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ggukcangetit · 4 years ago

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If The Bra Fits - JJK Fic

Final part of The Unbearable Lightness of Being... Something More series

Part 1 | Part 2 |

Pairing: Jungkook x reader

Genre: ex-roommate au, f2l, fluff, smut, low-key crack

Rating: 18+

Summary: Jungkook knows you hate it when he pops into your apartment to borrow something, but in the 2 years that you’ve known each other, that hasn’t deterred him much. But one day when he manages to (accidentally) ruin your favorite bra while raiding through your emergency snack supply, he knows that he’s fucked. With only a brand name to help him on his search, Jungkook spends the next 48 hours buying all the bras that look even remotely like the one he ruined. The only problem is - how would he figure out which was the correct size without asking you?

Warnings: a lot of talk of breasts and the trials and tribulations of finding a good bra, oral sex (f receiving), masturbation, kissing, grinding, nipple play

Word count: 3.8k

a/n: thanks a ton to @hesperantha for beta-ing this! i was super nervous about writing proper smut >.< anywho, hope y’all enjoy this!

Jungkook knew he was fucked. Worse than when Jimin had walked in on Yoongi doing the do with his girlfriend. Worse than when Taehyung had lost his pet frog in Seokjin’s spice drawer. Worse than-

“Fuck.”

He would probably have to leave the country. Maybe he could move to Canada? Or New Zealand? Anywhere that wasn’t here. Or he could change his name! That might work…

“H-hello?”

“What the hell, Jungkook? You were supposed to meet me for lunch 40 minutes ago! This is rude and, frankly, inexcusable behavior on your part.” Seokjin’s annoyed voice, talking at 300 words a minute, rang through the phone’s speaker. “And why the hell do you sound like that? Did you walk in on Yoongi and Soya this time? I swear, that guy needs to learn to lock his door. Or maybe just change his locks. I mean this is probably-”

“Seokjin!” Jungkook pinched the bridge of his nose as his friend slowed his word flow. “I’ll be there in 10 and explain everything.”

Hanging up the phone, he surveyed the site of the massacre once more before stuffing the offending object into his backpack and rushing out. True to his word, he was at the hole-in-the-wall dumpling place in 10 minutes, attempting to explain to an irate Seokjin, the reason behind his tardiness.

“No! You did not do that!” Seokjin yelled, nearly choking on the hot soup dumpling that was hanging - half eaten - from his chopsticks.

Jungkook had, in fact, done that. That being the most cardinal offense his frazzled brain could think of at this point. That being sneaking into your apartment when you were at work, hoping to swipe some of your favorite shrimp puffs, placing his cup of steaming hot mocha on your study table, rummaging through your emergency snack supply but somehow inadvertently knocking over the coffee on the table, and cleaning it up with the nearest article available, which tragically, happened to be your mint green bra.

“She’s going to kill you. No” - Seokjin picked up a egg cream bun and popped the whole thing into his mouth - “she’s going to whip your ass and then hang you upside down from that metal pole on Hobi’s balcony.”

Jungkook stared at the way the cream bun smoothly travelled down Seokjin’s throat after a couple of chews, and shivered. “What do I do??”

“Why do you have to do anything? She won’t know it was you who spilled coffee on her table and then wiped it with her bra. Unless...”

Jungkook stared at his fingers guiltily.

“You took the bra with you, didn’t you?” Seokjin sighed, lightly smacking his friend on the back of the head for good measure. “Well, you could always blame it on Namjoon. That’s what I would do. Heck, that’s what I did when I accidentally broke Hobi’s favorite figurine.”

“I don’t know…”

“You have to commit to something, Jaykay.” Every time Seokjin used his nickname for Jungkook, it meant there was some kind of terrible scheme being cooked up. “Either be a complete little shit and blame it on Namjoon, or just go and own up to y/n. You can’t teeter on the edge like this.”

“I could always just sneak back in and leave her bra where I found it.” Jungkook felt better already. This was it. This was the middle ground he was aspiring towards - the sacred path between Seokjin and Hobi, the Yoongi of all decisions.

“You might not have to sneak in” - Seokjin held up his smartphone where the group chat was open to a bunch of notifications - “Tae said we’re meeting at y/n’s place for tacos and UNO.”

“Why is Tae so invested in our UNO games? He gets confused every time we play it.”

“Because” - Seokjin swiped his credit card at the counter and thanked the cashier with a quick wink - “like every good strategist, he plans to improve by observing everyone else’s style of play. He definitely knows how to play by now. He’s just giving us the confused puppy look so that we underestimate him and he can learn all our little tricks. Just you wait - a few more games and that sneaky shit will be handing our asses back to us.”

Jungkook, while mildly interested in Taehyung’s card game antics, was more concerned about returning your bra without arousing any suspicion. The perfect moment presented itself when Seokjin, Namjoon, Yoongi, Taehyung and Hobi were immersed in a game of UNO, while you and Soya were munching on tacos - because let’s face it, food trumps just about everything else. Coming up with a half-convincing bathroom excuse, he snuck off towards your room, hoping to finally rid himself of the mint green burden.

Seconds before he pushed your door open, a snippet of conversation floated towards him and made his heart stop beating.

“I can’t find it anywhere.” You were complaining to Soya about something, loud enough for him to hear. “I must’ve turned my room upside down looking for it.”

Soya didn’t seem too perturbed. “What’s the big deal? It’s just a bra. Yoongi regularly loses my underwear after we have sex in new locations.”

Jungkook chuckled because he could almost see the look of horror on your face at receiving this piece of information.

