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#no one knows what his major is and the classes they see him in don't add up to any degree they can think of

kjdkive · 2 days

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a nice surprise - l.jn

warnings: smut, nasty, fluffy, will make you feel single even if you're not, grammar mistakes

a's/n: thinking of making a part two cause this type of jeno is making me feel crazzy. also, part two?

you shouldn't be really doing this, grabbing the key of his apartment jeno told you the location of in case of an emergency, but this is a real emergency and he isn't answering your texts, neither caring about the fact that you're ovulating and going crazy just at the thought of his touch. well, it's not like you have never been to his place alone, you've been here more times than you'd like to admit. but right now, you needed him like you needed oxygen. you don't think he will be angry, or will he? no, i mean, how could he say no to a horny-you in the middle of his living room?

"i guess i'll make myself comfortable." you layed on the couch and turned on the tv, played a random movie but you couldn't pay attention, you were just only thinking of jeno.

40 minutes have passed and there's still not any signs of him, not even a reply to your text you sent him three hours ago. all of a sudden, you hear the locks of the door make sounds and you prepare yourself for maybe the best, maybe the worst. who knows?

you watch the man you've been waiting for almost an hour now not notice you, he seemed stressed... maybe that's why he was not replying and just needed to be alone... did you fuck up? he dropped his backpack to the floor and took off his shoes and shirt, leaving himself with just the gray sweatpants he was wearing. three words: holy jesus fuck.

"jesus." he said, getting shocked from the fact he hadn't see you there. "what are you doing here?"

"hi, sorry, i grabbed the secret key you told me about and let myself in. i don't know, you weren't replying to my texts and i wanted to see you."

"you wanted to see me..." he asks smiling as he sits down beside you "or to fuck me?" he grabs you by the waist and sits you down on his lap.

"mmm, what is the correct answer to that right now?" you caress his hair and smile at him too. "is everything okay? i know letting myself in was weird but when you got here i noticed something was off."

"aw, you worry about me, maybe you will get some."

"oh my god, are my tactics working?" you ask, laughing.

he kisses you as he grabs your face to have the control on the kiss. it's soft and not too short.

"nothing to worry about, baby." he moves you again so both of your legs are on his sides. "i'm struggling to understand a class and i'm not having enough time to study because of my job, so yeah, it's just the normal stress of everyday."

you give him a peck on the lips and cup his face with both of your hands and you just give him a soft look, you truly did not want him to stress out, he's the smartest, hard-working boy you know out there, he deserves a 100% scholarship and everything paid, not this.

"you're really smart, though. like you make me feel really dumb sometimes when you start speaking engineer nerd lingo, it's also really hot." he giggles and you scratch his hair softly while still looking at him, you just feel his hand caress your lower back and sometimes your legs. "besides, hard work pays off and you know that. your job will let you grow on your career and well, we all need a major. just know that this stress will not last forever." you give him a kiss again and another one on his nose.

"wow, you really will say all that to get some dick." he tells you and you smack his bare chest.

"fuck you."

"yeah, you're really trying." he laughs and stops to stare at his hands touching your legs, then your butt and at the end your waist. you get startled when he pushes you towards him lightly. and he kisses you, fervently, the way you've been wanting to get kissed all day. the "problem" right now is that he has never kissed you this passionately. the way his lips move against yours is making you feel something you've never felt before, not with him nor any men you've ever been with.

"thank you, princess." he tells you. "you know i'm just joking, i do really appreciate your words and support." his eyes were shining as he looked at you. "and honestly, you being here was a nice surprise."

"it was?" you ask him as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and you grab his hand. he just kept staring at you, making it seem like he was admiring every single detail of your face.

"mhm." and you just stayed there, looking at each other. you were still holding his left hand that was placed on your face and gave it a little kiss. as he sees you doing that, he doesn't let go of your hand and just softly gets your hand to his mouth for him to kiss it. "kiss me, y/n."

and you do what he tells you to. you kiss him with the same passion he had just kissed you with a few seconds ago. he introduces his tongue into your mouth, playing with yours. it's getting more desperate second after second, his hands that were placed on your waist were now going down to your butt to grab it and force you to grind on him, feeling him very close as you were wearing a dress so he had easy access. one of your hands stayed on his shoulder and your other hand slowly traced a line down his abs so you can grab the hem of his sweatpants.

he kept guiding your hips with his hands and stopped kissing your mouth to move to your neck, giving wet and sloppy kisses on it as he grabbed your hair and tugged it down to give himself more space to kiss, suck and lick.

