#u just sent this at a poor time i am so fucking overwhelmed with work and moving and relationship stuff

[blueberryratz]

When will you post more pics of your wonderful thighs and tits? I need to cum so bad puppy

when im not like this^

[silversatoru]

soapy titty pics (sexting w/ inumaki)

a/n: here u go shawty i hope you enjoy ur toge smut @brandmeyelena <3.

toge inumaki x f!reader

tags/warnings: sexting, mild edging, male masturbation

w/c: 1.2k

it’s 2:00 am and toge’s still awake again.

staying up late and thinking of you — your hair, your eyes, the small curve at the base of your back. then his mind starts to wonder to other aspects of your beautiful body — your thighs, your tits, the way your perfect lips would look wrapped around his cock.

it’s been almost a month since he’s seen you and it’s been the most excruciating month of his life. he was tired and bitter that he had to be in another country fighting curses while you were back home without him. he missed pulling pranks on the other students and hearing your laugh ring out through the dorms — but he also missed the feeling of his dick in your pretty pussy. toge’s mind was bouncing from one extreme to the other but it was fitting, because he missed every aspect of you.

as thoughts of you continued to cloud his mind, his hand crept down to the growing bulge in his silky pajama pants. he pressed a firm hand over his budding erection, slowly palming it up and down.

fuck — the things he would do to have your head bobbing between his thighs right now.

his phone emitted a bright light in his dark room, a soft vibration buzzing from the device. he almost didn’t check it, because there was no way anyone of importance was contacting him at this hour. it was probably just an email, or a new follower on twitter, and he was kind of fucking busy living in his sexual fantasies of you.

but then it buzzed again, and then a third time, and a fourth time too. curiosity getting the best of him, he decided his aching member could wait another minute while he checked the notifications.

his cock twitched underneath the loose fabric, his mouth practically salivating as he stared as his phone. they were pictures from you, dimly lit snapshots of your round, perky tits covered in suds of soap. the pictures were accompanied by a single message, which read:

‘some soapy titty pics for u love,, wish u were here with me rn’

how ironic that both of you were up at this obscene hour just thinking of each other. you really were his soulmate — but he could focus on the sappy shit later, for now all he cared to focus on was how fucking hot you were.

‘yeah i’d titty fuck the hell out of those

how’d you know i was thinking about you right now?’

he quickly typed out his responses before his hand trailed back down to his throbbing erection. but this time he gently pushed the waistband of his pants down his thighs and let his cock spring free from its previous containment. he sucked a sharp breath through his teeth as he brushed his fingers over the sensitive skin.

he pumped a few lazy strokes up his length while he scrolled through the pictures you sent, pinching his phone so he could zoom in on your soapy, glistening breasts. your timing was truly impeccable — you have no idea how much he needed these.

‘lucky guess? you’re always thinking about me

and i’d let you do more than just titty fuck me

i can think of a couple other things that’d be even better’

your messages vibrate through his phone and send another rush of blood straight to his dick. he lifted his hand and collected some saliva in his mouth before spitting it into his palm. he massaged the sticky substance into his cock, his head falling back onto his pillow while he texted you back with his other hand.

‘obviously,, ur tits are just the warm-up

and then we’d move on to your mouth, right? with your hands tied behind your back just how you like them?’

he could practically imagine you down there, strands of spit hanging from the corners of your swollen lips while your tongue flicked over the head of his member. you’d be staring up at him with biggest eyes too, and they’d be glistening with a hint of mischief as you continued to tease him.

toge desperately fucked himself into his hand until the point where he was about to come, and then let his cock fall helplessly from his fingers. he was going to drag this out for as long as he could, edging himself in between each of your messages. but he could barely contain himself when the next thread came rolling through:

‘of course babe

i’d cover your thighs in love marks and then lather your dick with my tongue

hot, sticky saliva dripping from my chin while you shove it down my throat as hard as you want’

you were ruining this poor boy, a couple small beads of sweat forming above his brow. he was fiercely bucking his hips into his hand now, but it still wasn’t what he needed — it’s still wasn’t you.

but it was good enough, and he pushed himself right to the edge again before quickly letting go. his fingers twitched and trembled while they flurried across the screen:

‘fuck

then you can relax and i’ll do the work

slide my dick inside your wet pussy and bend you over the edge of the bed

i need you so bad it’s been so long’

toge’s hand wrapped around his shaft again, pumping faster and more frantic than he’d been before. his eyes were squeezed shut and he could practically feel the walls of your cunt around his cock. he’s picturing you riding you him, hearing the soft slapping noise of your ass hitting his thighs with every bounce. your hair is falling around your face, messy stands in front of your eyes as they roll back into your head. you look so pretty, so perfect on his cock, so-

‘two more weeks toge

two more weeks until i’m moaning and whimpering in your ears

gasping for air and clawing at the sheets while you take me from behind

i want you to wreck me when you finally get home’

he could almost hear the illusion of your delicate moans, the way they roll off your tongue and right into his yearning ears. and he could almost see your face contorting in overwhelming pleasure while he grinds his hips into yours.

clusters of the quietest whimpers slipped through his lips while he squirmed and stretched out his legs. he was intoxicated with thoughts of your body on his, your name glued to his lips while strings of white flew onto his bare chest. he milked out every last drop of his seed, the sticky white substance covering his torso and dripping down his hand.

he dropped his phone to the bed, the only sound in the silent room being his heavy, breathless pants. it was satisfying, doing this while he texted you, but it still didn’t amount to the real thing. what he really fucking needed was for this goddamn mission to end early so he could come home to you.

[barnesbabee]

I’m a Lie || K.H

Summary: Destiny is cruel sometimes... And you sure were punished by it, when you met your soulmate in the worst scenario possible.

Pairing: Kim Hongjoong x Reader

Words: Who cares tbh

Genre: Smut, Angst, Fluff

⚠ choking, spanking, praise kink, violence, mentions of drugs ⚠

A/N: I love this one. By far one of my favourites and I feel like it suits the member well. If it flops I will singlehandedly murder everyone. Enjoy xx💖

ᴄʀ: ʙᴀʀɴᴇꜱʙᴀʙᴇᴇ

  The file plopped in front of you. A picture of a man was attached to it and you looked at it briefly.

 Kim Hongjoong.

  "Retain information. Eliminate him. It's not important how, by the end of the month Kim Hongjoong has to disappear."   

  You said nothing. Your only reply was a nod, and with that you grabbed the beige folder and exited the gelid room. The jet was already at the top of the building waiting for you to enter.

  You bowed to the security guards that stood by each side of the jet's stairs, and they reciprocated the gesture.

  Once you settled down in the plane, you crossed your legs and prepared yourself for some thorough reading. You flipped through the pages of the man's profile, taking in all of the information.

  "Producer, writer, rapper... Kid had a future." You closed the binder with a sigh and threw it on the small table in front of you "Too bad."

  You sipped from the water bottle in your hand and a man sat in front of you. He had a rough face, like he'd been through Hell and made it out alive. His dark hair was tamed by a coat of hair gel, and his eyes were droopy yet feral.

   "Junhwan." You said, and bowed at him.

   "Y/N." He bowed back.

   He handed you a second file and a heavy handbag.

   "From now on your name is Anne. You're an exchange student interested in pursuing a musical career as a producer. All of the items to bring 'Anne' to life are in the duffel bag."

   You nodded and set the bag aside, ready to take in your character.

   "Poor kid..." You told your colleague as you read the details of the person you'd be impersonating for the next few weeks.

   The man in front of you scoffed.

    "Since when do you pity people?" He asked with an amused face.

    "I don't. But he got caught in a fight that wasn't his."

    Junhwan leaned closer to you and looked you in the eye, irradiating and intimidation as he slightly leaned his head to the right.

     "Don't let decency and sentiment get in the way." He warned with a cold voice.

     You didn't reply. You felt offended that the man would even insinuate you'd fail at anything. You glared at him for a second, and drifted his attention back to the 'Anne' files.

    However, you couldn't get out of your head the poor man that would be sacrificed in the name of another individual. It was unbeknownst to everyone how it had happened, but Hongjoong had caught his boss making a significant transaction to your boss and talking about it on the phone. He didn't understand at first, but when he caught sight of the bags filled with the white powder he was able to connect all the dots. Unfortunately for him, he was caught. And although the CEO of his company trusted him enough to keep quiet, your boss didn't.

    It was sad... Usually the people you were assigned to were madmen, criminals, vile people that couldn't differentiate joy from violence, but never young men, at the peak of their career whose life was cursed by knowledge.

   You sighed one last time before making your way to the bathroom. You dyed your hair blue and cut it shoulder-length, as you wanted your appearance to scream "creativity". Your hair was usually bleached, so if you had to suddenly dye it for some sort of mission it would be faster and easier.

   One hour later you exited the bathroom, with blue hair and a brand new outfit that had been given to you. You grabbed all of your materials and exited the jet that hat landed not long before that.

   Time flashed by the second you stepped foot in Seoul. You were used to monotone scenarios, cold atmospheres, and torture, but Seoul was the opposite. The lights and colors of the city were inviting and the smiles of the old ladies selling food on the street gave you a warm feeling in your body.

  You tried to adjust to the city for the next day, and by 3 PM your assigned phone sounded with a ding. You checked it and read the message Junhwah had sent you.

   "9 AM. KQ Entertainment, two blocks down your home. They will be teaching you, you're supposed to be an intern. I expect excellence and nothing else."

   You took in the information and nodded to yourself as you read it.

   "Understood." You typed and hit send.

   You studied Hongjoong thoroughly that night. Every little movement, every peculiar habit, and every detail about the man. You wished you didn't need to do it however... The more you looked into him, the more you realized how pure, generous, hard-working, and amiable he was.

  "Fuck..." You cursed, dragging the 'u' in the word, as you threw your head back.

   You couldn't take watching that smile that would soon be gone anymore, so you just crashed in the small bed of your flat and waited for the next day.

   When 9 AM rolled in, you were already in the building, looking for some sort of guidance.

   "Are you Anne?"

   You whipped your head to find a man you'd never seen before. He certainly wasn't a member of ATEEZ, but he looked like an idol.

    It was finally time for you to perform as Anne, and so you put on a scaredy-cat face and bowed nervously.

  "Y-yes, yes I am."

  You made sure to add a little stutter for conviction. It seemed to convince the man, as he chuckled and extended his hand.

   "I'm Jiho, but I go by Zico." He paused as you smiled and shook his hand "I will be one of your mentors, along with Hongjoong. He's the leader of ATEEZ, have you heard of them?"

  You nodded your head slightly and he smiled.

  "You'll like him. Follow me then, he's already in the studio."

  Much to your dismay, Hongjoong was exactly what he displayed on camera. You half expected him to be rude and stuck-up, but he was just as kind and loving how as he made it look.

   Focus on the mission.

  Getting close to Hongjoong was easy. You pretended to be interested in every single task at hand, constantly asking for his help and even staying for longer than necessary at night.

  “Anne... You know you don't need to stay, right?" Hingjoong told you.

   His voice was tired, and he looked as if he needed to sleep for a day straight to catch up on missed sleeping hours but he still kept on working.

   "I know Joong but..." You paused, looking down at your feet and fiddling with your fingers, trying to sell your character as best as you could "I like to spend time with you."

   The last sentence came out a little too sincere for your liking, and for a second you became worried. All of the worry was replaced with confusion when Hingjoong brushed a strand of your hair behind your ear. You looked up at him as if to ask 'What are you doing?'.

   Hongjoong leaned forward and his lips ghosted over yours for a second. You didn't move, afraid of what the aftermath would be, but his impatience won over and he closed the gap.

   You hated it. You hated how amazing it felt, how your lips fit together, how you felt a wave of sparks throughout your body, how his hands burned on your thighs... You felt like your whole body was on fire and fuck, you wanted to grab him by the collar and pull him closer, but you couldn't.

   He pulled away, leaving you wishing for more. His stare instantly roamed around the room, avoiding your figure.

   "I-I'm sorry... I'm sorry if you feel it's rushed. I'm sorry if you didn't like it but I don't know... I feel a connection with you, you know? It's cheesy, but I've never met someone who loves to work as much as you, someone who's always inspired and who's always eager to learn more, someone so loving and creative."

   Your heart broke at the confession. It shattered into a million pieces that could never be put together again, and you hated what you were doing. You were knowingly breaking this man apart, tearing him up and destroying him bit by bit, and he had no idea, he just contributed to it.

   "Hongjoong I... I feel the same way. I love working with you and you're such an amazing person, I'm sorry if you never felt it, it's just that I'm really nervous around you."

  Those words were the hardest you had ever spoken, and the content smile in his face after your untruthful confession hurt more than any bullet you'd ever taken, or any knife that had ever stabbed you.

   A Lie. He was happy because of a lie, your lie.

   "Would you maybe join me for a drink tomorrow?"

   You bit your lip. You were sure that if your response had to be vocal, a sob would end up leaving your lips.

   You only nodded as a reply to his question, and said nod was met with the brightest smile you'd ever seen and a small nervous laugh.

   "It's a date then!" He cheered.

   "So it is..." You said, and pulled off the greatest fake smile.

   You looked at the clock on the wall and pretended you had no idea what time it was before you had noticed it.

   "Oh my! 3 AM!? I really must be going, I'll see you tomorrow Hongjoong!"

   You kissed his cheek and left with a small wave.

   The second you entered the flat, you threw your bag against the table and slid down the wall, face buried in your hands and the sobs you'd been holding back were let out and echoed in the almost empty room. You couldn't help but ket tears fall down your cheeks, wetting your palms in the process.

   You detested the feeling. You dispised the overwhelming guilt taking over you. You hated that Hingjoong probably strolled back to his flat and happily told his friends about how he had a date and was looking forward to it, you hated how your lie was selling perfectly.

    You stood up and stumbled across the room to find a mirror. You placed your hands on the sink for support and rested your forehead against the mirror.

   "You need to get closer to him... You need to know what he knows... You need to make him speak... You need him to expose his knowledge... You need to do this. It is but another job." You repeated to yourself, in hopes that perhaps this chaos in your mind and stabbing pain in your chest would leave and let you be.

   But it didn't. The pain only increased and became stronger, second after second. Hongjoong's face would sometimes flash on your mind, and a small smile would unintentionally spread on your lips.

   The next day came excruciatingly fast, and as soon as it was deemed acceptable to be awake, your phone made a ding, and you checked it immediately.

   Hongjoong told you about the time and place you'd be meeting in, and so you replied with an 'okay!' along with a couple excited emojis, although they represented nothing of what you were feeling, quite the opposite.

   You threw on whatever you thought would please him most: black thigh-high socks, a green flowy skirt, and a black and yellow crop top.

   Before you left to meet him you looked in the mirror and made sure to congratulate yourself for your work. You managed to carry on your mission, even though your wishes were to run away with this man and ket him live.

   You took a deep breath and made your way to the small bar nearby. You had no worries walking around at night in a short skirt, because you were surely not short on knives.

   It was a small place, decorated with rustic furniture and numerous rock and indie band items, ranging from albums, to picks, to guitars. The whole aesthetic fit Hongjoong pretty well, and when you spotted him in one of the tool chairs you realized how he morphed into the ambient. You smiled softly and approached him.

   "Hongjoong, hi!"

   You were immediately met with a blinding, toothy smile from the man, who stood up and immediately hugged you.

   Throughout the night, Hongjoong ecstatically told you about his life, his hobbies, his friends, and about everything and anything. He was thrilled to have you there and you found it adorable how he wasn't afraid to demonstrate his fondness.

    When it came the time to talk about you however, a sting hut your heart, and it's as if someone was squishing it from the inside of your body. But the lies flew out of your mouth naturally, telling him about a life you never had, about friends that weren't real, and about your untrue hobbies.

   It was all so amusing to him... Hearing all about Anne's life...

    The conversation came to a halt when the bartender approached you two.

    "I'm sorry guys but I'm going to have to ask you to leave, on weekdays we close at 2 AM."

   His mouth formed an "oh", and although neither of you said it, you both knew that you didn't want this to end. Fuck, you'd stay up for work for a longer amount of time...

   "Hongjoong do you maybe... Want to go back to my flat and hangout? It's nearby!"

   No, fuck what are you doing, crazy bitch.

   "Sure! I'd love to!" He replied, absolutely thrilled about your invitation.

    He held your hand tightly as you walked down the cold street towards your flat. You couldn't stop asking yourself why you had done it... Perhaps an inner wish that came out at an unfortunate timing?

    It took no longer than ten minutes for you to reach the apartment, and once you stepped in you felt the need to apologize.

    "I'm sorry... It's very small but it's all I need."

    Hongjoong shrugged and took his jacked off, he approached you and placed his hand in your chin, making you look up at him.

    "It's a cute apartment, just like you." He told you, whispering the last words.

   As if it was a magnet, his lips were drawn to yours in a much passionate kiss than your first.

    His tongue entered your mouth and left no corner unexplored, as his hands gripped your ass from under the skirt.

    You could taste the alcohol in his tongue, adding a new flavor besides desperation and neediness to the kiss.

   You were surprised at his dominant demeanor, yet it pleases you very much, and you were impatient to find where it leads you.

   Hongjoong's lips trailed down your jaw and eventually found your neck, where he left small bites, and sucked on the soft spots.

    "If you only knew what this skirt was doing to me..."

    Your hands found his jeans, that you quickly unbuttoned. You slid your hand inside of them and applied pressure on his hard-on with your palm.

    "I think I might be able to guess..."

    You bit your lip, and palmed him through his underwear. Hingjoong threw his head back for a second and chuckled lowly. He grabbed your neck and pulled your face close to his.

    "Fuck, you're such a tease." He moaned.

    Hongjoong removed your hand from his body and gripped your wrist so you'd follow him.

    He sat down on the bad and grabbed your waist, pulling you down in the process so you'd be straddling him.

    He kissed the spot below your ear and tugged on your earlobe.

   "I want you to ride me, baby.

   "Yes sir..." You whispered in his ear.

    You reached for the back of the skirt to unzip it, but hongjoong stopped you.

    "I want you to ride me, with your pretty little skirt on."

    You stopped straddling him and turned around, so he could perfectly see your naked ass as you stripped from your underwear.

    Hongjoong pulled down his pants and underwear slightly, and started stroking himself at the sight.

    You went back to him and straddled the man once more, helping him by placing his tip at your entrance before lowering yourself down on him. He filled you up just perfectly, and you hid your moans by burying your face in the crook of his neck.

    "I wanna hear your pretty voice baby." He asked of you, while striking your head.

    He gripped your hips and started moving you up and down, slowly at first. When you got used to the feeling, you started bouncing on his cock willingly, and he only helped by jerking his hips up and hitting deeper spots.

    Hongjoong slapped your ass continuously, his strength increasing every time you slammed down on his dick.

    You gripped his shoulders tightly.

    "Fuck Hongjoong, I'm about to cum!" You whined.

    The man lifted your skirt, so he could see the way he looked fucking you, and it was a sight to see.

  "Shit, you're so beautiful..."

  One of his hands gripped your neck, applying some pressure to it.

   "Hongjoong fuck you're so good!"

   Hingjoong came at the little praise, his thick liquid hitting your walls, and the warm sensation inside you made you reach your climax at the same time. The room was filled with whimpers, moans and heavy breathing, as you both came and tried to calm down.

   Hongjoong delivered a loving kiss to your lips.

   "God, you're amazing Anne."

   Anne.

   That's when it hit you. You couldn't do this anymore. You couldn't keep lying to the boy, making him live in a false relationship. The feeling was truly real but Anne was just a character.

   You had to put an end to it... You couldn't handle doing it any longer. It hurt you to see the boy thoroughly happy and satisfied by a façade.

    You stood up and walked to the kitchen, while Hongjoong got dressed. You pulled out your Glock 19 from one of the drawers and rolled the silencer onto it, carefully as to not alarm Hongjoong. You wanted to do this peacefully, you didn't want him to know about your betrayal. However, just as you approached the bed he was sitting in from behind, you let out a sob, and he turned around to look at you.

   You hadn't even noticed you were crying. You hadn't even noticed the burning sensation in your throat and the stream of tears in your face, but you certainly felt as if your heart was being pulled out of you, and thrown in a fire.