“Ignoring that TMI,” you continued. “That’s my favorite bra, Soya! You know how our sizes keep fluctuating - well, this was the first bra I bought after getting measured at a proper place. It literally changed my life. Do you know how fabulous it feels to have your boobs at normal chest level - neither squished up towards your collarbones nor jiggling like that everlasting jello Seokjin keeps buying? I’m tellin-”

Jungkook stopped listening at this point. If he didn’t, there was little chance that he’d be able to think of anything other than that. As it was, the mere sight of you these days, was enough to get blood flowing to certain parts of his body.

There was clearly only one thing to do.

“You want me to help you do WHAT?” Once again, it was Seokjin who barely managed to stop himself from choking on yet another scrumptious food item on yet another lunch date with Jungkook.

“I’m going to replace her bra.” The resolute expression on Jungkook’s face crumbled ever so slowly under the scrutiny of Seokjin’s pure, unadulterated skepticism. “It’ll be easy. I-I already know what it looks like, and all the information I need is on the itchy tag she always complains about.”

Seokjin’s thick brow remained masterfully arched.

“Are you going to help me or not?” Jungkook whined in frustration.

“What do I get in return?”

“Why would you want anything in return? Why can’t you just help me out this time??”

The masterfully arched eyebrow did it’s trick once again.

“Fine. You can borrow all my gaming equipment for a week.”

“A month.”

“No way!”

“Good luck shopping for y/n’s favorite bra.”

“Fine! A month! Now can we get a move on please?”

Thankfully, it wasn’t too difficult to find the particular store that you had bought your favorite bra from. It was a niche boutique on the third floor of the mall, full of politely judgmental staff members and pointedly supercilious patrons, all of whom were highly skeptical of Jungkook’s grey and black hoodie-sweatpants combo.

“Guess they didn’t really get on board with the whole athleisure concept,” Seokjin whispered, earning a hard elbowing from Jungkook.

The looks of skepticism were further enhanced when Jungkook produced the ruined bra, asking one of the assistants where he could find the same one. Jungkook hadn’t received such a disapproving look since his junior year of college when he had eaten 8 cups of instant ramen on a dare, done a celebratory jig, thrown up all over Yoongi and Hobi’s sofa, and promptly passed out.

“Er… I, uhm, need something!” The exclamation from Jungkook was received by a few expertly raised eyebrows. One assistant, in particular, narrowed their eyes at him and walked over.

“This is a lingerie store” - they scanned him up and down a couple of times - “sir. If you’re here to buy any lingerie, I’d be happy to assist you.”

Jungkook gulped at the expensive clothes and flawless complexion of the shop assistant. So far, things were not really going according to plan.

“Ow!” He felt a bony elbow dig into his ribs and glared at Seokjin, who was glancing between him and the assistant so rapidly, Jungkook was surprised he hadn’t gotten dizzy and passed out already.

“Right. Umm, I’m actually looking for this particular one” - he produced the once-pristine, but now covered in ugly brown splotches, bra from his backpack - “in this exact same size. Do you have it?”

If the shop assistant didn’t look particularly eager to be breathing the same air as him before, they now looked like they’d rather choke on month old guacamole than be near him.

“Our products are made for exclusivity. We do not carry the same sizes as the general marketplace. There are 4 basic sizes with 4 variations to each size. And this particular product” - they held the ruined bra delicately between two fingers and examined the tag - “is now only available in 3 particular size variations. You are free to choose whichever one you think is the closest fit.”

Jungkook’s doe eyes widened as he realized the itchy tag that you always complained about, truly had no other purpose but to inconvenience you. His panicked stare fell on Seokjin who had busied himself examining a very interesting leaf on the potted plant near the entrance.

It was up to him now, Jungkook realized. His fate was in his own hands. Walking over to the shelf carrying the mint green bras identical to the one he was holding, he inspected the 3 options carefully.

“I think I’ll take this one.” Was what he said out loud. Inwardly, however, he was screaming a very different tune.

“HOW THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO DECIDE?? I’VE NEVER BOUGHT A BRA BEFORE! I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT SIZE WOULD BE APPROPRIATE! IT’S NOT LIKE I SPEND ALL MY TIME SCRUTINIZING Y/N’S BREASTS!”

Thankfully, no one was privy to his internal screams except for himself.

“Thank you, sir. That will be $89.99.” Jungkook took out his debit card as the song playing over the system changed to No Tears Left To Cry.

Once out of the store, Seokjin let out a low whistle. “Wow… that was, undoubtedly, one of the most awkward situations I’ve ever been in. And I wasn’t even really in it.”

“At least the toughest part is over.” Jungkook felt like he had been running a 50 mile marathon while simultaneously figuring out the square roots of 5 digit numbers. In short, he was exhausted.

“Depends on what you think of that…” Seokjin pointed at a familiar figure, slowly walking towards them - someone Jungkook hadn’t expected to bump into in any of his worst case scenarios. You.

Confronted with an exceedingly dire situation with a bleak set of options, Jungkook vaulted into the nearest store, his entire being on high alert as it entered survival mode. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been paying attention to where he rushed into because-

“Congratulations! You’re our 100th customer this week! You get a complimentary hair spa and perm!” Five extremely eager faces stared back at him as he realized he had walked into some sort of hair salon.

Whoever was writing the script for this day was definitely high on something because Jungkook walked out of the salon 3 hours later, slightly traumatized, with a head full of small curls, clutching onto the cursed purchase with every fibre of his being.

Seokjin had left hours ago, dropping a text to Jungkook which read something along the lines of catch ya later sucker - but that was the least of his problems right now.

It was nearly midnight when he finally entered his apartment after managing to sneak in the new bra into your apartment. Thankfully, you lived two floors above him, so the trek back to his place wasn’t too long. The stress from the past couple of days was finally catching up to him and Jungkook would give anything for a nice long massage and a bowl of steaming hot ramen.