"come on, baby, keep grinding on me." jeno whispers on your ear. "you're making me feel so good, princess. look so beautiful, so pretty."

his praise was just the little help you needed to moan loudly on his ear and

"that's it, baby, do you feel me? do you feel my hard cock?"

"yes, jeno, i feel it." you moan.

"just for you, princess, only for you, always for you."

you tug jeno's hair as you moan on his ear, making him understand you had just came with the way your legs were shaking. you think you're in for a long ride tonight.

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feltit-writeit · 1 day

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Spoiled and Loved

Art Donaldson x Fem!Reader

In every way, you were the person that made the college experience that much better for Art. You, on the other end, were still struggling to find your place at Uni.

Watnings: inscure reader, lost reader, small angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, reader has rich parents, one s3x joke

There he was. In your usual spot in the cafeteria eating a lunch that his athletic nutritionist must've assigned him to eat. God was your boyfriend beautiful... "Baby?" He called you out of your trance and you smiled at him. "Come?" He motioned for the chair in front of him with his head. You walked toward it and sat down with your lunch that was healthy but certainly not planned. "Hey!" You said. You started eating and asking how his morning practice was and he smiled throught it all. After finishing his lunch and while explaining his morning, he drew mindless doodles on your left hand with a pencil. One was a tennis racket the other a heart and another a paint brush. Once he was done, silence had fallen and Art looked up at you, stopping his drawing. "Y/N?" Art asked while looking for your gaze. "Hmm?" You answered still looking at your left hand. "Look at me." He asked and lifted your head up with the help of his palm on your jaw. You looked at him and smiled. "How was your day so far, baby?" He then asked with certainty. You sighed and went to look down again, only to feel your boyfriend rubbing your jaw and hearing him hum no. When you met his gaze again you felt it.

The need to tell him the truth.

"Art?" He nodded at your interpellation, waiting for you to continue. "I don't think I belong here." You had felt like this for a while, but your boyfriend's joy at being here made that feeling simmer down a little.

That was until yesterday.

"That's Donaldson's girlfriend, right?" A girl said behind you during your history of the arts lecture. You normally tuned these type of conversations out, but today your ears decided that it was a mighty fine time to do as they wanted. "She play any sports?" The girl, Jenny from what you heard her friend call her earlier, proceeded to ask her friend, Luna. "Not that anybody knows of. Not to his level at least." The other girl answered with a certain turn in her voice. It wasn't a nice one at that. ""But she must do something else around campus for her to be with him, right?" Jenny continued her interrogations. "The only place other than her lectures that people see her at are Donaldson's games. She just does those two things that includes school life. People have said and know that she doesn't even have a major yet. She just does classes until she finally finds something that makes her spark. It's pathetic really." Luna said and chuckled with her friend who fired back : "Why would he want to be with her? If I were Art Donaldson-" And you never heard the last of her life hacks, because your ears decided you had been tortured enough as it was. The notes you had started taking were the only ones you took for the rest of the 3 hour lecture. Well, what was one more exam failed?

You would stay in this godforsaken place until you found a stupid major to work in life with.... Why bother studying right now? Your parents paid for your acceptance at Stanford. Your life was as corrupted as that.

"What do you mean Y/n/n?" Art asked with a concerned look and rubbed his tumb over your jaw. "I don't know what I mean by that. But that's also a problem, I never know..." you tried to explain but it was still unclear to him. He only wanted to comfort you and make you feel at ease at all times, but right now he couldn't understand you. That made him mad at himself. "I don't know what I am going to major in, I don't know why I went to college in the first place and I don't know what you find in me. Before you start to argue that point, I have to tell you that I don't doubt your love, I doubt my ability of being loved right now. I am a mess Art... I can't do it anymore! The only thing I do know, is that I'm going to end up like I always feared..." You continued to elaborate on your feelings while he was listening. "Baby... I love you for who you are. I'm sure what you feared for your future isn't even that bad-" you cut him off on that and laughed while letting some tears flow. "Oh yeah, it is. I will end up as every other rich kid who doesn't amount to nothing and will live off my family's money for my whole life." You said and removed his hand from your face. You didn't feel deserving of his touch right now. "Stop." He said sternly. How could he have left this go this far? How couldn't he have seen you were feeling like this? How bad of a boyfriend was he? "Y/n, you are not messed up. You are beautiful and intelligent and you are worth more than your family's wealth. You are important. Not only to me but to a lot of people. Listen, college isn't for everyone, baby. I know it 's easier listening than believing, but please don't pull away from me." He had tears brimming his eyes now.