   Hongjoong's worried eyes looked at your face, then at your hand, and back at your face. A sad smile formed on his face and he nodded. He didn’t look disappointed or hurt, just... sad and apologetic, like he understood the situtation.

   "It's about the cocaine, isn't it?"

   You bit your lip and nodded, like he had done.

   You approached him and aimed the barrel at his head.

    "Honggjoong I'm... I'm so sorry." The last few words came out as a whisper.

    "So am I..."

     Before you pulled the trigger, he opened his mouth to speak once more.

    "Can I... At least know your name? Please?" He begged.

    Although he tried to remain calm, his voice was shaky and his eyes were covered with tears that threatened to fall, sooner or later.

    "My name is Y/N."

     He smiled, for the last time ever, and looked you in the eye, peeling his stare away from the gun's barrel.

     "Y/N, you look beautiful tonight."

     He blinked, allowing one last tear to stroll down his cheek, his smile never leaving his angelic face, as you cried, and pulled the trigger.

    The silent bang made you collapse, immediately regretting what you had just done. You looked at Hongjoong, looking as beautiful as ever, even if he was bathing in his own bloof, and caressed his face, letting your tears stain his shirt, as you realized you had committed the biggest mistake in your life, but you had no choice.

    "I'm sorry Hongjoong, may we meet again, in our next life."

[anika-ann]

Challenge Accepted...?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader                Word count: 4468

Summary: Steve’s never been good at quick decision-making when it came to his own safety. After one particularly horrible experience, you find a way to remind him every day to think twice the next time he’s faced with a tough choice. He is not amused. 

A/N: For @mermaidxatxheart​ 500 writing challenge; congratulations! I’m happy to be part of what could be 750 in building ;)

Prompt: “I thought you were dead.” “You’re never gonna let that go, are you?” (bold in text)

Warnings: angst, fluff, attempt at humour and action; swearing, vomiting, sort-of a panic attack, mentions of death (which you probably figured from the prompt, but hey, I didn’t have to take that literally… I did)

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━ 

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

You had been awake for about half an hour, sneaking from your bed – and how painful it had been, leaving the other occupant there – in search for caffeine; and more importantly to pick up the package that arrived for you that day. A package you had been waiting for to arrive for three days now despite requesting your order to be express.

You had been gracing your boyfriend with silent treatment the whole time and it was getting old, so you couldn’t wait for it to end your misery. Naturally, it wasn’t as simple as that, a package magically resolving your problems, it was nothing but an object, but you had been left with three days to deal with your feelings and dark thoughts until it was delivered and you appreciated it.

Symbols were important; and the package was a symbol for you, a symbol of acceptance.  

Raising your gaze from the floor at the voice, you couldn’t but smile over your cup of coffee at how reluctant Steve sounded, the great Captain America himself afraid and hesitantly wavering at the door to the communal kitchen of the Avengers’ compound.

You loved him to bits, which was why you hadn’t enjoyed torturing him (and yourself) by keeping him at arm’s length, but fuck it, he deserved every single second of it and more.

Jerk.

“Morning, honey,” you replied warmly, barely holding your laughter at bay when an utterly baffled expression settled on his face at your sudden inviting tone. It was a complete U-turn from how you had been treating him the past days. “Slept well?”

It was a tricky question and you knew that he knew. Your time in bed – reduced to very chaste displays of affection, not lovers’ ones at all – was the only time he had been allowed to touch you, because the very first time you had spent night together after the event, your body had followed its instincts and gravitated towards Steve no matter how pissed you had been. So, cuddling in your sleep was the most contact you had.

“…yes. Always do with you,” he whispered, his steps towards the kitchen slow but firm, apparently encouraged by your inviting tone.

“I’m glad. Any residual pain?”

He gulped, but his face brightened a bit at your care; you, of course, had cared the whole time, but you wouldn’t let him know too explicitly, your conversations rather clipped. When he had confronted you about it, about the way you kept treating him – with flames in your eyes –, your glare discouraged him from pressing further, his mouth opening only to fall shut again as you had stridden away.

“No. No pain at all anymore.”

You nodded thoughtfully, finishing your cup. “Good. That’s good. Coffee?”

Not needing his answer, because it was always bound to be the same, you poured him a cup.

The moment you returned the pot to its place, Steve’s large hand covered yours, the radiating heat of his body warming your back even with the slight distance between you remaining.

Turning your head to side, glancing up to his face, you saw his eyes searching in your expression, looking for an answer; did you decide to grant him a pardon?

You charmed a tight smile for him, ignoring the tug at your stomach when you remembered you had every reason not to forgive him and tell him you were done with his bullshit – and with him.

With your face still under scrutiny, his other hand landed on your shoulder, squeezing with a tinniest strength. When your gaze involuntarily flickered to his lips in response to his proximity, he knew; manoeuvring your body as if it was nothing but a puppet, he pulled you into his embrace, his cheek resting on the top of your head, his chest expanding with deep inhale.

Your shoulders fell and you felt yourself melt into his frame, your rapidly beating heart in sync with his. His own raced because he was afraid you’d push him away, just like you had been doing it for the past few days; yours did, because it recalled with paralysing precision every single painful second in which you believed you would never feel his arms around you again.

He swayed your bodies a bit from side to side, cradling you in his arms, nuzzling your hair, tightening his hold on you.

Tears stung in your eyes at the display of his guttural need to keep you close. God knew you felt the same way, craving the reassurance of his embrace.

“I love you,” he whispered to your hair and you squeezed your eyes shut so the tears wouldn’t escape. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“You’re an idiot. The biggest idiot I know, but I guess I never liked them particularly bright,” you muttered into his sleepshirt and his chest shook with hushed laughter as he took no offence. You even received a kiss to the top of your head, firm and lingering, filling every cell of your body with content and feeling of security.

Standing in the kitchen, the walls, which you had built up to be able to punish him for his crimes and to let him realize what he could lose, crumbled to dust.

It had taken a lot of strength to get to this point, leaving you drained both mentally and physically, but the package arrived today to seal the deal, as if confirming the victory of tolerance over emotions. You felt much better now, mostly because you couldn’t wait for Steve to see what you ordered for him – and for you.

“Oh. Good, you two made up. We can stop walking on eggshells around you now,” Sam’s voice interrupted your blissful bubble and you nearly jumped out of your skin at his voice. You never heard him coming.

And then he burst out laughing and you just knew he noticed the change in the kitchen decorations. It caused your lips to curl up in a smirk before you kissed Steve’s clavicle over the fabric of his shirt and withdrew.

“What’s so funny?” Steve mumbled, slightly dazed, apparently still overwhelmed with the sudden drop of cold-shoulder attitude of yours.

Sam simply grinned, pointing at the sign sitting on the top of one the fridges as he opened it in search for breakfast.

“What the-“ Steve questioned incredulously, his eyes wide as he spun to you when you snorted at his reaction. “Was this you?!”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’re not being serious,” he stated, his glare flickering between you and the small black table with caption and large number written with a chalk.

You frowned at him, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. “But I am. Very.”

Steve eyed the small blackboard-styled sign in a wooden frame with an obvious distaste and a pout to his lips, but he remained silent; either he couldn’t find the words or didn’t dare to speak them.

Served him right.

Stupid risk-taking dumbass.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

“Surveillance room secure. No sign of activity,” Natasha’s voice informed you through the comm in your ear.

You peeked from behind the door opened for a crack, scanning the level of the stairwell before moving from your hideout, arms stretched with your gun raised, ready to shoot. Soundlessly approaching the middle where the handrails of opposite stairwells nearly met, only leaving a slit in between to glance through, you did a quick once-over above and below you, ears pricked up to catch the tinniest of sounds that would alert you on having any hostiles present.

Still ready to fire any second if needed, you raised your hand covered in fingerless glove to your left ear. The ampullas of tranquillizers covered in black metal reflected subtly in the flickering light of the fluorescent lamp. It was no coincidence your codename was Robin; you could easily put your enemies to sleep, bringing them the night much like the bird, Tony’s invention making your job easier.

“Looks like east stairwell is clear,” you announced lowly to the rest of the team.

Similar message arrived from Sam on the roof and surprisingly, it sent a chill down your spine rather than a relief to the tension in your battle-ready body.

This was not okay. A S.H.I.E.L.D. undercover operative had reported activity only few hours ago; admittedly, it had taken you some time to get here, the distance New York – middle-of-nowhere Latvia posing a tiny problem to your time management, but the team consisting of you, Sam, Steve, Nat, Tony and Clint had been on the way with minimal delay after receiving the report.

You didn’t like this base empty. It tickled your spy-sense and not in a good way.

“West stairwell clear, heading to lower levels.”

“Starting the extraction of files. Last log-in was 6 hours ego. It’s hard to tell how much of their actual intel has been left for us,” Steve announced from the server room and if your gut wasn’t screaming at you that this was messed up, you would have smirked proudly at Steve’s skills with technology and rubbed it in face of anyone who had ever called him a grandpa.

“Feels sloppy to leave anything behind at all. The only heat signatures I’m reading are yours. Am I the only one who find this sketchy as fuck?” Tony’s voice rang from your ear and you muttered a silent ‘not at all’ under your breath.

“Heading to upper levels, since Clint is on his way down.”

“Roger that, future Mrs. Rogers,” Sam hummed over the comms and you rolled your eyes.

Poor Steve. You had been together for only few months; you were most definitely not engaged, but the rest of the Avengers kept giving Steve shit about your relationship, because a) he apparently spent months working up the courage to actually ask you out and b) you were the first girl whom he in fact was interested in to begin with after refusing like thirty different candidates from Nat (and occasionally Sam); to be fair, you couldn’t but feel incredibly flattered, learning these things, but Christ, your team was full of little shits.

Must have got it from their captain then.

“Har, har. You’re hilarious, Wilson,” you hissed quietly and mentally slapped yourself to return your full attention to the mission. Hundred percent concentration was the key to survival.

“Cut it, Sam. Focus. Twenty percent downloaded.”

“And we’re hundred percent in deep shit,” Clint announced, his words coming out strangled.

Your heart pounding due to adrenalin stopped as you awaited an explanation in dreadful silence. What?

“Get your asses out of the building! RIGHT NOW!” the archer yelled over the comms, paradoxically freezing you on spot for a moment, leaving you with thousands of question marks in your head.

“Explosives. Shit ton of them and the timer shows two minutes and change, counting down as I speak,” he added and that got you moving.

“My route’s shorter to the roof. Sam?” you demanded, index finger pressed to you ear, already heading up, hoping he would respond in affirmative.

“I got ya’, Robin.”

Speeding up despite every single muscle in your legs burning, you focused on your breathing, your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Suddenly, you were very grateful for all the cardio you had been forced to do. For every single morning run-

“Steve?” your hand shot up to your comms once more.

“I’m nearly at the exit,” Clint announced instead.

“Me too,” came Nat’s voice.

You growled in frustration; Steve’s voice probably couldn’t come through as the legendary spy duo spoke practically at the same time.

As far as you knew, the servers were at the basement and the fact Steve didn’t report made your spine tingle in horrible premonition.

“Cap? Need a lift from anywhere?” Tony’s voice broke through this time and you faltered in your step. “One minute, thirty seconds.”

You finally saw the last two sets of stairs. You were sure you must have left your lungs about five floors below, but that was not why you felt your chest constricting.

“Nearly at ninety percent,” Steve hissed and this time your feet tangled enough to send you flying headfirst, only years of practice in falling saving your skull from cracking as you curled up, landing on your side.

The edges of the stairs dug into your arm and ribs, but you couldn’t care less for that, air knocked out of you altogether at the exclaim.

What the FUCK-

“Rogers, get your ass out of there!” Natasha yelled at him, out of breath herself and honestly you loved her at that moment.

You couldn’t make yourself to get up from the floor, paralyzed, panic squeezing your heart. He was not going to make it!

“Ninety-three-“

“And only a minute left, you idiot!” Tony spitted out. “Get out!”

“Robin, still on your way?”

“Ninety-six.”

“For fuck’s sake, Rogers!” Clint panted to the comms.

You only managed to blindly stare ahead, forcing your brain to imagine the blueprints of the building, calculating the route Steve might use to get out, your mind sinking into dark waters of horror as you realized there was no fucking way he would-

A crash sounded from above on your left, your head snapping that way on instinct just in time to see Sam burst in and the door hit the wall.

“Robin! Can you get up? We really need to-“

Strong hands pulled you to your feet as Steve’s voice, impatient, rang in your ears.

“Done. Heading out.”

Unfreezing, you pushed yourself and ran alongside Sam, but a bitchy sneer in your head informed you that Steve didn’t have enough time to escape the explosion at that point.

You shushed the prophet-of-doom voice with all you had and sped up.

“Don’t get seasick on me,” Sam warned you, buckling you to him via the straps on your suit and the snap-links on his, his palms sliding to your armpits. “3, 2-“

The sudden jerk and void opening beneath your feet made you dizzy and you stupidly closed your eyes in hope to make it better.

It didn’t work, your stomach somersaulting.

And then… then you were flying, speeding away from the building, two figures running tens of feet under you; Clint and Nat.

Your pair approached the ground quickly, not landing exactly gracefully, but your first instinct was to snap your head back to the enemy base, eyes hypnotizing the exit.

You found it just in time to see it swallowed up in flames, the ground shaking beneath your feet with the force of the explosion. Glass blew to shards, smoke poured through the suddenly free space of the windows.

Despite the deafening noise shaking you to your core, the world seemed to fall silent, just like your heart.

A second later, your instincts kicked in and you sprung towards the building.

“Hey!” someone shouted from a seemingly endless distance, just a dull scream in your ears; out of nowhere, you were falling, tackled to the ground. “Not happening. You’re staying right here.”

Jerking your body to get rid of the weight on you, you achieved nothing, tears of despair welling up in your eyes as you repeated the motion in vain. The void that had opened under you when Sam had carried you away seemed like nothing in comparison to the sudden rip that cracked opened in your ribcage at the image of- of Steve-- he-

You sobbed and trashed around once more, a Kevlar-clad silhouette shielding you from the view of terror. Your eyes travelled up, your gaze swimming in tears, meeting worried yet piercing green eyes of your fellow spy.

“Steve? Report! Rogers?”

Your body turned limp at the sound of his name, your eyelids sliding shut, ice crystalizing in your veins. Your whole world swayed, vertigo overtaking all of your senses so intensely you tasted gastric juices.

No one responded.

The moment the weight shifted from you, you doubled over and spitted the contents of your stomach, nearly choking on the vomit, a pit growing in your stomach.

A hand landed on your shoulder, possibly with an attempt to soothe you; with zero effect as you couldn’t breathe in properly.

“I’m scanning the building, but the heat everywhere is making it a bit difficult,” Tony informed you mechanically, no emotion in his statement.  

You had barely realized in your haze that you hadn’t seen his figure either, but you assumed the suit would protect him, more so since he had been mostly flying around the building rather than bursting in.

A violent tremble took a hold of your body, blackness edging your vision even with your eyes closed. Ashes danced behind your eyelids, fire and dust, white roses, black wood covered in fabric, red and white stripes, stars scattered over the blue, hiding the ugly truth of a fallen soldier.

A fallen soldier.

An irreplaceable leader.

A loyal friend.

Your partner.

Your lover.

Your love.

All gone.

Your hand was pressed against something solid, moving periodically and your breath instinctively attempted to match the tempo. It was really fucking hard, because your ribcage ached, your mouth felt disgusting, your heart pounded in both your chest and temples and pictures of Steve’s smile haunted you.

‘There must be some hope left for him, come on-‘

‘It blew up, you nitwit-‘

“Any-- -py? L-- help? West-- under-“ fractions of words reached your ear and you laughed hysterically, your palms instantly covering your mouth in disbelief, tears rolling down your face.

“Son of a bitch,” Clint commented behind you and you chuckled, the sound hurting you and yet relieving your tension that had been crushing you for god knew how long.

You found yourself gasping for air again, this time because you couldn’t stop laughing– and crying-- and cursing in every language you had ever tried to learn.

“Yes, we copy,” Tony announced wryly, but clearly flied to lend a helping hand to the dumbass of a captain.

Scrambling to your feet with difficulty as your legs felt strangely wobbly, Sam’s arms appeared on your sides to support your stance. You head spun with adrenalin and residual terror, endless relief slowly creeping in; you needed to see him. You needed to see him and hear his voice clearly, touching him, tasting him, soothing all of your senses with the reality of him not being blown to hell.

And then, you might kill him yourself.

But god, first you needed him to prove any way imaginable that he was still breathing.

Rationally, you knew it couldn’t take that long, but the moments of no report from Tony was tugging at your stomach, impatience filling every cell in your body as the time stretched to eternity. When Sam hesitantly let go of you, you started making your way, one shaky step after another, towards the still burning building; in hope to shorten the torturous period of not being quite sure Steve would be alright.

Eventually, the heat and smoke became too much, the danger too imminent for you to come any closer; you, unlike some other people on your team, one in particular, had some self-preservation left.

“Well and I thought you were born in the first half of the past century, not in the stone age… Gee, Rogers, that’s a lot of rubble…” Tony complained over the channel and you instinctively winced.

Perhaps Steve wasn’t burn to a crisp, but… trapped under the stones and concrete? That did not sound any better.

Minutes were ticking by and as the adrenalin gradually left your body, you started shivering despite the heat which the flames provided.

The sudden flash of red and gold was your salvation. Like an angel of mercy, Tony flew up with a man supported only by his iron palms, carried much like you had been from the roof, and descended to your level, Steve’s feet touching the ground with barely visible stumble. The dried paths of salt on your cheeks were watered again, fresh tears rolling down in endless waterfalls, your mouth once more covered with the back of your hand; your teeth sunk into the leather of your gloves on instinct.

Steve simply stood there, ribcage expanding widely, favouring his left leg, his arm curled around his ribs as if he had been in a fight with a hostile agent who landed a few lucky hits and not with a building that had fallen on him, apparently.

Your feet acted on their own account as they brought you to him, your body crashing into his chest with ferocity, arms thrown around his middle, face buried in his shoulder. He grunted at the brutal impact of your weight, but his hand reluctantly let go of the shield and had it hit the ground, his arms sneaking around your body instead.

‘Don’t squeeze too tight,’ you scolded yourself. ‘He might be bleeding internally. Don’t squeeze him too tight, he’s hurt, because-‘

‘-because he’s a fucking idiot!’

Just as he buried his face in your hair, you jerked away, staring him down with a murderous glare.

‘He’s injured,’ you reminded yourself, but that didn’t stop you.

Balling your hand in a weak fist, you punched his chest with vigour, flaring rage replacing the dread in your veins, searingly hot and destructive.

“I thought you were dead, you—you stupid piece of-- jerk!” you spitted out venomously, your impression of a harpy ruined by your voice breaking as you choked on a sob.

His blue eyes shone bright yet tired through the smudges of dirt on his face, dust and trickle of blood on the side of his neck, seeping into the high collar of his uniform. He was a picture of misery and exhaustion, but you were torn between pity, relief and anger as he reached out for you, offering you something small in his palm.

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” he rasped, voice rough from the smoke he doubtlessly inhaled. “But I got the drive-“

Snatching the stupid device from his hand, you threw it away – peripherally checking where it landed – and stretched your arm to hit him again.

Weary hand caught your blow before it could collide with its target and with a strength that surprised you he could still possess after nearly getting buried alive, he pulled you into his embrace again, wrapping you in his arms and breathing you in as if he needed to assure himself you were still in the land of living. Or perhaps he felt the urge to confirm that he was still breathing?

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he creaked lowly, his fingers flexing on the flash of your sides. “I’m okay…”

You shook your head wildly, but didn’t try to escape the cage of his arms, melting into his frame instead.

The truth was though, you fundamentally disagreed with him.

He was not okay. And you most definitely weren’t either.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

You, in contrary, adored the board. Not because it reminded you of the faults your beloved boyfriend had, but because you were hopeful that the whole team giving him shit about it would cause him to be less impulsive and more considerate of the consequences of his actions.

The sign read: ‘______ without Steve doing stupid life-threatening shit’

You had proudly written down number 3 and the word days. You prayed the number would climb (and that you might possibly write down ‘months’ instead of just days), even after Steve healed completely and returned to active duty; which was apparently about to happen very soon.