Unfortunately, all that he had at home was a few leftover containers Taehyung had left behind on his last visit a couple of days ago. There was also bread, eggs, and milk, but he didn’t feel up to making anything at this point. So dinner ended up being heated, two-day old dumplings.

Just as he was about to head to sleep, a loud pounding started on his front door. It was well past midnight at this point and Jungkook wondered if he should be carrying some sort of weapon with him while answering the door.

There really wasn’t any need for worry because on the other side of the door stood a very angry, very disgruntled, very flimsily dressed-

“Y/n?! What’re you doing here?”

“You!” Jungkook stepped back as you poked him in the chest. “What the heck is your problem?” Many more pokes followed, which Jungkook barely registered but which left your index finger increasingly bruised.

“I- uh, I guess you found the parcel I left for you.” He scratched the back of his head, looking everywhere but at you.

“I CANNOT believe you!” You were fuming and Jungkook was contemplating calling someone for backup. Maybe Namjoon? Or Yoongi? Mayb- “First, you ruin my favorite bra! What were you doing in my apartment anyway? Trying to steal more stuff from my emergency snack supply?! Why can’t you just buy your own s-”

You definitely had a point about the snack stealing. But Jungkook couldn’t stop himself from going over and taking something that would undoubtedly attract your attention, because the last time that had happened, you both had ended up making out aggressively against the wall.

“-and not just that!” You were clearly not done with being mad at him. “You go ahead and try to replace my favorite bra? With this???” You held up Jungkook’s purchase from earlier during the day.

“What’s wrong with this? It’s the same one, isn’t it? I went to the shop to make sure it was the same.” He didn’t really understand why this particular fact was making you so upset.

“You think this is the same?” You were standing very close to him and Jungkook gulped as he caught a whiff of your lavender body lotion.

“Yes?”

“You think my boobs are this small?? After the way you basically kneaded them with your hands last time??”

Jungkook’s eyes widened, his face growing hotter with every word you were speaking.

“Why the fuck do you look like that?” you muttered, crossing your arms over your chest.

“L-like what?” His voice came out sort of strangled as he tried to make sense of the situation.

“Like you’ve been caught eating the last cookie.”

Jungkook didn’t know how to respond to this. He was very aware of the fact that you were wearing a flimsy grey t-shirt and very old, very small, sleeping shorts. He gulped and wondered if this was some kind of dream that he’d suddenly wake up from.

“I’ve been waiting for you to make a move since you stuck your tongue down my throat last time. But nope! Nothing.” Now he knew that there was something wrong. This didn’t seem like the rational next line in a dialogue between real people who had just been in a, slightly one-sided, fight. “So, are you gonna kiss me or not?”

“W-what?” His voice was barely louder than a whisper at this point and you scoffed loudly before fisting your hands in his t-shirt and crashing your lips to his.

It took him a few seconds to get his bearings, but Jungkook was soon responding with impressive enthusiasm. His lips glided over yours with a desperation borne out of nearly two years of attraction and chemistry. He groaned in pleasure as your hands travelled into his hair, your fingers running through his freshly done curls. His hands travelled down your back before cupping your butt-cheeks and squeezing them until you moaned into his mouth. The feel of your body against his was enough to make him slowly lose his mind - but your tongue swiping into his mouth brought out a strangled noise from deep inside him. This was so much better than the first time you had both made out - there was more experience and knowledge of each other, and you seemed much more determined than the last time.

“Tell me what you want,” Jungkook’s voice came out huskier than you had ever heard, sending a surge of electricity to your core. “Tell me what makes you feel good, y/n.”

His voice was sultry and his body rock-hard at the perfect places - his breath falling in harsh pants as he recovered from the intensity of the kisses. But his eyes held the soft sincerity you had grown to lov-

“Against the wall,” you breathed, your face flushing as you verbalised your request. “And then on your bed.” You took one of his hands and placed it on your breast, firm with arousal, and guided his other hand to the waistband of your shorts.

A beautiful pink blush dusted his cheeks as he captured your lips once again. He had you against the wall in seconds, his lips leaving a trail of devastation from your lips to your throat to your breasts. You moaned loudly as you felt his fingers rub against your clothed core while his tongue flicked over your nipples at a deliciously slow pace.

“Gguk…” God he loved to hear that name coming from your lips. He loved it even more now that it was in the midst of him pleasuring you to the best of his ability.

“Bed. I can’t… stand...” You managed to say. He obliged, placing his hands below your knees and scooping you up with ease, all while his lips kept pressing soft kisses to yours.

Once on the bed, you removed your t-shirt and shorts, instructing him to do the same. Jungkook stared at your bare body for a moment, his eyes glazed with lust before he stripped himself of his clothes and continued kissing every part of your body he could find.

Your insides were coiling, the heat growing at your core as you watched Jungkook’s magnificent, completely naked, body move over yours. Your hands itched to run over his abs but your eyes were fixed on his throbbing dick, your core growing wetter by the moment.

“Can I?” Jungkook’s hoarse voice broke you out of your dilemma, his face hovering over your thighs. “Only if you want it, y/n.” You were pretty sure his soft, caring words would be enough for your undoing, but you nodded your head anyway.

The first swipe of his tongue against your core had you arching yourself off the mattress, your legs kicking up involuntarily. This was definitely where his gym prowess came in handy, as he held your thighs down with enough force for the feeling to be unbelievably pleasurable. Your hands found themselves in his curls once more, as his mouth alternated between dropping feather light kisses on your core and swiping along the wetness with a swipe of his tongue.

“I-I’m not…” You didn’t have to complete the sentence as stars exploded in your vision, the high hitting you with more force than you had ever experienced.