What did you do to deserve him?

"I love you, Art. I'm sorry for upsetting you..." You explained and held his hand that had been squeezing the edge of the table. "Don't, baby. You do not have to appologize. I should appologize for not seeing how you had been feeling. Please... talk to me about these things. I want to be there for you like you are for me." He took your hand back in his to play with it lightly. "Okay." You said and smiled softly at him. "Okay?" He asked smiling softly too while looking into your eyes. "Yeah. I'll talk to you more about my feelings, baby." You nodded and affirmed.

As you both walked to your last class of the day that you shared, the girls of your history of the arts lecture passed you. They were looking at you and art with sadness. It was then you realized what they had been doing. Only wallowing in their jealousy because:

Art had chose you. Not them.

His heart was set on you and that made them mad. Some part of you felt like you could see them. Maybe you were loved by someone like they wanted to be, but you were also envious of how these girls would be graduating in Teaching in less than two months likw you wanted to be graduating.

Everybody was jealous of somebody in this world.

"Art?" You asked while going closer to his side. "Hmm?" He had answered when wrapping his arm around your shoulder to pull you in even closer. "I think I'm jealous of you." You confirmed while giggling. "Oh yeah? How come, y/n?" He smiled at your randomness. "You have a massive dick. I want that." You said in the most serious tone you could master in that instance. Art burst out laughing and admitted that he was jealous of you too. "How come, Art?" You copied his sentence. "Imagine being as pretty as the one and only Y/n Y/l/n under sun rays. I'll pray for that to happen one day." You looked up into his eyes and stopped walking for a second. You smiled at him and went up to kiss him on his lips. The kiss was slow and full of love, just how you prefered then to be.

"I love you, baby. Even if you are a spoiled little brat sometimes." He said and tried to cover his head before you shoved his head to the side playfully.

#art donaldson x reader #art donaldson #challengers #art donaldson x you #art x reader #art x you #art #challengers x reader #challengers x you #challengers movie

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shorlinesorrows · 9 hours

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my jean & neil qpr agenda (part 1?)

after Neil orders the hit and Greyson becomes another Former Raven statistic for the media to go wild with, Jean ends up texting Neil. It's definitely not a thank you, but both of them know it kinda is (prob something like "you're an insufferable disease" lol)

They don't have contact for a while, but one day Neil reaches out by sending Jean the most atrocious multilingual French meme with "Kevin doesn't appreciate me or my humor, this is a hate crime"

It's sporadic from there, and maybe at one point they meet up while Neil and Andrew are on their summer road trip. Neil and Andrew end up in Colorado, and Jeremy, Cat, and Laila practically drag Jean there to see them (he'll deny that he had a good time, but he really did)

Andrew and Jean have a bizarre and interesting dynamic where they don't speak to each other often, but they eventually grow a mutual respect and shoot each other Looks about their "I'm Fine" partners. They don't mind just sitting in the same room and sharing space while they do their separate things.

When Jean and Jeremy start their pottery class, Jean takes to it like a fish to water.

He ends up majoring in Ceramics & Multimedia Art. Something about using his hands to create, rather than destroy.

He makes Neil a little exy racket charm for his keychain.

At one point, Jeremy makes a gc with Jean, Neil, Kevin, and Andrew on impulse. Jean "hates" it but doesn't leave the group chat. Andrew only stays in it because he can mute it, and it's useful for when they plan to meet up sometimes. It also makes Neil happy and it's not something he really minds

Jean also takes LOTS of pictures. With his phone, his friends' phones, a polaroid camera he gets as a gift from Cat, anything he can get his hands on. He hangs them up on his half of the room with Jeremy.

Eventually Jeremy and Jean do get separate rooms. They usually still sleep in the same room, but it's an important milestone for Jean and his recovery. Being able to have his own space, and know he's allowed to control who comes in it.