“Sweetheart?”

“Uh-huh? Nope. It’s staying right here and you better be getting to higher numbers than that.”

“But-“

“When did you ever back away from a challenge, Cap?” Sam entered your discussion subtly and you sent him a grateful wink, while Steve shot him a glare that would have had him lying in a pool of blood if a glare could kill.

“That is awfully accurate,” you noted with a tired sigh, torn between enjoying Steve’s discomfort and fighting with the anxiety caused by the fact that what Sam said was uncomfortably on point. “I can’t believe it took me so long to see the extends of your lacking self-preservation. I didn’t believe them when I first joined, you know? When they told me you were reckless…? God, I should have known better…”

“He did crash a plane before-“ “I’m not that bad-“ Sam and Steve spoke at the same time and you rolled your eyes at the former, locking your gaze with the latter.

“1 minute and 19 seconds,” you protested, not offering any context.

Both Sam and Steve seemed flabbergasted at your statement.

“Huh?”

“I asked Tony about the time,” you elaborated, voice dangerously low. “For 1 minute and 19 seconds after the explosion, there was nothing but silence from you. I thought you were dead,” you repeated your words from that day to remind him.

A flare of fury ignited in your chest again and Steve must have recognized the expression on your face, because he instantly took a step back, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender.

You huffed, running your hand down your face, forcing your breathing to return to normal as your glances met and you exchanged a wordless conversation.

His ‘I’m sorry,’ followed by a perfect set of kicked-puppy eyes he excelled at performing.

Your raised eyebrow in return and ‘I’m sure you are. And?’

“You’re never gonna let that go, are you?” Steve resigned and it brought a victorious smirk back to your face. The victory tasted bittersweet, the fact you were still discussing his near-death experience kinda taking the satisfaction of overpowering him away.

“No.”

“And you’re gonna remind me at every occasion, aren’t you?”

“Yep,” you chipped and crossed the distance that had somehow managed to grow between the two of you. You raised your hand and repeatedly poked at his chest with your index finger; cheekily, yet deadly serious. “Until it gets through your thick skull that your life matters too much to me, to all of us, you idiotic. Piece. Of dumb-”

You never got the chance to finish your outraged clipped sentence. Steve shut you up the most effective way known to lovers of humankind.

His fingers sunk into your hair in one swift movement, pulling you in for a dramatic kiss.

And after the days of torturous distance, you gave in, convincing yourself that you’d get plenty of opportunities to give him shit about his recklessness later.

After all, you had the sign to help you with that.

Judging by the burst of laughter as the rest of the team entered the kitchen, you bet they would have your back as well.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered in conciliatory manner once more, his words brushing your lips. “I love you.”

“Hpmf. I love you too. But the sign stays.”

“…dammit.”

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Sooo, I possibly made it too long? *sigh* I also hope I didn’t like… broke some rule or something, my first prompt fic and all. If I did, I’m really sorry.

Anyway, I wanted to thank @mermaidxatxheart​ for letting me be a part of this challenge. I enjoyed participating and hopefully, you people, enjoyed reading :))

[geegeejonghoe]

I’m A Lie || K.H

Summary: Sweet betrayal...

Pairing: Kim Hongjoong x Reader

Words: oof a lot

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Angst

⚠ usage of guns, violence, choking, mentions of drugs ⚠

A/N: ok but this gif???? Enjoy 💖

ᴄʀ: ʙᴀʀɴᴇꜱʙᴀʙᴇᴇ

The file plopped in front of you. A picture of a man was attached to it and you looked at it briefly.

Kim Hongjoong.

 "Retain information. Eliminate him. It's not important how, by the end of the month Kim Hongjoong has to disappear."

 You said nothing. Your only reply was a nod, and with that you grabbed the beige folder and exited the gelid room. The jet was already at the top of the building waiting for you to enter.

 You bowed to the security guards that stood by each side of the jet's stairs, and they reciprocated the gesture.

 Once you settled down in the plane, you crossed your legs and prepared yourself for some thorough reading. You flipped through the pages of the man's profile, taking in all of the information.

"Producer, writer, rapper... Kid had a future." You closed the binder with a sigh and threw it on the small table in front of you "Too bad."

 You sipped from the water bottle in your hand and a man sat in front of you. He had a rough face, like he'd been through Hell and made it out alive. His dark hair was tamed by a coat of hair gel, and his eyes were droopy yet feral.

   "Junhwan." You said, and bowed at him.

   "Y/N." He bowed back.

  He handed you a second file and a heavy handbag.

 "From now on your name is Anne. You're an exchange student interested in pursuing a musical career as a producer. All of the items to bring 'Anne' to life are in the duffel bag."

 You nodded and set the bag aside, ready to take in your character.

 "Poor kid..." You told your colleague as you read the details of the person you'd be impersonating for the next few weeks.

 The man in front of you scoffed.

 "Since when do you pity people?" He asked with an amused face.

 "I don't. But he got caught in a fight that wasn't his."

 Junhwan leaned closer to you and looked you in the eye, irradiating and intimidation as he slightly leaned his head to the right.

 "Don't let decency and sentiment get in the way." He warned with a cold voice.

 You didn't reply. You felt offended that the man would even insinuate you'd fail at anything. You glared at him for a second, and drifted his attention back to the 'Anne' files.

 However, you couldn't get out of your head the poor man that would be sacrificed in the name of another individual. It was unbeknownst to everyone how it had happened, but Hongjoong had caught his boss making a significant transaction to your boss and talking about it on the phone. He didn't understand at first, but when he caught sight of the bags filled with the white powder he was able to connect all the dots. Unfortunately for him, he was caught. And although the CEO of his company trusted him enough to keep quiet, your boss didn't.

 It was sad... Usually the people you were assigned to were madmen, criminals, vile people that couldn't differentiate joy from violence, but never young men, at the peak of their career whose life was cursed by knowledge.

 You sighed one last time before making your way to the bathroom. You dyed your hair blue and cut it shoulder-length, as you wanted your appearance to scream "creativity". Your hair was usually bleached, so if you had to suddenly dye it for some sort of mission it would be faster and easier.

 One hour later you exited the bathroom, with blue hair and a brand new outfit that had been given to you. You grabbed all of your materials and exited the jet that hat landed not long before that.

 Time flashed by the second you stepped foot in Seoul. You were used to monotone scenarios, cold atmospheres, and torture, but Seoul was the opposite. The lights and colors of the city were inviting and the smiles of the old ladies selling food on the street gave you a warm feeling in your body.

 You tried to adjust to the city for the next day, and by 3 PM your assigned phone sounded with a ding. You checked it and read the message Junhwah had sent you.

 "9 AM. KQ Entertainment, two blocks down your home. They will be teaching you, you're supposed to be an intern. I expect excellence and nothing else."

 You took in the information and nodded to yourself as you read it.

 "Understood." You typed and hit send.

 You studied Hongjoong thoroughly that night. Every little movement, every peculiar habit, and every detail about the man. You wished you didn't need to do it however... The more you looked into him, the more you realized how pure, generous, hard-working, and amiable he was.

 "Fuck..." You cursed, dragging the 'u' in the word, as you threw your head back.

 You couldn't take watching that smile that would soon be gone anymore, so you just crashed in the small bed of your flat and waited for the next day.

When 9 AM rolled in, you were already in the building, looking for some sort of guidance.

"Are you Anne?"

You whipped your head to find a man you'd never seen before. He certainly wasn't a member of ATEEZ, but he looked like an idol.

It was finally time for you to perform as Anne, and so you put on a scaredy-cat face and bowed nervously.

"Y-yes, yes I am."

You made sure to add a little stutter for conviction. It seemed to convince the man, as he chuckled and extended his hand.

"I'm Jiho, but I go by Zico." He paused as you smiled and shook his hand "I will be one of your mentors, along with Hongjoong. He's the leader of ATEEZ, have you heard of them?"

You nodded your head slightly and he smiled.

"You'll like him. Follow me then, he's already in the studio."

 Much to your dismay, Hongjoong was exactly what he displayed on camera. You half expected him to be rude and stuck-up, but he was just as kind and loving how as he made it look.

 Focus on the mission.

 Getting close to Hongjoong was easy. You pretended to be interested in every single task at hand, constantly asking for his help and even staying for longer than necessary at night.

 "Anne... You know you don't need to stay, right?" Hingjoong told you.

 His voice was tired, and he looked as if he needed to sleep for a day straight to catch up on missed sleeping hours but he still kept on working.

 "I know Joong but..." You paused, looking down at your feet and fiddling with your fingers, trying to sell your character as best as you could "I like to spend time with you."

 The last sentence came out a little too sincere for your liking, and for a second you became worried. All of the worry was replaced with confusion when Hingjoong brushed a strand of your hair behind your ear. You looked up at him as if to ask 'What are you doing?'.

 Hongjoong leaned forward and his lips ghosted over yours for a second. You didn't move, afraid of what the aftermath would be, but his impatience won over and he closed the gap.

 You hated it. You hated how amazing it felt, how your lips fit together, how you felt a wave of sparks throughout your body, how his hands burned on your thighs... You felt like your whole body was on fire and fuck, you wanted to grab him by the collar and pull him closer, but you couldn't.

 He pulled away, leaving you wishing for more. His stare instantly roamed around the room, avoiding your figure.

"I-I'm sorry... I'm sorry if you feel it's rushed. I'm sorry if you didn't like it but I don't know... I feel a connection with you, you know? It's cheesy, but I've never met someone who loves to work as much as you, someone who's always inspired and who's always eager to learn more, someone so loving and creative."

 Your heart broke at the confession. It shattered into a million pieces that could never be put together again, and you hated what you were doing. You were knowingly breaking this man apart, tearing him up and destroying him bit by bit, and he had no idea, he just contributed to it.

"Hongjoong I... I feel the same way. I love working with you and you're such an amazing person, I'm sorry if you never felt it, it's just that I'm really nervous around you."

 Those words were the hardest you had ever spoken, and the content smile in his face after your untruthful confession hurt more than any bullet you'd ever taken, or any knife that had ever stabbed you.

 A Lie. He was happy because of a lie, your lie.

 "Would you maybe join me for a drink tomorrow?"

You bit your lip. You were sure that if your response had to be vocal, a sob would end up leaving your lips.

 You only nodded as a reply to his question, and said nod was met with the brightest smile you'd ever seen and a small nervous laugh.

 "It's a date then!" He cheered.

 "So it is..." You said, and pulled off the greatest fake smile.

You looked at the clock on the wall and pretended you had no idea what time it was before you had noticed it.

"Oh my! 3 AM!? I really must be going, I'll see you tomorrow Hongjoong!"

 You kissed his cheek and left with a small wave.

 The second you entered the flat, you threw your bag against the table and slid down the wall, face buried in your hands and the sobs you'd been holding back were let out and echoed in the almost empty room. You couldn't help but ket tears fall down your cheeks, wetting your palms in the process.

 You detested the feeling. You despised the overwhelming guilt taking over you. You hated that Hingjoong probably strolled back to his flat and happily told his friends about how he had a date and was looking forward to it, you hated how your lie was selling perfectly.

 You stood up and stumbled across the room to find a mirror. You placed your hands on the sink for support and rested your forehead against the mirror.

 "You need to get closer to him... You need to know what he knows... You need to make him speak... You need him to expose his knowledge... You need to do this. It is but another job." You repeated to yourself, in hopes that perhaps this chaos in your mind and stabbing pain in your chest would leave and let you be.

 But it didn't. The pain only increased and became stronger, second after second. Hongjoong's face would sometimes flash on your mind, and a small smile would unintentionally spread on your lips.

 The next day came excruciatingly fast, and as soon as it was deemed acceptable to be awake, your phone made a ding, and you checked it immediately.

 Hongjoong told you about the time and place you'd be meeting in, and so you replied with an 'okay!' along with a couple excited emojis, although they represented nothing of what you were feeling, quite the opposite.

 You threw on whatever you thought would please him most: black thigh-high socks, a green flowy skirt, and a black and yellow crop top.

 Before you left to meet him you looked in the mirror and made sure to congratulate yourself for your work. You managed to carry on your mission, even though your wishes were to run away with this man and ket him live.

 You took a deep breath and made your way to the small bar nearby. You had no worries walking around at night in a short skirt, because you were surely not short on knives.

 It was a small place, decorated with rustic furniture and numerous rock and indie band items, ranging from albums, to picks, to guitars. The whole aesthetic fit Hongjoong pretty well, and when you spotted him in one of the tool chairs you realized how he morphed into the ambient. You smiled softly and approached him.

 "Hongjoong, hi!"

 You were immediately met with a blinding, toothy smile from the man, who stood up and immediately hugged you.

 Throughout the night, Hongjoong ecstatically told you about his life, his hobbies, his friends, and about everything and anything. He was thrilled to have you there and you found it adorable how he wasn't afraid to demonstrate his fondness.

 When it came the time to talk about you however, a sting hut your heart, and it's as if someone was squishing it from the inside of your body. But the lies flew out of your mouth naturally, telling him about a life you never had, about friends that weren't real, and about your untrue hobbies.

 It was all so amusing to him... Hearing all about Anne's life...

 The conversation came to a halt when the bartender approached you two.

 "I'm sorry guys but I'm going to have to ask you to leave, on weekdays we close at 2 AM."

 His mouth formed an "oh", and although neither of you said it, you both knew that you didn't want this to end. Fuck, you'd stay up for work for a longer amount of time...

 "Hongjoong do you maybe... Want to go back to my flat and hangout? It's nearby!"

 No, fuck what are you doing, crazy bitch.

 "Sure! I'd love to!" He replied, absolutely thrilled about your invitation.

 He held your hand tightly as you walked down the cold street towards your flat. You couldn't stop asking yourself why you had done it... Perhaps an inner wish that came out at an unfortunate timing?

 It took no longer than ten minutes for you to reach the apartment, and once you stepped in you felt the need to apologize.

 "I'm sorry... It's very small but it's all I need."

 Hongjoong shrugged and took his jacked off, he approached you and placed his hand in your chin, making you look up at him.

 "It's a cute apartment, just like you." He told you, whispering the last words.

 As if it was a magnet, his lips were drawn to yours in a much passionate kiss than your first.

 His tongue entered your mouth and left no corner unexplored, as his hands gripped your ass from under the skirt.

 You could taste the alcohol in his tongue, adding a new flavor besides desperation and neediness to the kiss.

 You were surprised at his dominant demeanor, yet it pleases you very much, and you were impatient to find where it leads you.

 Hongjoong's lips trailed down your jaw and eventually found your neck, where he left small bites, and sucked on the soft spots.

 "If you only knew what this skirt was doing to me..."

 Your hands found his jeans, that you quickly unbuttoned. You slid your hand inside of them and applied pressure on his hard-on with your palm.

 "I think I might be able to guess..."

 You bit your lip, and palmed him through his underwear. Hingjoong threw his head back for a second and chuckled lowly. He grabbed your neck and pulled your face close to his.

 "Fuck, you're such a tease." He moaned.

 Hongjoong removed your hand from his body and gripped your wrist so you'd follow him.

 He sat down on the bad and grabbed your waist, pulling you down in the process so you'd be straddling him.

 He kissed the spot below your ear and tugged on your earlobe.

 "I want you to ride me, baby.”

 "Yes sir..." You whispered in his ear.

 You reached for the back of the skirt to unzip it, but hongjoong stopped you.

 "I want you to ride me, with your pretty little skirt on."

 You stopped straddling him and turned around, so he could perfectly see your naked ass as you stripped from your underwear.

 Hongjoong pulled down his pants and underwear slightly, and started stroking himself at the sight.

 You went back to him and straddled the man once more, helping him by placing his tip at your entrance before lowering yourself down on him. He filled you up just perfectly, and you hid your moans by burying your face in the crook of his neck.

 "I wanna hear your pretty voice baby." He asked of you, while striking your head.

 He gripped your hips and started moving you up and down, slowly at first. When you got used to the feeling, you started bouncing on his cock willingly, and he only helped by jerking his hips up and hitting deeper spots.

 Hongjoong slapped your ass continuously, his strength increasing every time you slammed down on his dick.

 You gripped his shoulders tightly.

 "Fuck Hongjoong, I'm about to cum!" You whined.

 The man lifted your skirt, so he could see the way he looked fucking you, and it was a sight to see.

 "Shit, you're so beautiful..."

 One of his hands gripped your neck, applying some pressure to it.

 "Hongjoong fuck you're so good!"

 Hongjoong came at the little praise, his thick liquid hitting your walls, and the warm sensation inside you made you reach your climax at the same time. The room was filled with whimpers, moans and heavy breathing, as you both came and tried to calm down.

 Hongjoong delivered a loving kiss to your lips.

 "God, you're amazing Anne."

 Anne.

 That's when it hit you. You couldn't do this anymore. You couldn't keep lying to the boy, making him live in a false relationship. The feeling was truly real but Anne was just a character.

 You had to put an end to it... You couldn't handle doing it any longer. It hurt you to see the boy thoroughly happy and satisfied by a façade.

 You stood up and walked to the kitchen, while Hongjoong got dressed. You pulled out your Glock 19 from one of the drawers and rolled the silencer onto it, carefully as to not alarm Hongjoong. You wanted to do this peacefully, you didn't want him to know about your betrayal. However, just as you approached the bed he was sitting in from behind, you let out a sob, and he turned around to look at you.

   You hadn't even noticed you were crying. You hadn't even noticed the burning sensation in your throat and the stream of tears in your face, but you certainly felt as if your heart was being pulled out of you, and thrown in a fire.

 Hongjoong's worried eyes looked at your face, then at your hand, and back at your face. A sad smile formed on his face and he nodded. He didn't look disappointed or hurt, just... sad and apologetic, like he understood the situation.

 "It's about the cocaine, isn't it?"

 You bit your lip and nodded, like he had done.

 You approached him and aimed the barrel at his head.

  "Honggjoong I'm... I'm so sorry." The last few words came out as a whisper.

  "So am I..."

  Before you pulled the trigger, he opened his mouth to speak once more.

  "Can I... At least know your name? Please?" He begged.

 Although he tried to remain calm, his voice was shaky and his eyes were covered with tears that threatened to fall, sooner or later.

 "My name is Y/N."

He smiled, for the last time ever, and looked you in the eye, peeling his stare away from the gun's barrel.

 "Y/N, you look beautiful tonight."

 He blinked, allowing one last tear to stroll down his cheek, his smile never leaving his angelic face, as you cried, and pulled the trigger.

 The silent bang made you collapse, immediately regretting what you had just done. You looked at Hongjoong, looking as beautiful as ever, even if he was bathing in his own bloof, and caressed his face, letting your tears stain his shirt, as you realized you had committed the biggest mistake in your life, but you had no choice.

 "I'm sorry Hongjoong, may we meet again, in our next life."

[charliesfairy]

Cloud Nine

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x Female Reader

Genre: Smut

Requested By: anon- “Hiiii umm cud u please write a smol drabble about taehyung getting reader drunk and drugged and having giggly drooly sex? If u want to ofc ok LUB U 💕💕💕”

Disclaimer: This smut briefly depicts the unknowing use of drugs on another individual. I do not condone this type of behavior unless it is consensual, nor do I believe that Taehyung would doing something like that. Be safe when you’re partying, babies. Watch your drinks.

also I’m using my iPad bc I don’t have a laptop anymore so I can’t put in a continue reading button,,I am truly sorry :(

You couldn’t believe you let your friend drag you out with her. These places were so boring when you’re alone, so there you were, watching your friend live it up on the dance floor. You sighed and leaned against the bar as you watched her, and you were just about to leave when a deep voice started speaking to you. You turned to find a tall man with red hair peering down at you. He said his name was Taehyung, and you couldn’t lie; he was fucking hot. However, you were there to look after your friend, so you tried blowing him off.

“It looks like your friend can handle herself.” He said as you both watched her grind against some poor dude she had picked from the crowd. “Just have a drink. Have a good time.”

He handed you a glass that you recognized as your own, so you didn’t hesitate to take it and down the rest of it despite the taste being a little off now.

“See? Isn’t that better?”