Something inside you tightened as you watched Jungkook emerge from between your thighs, his curls sweaty, and his mouth slick with your arousal. He smiled at you, dropping a light kiss on your lips, even as his dick stood red hot and angry with arousal.

“Can I help?” You asked, although your voice was hardly above a whisper, the tiredness seeping in, as you came down from the orgasm.

“Next time?” His voice was soft as he gave himself a few strong pumps before spilling onto his stomach.

He grinned at you sheepishly. “I’m also kind of exhausted today.” Getting up quickly, he went into the bathroom and cleaned himself off, before coming back with a wet towel for you as well.

You smiled shyly as you took the towel from him, wiping between your thighs quickly.

Jungkook was beside you in a few moments, cuddling you from behind as sleep slowly overtook you both.

“Jungkook!”

You cracked your eyes open slowly, wondering why someone was yelling at the crack of dawn. You were still pretty much wrapped up in Jungkook, both your legs entangled as your head rested on his chest while he snored softly.

“JUNGKOOK!”

A second, much louder, yell, woke Jungkook up as well. His eyes widening in alarm as he realised what was going on.

“It’s Tae! What’s he doing here?!” He whispered, his voice still thick with sleep.

“Umm what?” You were panicking now. As much as you had been wanting things with Jungkook to pick up, you did not want Taehyung to find you both wonderfully naked after a night of wonderfulness. “He cannot see us like this! Not yet! I refuse to let this be how everyone finds out about us!”

“Jungkook, I’m coming in!”

Jungkook quickly pushed you below the covers, fluffing it up sufficiently to hide the fact that you were under it. He barely managed to close his eyes before Taehyung walked in, much too sprightly for this early in the morning.

“Aww!” His deep voice sounded through the room. “Jungkookie, are you still sleeping?”

Much to his horror, Taehyung made his way over to the bed, his long fingers smooshing Jungkook’s cheeks together as the poor boy tried to feign sleep.

“Did you sleep late last night?”

“Mph.”

“Jungkookie’s still sleepy? Aww!” The cheek smooshing continued, and Jungkook wondered how much longer you could stay hidden without Taehyung’s perceptiveness deducing that you were there.

“Hmmmm.” Jungkook managed to grunt out, tossing over to trap you underneath him.

“Okay, go back to sleep.” With one last cheek smoosh, Taehyung got up and left the room.

“Thank god!” Jungkook whispered in relief, pulling the covers off your face.

“I’m so glad he didn’t figure out I was here,” you sighed in relief.

Jungkook grinned at you, his bunny teeth poking out adorably as he pulled you closer to him. You giggled, reaching up to place small kisses on each of his moles - there were 5 according to your last examination.

“The curls are cute,” you said between kisses, running your fingers through his hair. He sighed contentedly, resting his forehead on yours. If it were up to him, he’d stay here forever.

“Oh and y/n-” You both stiffened as you heard Taehyung’s voice from the living room. Apparently, he hadn’t left yet. “-thanks a lot! Seokjin now owes me 50 bucks!”

please reblog this post if you enjoyed reading the story! thank you 😊

#bts fic #bts bookclub #jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #bts fluff #bts smut #namjoon #yoongi #jimin #taehyung #seokjin #hoseok #c me write bangtan #magicshopnet

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1000roughdrafts · 4 years ago

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Criminal

DeanxReader request from @rileynicole1967 based on the song Criminal by Britney Spears

A/N: I watched the music video to get an idea for how to go about this, so this fic is similar to that story line :) AND I HAVE A COMPUTER NOW, so I can finally post and write! <3

Warnings: mention of spousal abuse in the beginning, lots of fluff, eludes to sex, some swearing, violence, somewhat of an OOC Dean at the end, you’ll see why

Word Count:2.2k

Something people commonly say about a reason someone might stay with their abusers is that after the bad, the abuser will buy them flowers and jam them into a vase as empty as their apologies. But it's not always flowers. It's surprising them with lunch at their job, or taking them to dinner on a night they least expect, or they clean the house because they just know they've been working extra hard lately.

Y/N hid the bruises well under long sleeve shirts, hooded jackets, and she always wore pants. If eyes really are windows to the soul, how does one hide those kinds of injuries? Luckily these are more difficult to spot than marks on the skin, but sometimes someone will pop up who can read one's eyes like a book they've flipped through so many times the ink is smudged on the edges.

Y/N thanked her lucky stars that both happened in one night. Flowers came in the form of a trip to the bar she initially met Damian in, the man she spent six miserable yet wonderful years of her life with, and the latter came in the form of Dean Winchester.

In the back corner of the bar, at a table with a fake candle, she sat cradling a drink in her hands. Strings of lights hung on the walls and ceilings above five pool tables, four of which were occupied by loud, though respectful, groups of people. Damian droned on about something regarding work, a story he'd told about five times already, but she hadn't the spoons to bring that up.

She kept herself entertained by watching and listening to the people around her, noticing right away as two men walked through the door. The first man's eyes shot straight to the bar, his feet following suit. That's a man with a purpose, she thought. The other let his eyes scan the entire building along with the people in it before he'd even set foot inside. When his eyes ping ponged back to center, they landed on Y/N's, and in an instant, they read her story.

The man smiled, following the tall one to the bar. They ordered and sat to talk for a while, the man's eyes floating from the pool tables to the man in front of him and on occasion, her. She couldn't be sure what Damian was saying, but she was certain about the sneaky glances she shared with the mysterious man in the leather jacket.

"Dean," she heard the other say in an attempt to gain his attention. Dean, she thought, how fitting.

"Are you listening?" Damian hissed, waving a hand so close to her face she thought he might hit her.

