your weak attempt at an attitude.

“I never told you how my brother died, did I?” That caught him off guard. The frustration draining from his eyes as he gazed back at you. “Come to think of it, I'm not sure I ever mentioned him at all...”

Settling onto the floor with a thump Cassian let the rag slip from his grip. His expression gentler than before, clearly this new revelation was not what he had been expecting.

“His name was Willis I had just turned eight when he was born. I was so excited. I'd finally have a friend that I wouldn't have to say goodbye to after a few months...but mama died on the birthing bed so I had to step up. It wasn't easy, especially not at first. I was still just a kid myself, and a part of me hated him for taking my mother away, but that didn't last. He was too kind, too gentle to hate and he was so smart. He could be a real brat about it too, always correcting my spelling.” You chuckled lightly, losing yourself in a memory for one brief moment.

“He heard it first, woke me up. I thought he was just having another bad dream but then I heard it too. It all happened so fast, the chaos, the slaughter. It started in the outlying villages but it didn't take long to make its way into the city. All of the sudden they were in the streets, kicking down your door, coming through your front room window. That's when the exodus started. I had never seen anything like it. All around us the buildings were going up in flames. You could hear people screaming. I passed the body of the baker who had made my bread that morning lying in a gutter as we fled. His face was gone but I recognized his apron. It felt like we were at war.”

“Antar IV.” Cassian said quietly, turning his head to face you. “The massacre. You were there?”

Nodding you tried to steady your breathing. It had been years since you had spoken about that night and for good reason. Anytime it came up you felt your pulse quicken, the cold sweat forming on the back of your neck. As if some small part of you was forever trapped in the moment and just for a second it had pulled the rest of you under. Drowning you on dry land.

“I lost my father's hand in the crowd, my brother begged me to go back, but I had promised...so I didn't. I couldn't. I wanted to more than anything but I knew if I stopped, if I looked back we would both be lost. So I lied. I told him we would meet my father at the ship. The old man had been working on the same one for ages, kept it docked at this little hole in the wall station he worked at. I thought for sure by the time we got there all that would be left was ash and rubble but there it stood. No more than twenty yards away. I was moving so fast I didn't even see him until-”

You voice hitched in your throat with a weak shudder. The hairs on the back of your neck standing on end as you began to run your hands up and down your thighs.

“I begged him to let us go. We were just children. I swore to him we wouldn't tell anyone, not a soul, but he just put us in his sights.” Turning your eyes to the ceiling you were happy not to have to look at Cassian's face as he heard what came next. “I tried to move Willis out of the way, but he had twisted his ankle during the run and I was carrying him. All I could do was turn around, try to cover him with myself but it didn't make any difference. That fucker cut us down like we were nothing.”

“How did you survive?” Cassian asked softly.

“I drove a screw driver through his eye and out the back of his skull.” You replied coolly, the sadness in your voice replaced with an entirely different emotion. “The first life I ever took and it didn't even matter. Willis died anyways. He bleed out in my arms. One second he was crying and trying to say something and then he just...went still. I had never seen someone die before but I watched as the spark drained from my brothers eyes, and that pain...”

Again you had to stop, try to calm your thumping heart as it pounded away against your chest. There was a reason you avoided this subject. It was always painful to speak of, but now with Theodren's fate so uncertain it only served to frighten you more. To remind you of what it felt like to lose someone you love.

“I didn't think I'd ever get over it so I locked that part of me away. Stopped caring about everything and everyone.”

Across from you Cassian shifted, leaning his back against the wall as he took in all you had to say. Not entirely sure if he should be relieved that you were sharing so much with him or worried. Crossing his arms to stave off the chill he watched as you fidgeted with your hands, pulling at the edges of your sleeves, tucking those relentless loose curls behind your ears. His own hands itched to reach out, take a hold of your own and still them but he thought better of it. Now wasn't the time.

“I didn't join the Rebellion because I wanted to be a hero Cassian. I didn't give a damn about glory. A quick death was all I wanted, but then I met Theodren, and he was alone too. He was the only one that ever...he was my one true friend. I lost him once already, I don't want to lose him again.”

“You won't.” Cassian said with a bit too much certainty, overcompensating in his hopes of comforting you. “Theodren is the smartest person I know. I'm sure once this code black has lifted you'll hear from him.”

“Why are you here Cassian?” You asked suddenly, the urge to be alone over powering your usual politeness.

“I was worried about you.” He replied, not defensive in the least. A welcome surprise given your own change in demeanor. “Didn't want you to be alone.”

“I appreciate that Cassian, truly I do, but you don't have to worry about me.” You stated, maintaining your full attention on him. Noting the subtle change in the distance between the two of you. Typically the captain preferred to put added space between the both of you yet today seemed the expectation.

“Look, I worry.” He stated simply, laying his hand out flat in a gesture to simply accept that fact and let it go. “Just promise me you won't do anything stupid.”

“Cass I-” Chewing your bottom lip you considered lying, it would be easiest for everyone but Cassian deserved the truth. “It's Theodren, if there is even a small chance I have to try.”