You both talked for a while, but soon, you started t feeling loopy, which was weird. You had only had two drinks that night including the one you just finished, so why did you already feel so drunk? You didn’t bother worrying with figuring it out. You wanted to dance, so you pulled Taehyung to the dance floor with you only to end up making out with him while you grind on each other.

“Wanna ditch this place?”

“Fuck yes.”

Then, you found yourself clumsily stripping in a stranger’s house with him pulling off his clothes as well. You followed him to his room and fell onto the bed, a symphony of laughter coming from both of you as he tugs off your bra. He left kisses everywhere he could find until his head was between your legs, licking and kissing sloppily. A mix of moans and laughter fell past your lips as you tugged on his hair, and despite his mouth being so busy, he was still saying the dirtiest things.

“You taste so fucking good.”

“You’re so wet~you like that? You like my mouth on you?”

“Oh fuck~yeah~cum for me~give it to me, puppy~”

“That’s a good girl~fucking cum all over my mouth~fuck~” he moaned as you rolled your hips against his mouth while riding out your high, but you didn’t stop. You kept moving your hips, and he laughed, “Does puppy want more?”

“Puppy want more~” you whined loudly.

He pushed himself to his feet and shoved his pants off, “Puppy wanna lick?”

Your eyes went wide for a moment. He was huge. He laughed at you and called you over, “Oh, don’t worry puppy~I’ll do all the work. Just sit.”

You tried standing up, but you immediately fell to your knees. You didn’t know what was wrong. Your legs were just so weak, and your arms were the same way. You could barely get them up now, but you really didn’t care because your mouth was being pulled open. Your vision was blurry, but you could make out Taehyung’s sparkling eyes as he shoved his cock in your mouth. It was messy. You were messy. Your pussy was dripping, and drool spilled from your mouth as he fucked it, his big hands holding your head in place while he thrusted.

“What a good girl~letting me-ah, fuck~use her~” He started to slow after a bit, and he smiled down at you, “Is it good, puppy?”

“So good~” you try to say around his cock, but it comes out as more of a mumbled, moaned mess.

“Oh my god~” he groans, “Do that again, and you’re in for a rough night, babygirl.”

You giggled around his cock and started bobbing your head on your own, and he’s moaning again. His voice was so deep and smooth. You could feel yourself dripping between your legs, and you were sure the floor was soaked under you. Suddenly, you were face down on the bed, and he’s shoving his cock in you. You cried out because of his size, and he laughed above you.

“Oh, puppy can’t you handle this?” He taunted, staying still inside of you, “Do I need to go slow?”

“S-Slow~t-too bi-big~!” You pouted, and he laughed again, leaning down for a moment to whisper in your ear.

“You’re so cute, sweetheart~thinking you make the rules here.” He licked up your neck slowly and nipped at your ear, “Too bad you don’t.”

Then, he was moving, slamming into you mercilessly and stretching you out so nicely. At first, it hurt. You were so overwhelmed with him pulling your hair and holding onto your hip as he plowed into you, but soon, you were so blissed out that you didn’t even know your own name. You were feeling so warm and fuzzy and full, and drool spilled out of your mouth as your whole body shook with the force of his thrusts.

“See? I knew you could take it. I knew that fucking cunt of yours could handle me.”

“Because you’re a good girl~with a wet pussy ready for me to ruin~my good girl~good puppy~”

“Puppy wanna cum? Huh? Puppy wanna cum for daddy?”

“C-Cum fo-for daddy~~~” you managed to get out despite your throat feeling like sandpaper at this point.

“Yeah, cum for me? That’s it.” He praised eagerly, “Come on, cum on this big dick~I know you want to~I can feel your greedy little hole squeezing me~~just let go, puppy~”

Before you knew it, he was fucking you through two orgasms, and he praised you after each one. After the second, he flipped you onto your back, and he just looked down at you.

“You’re so pretty, babygirl~” Taehyung murmured softly, and you giggled. You couldn’t make out much of his face because your vision was so blurry, but you could hear him chuckle along with you before leaning down to kiss you. His lips tasted so sweet, but he broke away, throwing your leg over his shoulder and pushing his cock back inside you. He was back to fucking you as hard as he could while saying the nastiest shit and grabbing and slapping your breasts to listen to you giggle as you cried out his name.

“You’re such a silly puppy~” he giggled with you, letting his hand find its way to your neck.

You smile and let your mouth fall open, saliva falling down the corners of your mouth as your body jolted with his thrusts.

“So cute~” he smiled, but then he tsked, “So messy~”

His voice was light and airy. Almost heavenly, but suddenly, it changed. He forced two of his slender fingers into your mouth and growled, “Messy bitches get muzzled.”

That sent you over the edge for the fourth time that night. You came with your eyes rolled back, mouth wrapped around his fingers, and your body shaking, and you would swear that you’ve never felt better.

“Oh fuck~!” He moaned, his voice going higher for a moment before he was filling you up, and you didn’t care one bit. You didn’t know how old this guy was, what he did for a living, or even his last name, but you didn’t care. What mattered to you was how beautiful he looked while cumming inside of you. Fingers down your throat, hugging your leg as he jerked his hips, face all scrunched up as he groaned in pleasure. Once he started coming down from his high, he pulled his hand away from your mouth and let it trail down to your clit, and you jerked when he started rubbing.

“So sensitive~” he giggled as he rubbed you, “So good~~such a good puppy~letting me fill you up~”

All you could do was moan and laugh in response. Everything was so blurry, and your whole body was so, so warm. All you could do was focus on him. His face, his eyes, his mouth, everything was so beautiful. He pulled out of you and gently let your leg fall, and you whined as you felt his cum leak out of you.

“You made me cum so much~your little cunt can’t hold it all~” He spoke in awe, marveling at the sight between your legs.

“Good~~” you slurred, “Feels good~”

“Yeah?” He cocked an eyebrow. “It feels good to be filled up by a man you don’t even know?”

His eyes sparkled as he said such dirty things, and his smile was so precious as if he was enjoying something completely innocent. Your giggle was like music to his ears as you nodded eagerly, “want more~wanna do it again~”

“Get on your knees then, puppy~make daddy hard again~”

[sugaxjpg]

02 | blank check; m

⤷ “Let me get this right, okay? You threw my name in as your fake girlfriend because you needed to prove yourself to your empty-headed friends, and now you need to fix it. Still,” you paused, raising your eyebrows, “your way of fixing is not to disclose it as a lie, but to cover it up with an even bigger and riskier one. Is that correct?”

⤷ PART 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 |Co-written with @pantaemonium

✓ Couple: Jungkook x Reader | Fuckboy!AU & FakeDating!AU

✓ Filed under: smut, tragic comebacks

✓ Words:  8,048

Author’s Note: Hello, everyone! Before anything else, Laura and I would like to thank you all for the overwhelming support we’ve received for part one. We are beyond thrilled that you guys are liking this series as much as we are!! Without further ado, let’s get down to business (to defend the huns).

“There is no way in hell I’m wearing this, you hear me?” you screamed against the phone for the third time in less than ten seconds. A high-pitched ding indicated the audio had been sent, and that was your signal to toss the device aside. Jungkook would not listen to it, like he had not listened to the other ten voice messages you had blessed his chatroom with.

The last message you had received from him had been short and dry, more of a user’s guide than a text. It exhibited his advanced SAT vocabulary and his outstanding talent to be concise. Lambda Kappa Pi. 11pm. Say you’re my girl and they’ll get you in. Good luck with the dress.

My girl, as if there was a dimension out of the multiverse you had been thrown into in which you would say such nonsense. My girl, your brain echoed, this time in his voice, that you imagined would be hoarse and whiny during sex. No, no, that was not an image you wanted in your mind.

“Hey, I’m Jungkook’s girl,” you spoke as you imagined yourself babbling at the entrance of the frat house, clad in that skin-tight little red dress. Imagination is a very powerful weapon to use against oneself, and it immediately transfigured you into a Legally Blonde character, one of the sweethearts from Delta Nu but with no rich daddy, no fake tanning, and no equilibrium to stand over the sky-challenging high-heels he had sent along with the dress.

You’d look far more like a clown that had just ran away from the circus, that’s for sure.

You clenched your jaw at the absurdity of that idea, ignoring the butterflies that begun dancing in your stomach. His girl. Stupid ass. You would never do something like th—

—Ding!

In a reflex, you practically threw yourself on your bed to reach for your phone, chest bubbling up with the ridiculous excuses that he could have sent back to you. Instead, however, what you were met with was a simple series of condescending texts:

Jungkook’s only neuron said: u’ll look great bby

Jungkook’s only neuron said: im getting heated just thinkin of u in that ;)

You said: You prick

You said: That dress doesn’t even cover my ass properly

Jungkook’s only neuron said: that was what i was hopin for

You groaned out loud as your eyes read his message, mind working faster than the quick progression of your thumbs against the screen — you better be ready for me to ruin you with the favor I have stored up, then, you texted back.

Jungkook’s response arrived all too soon. There was no physical time to toss the phone back onto the bed, to try the diminutive piece of clothing on and see if there was a way your boobs could survive without suffocating. As the notification blared through the speaker, you imagined him, expecting your reply by the phone, biting his nails. In your imagination, he was nervous, at least a bit; but Jungkook and his cohorts did not know nervousness, at least not when confronted to tests of women. They followed all those ludicrous bro-code-or-whatever-they-called-it rules; and making girls wait for their replies was in the book.

“Ruin or be ruined, that’s the world we live in,” you read out loud, trying to find in between the words Jungkook’s personal trademark. Unexpectedly, there was no baby. No typos. No superfluous exhibition of his very pompous personality. Had he asked for help? Perhaps Namjoon, the only one in the frat house with a functional brain. Maybe Yoongi, but it sounded way too contained to his taste.

“Quote your sources next time,” you typed rapidly, grinning all the way. “See you later, bby.”

Now Jungkook’s Only Neuron could type and ruminate over your odd response all he wanted. There would be no more texts until the party — except perhaps a picture or two of you in that dress, blurry and terribly illuminated. The ire of the gods would fall upon him when he tried to zoom in into your boobs only to find pixels. A taste of his own medicine, that was what you called this cruel stratagem.

Now, there were only a limited number of things which could count as social humiliation for you. As mentioned aforetime, failing a ridiculously easy class or exposing your underwear were near the top of the list, alongside some awfully personal experiences, but you never thought there would be something to top all your expectations. Turns out that 90’s movies make a so called “makeover” to be something great and empowering when, in reality, it had to be the spiritual equivalent of intestinal cramps in the middle of a road trip. And yes, you had been through that. No further comment.

Maybe the movie director of your life was sadistic. Maybe that experience was karma for ruining poor Jungkook’s mental health earlier that day. Whatever it was, it was the new number one on your list of social humiliation. You could not claim you hadn’t gotten anything out of that night — but experiences make you grow, right?

You knew you had fucked up the second you walked up to the fraternity house — that stupidly large, greek-like mansion that pulsated under the progression of the awfully loud music — and saw a pair of underwear on the grass, lost amidst a sea of bottles and beer cans. And then a bra. And then an used cond— Jesus Christ! Were those kids acting out Animal Planet? There were limits. There had to be. Goodbye to your long lost purity.

To top it all off, it was cold. Not nice, chilly cold, but winter-is-here kind of Game of Thrones bullshit. The wind was like cold daggers against your skin, piercing your naked legs as you moved closer to the entrance door, benumbing your senses to the fullest extent. Whatever it was that you had in store for Jungkook, it had to be equally torturous to that walk of shame — the night had not even started, and you were already constructing an escape plan.

“Hey,” you said as you stopped in front of two athletes, crossing your arms before your figure — thank God for your common sense, since the leather jacket you wore both covered your insanely tight boobs and gave you a bit of heat. You wouldn’t have started a conversation with them if not absolutely necessary and, in that case, they were blocking the passage. “Excuse me, please.”

One of them turned to you with arched eyebrows, looking you up and down, “You seem familiar,” he mumbled, infecting the atmosphere with a terrible scent of alcohol. To be fair, you thought you knew him too, but did not want to get into friendly terms with any of them. “Whatcha’ doing here?”

Hell, here goes nothing, “Jungkook called me here.”

“Jungkook, who?” The other one — the travel-sized counterpart — laughed, hitting his friend’s shoulder in his drunken haze. “We know no Jungkook.”

They were still blocking the entrance, and you were not in the mood to commence an arrogant dissertation on why they did know the Jungkook you were referring to, and why was their ruse so evident. Shivering inside the leather jacket, you tried to find a way around the words he wanted so desperately to hear. “I am his friend,” you said.

The smaller of the two scoffed. “Jungkook has no friends.”

“I thought you knew no Jungkook,” you smirked, devilishly, but the brainless pair would not subside in their efforts to rip a confession out of your — literal — cold body. “For fucks sake. I am his girl. Jungkook’s. The one that gets to fuck him every night while you two try to resist the homoerotic dynamics you have seen yourselves trapped into. Now let me in, Tweedledee.”

“A straight-up bitch. Hot.” They murmured as you made your way into the hall. Inside, a myriad of bodies crammed the room, pressed against one another. Girls in short dresses and stressed boys trying to get their attention roamed around, red cup in hand. Their scent was sweetly rancid, a mixture of alcohol, sweat and pheromones you would not be able to stand for long without a drink in your hand.

No. Wait. Probably wouldn’t be the wisest of ideas to be intoxicated while pretending to be someone else’s girlfriend for the night. You got awfully sincere when you had alcohol, and the last thing you needed was to ruin your saved favor, especially after going through all the trouble you did. Next step would not be to drink away your disgust, as compelling as that seemed to be, but to find out your pathetically inadequate fake boyfriend.

Taking a deep breath, you skirted the overabundance of bodies as you made your way past the main living room, finding solace in a somewhat calm corner of the ambient. You leaned your back against the asperous wall, taking your phone out of your purse. Numb, your thumbs cried under the effort of unlocking the device and moving to his contact — that arrogant smile on that nauseatingly perfect display picture — to type your impatient messages:

You said: Hey, loser

You said: I’m here already

You said: Where can I find you?

You waited for a few seconds to see if he would get online, but nothing appeared on your screen. For a moment your mind wandered towards the possibility of it all being a prank, after all: to get you, a serious and stuff girl, in that outrageously small piece of red fabric would be a huge joke on itself, even more if he managed to show it off to his friends. If that was the case, you would transfer colleges. Not to be overdramatic or anything.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think I told you to wear a jacket, baby girl.”

The second you raised your gaze, you came to regret your reckless decision — not in the cutesy, hesitant manner you were feeling aforetime, but in the this-was-a-horrible-idea-and-my-life-is-over type of shit. Not because you were in any sort of danger, but because you accepted the fact that you had absolutely no way to control yourself near the sheer sexual temptation that was Jeon Jungkook. Not like that.

In all his glory, the idiot looked the best he ever did. With his black hair slightly disheveled, parted almost in the middle, and eyes gleaming under the neon lights of the frat house, he looked like he had just stepped out of a photoshoot for Men’s Health. His team’s jacket — blue and white, with the symbol of your college — had its sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing the veins in his forearms; unbuttoned so it presented you with the v-cut shirt he wore underneath, grey. You could see the outlines of his fucking abs with that crap. Muscle pig. It was absurd. He should take it off.  

And of course, there were those fucking thighs. But you would not allow your gaze to fall under his waistline just yet. Yet.

A hum from his part interrupted your momentaneous fall into inferno, making you realize how quickly your heart started to beat. “You’re lucky you’re hot as fuck,” Jungkook acknowledged, his own eyes falling to your form, eyebrows slightly arched. “I always knew I had good taste for girlfriends.”

The silence between you was bubbling with an unspoken tension. Sexual, Cosmopolitan would have defined it as purely sexual. "Ten Easy Tips to Know if your Crush Wants you Too," or something of the sort would had been plastered all over the cover, where a barely-legal model would have judged you with doe-like eyes.

Jungkook's roseate tongue came out to wet his lips, to fill the void words had left behind with a heavy sigh. You wondered what those lips tasted like. Had you been asked to guess, you would have said cherry, or strawberry — although you were certain he had been drinking beer or, worse, cheap tequila shots.

The faux courage that had been motioning your body forward ever since you abandoned the dorms was now slipping in between your fingers as you reached for the hem of his jacket. "You look—" you started, but your mind went blank in a maelstrom of adjectives, amongst which you found barely no insults.

"—smoking hot?" Jungkook ventured. He was not mistaken, but still you scoffed. It the quintessence of your being, the endless sarcasm; you could not just abandon the truth of your nature for a boyfriend. A fake one, to top it all.

"I was going to say stereotyped, but hot also fits. I guess," index pressed against his chest, you leaned forward reducing the space between your bodies to naught. Air escaped in between his teeth when your lips caressed his ear with your murmurations. "What now, baby?" you mumbled, oblivious to his fingers as they traveled up your arm in a tender caress.

"Honestly?" the impish gleam of his eyes was a bad omen or, at least, the indication that you were not prepared in the slightest for what was to come. "I want to kiss the hell out of you, but not here."

For a second, you allowed yourself to forget that it was all an act. Without a second thought, you found yourself biting your lower lip in sheer desire. Lucky you, the boy would most likely think that was part of the fake love, and not your raging hormones coming out to say hello. “I would very much like that, yes,” you purred out against his skin, pressing your chest against his own. His heart was beating fast, but yours was no different. “Where to?”

Jungkook seemed to take a second to calm his nerves, clearing his mind from the impulses that flashed within his needs — if he were to be sincere, you two could forget that plan and just have a private place for yourselves, but there was a protocol to follow, his reputation at stake.  “Couch,” that word came out in a serpentine whisper, muffled as if had been verbalized miles underneath the sea. Against your waist, his palm held your skin in an almost protective manner — yet, both of you were holding back now.

You hummed in agreement. His scent was intoxicating you, the heat of his body was monopolizing your most logical of conceptualizations. “Take me whenever you need me,” you agreed as one of your hands slid down his chest — jesus, those fucking abs — and towards his own hand. You intertwined his fingers in his, loving that position a bit more than you probably should. “Should we?”

If he had said something in return, you did not hear it. Before you could control yourself any further, the boy was already guiding you past the chaotic ocean of exhilarated bodies, holding down to your hand as if it was his own version of salvation. Jungkook was lucky he was hot — very fucking hot, at that — otherwise you would have cracked another joke or two about how eager he appeared to be. Still, you were certain it would backfire.

“I see you want to put up a show,” was what you said instead, accompanying his harsh movements as the two of you arrived upon the center of the room — the heart of the party, if you could say that. From your peripheral vision, you could see splashes of blue and white moving around, signaling that more of his teammates were around. Classic show off. “Want everyone watching.”

“You have no clue, babe.” Jungkook turned around just in time so he could see the glimpses of lust coruscating inside your eyes. Bedroom eyes. Cute. “I want that jacket off.”

“No deal,” you told him promptly. With a groan, the boy threw himself on a beige couch nearby, sitting somewhat close to where another two jocks conversed vigorously, waving their red cups in the air like they were not half full. It was only a matter of seconds before they saw the two of you — more precisely you — and his pretty spectacle would finally begin. “Why do you want to expose your girlfriend like this?”

It was no problem. He could take it off himself.

As a response, Jungkook simply placed his hands on his thighs, signaling you that it would be your seat for the night — seems like you would be sitting in his lap, after all. “Come here, baby,” he requested. Okay, you would be lying through your teeth if you said that the place did not appear to be as inviting as possible. “Let me have a taste of you.”

To hell with it. If you were going to act it out, you might as well put up a show, and calm down your raging hormones as you did so.

And fuck, there were some things that 90s movies could never prepare you for. There was no scene, no soundtrack, no music video able to distract you from how firm his legs were as you sat down on top of them, dress slightly moving up your thighs. There was no director, no storyline that could guide your hands around his neck as you tilted your head and closed your eyes, falling to the absolute misery that was Jeon Jungkook. There was nothing in the entire world that could have made you pull away.

What a terrible fucking idea.

Jungkook groaned as soon as your lips met, quick to set the pace as a quick, needy, sloppy kiss. His hands, before so vacillating, now had traveled to your ass, where he squeezed your flesh, making you press down your hips against his, not letting it go for a second. You melted against his kiss, allowing yourself to sigh and moan against his mouth as his tongue encountered yours. Lacking places to hold onto, your hands moved to his cheeks, then to his hair, intertwining in his black locks and pulling on them.