Her eyes darted and narrowed at him, body jerking back. "Of course I am," she glared.

Dean's eyes burned like lasers into her until she returned the glance, his brows turned down in worry.

"Bullshit," Damian scoffed. His voice raised, "what did I just say then?"

She looked back to him, "something about work," she said and sighed.

He scooted the chair back, the metal scraping against the floor in a shriek. His shoulder tensed as he mildly shouted, "you know, I was fucking right about you. You have absolutely no respect whatsoever, do you? I oughta teach you a fucking lesson."

Dean, overhearing the conversation, shook his head and gulped down the last of his beer. He let the glass slam against the table on it's way down and when that wasn't enough to get that asshole to step back, he walked over to the vacant pool table, dramatically clearing his throat. He looked overa t her table, and then at the groups around him.

In a tone of authority he attracted the attention of the nearby groups, asking for one brave enough to take him in a bet. Sneaking a glance at her table, he hid his gaze by scratching his jaw as his head turned.

Damian distractedly looked over at the table, making eye contact with Dean before scoffing. Dean nodded at him with a smile, but Damian turned his attention towards Y/N. He relaxed his upper body, leaning his elbows on the table. Shaking his head, he muttered under his breath, "what a tool."

She masked her chuckle in a scoff, uttering a soft, "yeah."

He began talking about something unrelated, as if the last five minutes simply vanished into thin air, but she was just grateful the heat of his words were taken off of her. She looked over at the pool table, Dean's eyes already on her. His eyebrow raised in a question, and she flashed a quick, small smile in response.

He nodded, slipping the pool stick between his fingers to line up a shot. His eyes remained on hers as he bent down, aiming and missing. The group bellowed a laugh, and Dean's opponent lined up to make quite a few shots, ending the game with a sunken 8-ball. The men cheered, gaining the attention of Dean's main goal for an opponent, Damian.

"Ah, better luck next time," one of the men said to Dean through laughter, patting him on the back.

"Guess so," Dean smiled, looking at his feet.

Damian chuckled smugly, leaning forward to pull his wallet from his pocket. Y/N looked him over as he counted the wad. Stuffing the wallet back into his pocket, he gulped some of his beer, eyebrows hopping as he told her to "watch this", and set the drink down. She jumped a bit, gripping onto his wrist to pull him back into the chair.

She knew a hustler when she saw one. Damian didn’t like to be wrong, and he certainly didn’t like to lose. He ripped his arm away and leaned down.

His pitch was high and voice soft, as if he was talking to a toddler, “this is easy money, baby. Did you not see that guy just get his ass kicked?” he laughed again, licking his lips before looking over at Dean. Looking back at Y/N he spoke even quieter, winking, “drinks are on him tonight.”

“But,” she protested, but he was already halfway to Dean who stood chalking the tip of his pool stick.

“You up for a game?” he asked, "500."

“Oh, I don’t know,” Dean said, patting his wallet. “I just lost a good chunk of change, I-”

Y/N playfully rolled her eyes, resting her chin in her hand to watch the game.

“Tell you what,” Damian said, a tight, smug grin on his face, “you win, it’s double,” he shrugged, “I win, it’s just 300.”

Dean looked up at the ceiling for a split second, tilting his head while he contemplated the offer. His lips swished from side to side and then he smiled, “deal,” he said, holding out his hand.

By the time solids were wiped out and the 8 ball was left, Dean smiled at Y/N when Damian's back turned, slipping the pool stick between his fingers to line up a shot.

Eyes moving to Damian, he grinned, “8 ball, corner pocket,” then glanced over at Y/N. Damian just stood with his arms crossed. Dean kept his eyes on her as he bent down to aim and sunk the 8 ball.

He stood slowly, barely concealing his smile. Y/N felt a smile creep onto her face as well, dropping it when Damian threw the pool stick onto the table in a tantrum.

“This is bullshit,” he grunted, flipping around and marching over to Y/N. Stunned, Dean froze until Damian gripped her wrist, digging his nails into her skin as he yanked her so hard she nearly tripped over her own steps.

“Let’s get out of here,” he grumbled, taking his anger out on her wrist as he tugged.

“Hey!” Dean shouts, waving a hand as he shuffled sideways to get out from behind the pool table, “wait!”

Damian’s grip felt like a growing fire the more she tried to wriggle free. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Dean running up at them just as Damian whirled around.

He yanked her into him. "Stop fighting me,” he said through his teeth, bearing down on each word.

She loosened up, letting him keep his firm grip on her arm, but she was knocked back by Dean shoving Damian. He stood between them. Only surprised by the interaction, he charged at Dean, which only served as more of a pack to the punch Dean threw at him. He was knocked back with another punch, landing on the floor.

Dean shook out his fist, taking a few breaths before turning to face her. With his hand resting on her shoulder, he bowed his head to look into her eyes, “you okay?”

Shocked, she just nodded, her mouth agape as she looked at Damian. She looked back at Dean with next to no expression before running over and falling at Damian’s side.

Dean felt his insides squirm and weaken, like he’d just reached the end of a rollercoaster. He was sickened by the thought of how he treated her, and for her to just run to his side hurt him. But she surprised him when she reached into Damian’s pocket for his wallet, ripping out the 600 in bills before throwing the wallet onto his back. Dean chuckled a bit, but stowed it when she turned around to jog back to him.

"I believe he owes you this,” she shrugged, handing it over.

He laughed, looking down as he grabbed it. Stuffing it into his back pocket, he looked up at her, head tilted. “Dean,” he smiled, holding his hand out.

“Y/N,” she said, shaking his hand.