“Are you in love with him?” Cassian asked, his eyes glued intensely to your own.

“Who?” You scoffed. “Theodren?”

The dark haired rebel nodded sheepishly and in that moment you could have kissed him because despite everything that had happened Cassian had managed to do the unthinkable. He made you laugh. No sweeter a gift could he have given you in that moment.

“What?” You half chuckled, the very idea of it still tickling your sides. Not that Theodren wasn't a catch, it was just so far removed from anything you could have imagined. The two of you had been best friends for years and not once had there been even an inkling of romance. “No! Of course I love him but Theodren is like family to me.”

“I understand.”

“Are you alright?” You asked, watching as Cassian began to draw in on himself. Scooting himself to sit with his back straight and flush against the wall. Hands swiftly shoved into the pockets of his jacket.

“I'm fine.” He replied but you simply shook your head. How the hell was this guy a spy?

“You're a shitty liar you know that.” You nudged Cassian's knee with your foot as you spoke. Thankful that the tension had for a moment been lessened enough to catch your breath.

“Only with you.” His answer was short but it was enough to return the tension tenfold.

Whelp, that didn't last long...

“And that bothers you?”

“I'd be a fool if it didn't.” Cassian's brows knitted as he spoke, looking any where but at you.

“Why?” Leaning forward you grabbed a hold of Cassian's hand and squeezed it tightly. “What's so wrong with being honest with me?”

“You're always saving people.” Cassian said simply, at last turning his gaze to meet your own.

“What-”

“Just-just listen.” He insisted calmly and you couldn't blame him. You were well aware of your bad habit of interrupting people. It wasn't that you were rude, some people just spoke so slowly by comparison.

“You're always saving people. You saved Zara, you saved Roland, hell you saved me the night we met. Its who you are.” Sighing Cassian let his eyes drift to where your fingers sat wrapped around his own. Your knees inching closer, unwilling to give in to his poor attempt at gaining distance.

“When I came down here I wanted to yell at you, to tell you that you were being foolish, convince you to stop...but I can't because that's not you.” Shaking his head Cassian smiled gently, his eyes warmer than before. Filled with an emotion you couldn't quite peg down but you were all too aware of how it made you feel.

“What's so wrong with that?” You half whispered.

“Nothing.” Cassian answered, turning your hand over in his own. Fingertips softly tracing along the lines of your palm. “Nothing, it just frightens me.”

“Cass I'm fine, seriously you don't have to worry-” You tried to put on your best smile as you spoke. If Cassian truly worried about you the least you could do was assure him you would try your best to stay alive. It was a bit of a priority anyways but if it mattered to someone else why not try harder?

Even if you weren't sure how to feel about it.

“And what if you weren't?” He asked sharply, turning the tables and instead interrupting you. “I know why you went back for Zara. I know why you want to go after Theodren. Because what if something happens and you could have done something but didn't? Then that's on you right? But if you go back and something happens to you then that's on me.”

“I'm not your responsibility anymore.”

“It's not like that.”

“Then what is it?” You pushed, trying to hide the faintest hint of desperation in your voice. As if months of second guessing had inevitability lead you here. “What are you so afraid of Cassian?”

“You want to know what I'm afraid of?” Cassian eyes burned as he leaned closer, bursting the tiny bubble of personal space that existed between the two of you. “Losing you.”

And there it was. The truth you had been running from. It wasn't often that you felt vulnerable. It wasn't the sort of thing you were allowed, not if you wanted to stay alive.

“Your turn, no bullshit this time.” Cassian said, his mouth twitching as he spoke.

Taking a sharp breath through your nose you allowed yourself a moment of rational thought. To think of how very wrong this may all go. How much you could stand to lose, but that moment ended.

Unblinking you watched as Cassian's eyes flickered with longing. Something you only now realized had been there all along. They continued to follow your every move, watching as you inched closer until your knee dug into his thigh. Trembled and shifted. A pale hand snaking its way along the back of his neck. For a moment Cassian felt as if his brain had stalled, unable to process what was happening like a teenager second guessing themselves, but then you kissed him, putting those fears to rest in an instant. It was everything he had remembered from that night many months ago when he had first stolen a taste.

Only now there was no limit. No hesitance.

It surprised you as well, how easily you melted into his grasp. Calloused hands swept along your sides until your shirt began to bunch between his fingers. The touch of his skin burning as it grazed your own. Feather light fingers threading through your hair as he pressed you against him.

Sometime later after you finally gave in to the need for oxygen did you allow the reality of what had just happened sink in. The terrifyingly true severity of it washing over you all at once. Still, it was impossible not to smile and lean into the palm of Cassian's hand as he held you close. Foreheads pressed against one another. So close you could feel his every exhale on your skin.

“That.” You finally admitted, knowing for certain that you were now well and truly fucked.

#cassian x reader #cassian imagine #cassian andor x reader #cassian andor imagine #rogue one reader insert #rogue one fanfic #sw reader insert #swfanfic #SW Fanfic #cassian andor #sw oc #Counting Paths

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