Okay, there were things you regretted. You thought there was nothing capable of topping the preposterous plan of pretending to be Jungkook’s girlfriend, but that was because you had not reached that point of the night just yet. Because you had still not pulled away just enough so you could speak, caressing his lips with your own, speaking in a voice so filled with lust that you were surprised yourself. “Is that all you can do, kiddo?” you provoked him. “Come on, Jeon, is this how you treat your girl?”

He smirked. “Believe me, princess, there’s nothing I’d love more than treat you the way you deserve. Anything for you. But, you see, the audience is waiting and, as much as I would love to fuck you raw in this couch, I’d rather give the show I promised, and then renegotiate the initial clauses of our little contract,” then, a small pause, “if you are interested, of course.”

The boy was an idiot, or so you had thought: Jeon Jungkook, the dumbass that lets his dick make every essential decision, and doesn’t grasp even half of the references you throw at him. Apparently, that was not the case, and his intelligence was extensive only when he had to protect his pride and bring to term an important business. In other words, he wasn’t dumb, he wa just a selfish little prick.

Fingers sauntering up your thigh, Jungkook murmured in-between delicate kisses, and it made it impossible for you to deliver a witty remark. Every few words he would stop to taste your flesh with the tip of his tongue, and then nip it with his teeth. Lost in the feverish reverie of his tender caresses, you abandoned yourself to the feel of his kisses as his lips marked the path towards your jaw, your cheek. With a sigh falling from your swollen lips, you hoped to express the thirst he had incited, but he merely watched your reaction, diverted. Motherfucker. He knew what he was doing.

“For now,” he said against your ear, marking each word with a tap of his finger against your thigh. “This will have to do.” His thumb slid past the hem of your skirt and fuck, how you wished he were to continue his journey towards your underwear. There had been no specifications about that matter, but you had added your distinctive touch to the outfit. Jungkook did not know yet, but he would have loved to take that off you.

“I really think you can step up your game, Jungkook.” You looked around, biting your lips. None of the players around you were particularly interested in your little affair. Short skirts and exhibitionism were the daily bread of all those jocks. Luckily, that night no one had pulled out their dicks to measure them or start a peeing contest. Perhaps later in the night, when alcohol run freely through their bloodstream, eliminating their inhibition — or what was left of it, anyways. “This show of yours will impress no one.”

As if motioned by the fuel of a good challenge, Jungkook pounced over your lips. His touch was no longer delicate, contained, or meticulous, as it was before. Earlier, all he had wanted was to create a beautiful painting in which you, a girl that would have never had any interest for the jock in the class, was head over heels for him. He cared not about his audience, not anymore, as he could not bring himself to think of the friends he was supposed to impress. His only and most primal desire was to prove himself, to erase the disdainful sneer tainting those lips that were like nectar against his tongue.

You threw yourself off his lap and leaned your back against the arm of the sofa, being trapped between it and his large figure. In the impetus of his sudden adoration, you lost your hold on reality and allowed for him to overtake you, pressing his chest against your own. Jungkook’s hand in the small of your back cushioned your descents to the inferno of his hips pressed against yours, hands exploring your waist, and the curve of your breasts over the tight dress.

It was getting more and more difficult to come to your senses when all you could feel were his palms against your breasts, only to go down to your ass a second later. Your dress was being pulled upwards, your heart overtaken by the intoxicated by rhythm of the song as one of his legs moved in between yours, pressing down on your core — gradually at first, but then strong enough for you to moan loudly against his mouth. This kid was playing with fire. You loved it.

You were out of breath and out of mind when a voice called from the outside world, that universe of flashing comets and red asters circulating around your sweltering bodies. “Hey kid! Jungkook!” the unknown timbre insisted further and, before you could recognize it, Jungkook had pushed himself away from you to smile at a stranger. Whoever it was, you wanted him killed for interrupting your search for nirvana. “You know we have rooms for that kind of unholy shit. Leave all the exhibitionism for Jimin, he loves it.”

With a smirk, his victory became plastered across his douchebag face, “I got carried away, sorry,” Jungkook explained, lips shining with the remnants of your gloss. His hand was still against your waist, but he showed no shame when he winked in your direction, purposefully following your eyes as they grew darker — he was loving it. “Tastes like heaven, y’know?”

The other guy, whose name you could not quite recall, simply rolled his eyes at the out-of-character sentence, “Whatever you say, dude,” he mumbled underneath the music, unaffected by show you two had put up. Instead, his gaze seemed to be a bit lost in the remanent liquid that dwelled on the bottom of his red cup — poor kid was completely wasted. “Uh, by the way, before I forget. Namjoon has been looking for you for like two hours or whatever. He says, and I quote, that he wants to see it or he won’t believe it.”

Jungkook’s smile grew by a few millimeters, finding in that sentence the opportunity he needed. He didn’t need half of your GPA to understand what his friend was referring to, “Yeah, sure thing, man,” he answered. You were amazed how casually he was acting for someone who still had one hand holding tightly to your ass, but you could not claim you did not like it. In fact, he could strip you naked for all you cared, fake boyfriend or not. “Where is he, by the way?”

Chewing on his words for a second, the guy paused. His chocolate-colored eyes got lost in the horizon and, at last, you came to understand that he must have consumed something other than alcohol — hey, no judgement, you were not precisely the morally superior person in that conversation. “He was at the game room with the dudes. I don’t know if they’re still there.”

“Perfect,” Jungkook exclaimed, his palm squeezing your ass once again. Only then did you notice that, in the meantime, his shirt had rolled up a bit. Now you totally could see those abs you have always dreamt about and, good lord, they were even better than what you imagined. If you were not acting then, you would have cursed out his unnamed friend for interrupting that slack of paradise — but hell, the ghostly sensation of his lips on yours still got the best of you. Fucking prick. He was too powerful. “Thanks, Tae. You didn’t see anything.”

Tae… Taehyung. Oh, now you remembered. The kid who got high and ate pizza from the bottom of the pool in freshman year. Disgusting and slightly worrisome. You thought some memories could be left forgotten.

Taehyung suspired. “I did, though,” only then did his gaze navigate back to you, lingering on your face for a couple more seconds than necessary. You didn’t know if it were the drugs acting up, or if he was examining your artificially naive expression. “Hot choice of panties, by the way. Your ass looks great in lacy black. Cheers to that.”

“You have really good taste, buddy.” With a radiant smile, you agreed. Past the blur of weed and alcohol, Taehyung replicated the gesture, and raised his red cup in a giddy toast. Whether he was lauding the glorious roundness of your ass, or the intricate beauty of your one and only pair of expensive panties, you did not care. There was no use for shame within those walls, especially when your ass was indeed hot confined within the soft lace. “Imaginary cheers to that.”

It was a moment of amicable comradery, even though Taehyung was one shot away from becoming the buffon of the party. Around your waist, Jungkook’s fingers tightened but, before you could turn around to face his predictable displeasure, the moment ended, and you were presented with a luciferous smile.

“Noted. Thank you dude, see you around.” Jungkook screamed over the loud bass of a terrible remix of a very popular song you wished was shorter. The constant chit-chat developing around did not help communicate but, luckily, you were not required to hold a challenging conversation that night. With a peck in the lips and a light squeeze of your ass, Jungkook prompted you to move. It was strangely loving — for a jock, at least.

Once anew, he guided you through the crowd, a hand in your waist and the other buried deep in one of the pockets of his jacket. The picture was magazine-worthy. One of those blurry shots, taken with a Polaroid, that could had made it into the cover of an Indie album — even if Jungkook could have starred in an Abercrombie & Fitch ad, jacket and all.

“Where is that fucking game room?” The question felt extremely bitter against your tongue when you had to wipe someone else’s sweat off your arm. The party was heating up, and not in the good way. “Please tell me it isn’t some Fifty Shades of Grey shit.”

“Didn’t picture you as one of those.” Jungkook let go of your waist to interwine his fingers in yours. It was calming, the chilliness of his hand against your sweltering skin. “But no, here we never watched that. The dudes are, you know, more into anal compilations and shit like that— not me!” He rushed to say, hands up in a gesture of defeat. “Baby Jesus wouldn’t not approve.”

That was, by far, the weirdest conversation you’ve had in a long time.

“Pity, now that I thought we would make a great pair.” You sighed. “I guess I’ll have to find another hot dude to watch my kinky porn with.”

“I— sweet lord.” With shaky hands he massaged his cheeks. You were exhausting, even for him. Good. “We’ll discuss that later.” Jungkook opened one of the doors in the hallway, leading into a big space that was, precisely, only meant to game. “Now we have business to do.”

Biting down on your lower lip, you took a couple steps into the large area, absorbing its details. The first thing you noticed, as your company closed the door behind you two, was that it was soundproof — finally, a blessing for the night. As the excruciating buzzing in your ears still lingered, your hearing started to focus on the diverse conversations that dwelled beyond those closed doors. From what you could notice, there had to be around fifteen people in there — stereotypical jocks and cheerleaders, if you were to be quite honest — and they were mostly segregated into two smaller groups. One of which, you recognized, had the individual you two had been looking for.

Now, Kim Namjoon was a specimen of his own kind. You had no idea what kind of satanic pact had he resorted to, but it had been good enough to gift him the brain of a Harvard professor and the body of a professional athlete — all wrapped up in that team jacket, which suited him so dangerously well. You would be lying through clenched teeth if you were to say you had not checked him out at least once or twice during your shared Advanced Literature classes — but that was a secret that would be buried with you. Again, he was still one of those fraternity types, and blowing up their egos was as easy as blowing other, less christian areas.  

Again, you would be lying if you said you had not considered that either.

Jungkook’s arm found the curvature of your waist once again, making you fall back into your usual acting state. Next to you, the boy was smiling freely — not in a sympathetic manner, but in a I’m-getting-good-sex-tonight kind of smile. He could keep dreaming, for all you cared. “What’s up, Kim?” he cheered, guiding you around the grey couch. Considerably large, it was surrounded by two armchairs, forming a square-like shape in the center of the room. On the wall next to it, a baseball game was silenced on the LED screen. “Thought I wouldn’t see you tonight.”

Namjoon had his elbows resting on a marble table, seating on one of the tall benches that surrounded it. You were surprised he had even found empty space in there, since all you could see was a pandemonium of empty bottles and pizza boxes. “I should be one one saying that, Jeon.” The other jock smiled just as freely, exposing those dimples you had always found unbearably cute. He did not look at you for a second. “You are not one to vanish during a party. Did you get laid or something?”

“See, Namjoon, your friend Jungkook is trying to get laid tonight, but let’s see how that goes, right honey?” You butted in, to Namjoon’s dismay. Very delicately, like the Disney princess you were not. You sat on the couch, paying no mind to the many diverse types of stains dotting it. Kim Namjoon was not going to ignore you, like you were a nothing but a pretty decoration Jungkook carried around to show off — especially not when you could beat his non-existent genius ass any day during a debate. “Hi, Namjoon. Didn’t see you in class last Wednesday.”

“Hangover.” He explained, taking a bite off a chewy slice of cheese pizza. “I have to confess I am surprised. I thought you were joking when you said you two were—”

“—dating, yes. I’m a married man now, Namjoon. No more getting laid with just anybody.” Jungkook flopped by your side. His hand went immediately towards your naked knee, and there it stayed. Very subtle.

“What do you guys talk about?” Namjoon pried, impertinently. In his timbre you could perceive a hint of disbelief, and it was understandable. He had seen you in action, going after your debate opponents like a shark in bloody waters. Jungkook was, compared to the you he had witnessed, a kindergartener in nappies, and he simply couldn’t comprehend how the two of you could work together — or even compliment each other, honestly.

“Volleyball.” Jungkook said, with an enthusiasm that made your wry smile pathetic. “She loves volleyball.”

Namjoon crackled at the unexpectedly joyful response. “Never seen her in a game.”

“I’m more of a theoretical fan of — of the sports.” Eyes disappearing into the fakest smile, you tried to escape the trap Jungkook had thrown you into. Namjoon was correct. You had not set foot in a court ever since high-school, and even back then you had only done so because it was mandatory. “I have watched Haikyuu at least thrice. I’m an expert.”

“She’ll come to the next one.” Jungkook kissed your cheek, interrupting your excused before it was too late. The touch of his petal-like lips was, at the very least, pleasant. “We made a deal. She wears my jacket and I use the shortest pants I own for the game.”

Namjoon chuckled at the idea, still skeptical. You knew he would be a hard one to convince, since he usually saw through your bullshit — both in debates and in real life.  “Yeah, right,” was all that he managed to say, still dodging your gaze. Oh, you saw what he was doing. Sneaky motherfucker. Sly little snake. By avoiding you and focusing on your fake boyfriend, he was both pressing on the one easier to slip on the lie, and annoying you. He knew how you got when you were hot-headed and that was, once again, a recipe for disaster. “In all seriousness, weeaboo anime aside, what do you… theoretically like about volleyball?”

No eye contact still. Fair. Two could play that game.  

“Physics,” you answered within a heartbeat, almost surprising yourself by how naturally that  response came from in between your lips. Not necessarily a lie, too. But that was a long story. “I told you this already. Volleyball can be explained with high school-level of mechanics. Energy and work, force, projectile motion… You know the deal.”

Namjoon hummed, watching closely the line of cheese that dripped down his pizza. “Yeah, I know the deal,” he told you. He had not bought it. “And I know you know it too. My question is,” he paused, looking up to point at Jungkook. “Does he?”

Well, you just had to know it would backfire like that. Still, you barely had time to feel panic starting to germinate in your throat before Jungkook interrupted the conversation with flawless grace, “Not much, that is why she’s teaching me,” perfect. Simple. Fail proof. You could barely believe that the single neuron that inhabited his mind managed to make a synapsis with itself and come up with that. “Yo, man, why are you so defensive all of a sudden? You’re making my girl uncomfortable.”

My girl. You hated how much you liked that.

His friend hesitated for a second, chewing slowly on the piece of food. It didn’t seem like it was any good. In the very least, it was cold. “Yeah. My bad, dude. Bad week,” Namjoon was quick to apologize, which you did not believe for an instant. He was smarter than that, more arrogant than someone that would so fast admit to his own fault. “Guess I just can’t believe you managed to get a girl like Y/N. Life sucks sometimes.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you were the one who asked it, even if both of you were thinking it. It was your turn to try and not to get defensive, but it was getting harder and harder by the second. You crossed your legs, which induced for your red dress to slip up your legs. Namjoon followed the movement, and then his gaze was stuck. Oh. Maybe there was another reason for his lack of eye contact. “Don’t tell me that the great captain Kim Namjoon is suddenly jealous.”

He shrugged. “Call it whatever you want. But you do look hotter than ninety-five percent of the chicks I’ve seen all year,” and then, his next sentences were directed straight at Jungkook. “I don’t know if you had the chance to see it already, man, but she has a great taste for underwear.”

Ninety-five was a good percentile, but you were indeed hot in that dress. Namjoon trembled, almost imperceptibly, when you slid your legs over Jungkook’s lap, to cuddle against his chest. In all honesty, the posture was not comfortable, not in that dress. Had you been back in the dorm, in your PJ’s, the tale would have been completely different; but Namjoon’s expression was a poem — a terrible one, at that — and that was enough satisfaction for the moment.

When you sighed, Namjoon replicated it, in a long-drawled, cheese-scented exhalation. The sound he emitted was pitiful, but it helped you comprehend fully the frustration the poor boy was submitted to, and the ultimate reason behind his pizza binge. His was a severe case of blue balls, and you were the one and only cause it. Cute.

“Namjoon, if you really want to address my exquisite taste in underwear, you can tell me directly,” you said. A thread of cheese remained in precarious equilibrium in between his lower lip and his hand, as he struggled for once to follow your words. The genius had short-circuited over lacy panties and the grossest kind of PDA. Another achievement unlocked in the marvelous experience that was college. It would look beautiful in your curriculum, right beside your volunteer work. “Jungkook is more used to seeing me without it. He wouldn’t understand our fantastic taste.”

“Babe,” Jungkook whined, caressing your thigh to make you cognizant of his presence. “I do love your underwear—”

“—Scattered all over your bedroom.” You whispered in the most impish little voice. By the glance he returned, Jungkook had loved the image. Maybe it was just your imagination, maybe you were in character and your discerning was altered, but you could have sworn his dick had twitched at the thought. Interesting.

To drown his sorrow, Namjoon took yet another slice of pizza. The boy could eat. He was still munching his previous victim, and it was making you hungry. Jungkook was very hot and all, but he had not offered to get you a drink or something to eat. Chivalry was, indeed, dead. “Let me ask you a question, Y/N,” Namjoon murmured in-between greasy bites. “It’ll be easy. I promise.”

“I’m all ears.”

“What is it, exactly, what made you fall for our ace?” Namjoon inquired. It was an unexpected question. A cheerleader could have asked the same, waiting you to offer a bland response in the trite language all popular girls had long mastered like: his big, big eyes; his toothpaste commercial worthy smile, the humongous size of his — not his brain, that was for certain.

But it was not a cheerleader the one to make the question, but Namjoon. Out of all the athletes in the house, Namjoon was the only one you had ever exchanged more than a few words with. Interesting words. The kind that — put together in a coherent sentence — form conversation two functional adults can take pleasure in. “Does he read Whitman to make you sleep?” He pressed further.

Before you could think twice, the words were already departing from your lips. “He rants about your pep-talks, that’s enough to have me snoring in seconds.”

He scoffed. “Nice comeback, it’s a pity that you’ve been avoiding my question like the plague,” Namjoon said in what appeared to be a groan, patience starting to run thin. At last, he appeared to have finished eating his horniness away, for he dropped the last slice of pizza back in the box. “Let me rephrase that, then—”

Next to you, Jungkook fumbled on his seat. “—Namjoon, bro, that’s enough,” he said firmly, almost an order. From the way Namjoon’s eyebrows moved together into a frown, you could tell that such serious demeanor was also uncommon amongst his group of friends. Jungkook was only serious in two situations: during games, and when his white knight complex had been activated. You would guess that was the latter. “I know it’s hard to believe, all right? Even I don’t buy it sometimes. But this is exactly why we didn’t tell you guys earlier, I knew you’d have a blast interrogating my girlfriend. And this is not cool, alright? It’s not cool that you’re over here talking about her underwear and acting like you’d be a total catch compared to me. Fuck that shit, dude, don’t ruin the night for us just because you got some jealousy stuck up your ass.”

Silence. The other boy took a second, then two, to chew what was left on his mouth, closely analyzing his friend. You could see the wheels moving inside Namjoon’s brain and — unlike Jungkook — he had more than one synapsis to make. “Hey, fair enough,” he said. And then he started smiling. Actually smiling. Putting-the-Cheshire-Cat-To-Shame kind of smile. “What has gotten into you tonight, uh? Jesus. I’m just fucking with you, didn’t think you’d get this overprotective. That’s some serious shit you’ve gotten yourself into, Jeon.”

Jungkook seemed to take an instant to fully digest the unforeseen change of demeanor, then joined his friend in his laugh. “Bro, what the fuck? You were annoying as hell,” he was clearly puzzled, even if you could see sheer alleviation in that smile. Oh, honey. He was not acting over there, was he? Poor kid really took that to heart. “Get outta here with that interrogation bullshit, Sherlock Holmes.”

“Look at that, you already know one famous victorian character,” Namjoon sarcastically celebrated, turning back at you — still living in the apex of confusion. You should have stayed home and read a book, where men are predictable and fraternity athletes as just a ghost in your memory. “You’ve been a positive influence so far, Y/N, props to that. I’ve been trying to get him to at least watch the movies for ages.”

“He only agreed to watch it once I explained Iron Man featured in it.” Taking advantage of your fake-girlfriend privileges, you slid your hand under Jungkook’s shirt. Fingers dawdling over his warm skin, you delighted in the sensation of his muscles quivering under your touch. It would not be noticeable to Namjoon — although he was particularly sharp that night. Words encompassing your feathery caresses, you murmured into his ear. “I’m thirsty, babe.”

Namjoon looked away when you nuzzled Jungkook’s neck, to bury his jealousy under another pile of cheese.