Dean rolled over, wrapping his arm around Y/N in the bed of his motel room. She flinched a bit, but hummed when she came to her senses. Smiling, she rotated to face him, tracing the outline of his tattoo with her fingers.

"Nice tat," she cooed, and he couldn't quite tell if she was being sarcastic or not.

"Thanks," he said, banking on sarcasm being the safest bet, "it's to keep me from being possessed by demons," he said with a lift of his eyebrows.

Her eyes bounced between his before she busted out in a laugh, "right," she played along. Her attention shifted, "and the gun is for?"

Confused, he glanced over to the nightstand, gun placed next to the clock.

He chuckled, "you don't want to know."

She pulled her head back a bit, but half of her lips turned into a smile, "mysterious," she laughed. "What are you, a drifter with a gun collection?"

"Something like that," he smiled, dipping his head to her neck, pecking small, soft kisses.

She'd never felt like she was the focus of another's attention until her time with Dean, and perhaps that was dangerous, but in the moment it was everything to her. He kissed her like he'd been kissing her for years, like he knew just how to get her going. She didn't want the night to come to an end, but with the sun bleeding through the curtains of his motel room, she knew she'd have to say goodbye soon.

"Are you a criminal?" she blurted out. In a laugh, she added, "I just can't take the suspense anymore."

He laughed, "in some states," with a small nod before rolling over to sit at the edge of the bed.

It was hard to keep up with him, to tell when he was being serious and when he was being sarcastic. She just smiled, sitting up to gather her clothes.

When dressed, she found a pen. Reaching for his arm, she rolled up the sleeve to his flannel, smiling before writing her name and phone number on his forearm.

"When you're in town next, or not too far away, call me."

---

Dean had never done this for anyone before, but something with this connection was different. It was like she saw him for what he really is under everything on the outside. They'd met up at least fifteen times since the first night, and he had yet to figure out what exactly drew him to her.

She knew exactly what she liked about him, though. The bad boy, criminal type that treated her like she should be treated, even if they were just hooking up. The kind with a soft side that bled from him in moments he least expected it to, moments where he was really trying to show just how ‘bad’ of a guy he is.

"Let me come with you," she said in a rushed breath, gripping onto his arm before he could turn for the car, "whatever you do, I want to join. I don't have a life here," she relaxed her arms, letting her hand fall from his and back to her side. "Not anymore, at least," she said, softly shaking her head.

"Y/N, it's not safe," he said softly. Taking her with him meant confessing to all the lies he's told her, unraveling the truth about what he does; saving people, hunting things, the family business. He rolled his eyes at himself.

She gripped onto his arm again, "I'm serious, Dean," she said firmly, her eyes piercing into his, "please."

Dean glanced at Sam, who gave him a look she could only translate to meaning ‘no’, but then it softened, and he looked at her. Dean just nodded, opening the door for her. Dean knew that she would learn soon enough why tagging along was a bad idea, and she’d leave when she knew what was good for her. He’d learn to never let anyone in the way he let her in, but until then he’d enjoy the company of anyone other than Sam. Y/N was just excited for a new adventure, whatever that may come with. Her mama would be disappointed, but all reason aside, she just loved the guy.

PermaTags<3: @waywardblueshun @81mysteriouslyme @drakelover78 @soab1967 @shutupandfeedmethings @pollywantacracker666 @sonnierae26 @obsessed5sosfreak @tlovescoffee @noodledoodlebug @hobby27 @cluz1babe @emptycanvasposts @suckmyapplejacks

DeanQueens<3 @flamencodiva @akshi8278 @squirrelnotsam @laxe-from-outer-space @ellewritesfix05 @lyarr24 @mrspeacem1nusone

Add or Remove yourself from a Tag List <3

#supernatural #dean winchester #dean x you #dean winchester x you #dean x yn #supernatural fan fic #spn #dean x reader #supernatural x you #supernatural x reader #supernatural fan fiction #song fic #dean winchester fic

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obscure-sentimentalist · 4 years ago

Text

Because some interest was expressed...

Part 1: AO3 Tag At Large

Backstory in brief

I didn’t intend for this to get so detailed and comprehensive--honestly, it just started because I had a particular question and some free time to go digging for the answer. And I did get my answer, but in the process uncovered a wealth of other ways to expand my study. It’s been a ride (complete with a few anxieties thanks to some researcher part of my brain), but overall a fun one, and hopefully the resulting data-cronch will be intriguing.

As noted, this is the first part of a planned three-part data series. This installment will cover statistics for the contents of the Flommy AO3 tag as a whole, while the second part will zoom in a bit and break it down into smaller categories. The third will be a bonus post where the dataset will be narrowed to examine how it compares to the tag at large, which is how I began and previewed bits of my work before broadening the scope.

Below the cut, you’ll find a breakdown of the data collection and some information on the measures I examined, before we get into some stats. There are a number of charts included, as well as written overviews and additional facts. I’ll admit that it’s... a bit, even after being selective with the charts and data to highlight, but if you have questions (or are curious about any stats not included here), let me know and I’ll see what I can do.

Methodology

The overarching goal of my study was to examine and catalogue the contents specifically within the “Tommy Merlyn/Felicity Smoak” relationship tag on Archive of Our Own. All works featured in these results are tagged as (or otherwise wrangled under) this relationship tag; though it’s doubtful that this is the case, any works featuring this relationship that are not tagged in this way (and thus do not appear) will not be counted.