He decorates that room so much it's chaotic and beautiful and there's probably little pencil doodles on the wall next to his bed from when he can't sleep. He tends to draw daffodils :]

It becomes a bit of a tradition to meet Neil and Andrew every summer.

When they go pro, Jean and Neil end up on teams only a few hours' drive from each other. Neil and Andrew start on the same team, but the whole Minyard-Josten Rivalry is still a Thing because they're always shooting heated Russian at each other while "glaring" and no one else seems to realize it's their equivalent of flirting.

Jean thinks it's hilarious. He harasses Neil about it constantly.

Him and Kevin eventually mend their friendship, and they care about each other a lot.

Neil probably made the three of them matching "I survived Castle Evermore" shirts just to be a menace, and then Jean and Kevin have to make him swear that he'll never wear it in public.

Neil has a habit of just. Showing up at Jean's house and crashing sometimes.

Jeremy at one point jokes that he'll have to fight Neil for Jean's time in the future, but he's not really worried. They're happier when they spend time together. Jeremy and Andrew are chill with it.

When they meet up for the first time after a game between their pro teams, none of their teammates have any clue what's going on. Jean and Neil insult each other ferociously, but also can't seem to resist hip-checks and shoulder bumps and almost affectionate shoves.

Neil constantly sidles up to Jean and pretends like he doesn't know what he's doing. Jean usually responds by absently grabbing his hand so he knows where he is.

They are literally a cat and dog. Neil will deny that he's being caring or affectionate towards Jean all day long while actively attempting to be in Jean's space, and Jean practically perks up when Neil enters a room.

When their teams play against each other, they talk in French sometimes. Their checks are always a bit brutal (they know very well how far the other can be pushed before they break) but they help each other up at the end of quarters.

Jean is constantly antagonizing Neil by smiling and complimenting his striker skills while blocking him, and Neil is constantly taunting him with words that are plenty sharp, but never actually aimed for vital spots

Jean gets a service dog and Jeremy decides to name her Mr. Barkbark Flufferpants, following Andrew & Neil's naming scheme for their cats. They usually just call her "Mr."

When they make Court, the two of them practically live in each other's pockets.

Jeremy and Andrew watch both exasperatedly and amusedly (though Andrew just calls it annoyance when asked) as the two of them dance around their Big Queer Platonic Feelings

When they finally manage to actually communicate about it, it goes something like "Idk what's happening, I'm kinda obsessed with you but it is Not Romantic and I don't know what to do with that." And then "Oh thank hell, me too, I thought I was even weirder than I already am. Wanna go harrass the fbi together?" "No."

They become even more attached at the hip after that, can practically finish each other's sentences. It's like they freaking mind melded tbh.

At first Kevin gets worried that they're slipping into old habits from the Nest, especially Jean, but when he brings it up to Andrew and Jeremy, Andrew just goes "No, they're idiots." and Jeremy nods and says "I think they're in a honeymoon phase. If we see them slipping, we'll pull them out."

Kevin decides to wait and watch, and thankfully their relationship ends up being as healthy as Neil and Jean can be. There might be a little codependence going on, but they have other people and other grounding forces to help intervene if it seems to be unbalancing.

They both put each other on their emergency contacts list.

It's a common sight to find the two of them twisted into impossible positions together just doing their own things, Jean drawing, Neil watching reruns of Exy matches, whatever.

Their dynamic just becomes Jean, who genuinely grows up to be a pretty chill dude, and Neil, who's an absolute gremlin. Except they kinda absorb each other's personalities, so they're both little shits together. They fit.

There is definitely all sorts of weird conversations that they have at 2AM in little sleepovers they do together (sometimes with Kevin, Jeremy, or Andrew) because they never got that as kids.

I bet Neil mercilessly teases Jean for being allosexual, especially when he gets flustered (all in good fun, of course)

Jean just snarks back with a "shut up, I literally saw you look at Andrew like a besotted elderly man with his partner of fifty years like five minutes ago." Neil sticks out his tongue at him.