“Do you want some beer?” Jungkook blinked twice, trying to decipher the sudden change in the inflections of your voice. It was no longer playful, teasing, but dripping something he could have only categorised as desire. Jungkook was dense, enough to miss the a very evident innuendo by a mile. “I can go get you something.”

“No, not that.” Your fingers treaded an undiscovered path towards the lines of his hips, and the hem of his pants. His brain had missed the memo, but his dick was extremely eager to catch up, and was now constricted against his belt. The moment he rose from the couch, the boner would be exposed, and it would give him the perfect opportunity to drag you away from the room and towards his bedroom. “Jungkook… Let’s go.”

“I need to go to the bathroom first.” He excused himself to Namjoon, who had decided to embrace his solitude by hugging the pizza box and returning his attention to the baseball game. His team was losing. Big night for Kim Namjoon.

Jungkook pecked your lips and scurried from below your body. The room was cold now that he had left, and Namjoon was not willing to talk.

“So… pizza, huh?” you said, fixing your clothes. The last thing our brave captain needed was to take another glimpse at your ass.

Namjoon stared into the screen, absorbed by the little figures moving around. It was hard to believe that someone like him could he find baseball so entrancing. “So…Jungkook, huh?”

There it was. Jealousy, in its rawest form. He would never be so explicit in front of Jungkook, they were friends after all, but with you Namjoon could say whatever thoughts crossed his mind. “You know Jungkook isn’t as stupid as he wants all of campus to believe. He might not be a genius like you, but he is smart. He’s just a little bit caught up in the popularity game,” you said. The words leaving your mouth surprised you. Kind words for Jeon Jungkook, what a night to be alive. “Don’t be so surprised, Namjoon.”

The baseball game was no longer as relevant, for Namjoon deigned to look at you. Browns knitted in incredulity, he dropped the last slice of pizza and cleaned his hands in the team jacket. Symbolically, it was not a good thing, but he was probably overdosing on cheese. “I’m not surprised. Maybe you like him, after all.”

“Maybe I do.” You confessed with a quick wink and a guilty smile. “He gives good head, too.”

“That’s too much information.” Namjoon was nauseated, but he would never say it aloud. There was also the possibility that it was not nausea the grimace transfiguring his cute face, but jealousy. “You should go get your boyfriend, though, I think he got lost in his own reflection or something.”

Just like Namjoon had suggested, you followed Jungkook’s trail towards the bathroom. Trail, as in asking the couples making out in the hallway where the bathroom was. The first pair had not responded you, they were too busy sucking each other’s tongues to even form a coherent sentence. Titty in hand, the man in the second pair of lovers, explained where to find the bathroom — that was also known as the knocking shop.

To be fair, you knocked, but the music was too loud and the sound too timid. When you received no indication from Jungkook, you opened the door. At first you could not see past the outrageously pink sink. It was horrifyingly ugly. Jungkook rested against it, his forehead was pressed against the mirror, his warm exhalations creating beautiful designs over the reflective surface. One of his hands gripped tightly the sink, the veins of his arms visible, like rivers you had loved to explore through your fingertips. His other hand was trapped within the confines of his jeans, pressed against his dick. With every sigh and every moan, he would roll his hips against his hand, fucking himself into oblivion. All signs of arrogance vanished from his features when he was about to cum. Vulnerability looked so pretty on him.

You wished there was a joke you could crack, even if to yourself, that could serve as a coping mechanism to whatever the fuck you were being presented with. Still, nothing came out of your lips besides a loud, slightly horrified:

“What the actual fuck, Jungkook?”

[sarasfm]

Sarauniya “ Sara ” Davies, 24, pansexual, cisfemale, ISFP Enneagram 9w1; Pisces sun, Sagittarius moon, Pisces rising 1st year Advanced Encryption Major; did not go to a spy prep hs

Imma keep it real with you, chief, I have absolutely no idea what’s going on. I mean, obviously, I know what espionage is ; I’ve read books and articles, and I’ve seen Spy Kids and all the Charlies Angels and James Bond movies, but I genuinely think I need a minute to wrap my head around everything. Make that two weeks, because what’s this I hear about two murders ?  I literally just got sent here to be safe, I — I’m sorry, I’m freaking out. Give me five seconds, and we can start again, because I promise I can totally pretend this is all normal. @gallagherintro​

full name: sarauniya “ sara ” davies

dormitory room: 105

birthday: 20 march 1995

soundtrack: “ go gina ” by sza

favorite dish: efo riro

aesthetic:  when i see them walking around in the halls, i usually see a flash of light reflecting from her earrings, eyeglasses perched on top of her head, and a caviar iphone always in her hands

Bio Points

her mom’s a nigerian baddie billionaire & her dad’s a soft academic brit

she grew up between london and abuja where their family’s business is based. it’s a trading enterprise, the largest industrial conglomerate in sub-saharan africa

she’s the eldest of three siblings, was raised to be prim & proper and groomed to run their family’s business. her family’s not pushy though and they’re really cool. very healthy dynamic so she doesn’t mind ; she loves her fam and would do it w a smile !

Coding is her Passion though. total dork. stayed up all the time just sleuthing and being an internet geek since she was a youngin’

loves education and is the type who would willingly stay in school to learn. has a degree in economics from harvard and was almost done with her mba when her littlest sister got abducted !  was it about business ? money ? who knows ! the sister’s fine now but her family sure is Scared especially since sara’s alone in the big bad united states

her mom made some calls and went “ gimbiya, look, u aint safe n we sorry. we’ll work something out to make sure u get ur mba degree somehow but shit is wild so we gotta get u somewhere near that’s safe asap. u like studying & ur a geek with computers right ? cool beans, go back to school & welcome to gallagher, babe ”

she enters gallagher in the middle of the spring semester very overwhelmed & inwardly ignoring how unhappy she is about having to be here bc she is not & does not want to be a spy. she just tryna distract herself by looking at this entire thing as a weird vacation where she can do stuff she wasn’t able to before because it’s literally detached from the world. she is mostly probably in way over her head, but let’s see ! 

Other Information

Nicknames: Sara (to everyone), gimbiya (to family, means princess in Hausa)

Languages: English (native), Hausa (native), Arabic (C1), French (B2)

Strengths: is money a strength ? also coding. and being the sweetest. and a general smartypants but that’s in a university setting & gallagher probably doesnt give a fuck

Relationship History: only has one (1) experience. ( well,,, 2 if a three-second drunken kiss w kass counts ) his name’s royce and they’ve known each other since their bougie secondary school back in britain. started dating at sixteen and went to harvard together. they’re long term as fuck. he’s like her best friend and their families adore the couple & each other. got engaged last september and sara broke it off before leaving for gallagher, oof. she deadass milked the opportunity but lbr she wasnt rlly Feeling It so she’s kinda glad for the ‘valid reason’ to appear bc it rlly wasn’t Love for sara so boy bye

Physical appearance: 1.76m, 55kg, long black hair, slim and toned build

Classes: GEN 105, GEN 206, AE 101, AT 101, PE 101

Personality

the sweetest. v charming & sensitive to others & curious about things. enthusiastic too ! loves adventures & is very passionate. queen of empathy. 

she’s not stuck up even tho she loaded. she doesnt rlly talk abt her family having 12B or the fact that she’s an ivy league girl, bc she’s just generally very uwu 

easily stressed and flustered and overwhelmed ! man, gallagher’s gonna shook this goddamn academic dork to her core for the love of god someone pls get the aed ready

rlly fun !!! can be a lil unpredictable bc it b lyk dat for rich girls. loves her independence which she hasn’t maximized bc of her ex fiancé & responsibilities but it’s chill so chill totally chill, no ounce of further longing exists in the crevices of this girl’s heart

she is so not good with confrontation and is so allergic to conflict ok. she will sweep discomfort under a rug and lie on it ‘til it’s flat which makes her a queen of repression & conforming

is she easily overwhelmed & stressed ? yes, but she’ll try not to show it so much. it’s all mostly an internal monologue so don’t underestimate her pls. she’s v smart and competent. can be so competitive ( albeit mostly inwardly ) and a boss ass business bitch like her business momma bc that’s what she’s been training for altho she is still generally a soft bab so ... yeah, if u would be so kind as to Estimate her, that’d be grand

she needs to always be on top of her game. maybe not the best in the class, but definitely pushes herself to be her best, so a lot of late nights studying & won’t settle for bad grades ever. gonna be rough in gallagher bc she is not spy material ok, she’s just a pretty rich geek behind a computer

just imagine her as the nice girl in ur ap classes who’s a lil awkward & just so happens to be super hot & stinking rich

Fun Facts

has a six-month old rescue pup named sooty ! who kinda looks like a sheparnese

has a tendency to ramble if she’s comfy w u enough or mayhaps if it’s too much man 

is v diligent w keeping a journal & does it everyday 

likes to dance ! not super good but she likes it. hits da clubs for dat shit 

is a lil instagram famous bc she’s a gorgeous rich harvard girl & all that jazz. queen of selfies & of looking hot but doesn’t actually get to play around rip ffff 

doesn’t drink much bc she is an extreme lightweight and 2 is her tap out limit

if she’s had more than 2 drinks, she is Very Honest but still very ramble-y 

she is physically active but mostly just runs and does yoga. knows very basic self-defense. is not sporty, definitely not a fighter, may god have mercy on her soul

isnt a virgin but is not sexually experienced lmao lbr she kinda Itching to get out there 

don’t ask me what her accent is because i have no clue it’s all over the place

Established Connections — just bc i think y’all would like to know

kassandra sutton — internet friends ! loves kass to bits. have known each other since sara was 14. when kass was 18, sara took her on a grad trip to montreal and became a lil lowkey into her. doesn’t help that kass drunk kissed her & doesn’t remember lmfao. poor sara told her then-bf & they had a lil fight but they made up bc sara didn’t talk to kass for months. eventually they became friends again & now sara’s in gallagher w no idea that kass is a mf sutton & honestly, my girl is just very shook w everything 

Possible Connections

crushes — she does not know how to flirt. she is ,,,, p pathetic tbh but a real heckin cutie. will be super nice to ur bab ok  

flirtationships — sara and i r gonna continue to keep it real w u chieves, her ex fiancé royce was vanilla and bland as fuck. can u believe she has not been single in a decade ? ? someone give her love & attention & fluster this soft innocent child. get her Experienced but also dont hurt her

enemies/angst !!! —  or maybe do ! maybe hurt her. maybe obliterate her. maybe smash her poor heart to pieces, because tbh i would love that.  so someone pls for the love all things holy and divine, someone hurt her !!!!

fwb — probably just one (1) bc she’s still a romantic ? and she’s probably gonna want something exclusive even if it’s no strings attached and will surely want to ,.,. get to know them a little bit more first ,,, at least ideally , idk , maybe impulse & thirst gets the better of her one of these days who knows lets find out !

friends !!! — sara will love u ok. she may be a lil easily flustered but she’s doesn’t rlly give up on ppl quickly. as i’ve said, queen of empathy. probs feels v sorry for majority of the gallagher & georgetown kids bc, .,.,., this environment just screams highkey Trauma to her and she’s valid bc she’s right

mentors !!! — she hates feeling dumb ok she Always has to be on top of her game, so u can bet ur ass after her first meetings in her classes she goes to ppl going “ hey could u help me out w working out ? boxing ? firing a gun ? literally everything & anything ? ”   

anything & everything — meaning just come @ me & let’s talk about it uwu 

( did i just create georgina’s antithesis ? fuck yes, and i am sooo excited to have a child that’s not always plotting & scheming & being mean like y’all have no idea ;_; nywy, that was long bc shutting up and brevity are things i do not possess. whats up it’s ur og flower garden girl rose here aka bugleweed aka fiancée of many and lover of all, and i am open to anything and everything ! just drop an IM or hit dat like & ill slide in ur dmz w love, plots & sanitized hands x )

[istheresomebodywhocanimagine]

Well... All Right PT. 2

anonymous said: I know you said you didn’t know much about the Beatles but, I was wondering if you could write a Younger John Lennon imagine where the reader visits him wherever and she’s completely smashed and talking nonsense but is super sweet and he just takes care of her and it’s fluffy? Please and thank you!!

Read PT. 1 here

(a/n: i decided to make this a continuation of the last John Lennon imagine I wrote bc it works w the timeline and it’s kinda cute IDK anyways here u go here’s drunk reader and sweet caring john enjoy)

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” John called out as he pulled one of his wrinkled, dirty button ups on, trying his best to look at least not completely asleep as he stormed towards the door. Someone was ringing the doorbell incessantly. His flatmate was out, but he was sure the paper thin walls did nothing to hide the shrieking ring of the bell as it was pressed over, and over, and over. “Ever heard of knocking, or fucking off-“

He swung open the door to find you standing there, looking positively trashed but undeniably cute wrapped up in his jacket that you’d ended up with after your first date a few nights ago. He’d left your dorm later that night, once you’d dried off completely, and had conveniently left both his hat and his jacket near the door. He’d secretly done it to see if you would show up to class in the duo, but hadn’t seen a thing out of you until just now. And damn it, you looked adorable in his green jacket and black hat. If he didn’t end up asking you out properly, he wondered if he should even ask for them back, knowing you looked so good in them.

Now, you’d gone out and partied with a few friends down the street in his jacket and hat, knowing they were a bit too big for you but also not caring too much. When you remembered that John had mentioned he lived in this small flat complex, you’d managed to pull his exact address out of one of his friends at the party and promptly ditched it, taking a bottle of gin with you that was now alarmingly empty and clutched in your hand tightly.

At the sight of his obvious bedhead and tired eyes, you sprang to life, eyes glossy but bright and smile beaming as you lurched forward, wrapping your arms around John and clinging to the poor man for dear life. “Johnny Boy!” you slurred, giggling to yourself and pressing your already warm cheek to his chest, appreciating the intermingling of your body heats.

“Y/N? What’s gotten into you?” he questioned, laughing a bit before hesitantly wrapping an arm around you, pulling you inside with him and closing the door. The chilly cap of the gin bottle pressed into his back as you pulled him closer, and he shivered a bit at the sharp twang of cold it brought to his skin. “So that’s what got into you.”

“I was bored at the party, and then I saw some of your friends that I see you on campus with, and they told me you live here, and so I decided-“ you paused, hiccupping and giggling a bit at how deliriously drunk you were before continuing- “I decided to come see you and bring you your hat, but I think I’ll keep the jacket because it’s nice and smells like you and-“

“You are plastered,” John interrupted, stating the obvious, and you snickered at his amused tone of voice before letting go of him to stumble into his flat, immediately going for the bedrooms. “Hey, hey, my bedroom is my fortress!” he called after you, failing to stop you before you burst into his roommate’s bedroom. “This is not my fortress, though,” he muttered, wrapping an arm around your waist and quickly pulling you out of the room before shutting the door again. “Privacy, little one.”

When his hand went to pat the top of your head, you swung your own at it and smacked him away, giving him as mean of a look as you could muster before you noticed a partially open door just across the hallway – John’s room. Ducking out of his arms, you started crawling to his room, the gin bottle thankfully closed as it clattered to the floor. Picking it up, John resigned to letting you do what you wished and just following instead, shaking his head and sighing.

“At least take off your shoes before you crawl into bed- nevermind,” he sighed when you were already under the covers, probably muddying his sheets beyond repair. “Just take them off anyways, I guess.” Smiling drunkenly up at him, you pulled your shoes off clumsily before dropping them to the floor next to the bed, giggling when John sent you a playfully dismayed look. “Can I get you a glass of water, miss?”

“Ohh, you’re so sweet,” you whined as you pulled the covers up to your chin, grinning out at him. “Please and thank you with a cherry on top… or something. And pizza! Boy, I’m hungry.” And you were off again, throwing the covers to the floor and revealing that you’d actually managed to avoid making much of a mess as you stumbled to your feet, holding onto his arm to steady yourself before smiling bashfully. “I’m a bit drunk, I think.”

“You think?” he teased, tucking a stray hair behind your ear and grinning down at you before nodding towards the kitchen. “C’mon, let’s get you something to eat so you’re not regretting it in the morning.”

“You’re such a good person,” you gushed as you leaned fully against him, letting him half-lead, half-carry you to the kitchen, where you sat down on the floor cross-legged and smiled toothily up at him, hiccupping once again. “Everyone at college thinks you’re a big goof with no common sense, but I see the real you, man. I see how nice you are. Goofs don’t make drunk witches food at…. What time is it?”

“You’re far from a witch. And it’s 2 am, love,” he reminded you, starting to pull out some peanut butter and jelly to make you a few sandwiches. He didn’t have much to eat, so he made a mental note to go grocery shopping tomorrow if he was going to have you over here like this more often. Not that he minded. “Strawberry or grape jam?”

“Grape, are you kidding me?” you scoffed loudly, acting appalled that he’d even suggest strawberry jam in your presence. “What kind of a man are you, after all? Maybe I’m at the wrong guy’s apartment, I thought I was with this cute, smart brunette guy who had a good head on his shoulders, not this- this…. strawberry jam lover’s house!” After crawling to your feet, you sighed and let your head loll back, deciding against walking to the door in indignation. “Too far. M’drunk.”

“Sit back down,” he commanded gently, and you obliged as you slid back down to your cross-legged position, closing your eyes so the room would stop spinning. John’s voice was the only thing grounding you, and you latched onto it as he began speaking again, hanging on to his every word. “We have class tomorrow at 8 but I’m assuming you’re skipping now too?”

“Yup,” you replied loudly, popping the p and grinning when you heard John’s laugh, so pure, rising from a throaty chuckle to a higher-register laugh. He then crouched down next to you with a sandwich and a glass of water, raising an eyebrow when your eyes fluttered open and met his gaze. “You’re so wonderful,” you murmured, suddenly overwhelmed with so much emotion that a tear came to your eye as you gratefully took the sandwich and water, sniffling a bit.

“Aw, no, why are you crying, sweetheart?” he worried, speaking gently as he reached out to brush your hair back and make you look at him. “Don’t cry, you’ll make me cry too.” He then pulled a funny face, pretending to cry with you and pouting his lips in an attempt to make you laugh.

That only made you cry harder, taking a bite of the sandwich as tears began to roll down your face, sobbing in the midst of eating probably one of the best PB&Js you’d ever had – or maybe it was the alcohol talking. As he sat down next to you, he let you rest your head on his shoulder and you bawled your eyes out as you ate the sandwich, such a mess that you’d probably regret it thoroughly in the morning if you remembered. But again, he didn’t mind, only amused at how genuinely emotionally open you were with a bit of gin in you.

Also, he couldn’t help but be a bit partial towards you. He was quite fond of you, so your antics were less annoying than they’d be with someone who he didn’t fancy. He’d decided he liked you quite a bit after you had the best conversation he’d had, well, ever, the other night, talking about everything under the moon, on the moon, and past the moon. You were intelligent, astoundingly so, and had quite an interesting take on religion and politics that made him want to get more active than he currently was in his relatively sheltered middle-class life. He could be ignorant if he wanted to, but what good did that do when he had the most passionate, intellectual girl on his mind, and, well, on his shoulder, crying her eyes out about him?

When you were done with the sandwich, you did your best to stave off the tears as you sipped at the water, still sniveling and whimpering ever so often and keeping your head on his shoulder. “You going to be alright, love?” he mumbled, resting his head on yours and chuckling a bit when you shook your head. “How about we get one more glass of water in you and then we can sail off to dreamland, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, sounding immensely sad, and it was all he could do not to laugh out loud at how pitiful you sounded. You were going to be quite sore in the morning, he could already tell. But at least the water would help with the dehydration that would set in around the time class started without you two. “John, I’m so sad about Buddy.”

“Buddy?” he asked, lifting his head so he could look down at you in confusion. Was that a friend, a pet of sorts? A boyfriend he’d not known about? “Who’s Buddy?”

“Buddy Holly, you bloody git,” you moaned unhappily, sitting up to finish off your water before sighing and clumsily handing the cup over to him. “M’sorry. I didn’t mean it. You’re not daft, you’re so wonderful. I don’t deserve your help right now. I think I’ll just go.” Using the counter to pull yourself to your feet, you stood still and leaned on the counter to steady yourself, biting your lip before starting to stumble for the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, following and sitting the cup on the counter as he blocked you from leaving the kitchen. “You’re not walking anywhere like this, sweets, you’ll catch your death or get kidnapped, one of the two.” Wrapping his arm around your waist, he managed to toss you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, where you hung like dead weight as he got another glass of water with his free hand.