As of data collection on August 5th, 2020, there are 441 works (inclusive of hidden works viewable and accessible only with an AO3 login) within the Flommy tag. Aside from the individual work name and author, each entry was catalogued with the following additional variables:

Publish Year

Year in which work was initially published

Update Year

Year in which work was most recently updated

Rating

Author-assigned content rating (G, T, M, E, or Not Rated)

Work Length

Categorized as Oneshot (single chapter with an expected chapter count of 1) or Multichap (expected chapter count does not equal 1)

i.e. Works that only have a single published chapter but more are anticipated (so the chapter count reads as 1/?, 1/3, etc.) are categorized as Multichap

Completion Status

Works marked as Complete in the AO3 system are counted as such; all others are counted as Ongoing

Additional Relationships

Works may have Flommy as the only romantically-tagged (/) relationship, or additional ships; works in the latter category also had the other ships logged

Since this study was more quantitative and centered on AO3 tagging, more audience-based measures such as kudos, comment, and hit counts were omitted from the dataset. Also would like to remind that this is something I started because I was bored and curious, and I am just one person handling this data, so please keep this in mind in terms of data validity and human error.

Publish Year and Update Year

Breaking the data down by year was, oddly enough, an afterthought for me, but one I’m glad I did eventually think to add. This provided a glimpse at various trends in Flommy works over the years.

The first two sets of charts will feature both Publish Year and Update Year, as there were a few interesting datapoints I found when comparing the two of them. Moving forward, though, yearly data will be shown in terms of Publish Year, unless noted otherwise.

I pulled together this first graph to see if there were any major differences in either curve as the years went by, and overall, they share a similar shape--to be expected, given that a number of works published in one year may also have been last updated in that same year. Either way, both show a gradual increase in Flommy-tagged works until 2017, before plummeting in 2018 and continuing with a coasting decrease as of August 2020.

However, there’s an interesting shift over time between the two yearly measures: while there are (understandably) more works first published than last updated within the same year from 2013-2015, this becomes about equal between 2016 and 2017, before reversing in 2018-onwards. This goes to show that, while fewer Flommy works are being published these days, there are still some older works that are getting updated even now. People are sticking with Flommy, in some way or another.

Below is another way to compare these two measures, in terms of share of works:

The chart on the left (Publish Year) shows that the majority of Flommy-tagged works were published between 2013 and 2016--about 55%. However, the Update Year chart gives us an exact 50/50 split between the first four years of the tag and the last four, proving that the tag activity is still going strong!

Some other Publish and Update Year Fun Facts:

Because I’m too used to examining change year-over-year (YOY) for other purposes, I pulled some of those stats to accompany the line chart, focusing on Publish Year

The smallest change YOY was from 2016 to 2017, experiencing a 7% increase in published works; the largest was the 176% increase in 2014 over 2013

The decline in published works that began in 2018 has indeed slowed in 2020. 2018 had a -55% decrease YOY from 2017, and 2019 followed suit at -52%; 2020 is only down -21% from 2019, and that number can only improve as the year goes on!

12% more Flommy-tagged works have already been posted in 2020 than were posted in 2013, the first year of the tag. As the two years with the fewest works, that’s at least something!

Rating

There are more than a few ways I could break this one down, but I think this one covers the gist of this particular measure:

As might be expected, T is the most common rating, accounting for almost half of all works. The remaining ratings (aside from Not Rated) are all within a very close range of each other, but those in the E-rated category do have the edge to take second place, which, I’ll admit, also isn’t much of a surprise.

Some other Rating Fun Facts:

Took a look at some YOY changes in Rating:

E is the only rating that experiences two consecutive massive increases: 300% in 2014 over 2013, and then another 500% in 2015 over 2014

Actually, 66% of all E-rated Flommy-tagged fics were published between 2014 and 2016

...For a rating into which I rarely-if-ever personally venture, it certainly has a wealth of stats.

Work Length and Completion Status

Combining these two under one header, as they’re pretty tied-together and didn’t yield too many significant results. About 71% of all Flommy-tagged works are Oneshots, which assures that completed works will hold at least the same share within the Completion Status measure before factoring in Multichaps (which brings it up to about 81% complete). I instead put these measures against the others in the hopes of finding some interesting call-outs; after making up a few charts, there was really only one that I felt had a story to tell.

Let’s take a look at the Work Length trend over the years:

While single-chapter works hold the significant majority share, their reign over multichapter works doesn’t fully begin until 2016. In 2013, the Oneshot count was less than half the Multichap count, and the following two years showed a less than 10 work-difference between the majority category and the other. And while the year is not yet complete, 2020 is currently tracking towards following a similar pattern to the early years of the tag.

Additional Relationships

This one is going to serve as our jumping-off point for Part 2, and get us into the motivating factor for my research. Here’s one chart to say it all:

...Yup, that’s less than a quarter of Flommy-tagged works that a) have Flommy as the sole romantically-tagged relationship, or b) have other romantic relationships tagged that are not Oliver/Felicity.

That’s an answer in-and-of-itself, but my research question was two-fold: how else does this break down? How many works tagged for both pairings are compilations, such as oneshot prompt collections where the pairing varies by chapter; how many are OT3s; how many fall into a different category, whether a platonic pairing is improperly tagged or one pairing is the endgame or any other reason that doesn’t fit in any of the other categories?

We’ll get this breakdown--and a zoomed-in look at the measures covered in this installment--in Part 2, coming soon.

#The Great Flommy Tag Analysis 2020 #flommy #this project has become a monster but it's fun but how on earth did this happen

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emeraldtawny · 6 years ago

Text

Fenrir x MC: Dance With Me Darlin’

Suuuuuuuuuuuper late, but this is the 300 follower appreciation fic as requested by @astoriaclover who wanted some Fenrir goodness using only the prompt of the song Senorita by G(I)-DLE. I had fun writing this and hope you all enjoy this relatively PG fun ;3

You wring your hands together tentatively, listening to the door click shut. The footsteps behind you echo in the empty open room, his magenta hair drawing your eye as he walks past you like it always does. Shrugging his jacket off with effortless grace, he slings it over a nearby chair and turns back to face you, eyes as bright and vibrant as his hair dancing with excitement.