Jean actually can sometimes read the ways that Neil and Andrew show affection for each other because of how much time he spends around them, which leads to him occasionally getting confused when other people don't automatically Get It

Neil takes a while to warm up to Jeremy because he seems Too Nice, but once he does he helps Jeremy plan to absolutely torment Jean with silly little romantic gestures that make him flush all the way down to his neck

At one point Neil tries to get Jean to explain what it feels like to be sexually attracted to someone without knowing them really closely, and it leads to a really surprisingly deep conversation about attraction before it turns into neil making dick jokes.

Cat and Laila still keep in close contact with Jean, as well as Renee. They make sure to meet up as often as they can. Cat and Jean always go for a bike ride together and they all cook dinner as a group.

They're both cuddle monsters when in the right mood. They also have the convenient ability to fall asleep Anywhere when they feel safe. So finding them curled up together in weird places at home is pretty commonplace.

They're forever partners, not in the way that the world and the Nest tried to make them be, but in a way that they created themselves.

It doesn't have to be romantic to be special, and if anyone ever suggested that they should be in a romantic relationship, they would both look at that person with absolute judgement and disgust. This person interrupted their conversation. They were talking shit about someone. Neil is lounging in Jean's lap. Andrew is saying he hates them both, and Jeremy is cackling at it all while taking a low-res picture for Cat and Laila.

idk i have a Lot of thoughts and could keep going. (i might write a fic if anyone wants to read it, and I'll definitely write little snippets for myself if I get the time. )

#my qpr jean & neil agenda #all for the game #the sunshine court #aftg #neil josten #jean moreau #tsc #andrew minyard #thoughts #tsc spoilers #jeremy knox #KNAWING THE BARS OF MY ENCLOUSURE #listen they give me brainrot and I can't find the Exact dynamic i want on ao3 so i have to write about it #(also this is all written with absoutely no hate to the romantic jeaneil folks yall are doing amazing i'm so proud of you)#anyway also a cursory reminder that queerplatonic relationships are personal and vary from person to person!#They're very very cool and can look very different!#qpr concepts #qpr

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y-rhywbeth2 · 2 days

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Lore: Baldur's Gate #3

The Law and Legal System

Link: Disclaimer regarding D&D "canon" & Index [tldr: D&D lore is a giant conflicting mess. Larian's lore is also a conflicting mess. There's a lot of lore; I don't know everything. You learn to take what you want and leave the rest]

The City #1 | Demographics | Law & Legal System | Administration & Government | ??? - WIP

There is a surprising amount of information on laws, and also on the legal system and law enforcement of Baldur's Gate. ...And it's fucking terrible! This is so long because there's so. Much. Terrible.

OK, let's see... corruption, corruption, corruption... • 9/10 crimes never go to trial: the police are your judge, jury and executioners. You do have rights; let's hope they care. • The four classifications of crimes. (Nobles get away with so much. Also, frankly, the clergy.) • The Flaming Fist - the police, the military and the secret police in one nifty corrupt package. • Courts of Law and Magistrates • Alternate courses of justice: The Crews. Also, have you considered praying for your tormentor's horrible death? No, seriously. • The Code Legal: the actual laws, the crimes and their punishments • How the temples might self-police and how a recap on how the law gets... flexible with evil-aligned faiths.

Arrests and Processing Crimes

Baldur's Gate, like most of the Western Heartlands (and frankly, a lot of Faerûn beyond that), follows the precedent set by the Warerdhavian Code Legal in setting its laws. Local variations may occur, but they're near enough the same.

The Code lays down the crimes, which are matched to whatever punishment the law of the land has deemed appropriate.

For the most part, where the Gate is concerned, this usually leads to "cut and dry" cases. The crime and accused will be assessed by a member of the Flaming Fist (or the Watch, if it's in the upper city) who will make their own judgement as to guilt and follow out the punishment as laid down in the Code.

Crimes only go to court in one of two conditions, firstly that the officer assessing the crime doesn't feel that the situation is clear enough for them to make a judgement - and secondly, when high ranking members of society (Patriars, clergy, etc) for whatever reason want to step in and have it taken to court.

The majority of crimes will never see court. "Flaming Fist patrols react to threats with indiscriminate violence," and even those that don't often turn a blind eye.

The extremes seen in the 15th century are a reaction to the increase in the intrigues of the Upper City and the crime rate of the more recent Outer City both spreading into the Lower City. Now the average citizen contends with both of those and police brutality every day. Even prior to the foundation of the Outer City, policing was heavy due to the strength and spread of the Thieves Guid.