“Let them take me. I’ll cry so much they’ll get annoyed and kick me out anyways,” you protested weakly, already falling asleep at the intoxicatingly relaxing smell of John’s cologne on his shirt. “M’damn tired, Lenny. Can I sleep in your bed with you? I promise I won’t try to cuddle – unless you want to. You’re really warm. And smell good.”

Chuckling at the last part, he carried you down the hallway, sitting down the glass of water on his nightstand once he reached his room and helping you sit down on the bed. “Can’t sleep in that dress, s’not made for sleeping.”

“Heh. Snot,” you laughed sleepily, your eyes fluttering dangerously as you fell back on the bed, resting an arm over your eyes. “That’s funny.”             Shaking his head as he grabbed you some pajamas, he managed to slide some sweatpants on you as you lay there like a limp ragdoll and let him dress you. However, he refused to take your dress off, letting you do the honors and promising to look only if you needed help changing into the shirt. “Thank you for the shirt, Lenny. You can look now.”

You’d surprisingly managed to pull your dress off and make your way into the shirt, and now you were reaching out for him, sprawled out across the bed. “Drink your water first,” he chastised gently, and you shot him an annoyed look under rapidly heavying eyelids before chugging half of the glass, sitting the rest back on the stand noisily. “Good girl.”

“I’m not a pet,” you mumbled, falling back to the bed and grumbling incoherently between hiccups. John managed to squeeze in next to you, pulling the covers over the both of you, and for a moment, he had no clue what to do with his hands. As much as he wanted to wrap his arms around you and drift off to sleep, he had no idea whether drunk you would be elated to cuddle with him, or slap him because of the strawberry jam thing. “Why aren’t we cuddling?” you asked aloud, John immediately snapping out of his thoughts and laughing as he realized you’d already made the decision for him.

“Give a man a moment to breathe,” he teased, reaching out and wrapping his arms around your waist as you cuddled back into him, quickly getting comfortable. Already feeling the effects of sleep quickly threatening to take him out, he gave your arm a quick rub before kissing the back of your head. “Goodnight.”

But you were already out cold, snoring softly and garnering an amused chuckle out of him before he, too, dozed off. That left him practically alone once again, so he did the only thing he could do with your body weighing down on his arm, making it fall asleep and tingle – he fell asleep too.

And he slept good. So good, that he nearly didn’t feel you crawling out of bed, scrambling to find the bathroom at 7:55. Nearly.

As you left, he slowly pulled out of his groggy state, groaning softly and trying to put two and two together. Nothing really clicked until he saw the half-drank water on his nightstand, and it all shifted into place once his bleary gaze came to rest on your shoes laying haphazardly next to the bed. “Aw, shit, poor thing,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes as he threw his legs over the side of the bed to the sound of you emptying the contents of your stomach in the next room. Grabbing the water, he padded out into the hallway and down to the toilet, slowly pushing open the door to find you crouched over the toilet, miserable and embarrassed and disoriented.

“Oh my God, it’s you,” you mumbled when you peeked through your hair to see him, immediately casting your eyes downward again as the room began to spin. “I wondered whose apartment I was in.” Sniffling, you mumbled a thank you as he wordlessly sat the water down on the chilly tile next to you, his hand grazing over your wrist and snatching one of the hair ties there before using it to pull your hair back up out of your face. He’d done it before for a few girlfriends and friends alike, so it was like second nature to him as he successfully gathered your hair into a bun, then sat behind you and rested against the wall.

“Good morning. Fancy some breakfast?” Groaning softly, your stomach thoroughly disagreed with the thought and he grimaced as you continued to empty what was left of your stomach, thankful that he’d gotten your hair out of the mix when you finally gave up, using the water to gargle and rinse your mouth before taking a drink and sitting back. You found his chest behind you, weakly slumping between his legs and resting the side of your face against his torso as you felt absolutely drained. “No more gin for you, eh?”

“Jesus, no,” you muttered, wrapping your arms around his torso and whining softly as you recalled approximately how much you’d drank. “Did I…. smack you? I’m so sorry.”

“Just my hand. Hurt like hell, though,” he chuckled, reaching up to rub your arm and doing his best to soothe you as he looked at his watch. 7:59. “Oh my, if we don’t hurry, we’re going to be late! Wouldn’t professor love that, his favorite pupil and the bane of his existence skipping together?”

Holding up his watch for you to see, you watched it change to 8 and let out a weak laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, he can fuck off. Hope it eats him alive.” Your eyes closed again and you huffed softly, almost dozing off at the relaxing feeling of John’s touch on your arm, rubbing methodically and making you feel not as shitty, surprisingly. “Thanks for not kicking me out, Lenny.”

“Me? Thanks for not kicking me out when you found out I like strawberry jam.”

“Ew! I’ve changed my mind, maybe I should have smacked you.”

tagging @strawberryfields-forever bc it’s technically a continuation of the request they sent in hehe but otherwise -

message me/reply to this if you want to be added to the beatles taglist! REQUESTS CLOSED

[fanfictiondotme]

Overwhelmed

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Characters: derek, readers children, reader

Ship:  Derek x Reader

Summary: Poor over exhausted reader meets Derek; little bit of an a/u, derek owns a gym

Warnings: cussing, pregnancy, mentions of abuse, just be careful when reading and I love y’all, you ever need anything let me know. mentions of rape. i’m shitty with warnings, just be careful reading this fic. sort of a/b/o because it fits very well.

For: Abuse / Mental Health

If you ever need help please contact someone you trust or local law enforcement.

You waddled into the grocery store, nudging your three pups into the store. You needed a damn leash for these kids. They ran off towards the nerf guns, “Stop right there!” all three of your children stopped dead in their tracks, “We will look at the toys when I get done, I need your help today.” They whined in unison, and your eyes glowing a velvet red, showing them who the boss was. The boys quietly fell back in line and you continued to walk through the store with your rugrats following suit, complaining the whole way.

Halfway through the cereal isle, you got a very strong whiff of home. You smiled to yourself, the boys continued complaining and asking about looking at the toys. You asked Nicholas, your oldest, to get the cereal off of the bottom shelf, your favorite and your worst pregnancy craving, Fruity Pebbles. He groaned, picking the cereal up, “If we would’ve stayed with dad, we would be looking at toys right now.” You glared at him, “Nicholas Shaun! That is absolutely unacceptable to say!” You sniffed the air and he reeked of guilt, you ran your fingers through his hair and smiled at your boys. “Go, I’ll get you whenever I’m done,” they all gave you a gentle hug, running off and giggling.

You loved your children, but they just didn’t understand why you had to leave Eric. Someday they will no, but today is not that day. You walked to the jelly, glancing at your very long list and the jelly that sat upon the top shelf, you groaned. Looking around for someone, your body was filled with sadness. You really wanted the jelly, but you didn’t want to inconvenience anyone. You started to walk away when someone touched your shoulder. You sniffed before turning, home. You smiled at the gorgeous green eyed god who stood before you. “Hello, do you need some help?” You blushed a little, nodding, “Can you get that jelly up there for me?” He easily stretched his perfectly sculpted arms to the top shelf and grabbed my prize.

“I’m Derek Hale, I own the gym down the street,” he smiled holding out his hand. “I’m Y/N Y/L/N, host to the gremlin inside me,” he giggled, glancing at your list with only a quarter scratched out. “Would you like for me to stick around? You might need some more help,” you filled with guilt as he asked you. “No, no, it’s okay, I’ve got it.” He smiled at you, nostrils flaring, it looked oddly similar to... You took another whiff, the air filling with wolf and your eyes flashed red, a warning signal for him to back up. You put your hand on your stomach, he took a step back. “Y/N, I’m just a guy trying to help, I’m no harm,” you took another whiff, smelling home again. You sighed, knowing if he was going to do you harm he was going to go after your boys, not you. You smiled and apologized, explaining that you are just skittish towards other wolves.

Derek stayed with you for your entire shopping list, he even went and collected your boys for you. He walked you to your vehicle and put all of your groceries in the back of your SUV, buckled in your children, and helped you in your car. All good signs, all while smelling like the safest place you’ve ever known. You rolled down your window, inviting him to your home, feeding him was the least you could do after he helped you all day long. He gladly accepted, following you home. When you arrived to your house he emptied the back for you, carrying every last grocery in and letting your boys put them away.

“I can cook, you know,” he tried to intervene in you being on your feet even more. “No, I can cook, you’ll see.” He giggled and put his hands up defensively, allowing you to work your magic. You moved easily around the kitchen, unbeknownst to yourself, Derek watching every move in awe. He adored you, and you just smelled so good to him, like nothing he had ever smelt in his life. Finally, you took the jumbo stuffed burgers off of the stove, smiling as Derek got up to go get your boys. Watching the boys wrestle in the living room made Derek laugh. The boys quickly stopped play fighting and ran to the dining room.

“You know,” Derek started and he transferred food from the kitchen to the dining room, “I could train them in my gym, that’s what it’s there for, supernatural creatures who need guidance.” You smiled at Derek, nodding your head and rubbing your belly mindlessly. “That would be very good for them, and I’m gonna have my hands full here, with Amber coming and all, it would be great.” Derek grabbed your hand, your skin lighting with electricity. You felt comforted, safe and exhilarated.

Derek started coming up regularly, helping out more and more as your baby bump continued to grow. You would find yourself curled up next to Derek, your boys sound asleep. Derek always smelled like he was at peace around you, he was always your home at the end of the day, you loved him and you could never tell him. You did what you could to mask your scent, but even if he smelled it, he would more than likely assume it was because of your boys.

You jolted awake, scenting someone who smelled of pure hatred. You tried to grab Dereks’ arm but he was already standing at attention. “Let’s go.” You followed Derek who had a protective arm around you. Heading straight for your boys room, Derek stopped in his tracks and backed up. You stepped out from behind Derek. “Chris.” You grabbed the back of Dereks shirt, your entire body reeking of fear. “Y/N, so nice to see you, it took me a long time to find you.” Chris stepped forward, eliciting a growl from Derek. “Chris, you need to leave, I have a restraining order on you.” You backed up a few more steps, your ex-husband laughing.

“That didn’t stop me when I put that Pup in you, did it?” You whimpered, Chris scared you. After Nick he was always violent towards you, Derek reeked of fury, something you had never smelled on him before, but he still smelled like home. “Chris, I don’t think we’ve met, let me guess, you’re the abusive ex-husband? I’m Derek, and I’m only telling you one time that you need to leave.” Derek’s claws began extending, his eyes glowing red, his facial hair becoming longer. At the point Chris had done the same thing, you’d never met anyone willing to stand up to this man and you were afraid Derek would be hurt in the crossfire. “Listen, buddy, all I want is my pups and my mate.” You scoffed.

“Those pups, this pup, are not yours. They are mine. They haven’t imprinted on you. They imprinted on me and Derek. I’m not your mate, you never mated me, remember, you just took what you wanted and left.” At this Chris pounced, Derek intervening in his attack. Derek pushed Chris against the wall, clawing at his shoulder, Chris injecting his claws into Dereks side. At this point Samuel, your middle child, slightly opens the door, looking out, waking his other two brothers. Derek was crippled, but managed to get Chris again in the side. Chris pushed Derek backwards, coming at you. You yelled at him, “What do you want Chris?”

“You, I want my life back, you ruined it! You took everything from me, you know because of Y/B/F/N nobody fucking trusts me?” He moved closer to you, putting his hand around your throat, pushing you backwards against the wall. “Everyone thinks I am some rapist alpha, taking what he wants, well, tonight, that’s wha-” he was cut off, by Derek you thought. Chris fell to the ground, bleeding profusely from his ankles, Nicholas residing behind his father.

Derek got up, pulling Chris to his vehicle, grunting the entire way. Once Derek left, you sat the boys down. It was time to tell them who their father was. Nicholas was the angriest, not understanding why you kept this from him. Samuel gave you a hug, telling you that it was okay now. Poor little John waited for the other two boys to leave. “Mommy,” he started, he looked afraid, he smelled hopeful, “now that Chris is gone for good, does that mean we can finally call Derek daddy?” You just stared at the boy, thinking for a moment. “Baby, Chris will alway be your father,” you sighed and leveled with him, putting your hand on his shoulder, “but you, you get to decide who your dad is.” You gave him a kiss and sent him to bed. Waiting on Derek to get back, you curled up on the couch, staring at the door.

It was hours before he returned, completely head and changed clothes. He came to you immediately. You broke down and sobbed in his arms. He held you for about an hour, when you had cried yourself to sleep in his arms. Then gently picked up up and carried you to the bed. You shifted, losing the warmth of Derek, you woke up, he was heading out the bedroom door. “Derek,” you whispered, “please,” your lip quivered, “I can’t do this anymore. Please just stay.” He walked over to the bed, keeping his shirt on but you tugged at it gently. You needed your true mates skin contact right now. As he stripped off his shirt, you stripped off your own.

There was nothing sexual about this experience. You had know that Derek was your true mate from the moment you met him. Your grandmother always telling you stories of how a true mate, if you were to ever find them, would always give off a scent. A scent that you would never smell on another thing. You knew it was rare, to find a true mate, and you wondered if Derek knew. Your mate pulled you closer to him, pressing his skin to your own. You inhaled deeply, resenting yourself, “Alpha.” Derek let off a low growl, “Omega,” he scented you again, “Mate.” That word made you shiver, filling your entire body with an overwhelming sense of peace and safety.

Over the next month, Derek was never alone, he was always with you, the pups or all of you. Your relationship had progressed, nothing sexual yet, as your were ready to pop out your little Amber. On November 14th, your little baby was born. Three years later, you and Derek married. He mated you and raised your children as his own. You started your family pack, expecting another peanut, running the gym and your antique shop, you were very pleased with how your life was evolving. From dust too diamonds.

[centaurrential]

Play that funky music...

About a week ago I was walking from home to the train station, with the frost forcing me to tactically place my feet as I walked so as not to slip and fall. Most of the way I was able to walk on the grass peeking out from under the gates of residential properties. Even with the frost, the texture of grass is much friendlier than the slickness of pavement.

I was nearly at the steps up to the station when I thought, “Ha! Home free!” Of course, the second I stopped paying attention to my feet, I fell. My natural inclination was to curse the municipality for failing to salt the sidewalk, but, me being me, my thoughts led to, “but what about eutrophication? What about over-salinization of waterways? Soil??? What. are. the. consequences?!” And then all those split-second thoughts collapsed into, “...what if sidewalks were designed with more texture in mind?”

You encounter those situations often in life. One problem is solved, but solutions beget more problems, and so on, until you’re spiralling into a rather ridiculous situation where your problems become inflated and you’re trying to get a grip on things when the whole matter could have been avoided in the first place.

With regard to writing and argument, many university professors prefer shorter works and will actually penalize you if you write beyond the set limit. But those are exercises in logic and persuasiveness - I’m attempting something a bit different.  The second-to-last thing I wrote was nearly ten pages long according to my word processor. I could have written a lot more, but I was afraid of overwhelming people. However, it seems that my writing is easy enough to follow and it wouldn’t be a terrible thing if I went on longer, so I’ll do that this time. I’m happy to do that, ‘cause there are a lot of tiny pieces that make the puzzle.

And again, I want to add a few notes regarding my one of my previous posts (the one about mental health was something like a short performance during an intermission). Looking back, I think these addenda actually tie separate posts together nicely. (Initially I had the word ‘little’ in front of ‘addenda’ but once I reviewed what I actually wrote, I don’t think ‘little’ is the right descriptor...)

The observation that ‘responsibility to others is necessary’ is not my own. Dr. Jordan Peterson (the infamous U of T psychology professor) has championed that as medicine for the modern existential crises many people find themselves falling into. He also tends to critique ideological thinking. I purposely didn’t mention his name, not to take credit for his ideas, but because I wanted to protect myself, and to protect the ideas. I wanted them to stand alone per se, so that everyone could reflect on where taking on more responsibility to others might aid them more than they thought. Peterson has influenced my thinking enormously and I didn’t want the leftist radicals to rip my head off because some of his opinions are highly controversial (and because I am, in a way, an ally to them, and I really do value some of the things those people have to say). If you’re interested, look him up, but if you do, please look carefully. I’ll comment on the theme characterizing his relationship to social justice later in this post.

I generally see Dr. Peterson’s views as rather optimistic, but with respect to certain issues I feel this optimism is misplaced. Two reasons why:

a. He attempts to justify economic inequality generated by capitalism via the ‘paredo distribution’ (Google it). The graph is apparently a pattern that economists have discovered, which reflects the natural flow of more money into the hands of people who already have it. And this is generally understood: the more capital you have, the easier it is to take risks and to invest and thus generate more capital. And if that behaves as some kind of ‘economic law’ or inescapable trend, then why challenge it? But of all the lectures and interviews I’ve watched on YouTube, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him concede that this distribution pattern might be exaggerated because of dishonesty and historical oppression, which altered the playing field tremendously, so much so that levelling it seems nearly impossible - and that we are still paying for it today all whilst battling the new emerging monster that is post-modern capitalism (which is ironically fuelled by our appetite for social media).

The most obvious global example is the “slave trade”. Not only was most of the continent of Africa torn into pieces, its own people were taken from their homes and sent across an entire fucking ocean, in an attempt to distribute its riches, which were never for the taking in the first place. So while the description of ‘whiteness’ as privilege is inaccurate as it is too broad and too narrow at the same time, the feeling of guilt some people feel because they were simply born into a culture that has its roots in colonization is a very real problem. And any Canadian who’s encountered the news at some point in the last few years knows that this problem is alive and well, still kicking at the backdoor of Indigenous communities.

The specifics of dishonest profit-making: inexcusable wages, horrendous working conditions (even in North America), the ruin of families because workers are sucked away to do hard labour instead, the evaporation of opportunity for self-determination, the inability to basically breathe, and, the clincher: the manufactured DEPENDENCY on all of this. And that’s only in the spiritual realm - never mind the disastrous ecological situation.

People generally think of vegetation as a ‘renewable resource’. False. I mean technically, yes, you can plant more trees and you can grow more vegetation, but that’s only the case if your soil is of sufficient quality, and even then certain soils only permit certain kinds of vegetation to grow. Like a grassland versus a subalpine forest. And yes, soil and vegetation do have a give-and-take relationship, but the complexity of both the soil and of the ecosystem at large takes a VERY long time to develop, so long that it’s hard to even conceive of the time span if we were to overlay it with our personal lives.

When I first read (in an introductory forestry textbook) that soil, not the crop, is the true resource, it blew my mind. That’s because time constraints dictate our lives and they dictate what constitutes “renewable resources” and “non-renewable resources”. The problem wouldn’t be so bad if we could find a way to revive soil and bring it back to its authenticity (ie. its historical character, just before the pillage) once we’re done harvesting whatever crop we have. And farmers do do that to a certain extent; they rotate crops: some crops suck the nitrogen out of the soil, and some restore it.  But you look at something like the Alberta tar sands, and never mind the fact that it’s an oil producer, but also that is ground we are never getting back, because that ground evolved in such a way that only the passage of time can allow. Erosion can take two forms: physical (many soils are stratified and if you dig a hole deep enough you can actually see the layers because they’re often coloured differently), and chemical depletion.  And if you segregate excess biological matter so much that it cannot return to the soil, those locked-in nutrients aren’t going to just magically appear out of nowhere. That would violate our law of the conservation of mass.

And we’re not even talking about the little society that is the mature/old-growth forest. You can see a marked difference between tree plantations and natural forests. Part of the discipline of forestry is to observe the stages that occur in forest development, and it isn’t just “let’s go plant some trees in a barren landscape”. When you learn about the different qualities in a forest plot like its geologic traits and the way water moves through it, you have to use your powers of deduction to write some kind of backstory that explains the ageing of that young forest into old growth. The point is, the explanation is necessarily holistic.