“You don’t need to look so nervous. You know I’ll go easy on ya.”

His wide, charming grin coaxes your lips to loosen from their tightened state, a small smile pushing at your lips. “I know, Fenrir. That doesn’t mean I can’t practice. I want to be a good enough dance partner so I don’t embarrass myself or you at this family event of yours.”

His eyes narrow affectionately at your earnest words, his grin softening if only slightly. “You’d never embarrass me even if ya tried. I love you too much for that.” Fenrir pauses, eyes twinkling with mischief at the subtle pink creeping to the surface of your cheeks, “Besides, any excuse to dance with you is one I’ll always take.”

He extends his hand, the movement fluid and graceful, as expected from the high-society born gunslinger that is your boyfriend. You can’t help but grin back at him, slipping your hand into his own strong, warm one and lifting your skirt in a curtsey with your free hand. Fenrir shakes his head with an elated chuckle and then in the next instant, you’re being pulled forward into his strong chest as your body twirls with his. With the way he’s securing your waist, you feel as weightless as air itself and you bring your hand up to grab his shoulder. Slowing his spins, Fenrir readjusts his hold on your hand to hold it daintily - as if handling the most refined and delicate glass imaginable - before beginning to sway in the familiar steps you’ve been taught.

All of your focus is on your feet, making sure you don’t accidentally step on Fenrir’s toes or somehow trip over your own feet. You hear a quiet laugh, failing in its attempts to muffle itself. Your eyes meet Fenrir’s as you look up, the sweet shining light of amusement and affection in his eyes drawing back your pinched up eyebrows.

His hand on your waist tightens, pulling you closer until your chest is flush against his, no length or breadth of distance between you. Breaking his gentlemanly aura, Fenrir leans in and nuzzles into your neck, pushing your hair out of the way so he can reach your unguarded ear.

“Relax. Just follow the beat.”

The octave he lowers his voice to sends vibrations jumping through your nerves as if sudden electricity just surged into your veins. The subtle rumbling you feel coming from his chest is the first thing you register, his silky voice humming a soft, slow tune next to your ear following shortly after. With him providing music to dance to, your steps flow more freely, your focus no longer on your feet; the much more distracting element of Fenrir’s breath tickling your ear with every exhale holds your attention rapt, your eyes having no other place to look other than into his fuschia locks or at the small sliver of his collarbone peeking out from underneath his shirt.

Whether his intentions were to genuinely distract you from your nerves or to distract you from everything except him, you don’t know. But regardless, your brain is thinking of nothing other than Fenrir - the warmth of his arm around your waist holding you close, the brisk yet elegant way he moves with you as you dance, the sweet, dulcet tones of his gently hummed tune, his voice level despite the constant movement.

The hand grabbing Fenrir’s shoulder loosens and you let it slide inconspicuously up to his neck and trail back in a false act of readjusting your grip. Despite your brain’s insistence to be subtle, the way your eyes fall and stay unmoving from his collarbone as if hypnotised sends screams louder than your voice of reason echoing within your head. Your thumb sneaks in to hook under his shirt, pulling the fabric with you as you pull back towards his shoulder slowly.

Of course, Fenrir notices this, the cheeky smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth his silent victory. His hand on your waist adjusts to slink around to your back, his fingers tapping against your spine in time with the simple beat of your steps. The frisky taps against your back evolve into lingering strokes up and down the ridges of your spine, the tickling twitches that zip through you almost causing you to stumble. Your grip on his shirt tightens as you grasp a fistful of the fabric and Fenrir leans into your ear even closer than before, you only just realising how he has stopped humming.

“Are you tryna distract me, baby? I thought you said you wanted to practice.”

You smile, a cheeky conspiratory laugh sounding through your closed lips. You release your hand from Fenrir’s and slink your fingers teasingly up his arm, appreciating his slim yet toned arm muscles before settling on his firm chest, your fingers teasing the collar of his shirt. Both yours and his feet are now still, the dance practice taking a backseat to the more prominent thoughts circulating between you both.

“There’s something a bit more on my mind than dancing.” You meet his gaze, his eyes widening just slightly at the sultry upturned look in yours. Then, just as quickly, the competitive, teasing light in them returns.

“Just ‘a bit more’, huh?”

You shiver at his words as sweet and slow as dripping honey, and you want nothing more than to taste every single one.

His free hand moves to join the other, fingers dancing up to trace over your sensitive shoulder blades. You don’t let him get an edge on you that easily, your own hands ghosting over his chest and your fingers tracing his collarbone at an agonising snail’s pace. The near silent groan you catch leaving Fenrir has you grinning, prompting you to slink a hand up into his hair, the feeling of his soft locks enveloping your fingers a calming one. Fenrir slides his hands smoothly down your back, carving a path perfectly designed to alight every nerve those magic fingers touch. Tightening your hand in his hair, you let yourself give in, holding his gaze until the very last moment before your lips meet his.

The sweetness of the kiss is only the initial taste, the twining of your tongues adding an element of spice you’ve both been craving since this dance practice turned into yearning for a different kind of dance. Parting with satisfied sighs, you slowly reopen your eyes and they widen at the fiery passionate pink hues they meet.

“Damn, I love it when you’re forward like this,” Fenrir sighs out, his hands gripping your hips while his fingers trace idle patterns over you.

You smile, brushing another fleeting kiss against the lips of the man you love.

“Only for you, Fenrir.”

#ikerev #ikerev fanfic #fenrir godspeed #I'd want dance lessons from Fenrir 100%#wink wonk ;3

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