There is something of a 75% chance that arrests will not follow protocol: those members of the Fist not inclined to police brutality and starting "bidding wars" (whoever can offer the highest bribe is let go: everyone else gets arrested) are often too overwhelmed with a myriad of other crimes they're trying to handle. The Watch is less inclined to violence and corruption (at least, in comparison), but they're also the Upper City's personal guard and prone to discriminate heavily against the poor (or those who look it) in their arrests.

Due to the upper classes being notoriously self-interested and corrupt, and judges often being in the pocket of the Thieves Guild, there is also little trust in any justice coming from there. Ulder Ravengard certainly doesn't have any. Ulder has been commander since 1482 DR, and held high rank and influence before that. He is "the incarnation of militarism", and his stance when directing the Fist has been of the "the ends justify the means" variety. There is a chance that in 1482, due to Bhaal - at the time too weak to directly influence people - subconsciously urging him to give into his dictatorship leanings and "murderous intentions", that Ulder also led the Fist into an even darker place involving military law and a lot of mutilation and murder, but I'm uncertain how much of that is part of mainstream canon.

Often, if the accused is a noble or a high ranking member of the clergy and the crime is not "serious", they will be let go - perhaps with a slap on the wrist. These groups also tend to police their own behind closed doors to avoid public backlash and scandals.

"Nobles enjoy many protections under the law and in some cases can escape punishment for assault, provocation, or the outright murder of a commoner."

Generally though, they'll avoid such obvious and crude crimes. A lot of noble crimes and schemes involve hiring adventurers - outsiders with no connection to the city or protection under the law - to do their dirty work. More serious crimes will either never see the light of day, or if it can't be hidden, scapegoating and appeasement will follow.

Crimes are only crimes within the confines of the land in question. A crime in Baldur's Gate is not a crime outside its walls, and if a crime without those walls is committed then the legal system of the Gate has no jurisdiction with which to arrest of punish the offender. As such clergy and nobles who must be punished may well receive temporary exile, where they will be appointed to a different temple/sent to live with relatives somewhere else in the realms.

Crimes are also not necessarily crimes if the victim in question is not a citizen (generally classified as never having had their name on official city documentation or owned property within the city).

Technically visitors and foreign agents to the city should have licenses marking them as such and stating that their presence in the city is legal. Without these permits their lives are forfeit to the whims of the "important people". Technically new arrivals should be told by officials stationed at the city gates to report to the High Hall to be interviewed (in case the individual means harm to the city) and then handed their license, but your average visitor is never even told of this law.

"Outer City residents are classified as "visiting economic interests," which affords them some rights. However, with a word from a duke of a peer, that classification could change to "visiting diplomat," which offers numerous perks, or "invader," which is essentially a death sentence." - Murder in Baldur's Gate

Baldur's Gate will nevertheless strive not to be an obviously oppressive hellhole however, as trade cities wish to show a welcoming and tolerant face to the world: merchants will not come if they feel they will be risking their safety. In fact visiting merchants, particularly wealthy ones, are liable to receive somewhat better treatment than the average permanent citizen of the Gate.

Covert corruption is favoured:

"Any rigging of results must be done behind the scenes rather than in public. For instance, you could avoid someone’s being brought to trial, or arrange a prisoner escape."

Offenses are split into four categories:

1) Crimes Against the Lords The name may be subject to change, depending on region and governance; it's likely slightly different in Baldur's Gate. This is essentially crimes against the state officials and nobility.

2) Crimes Against the City Arson, littering, public brawling, carrying weapons in public, etc.

3) Crimes Against the Gods Blasphemy against the gods and their servants (who are their own, outside the box tier of nobles, in a way)

4) Crimes Against Citizens "Low level" offenses that don't threaten to upset anybody important or disrupt the city functioning.

Different realms and city states will also have their own unique laws, for example it's illegal in Baldur's Gate to disobey an order from an officer of the Fist if they're in uniform under threat of martial discipline (loss of an ear, a hand, their tongue, or even their life). While theoretically, this law exists for emergencies, it is very much abused for personal gain.