Old forests are messier, and that’s because they’re like human societies in that they become much more complex over time. However, they don’t resist change-making elements. They change in accordance with the ebb and flow of Earth’s cyclical processes. By contrast, human-made structures require humans to tend to them, to restore the order that entropy has taken, to ‘heal’ natural erosion. Scientists concerned with the relationship between humans and the natural environment often encourage people to go into nature because it’s healthy. I don’t think that has as much to do with extra oxygen intake as it does with vibing the rhythms of nature.

Ok, I went on a bit of a tangent there but not for no reason.

I think Dr. Peterson really does want to see the glass as half-full rather than half empty but he also tries to paint capitalism in a more positive light by saying that people are less poor now than they were half a century ago. That may be the case, but then I wonder what got them poor in the first place? It was the idea that ‘this is mine just because [I got lucky and] I have the tools (money) to make it mine’, and the mindset that suppressed people don’t have inherent value and that another’s quality of life doesn’t depend on more than just money. And if you’ve got enough money and the investment offer you propose to a government is appealing enough, international borders, and the management of resources that’s supposed to fall within those borders, don’t matter either! It’s like breaking someone’s flower vase on purpose, gluing the bits and pieces back together, and then saying, “Look what I did for you! You owe me a thanks.” But of course, the people who did the vase-breaking and the people trying to repair the vase aren’t always the same people.

The other situation where I don’t think Peterson accounts for the entire truth:

b. Women. It sounds like most feminists hate him. I don’t think he hates women; I think he’s too preoccupied with figuring out the truth about things to resort to something like that. There are moments when he’s on the public stage where he’s actually moved to tears because of how passionately he feels about human suffering, and because of the gratitude people have toward him for his ability to motivate his listeners in fixing themselves. And I think the majority of his audience consists of young men, which some people look at and think “RED FLAG”. But the detractors don’t pay attention to the real reasons his ideas appeal to men because they think all men are one-dimensional creatures.

Anyway, when he thinks of feminism he thinks economically, and I guess that makes sense because the more money you have, the more freely you can act.  And in that respect, for him, sexism doesn’t exist and the disparities we see between men and women in the workforce are because of inherent differences in male and female personalities - not that one is better than the other, but because they’re just different. But when I see people complaining that about someone being ‘relegated’ to a traditional female role (or they’ve been brainwashed into thinking those are the only suitable roles), it makes me wonder why those roles aren’t elevated to an importance equal to that of traditionally male roles. And the way I interpret the economics of feminism -- liberal feminism -- is that the traditional realm of the woman is left in the dust, and what we should all aspire to are masculine ideals, which, to me, isn’t really a good type of feminism at all!

But what’s ignored is this sort of...carnal...view of women that misogynists have, that has nothing to do with economics and everything to do with female sex organs, the female form, and the belief that because of all the things that make women women, they are purely inferior to everything considered “traditionally masculine”. You can be a financially successful woman and still experience an ancient sexism, latent or otherwise, which really is tied to your sexuality and to your ability to produce babies and further, the expectation that you will be the one to nurture them. And the ancient and the present clash violently sometimes. And I don’t have a problem with a lack of mercy toward true misogynists, but I do feel sorry for them because, can you imagine how they feel once they realize a woman is actually smarter and more capable than them?

So here I want to address the relationship between the individual and the communities the individual is a part of. I talk about individuals a lot and I think I have a very good reason for doing so. First of all, it’s cultural. I’m speaking from the point of view of a society in which the development of the individual is encouraged, and is a priority. We probably wouldn’t be able to relate to people from less prominent cultures who really do think first and foremost in group terms. And psychologically, there are few instances where a person, whose sense of individuality is fully formed, would be capable of transforming into something else (not to say that’s impossible though).

You may remember the link I provided in my last post, and if you read the article you’ll know that the degree to which a person sees themselves as an individual varies across cultures (and you’ll know how breath-taking and unexpected the connection between schizophrenia and individualism is). The author mentions a study involving Chinese citizens and Danish citizens, where researchers discovered that variations in notions of individuality are reflected neurologically. I can’t help but wonder if the diminished sense of autonomy observed in the Chinese participants had something to do with China becoming a giant of communism. This may be a case of the-chicken-or-the-egg, but the fact that the government under Mao committed huge human rights atrocities, which no average citizen would willingly invite into their homes, leads me to believe that the communist mindset would, if anything, be less attractive in the aftermath than when it was a novel idea. I obviously don’t know the whole history, so this is just conjecture. But then, compare that situation to the one in the United States where even the word “socialism” (communism-lite to some) sends people into a frenzy. And, arguably, contained in the American mentality is a very deep idea of independence from others. Canadian citizens are known (and I think beloved!) internationally for being more peaceful and more moderate than our southern neighbours. The word ‘socialism’ doesn’t hit a nerve with us like it does Americans, and I was always so puzzled why the S word was such a dirty word to them. Now it makes a little more sense... it’s psychological.

There is no sense in arguing what type of mindset is better or worse, ‘cause I think we’re sort of stuck with what we have. And what I say here isn’t meant to be universal, for obvious reasons. Anyway, the issue isn’t so much Individualism trumping the need for the betterment of the community, or sacrificing the realization of individual desires for community order, but that overall, the individual is inhabited by emotion, or otherwise that which compels you. And the feeling a person has is what causes them to act, and that is the first level of interpersonal change-making. And if an individual deviates from accepted moral behaviours, the onus is on them to pay the price. Pretty much everything else is external. The way you transform your individual feelings into something that the community might benefit from - and you SHOULD, because we place a hell of a lot of trust in strangers as we go about our daily activities - is to think that maybe, if you’re feeling something, someone else has felt the same. And the way you figure that out for certain is by trusting that a person will tell you, given that they’re allowed the opportunity to do so. I’m pretty sure Wittgenstein talked about this in his Philosophical Investigations.

It’s like when kids fall and scrape their knees or something. You don’t just assume that they’re not okay because they have an injury, you wait for them to tell you if they’re in trouble. If they pick themselves up and move on with the activity, you can trust that they are fine. One of the many things that are awesome about kids is that they don’t mess around; they’re not political and they haven’t yet assumed all those pretences that we adults have.

For a moment I want to explore what knowledge can do to morality. In this context I mean morality in the human realm, which I believe is more complicated than it used to be. Take war and refugees, for example. Even before social media we relied on journalists to provide us with accurate information about acute situations, like war. But we’ve become exposed to systemic, chronic injustices taking place in countries we think are technically functioning alright just because bombs aren’t going off and they’re not waking up everyday to the sound of machine-gun fire. We generally have knowledge that there are people somewhat unlike ourselves, in that they suffer because the quality of their lives is much worse than ours. We wouldn’t know about these things if not for global travel, and if not for the Internet.

So we feel something tugging at our heartstrings - can we do something about it? A relatively painless solution is to donate money. That works, but only when you have human agency thrown into the mix - money is useless without people. And NGOs, like any other organization, have their maximum operational capacities, and humans have maximum capacities too. So the question is, when do you give up your life for the sake of someone else’s, halfway across the globe? And does the information we have obligate us to do these things just as knowing our next-door-neighbour would (in theory) obligate us to help them when needed? And from that follows another question: how big should our jurisdictions--the administrators of public works and services--get before our neighbours become faceless?

So some prominent public figures like to warn people that “democracy is in trouble.” Um, no shit Sherlock! From the American point of view, I think what they’re referring to--other than corruption--is increased ideological polarization, with fewer people meeting on middle ground. And that’s to be expected: not only is a collection of individuals more powerful the bigger it gets, resulting in greater capacity to attract more like-minded people, but the Internet has made it very easy for such groups to be more visible, and then more accessible. Of course Americans are typically seen as more “extreme” than Canadians, and that view (fact?) contributed to the theory that the financial crisis of 2007/8 was harsher on the Americans than it was on Canada: the “all-in” was reflected in the propensity for US bankers to take greater risks in sculpting their neat little “financial packages”, whereas that was less so the case in Canada. (This is not my own theory, just something I learned in a random political science class.) Anyway, so the legitimized and dare I say, “civilized” channels of social change (ie. voting, writing to your local elected official) are increasingly being circumvented.

But if we haven’t already lost democracy, we are well on the way. People who instruct that YoU sHoUlD vOtE employ a paper thin definition of democracy that assumes the democracy of the ancients is the same as democracy in 2020, which it absolutely is not! First of all, if you consider the rural voter compared to one employed on Wall Street, the vote representing Wall Street reaches further than the rural one, and is more likely to be heard than the one representing rural lifestyles. So the illusion that “every individual gets one vote” may be a de jure truth, but is a de facto lie.

It matters where people collect themselves, and it matters what way entire industries vote, and it matters which industries are considered more important than others. After all, “the economy” is number one in political platforms, and if it’s not number one to individual voters, that’s because they operate on the presumption that they are sufficiently insulated from drastic changes in that realm, allowing them to focus on social issues instead.

And even if we’re not voting officially in elections, we can see how skewed “democracy” is, and how not all votes are equal, if we pay close attention to the issues that monopolize the media. While the purpose of media is provide us with information, it does also act like some kind of statistical sieve. I suppose the best (and easiest) way to maintain skepticism is to remind oneself that what you see on the daily news is only a tiny portion of what is happening in the world, and that is just its nature.

I had lunch with a friend on Boxing Day and she provided me with some statistics that basically compared the number of lives lost in our province due to drug overdoses, compared to the number of lives lost because of COVID infection, over the same time period. Deaths from ODs far outnumber deaths from COVID, but it’s obvious which issue has been dominating our psyches for months now. And why is that? It’s because the people who are likely to die from drug overdoses are “certain kinds of people”; drug use is their “identity”, and that through their “habits” they are segregated from the rest of the population. We believe, however, that COVID isn’t selective in the same way that overdoses are, and so more people feel the need to act, if only on a theoretical basis. But why would this discrepancy exist if the only thing we cared about was preserving the life of a person, no matter who it was?  This is the rural road/Wall Street issue in another form.

Furthermore, the distance between voters and elected representatives has ballooned, though I couldn’t imagine it any other way. Never mind the obvious issue we have in Canada where we don’t vote directly for our Prime Minister--unlike the presidential elections in the US--we run into many obstacles whenever we try to get the government to bloody well listen to us. Anyone who’s dealt with Service Canada, or any bureaucracy for that matter, would agree. The point is objectivity and fairness--and fairness is a good but complicated thing--but the more heterogeneous your population becomes, the more difference in people you need to account for, and the looser and looser the language becomes! The details of any issue you need resolving become close to irrelevant. Like it’s no wonder political platforms are so generalized and vague. Maybe the loss of democracy engenders ideology because people want goals, they want inclusivity, justifiably, and they want things against which to measure the efficacy of politicians. But the specificity required to address the needs of a particular community is really hard to come by! If you really wanted to stay true to the origins of democracy you would decentralize everything, and the balloon separating voters and elected representatives would shrink, but that’s not going to happen. So we might as well loosen our grip on The Democracy Ideal and just call it something else.

That being said, it isn’t like federal governance isn’t useful, because even if you disagree with federalization the reality is that centralized governance makes possible the galvanization and coordination of resources and people that small, independently-governed communities would be unable to accomplish. Example: war. You may not be the one looking for war, but that doesn’t mean someone who’s got beef with you isn’t either. War is not funny, but I tend to see warmongers as little boys throwing temper tantrums - “You made me MAD and now I’m coming to destroy your sandcastle!!!!” :o ...did I say that out loud?

And the power of tax revenue increases the larger your jurisdiction becomes.

Think of it this way: you have many small, independently-governed communities in one area of the world, and a more centralized community in another area of the world. In terms of land-mass, total population, and GDP per capita, the group of small communities and the single large one are the same. And the total tax revenue from the small jurisdictions combined equals the revenue from the one, big, centralized system. But you can bet that the more centralized society is gonna be able to do more with its dollars, just because you have fewer people, who are possibly less ideologically (nationalistically?) divergent, in charge OF those dollars!

And most people can name their Premier or the Prime Minister before they’d be able to name the lesser celebrities that make up Parliament and the legislature, which tells you a whole lot right there. You can see that whenever people talk politics they’re not complaining about what their local representative is or isn’t doing (with the exception of mayors, but as my tenth-grade civics class described it, cities “are creations of the province” and are dependent on provincial and federal funding, whereas the provinces pre-existed confederation). The focus is always on the higher-level politicians, on a provincial or national level. Not to mention people are nothing but mobile these days, and you can easily find yourself traveling (or even relocating your residence) from one jurisdiction or electoral ward to another in just an hour. Now how do you govern people who are mobile like that? They can take their money out of one jurisdiction and inject it into another, no sweat. Like, maybe, someone who lives on the border between BC and Alberta. Or Ontario and Quebec. You get the point.

And the issue of mobility is a very important one because the main mode of transportation people rely on will dictate what they can do with their lives. A person who relies on a bicycle or public transit to get around will not have the potential to do as much as a person who owns a car. The time it takes to get places--because you are either at the mercy of your physical energy, or you are at the mercy of bus and train schedules--and the size and weight of the load you can carry is dependent on what you can afford, and also what is more “practical”. So while you technically may live in a big jurisdiction like Toronto or Vancouver, the “city” that you move through to secure your essentials is bound, with your residence at the centre and the distance from that centre that you are able to travel. And if you have more constraints, you have to be discerning about what your most important tasks are.  

Here’s another way to think about: if you’re the sort of person who’d rather buy “locally grown” food than “imported” food, what is your definition of “local”? Does it refer to anything within provincial or state borders, or does it refer to a particularly-sized circle where the grocery store you are most loyal to occupies the centre?

I’m switching gears here because I really want to talk more about an issue that affects me greatly: the problem of ideology. So for a while there I was kind of YouTube obsessed and Peterson explained one of the advantages of YouTube perfectly: on that platform you don’t have the time constraints, and you don’t necessarily have the ideological constraints you find in mainstream media, either. You can do justice to issues that need much deeper exploration than what the news offers, and I’m of the mind that many things are like that.

So I’d watch conversations or debates or whatever you want to call them and I think to myself, am I missing something?! Sometimes you talk to a person who’s so staunch in their ideology and they have such confidence, and such conviction that you really do wonder if they know something you don’t. But this happens on both “sides” of the established political spectrum. Which begs the question: does your point of view have such exquisite internal unity that it is impossible to extract from it a single valid proposition without needing to commit to the entire farce? It’s like standing at a concrete wall, knowing there is something on the other side, but no chance of wishing a door into existence. And those people are built like metal detectors. Metal detectors have a sole purpose and that’s to sniff out something they’re already looking for. You can almost predict how a conversation with an ideologue is going to go if you have prior knowledge about their general political stance. You’re fed a script, and this script has pretty much remained the same through time, with maybe new information thrown in there to support a belief the person already has. And because the societal picture in their minds looks more like a Mondrian than a Monet, when they get stuck in a corner and have no option but to repeat something they’ve already said in hopes that viewers won’t notice, it is positively cringe-worthy!

I’m not here to endorse one political party over another, I just exposit as I see it.

In my view, modern conservatives differ from liberals in one key way: they support and even instigate the encroachment of their ideals into people’s personal lives, whereas liberals tend to be more like “live and let live”. That’s what makes the issues of abortion and same-sex marriage hard to resolve in the arena of party politics.

I think, for anyone to lay claim to truth in politics, they’d have to find themselves in the innumerable (possibly infinite) different social situations people find themselves in on a regular basis, just to get a wee understanding of why they may make certain choices in future terms. But that’s impossible. The most you can say is, “Well I’ve lived through a multitude of different social dynamics at play, and I know that things aren’t always the same, and so the best I can do is acknowledge possibilities, even if I can’t name them.” Like a person can find themselves oppressed in one situation (according to the definition of oppression I suggested in a previous post) and be perfectly okay in another. And this applies globally. Think of going to a posh restaurant where you’re unable to purchase a drink with your astronomically-priced meal so you’re forced to order water. But THEN you go to a dive bar and because you can afford a pitcher of beer you feel like a KING.

...No, things can get more serious than that.

I think one good thing the left has given us is the concept of ‘intersectionality’, and I think the degree of intersectionality in a society is related to its level of multiculturalism. But I’ve seen it abused, and selectively applied. They take one look at a person, think to themselves, “Oh, you look aryan,” and then without thinking about the possible tragedies that pepper your background, they throw you into the “privileged white person” pile and wash their hands clean of you. And applying those ‘white people’ stereotypes to a person who appears to be a certain way is just as bad as any other stereotype. Also, samples of supposed ‘radical thinking’ on social media really shows another type of authoritarianism, where people ABSOLUTELY CANNOT MAKE MISTAKES! Forgiveness isn’t a concept in the vocabulary of the SJW. You say something tone-deaf and without inviting you to explain and thus explore why you said what you said, it’s, “you’re canceled.” Anyone worth talking to isn’t going to want others to see them as prejudiced. They may be ignorant, but that doesn’t mean they’re filled with hate. Someone throws the word ‘bigot’ at you and it’s like, well who can argue with THAT?!  You go scampering off in shame. The conversation is done. They’ve made up their minds.

The people I just described are a very, very strange lot to me. They’re meant to be crusaders of social justice, which is a noble thing -- you think of the Paris student protests of ’68, you think of Stonewall, MLK Jr, the people who were ready to lay their lives on the line for the sake of love and truth... but I really don’t think the SJW’s mental faculties are fully developed, and I really don’t think they are sincerely committed to the cause.

I see this happen often when we’re dealing with the trans pronoun issue. Because it is a gender issue and, people who think in black-and-white terms tend to force transgendered individuals into the care of feminism. But to think that feminism can advocate for the trans community is to first, ignore the the fact that this is a special case (and no one knows it better than the person living that reality), and second, to ignore the historical reasons for the necessity of feminism.

Even if the composition of society today is different from what it was fifty or sixty years ago, it’s still worth paying attention to the themes of recent history even if you don’t pursue it academically, because that’ll give you clues as to why an idea emerged the way it did. You might remember the sensation that was, “Ok, boomer”. I refuse to think of that New Zealand MP, who was 25 years old at the time she said that, as representative of my age-group and our attitudes toward elders. No doubt there is a chasm in the understanding between generations, but you don’t just dismiss someone, even though he or she is a generally reasonable person, just because they don’t share your point of view. What is it we always say? Hindsight is 2020? Sure, you can blame people all you want, but you’re only doing that because you have more information NOW than previous generations did when the problem was in its prodromal phase. I think of the MP who said that as juvenile, ideological, and self-righteous. If you had to live through the Great Depression and two World Wars how do you think you would react? Obviously boomers came around after the Second World War, but we all know well and clear that ideals and values are more or less inherited. It’s like, “Well you should have been able to see into the future and because you didn’t we’re going to publicly patronize you!”

So we’ve got major problems now, and it’s not that these problems exist in vacuums away from one another; they form a mesh, a kind of spiderweb on steroids, and we’re caught in it. Some of the will for societal change falls to the individual, but sometimes people need to be forced into shedding old habits and adopting new ones. They say, necessity is the mother of invention. Well, likewise, I say, necessity is the father of deflation. But it looks to me like governments--the only ones with the tools (legislation and policy) to initiate change without society imploding--can have their heads in the clouds too. You may have tools, but if you don’t know what their uses are and therefore what you can create with them, you might as well not have them at all. But there they are, sitting in your garage, gathering dust...

The other day I saw a billboard advertising a government attack on the plastics industry, lol. You want an example of idealism? That’s it right there. I have to ask: how do you suggest we go about doing that? ‘Cause plastic is the thing that supports democratization of goods and our ability to be spontaneous. To eliminate plastic altogether is the sort of thing that requires very careful planning, and not just on the individual level but on a systemic level too. Talk about filling a gap!

The capitalist narrative, with growth of an economy as one of its most important tenets, has permeated the collective conscious so thoroughly that we think of capitalism as the only necessary and sufficient path to a functioning society! Well society looks like it’s functioning, but that’s a facade, and if you’ve been following my blog you’ll know why I think that way. 

The problem is that this post-modern way of being has gathered so much momentum that we’re still unsure of what to do. Does the elimination of one bad thing take other, potentially good things with it?

Again, from a dialectical standpoint I do wonder if it is possible to abandon the things that don’t serve us, while keeping things interesting and diverse enough that life can actually be fulfilling, and FUN!