As said, generally the handling of crimes won't progress past the jurisdiction of the Flaming Fist - who hold many roles: mercenary company, city military, city police, "secret police" (spymaster is a position within the organisation and plainclothes officers are everywhere)... and generally, studying the pattern, it seems that one of the Grand Dukes on the Council of Four is going to be their commander.

Generally, candidates seeking to join the Fist are screened for "strong loyalty and stronger morals." Not sure that's working.

There are usually a few rules regarding investigations amongst Faerûnian law enforcement which should be followed (and watched closely public scrutiny to ensure it is):

• Confiscated items may not be kept. When searching a location, nothing except evidence is to be confiscated. • Items must be returned to their owners, if identified. • Citizens must be kept informed of the whys and hows of an investigation: when you disrupt daily life, somebody must be on hand to answer their questions and explain - leaving out no detail - what is happening and why. "Authorities have very few justifiable grounds for not telling citizens anything they ask about (though “the king’s will” [government business, for which Baldurians would use a different term] is a justifiable ground)." • Magic and magical items involved in the crime must be examined, and typically dispelled, and citizens must be told "the whole truth about what magic was found, where it came from, and what it was intended for" • Disputes over property must be handled in public.

By the 15th century, the organisation has been noted to have become insanely corrupt. Should the Flaming Fist lapse into illegal behaviours like vigilantism, kangaroo courts and police brutality (including cutting out people's tongues and hanging them in their own doorways), the government will generally do nothing to intervene, as long as it doesn't start to affect the patriars (who make up said government). If the commander - or acting commander - happens to be corrupt then the whole organisation generally goes downhill.

If Orin and the Dark Urge have been doing their jobs right, then the ranks of the Fist may have been infiltrated by Bhaalists, who will be subtly engaging in and pushing for aforementioned police corruption where they can get away with it:

"Several Deathbringers have managed to become city rulers or the heads of city law-keeping forces—and their minions now stalk the night streets slaying undesirables and rivals to increase their wealth and tighten their rule. Increasingly, Deathbringers seek positions where they can live comfortably, make lots of coin, and kill often with few consequences. Adventurers far from home are godsend targets, as are outlaws or brigands; few care if such folk meet a bloody doom." - Elminster's Forgotten Realms

---

Legal Courts

Should a case proceed to the courts it will be taken before one of the dukes, presided over in the courts at the High Hall. There was an attempted (and failed) coup by Grand Duke Valarken a few decades back to seize control of the city saw the patriars succeed in a naked power grab and the establishment of the Parliament of Peers, a governing body composed of mostly patriars and a smattering of Guildmasters and the other wealthy, who can buy and network/kiss enough patriar asses to elbow their way into power.

The dukes have since been able to delegate cases to one of the peers, who will serve as magistrate in their place. This worked out pretty well at first, and then went downhill:

"Proxy judges are not paid a salary, yet a temporary assignment to the High Hall's bench is a plum duty for any patriar, because hefty gifts and bribes flow to the judges from the [Thieves] Guid, from those grateful to be exonerated, and from those hoping to be exonerated."

For patriars who were called upon to handle a case the High Hall has several small libraries containing legal books, civic documentation (tax, property, censuses, etc etc), past court records and other relevant information to aid them with their duty. The libraries are also a disorganised mess, and volunteers from the local Oghmanyte clergy (followers of the god of knowledge, which technically includes legal lore) have their hands full trying to organise it and seem to be the only people who know how to find anything in there.

I have no information on how the court worked prior to the formation of the Peers in the 15th century, but if the Council of Four delegated back then then they most likely still picked from amongst the same people - the wealthy, mostly patriar, citizens of the Upper City who would be in their social and business circles enough for them to know each other.

If the accused desires legal defence, they have a few options.

In order for a legal representative to be considered valid, the court must be informed of your choice ahead of the court date. Sometimes it's only permitted to people who would struggle to represent themselves due to disability or language barriers (Common is not useful for daily conversation, let alone complex legal proceedings).

Baldur's Gate, unusually, has a few rare official barristers one may hire to represent one in court. These are generally far out of the pay range of the average citizen.

"The Realms does not have lawyers, robed and wigged or otherwise. There are some “advocates,” paid orators who will speak in court (always in the presence of an accused, not appearing in their stead) and who might know something of the law and can give advice to an accused. Some advocates are real performers who mimic the voices of people, act out scenes, tell jokes, and engage in furious debate in court—which, being great entertainment, is seldom cut short even by angry judges or rulers, because the commoners like it." - Elminster's Forgotten Realms

Tyrran clergy are also willing to defend the innocent and ensure that trials are fair and free of corruption, and the two groups are likely to overlap:

"In civilised areas (settlements), Tyrrans (inevitably called "tyrants" behind their back by nonbelievers) become legal experts and serve as the lawyers of Faerûn by dispensing advice and "speaking for" accused persons in trials." - Faiths and Avatars

(They still tend to charge for the service, although some will likely go pro bono as Tyrrans are also meant to be devoted to righting wrongs and ensuring the law serves the good of the people) Tyrrans are not a major faith in Baldur's Gate and don't wield a lot of influence, however - and to make matters worse, Tyr has been dead for a generation, and while the god returned in the Second Sundering, his clergy are still in recovery.

Magistrates may have the right to call upon divination spells - cast by mages or clergy - to root out the truth, although the wealthy and the nobility often have privileges and rights regarding this that are unavailable to the common class.

- Alternative Justice

As the citizens do not trust their legal system an inch, the common people band together in informal groups called "crews" for mutual protection. How they function depends on the crew (guarding each other's property, self-policing a shared street or neighbourhood, pooling funds, simply backing you up if you get mugged, etc)

The Gate has an unofficial system called burl, if you're fleeing persecution, be it from criminals or the Fist, and knock on a door three times the people inside owe you shelter and safety, no questions asked.

Another alternate route of justice exists - turning to the gods.

Tyrrans seek out criminals who escaped their sentence and slipped through the cracks - if you can't be brought to justice, they will bring it to you. They also work to change or protect laws for the betterment of people. Prior to the Spellplague Tyr's portfolio concerned the letter of the law, however during his death that passed to Torm (god of loyalty, and thus now loyalty to whatever my liege says is the law) and Tyr's focus is on benevolent readings of the spirit of the law. As said, they have been out of commission for around a generation, so Tyrran activity in the city will only have resumed with legal and divine backing for about a decade or two.

Ilmatari are permitted a tenday's worth of respite, where Ilmater temporarily releases from their vows - technically this is time meant for self-care and mental health, but Ilmatari have been known to use this freedom from their oath of non-violence to shank abusers and tyrants. They also engage in non-violent forms of protest and disruption against corruption and cruelty while under their oaths, and it's generally not a good idea to harm them because Ilmatari are very popular amongst the common people of Faerûn for their charity work.

There is a Helmite faction within the Gate - the Order of the Gauntlet - that covertly sponsors vigilantes. Their calling card is Helm's symbol, branded onto the flesh of either dead criminals or live ones left anonymously on the doorstep of the Flaming Fist.

And then there's Hoar; God of Vengeance; the Doombringer:

"Hoar charges his clergy to uphold true and fitting justice and to maintain the spirit of the law, not the letter of the law. Fitting recompense will always accrue for one's actions. Violence will meet violence and evil pay back evil, but good will also come to those who do good."

In Western Faerûn Hoar's clergy are not many and they do not build temples, but they wander the realms seeking victims of injustice. They listen to their stories, investigate to establish the veracity of their accounts, and if they're satisfied the person is being honest they will track down the perpetrator and deliver ironic punishments upon them. While they're considered criminals in the eyes of the law, to the common people of Faerûn hail them as champions of the underdog. On the darker side, Hoar and Bhaal are allies, and their followers share similar habits and a tendency to be retributive justice for hire. (Though Hoar is in it for vengeance, and Bhaal for the killings and bloodlust.)

Sharrans also present themselves as avengers in a world full of corrupt governments who don't care about you, and go out of their way to try and steal "jobs" from the Hoarites.

The temple of Bhaal will be sending priests up to the marketplaces and other gathering places - likely mostly in the Outer City, where it's impossible to break the city's laws - to listen to people's grievances and offer their services as killers. Bhaalists are also employable as freelance bounty hunters, and are obligated by their faith to train anybody who asks to fight and use weapons and are technically available as self-defence trainers (with an aim of "your opponent should not get back up"). They also usually select criminals for their sacrificial targets, and in private setting will turn these into public displays for the pleasure of the mob.

---

The Code Legal

There is no such thing as copyright law or libel and slander laws- unless they're offensive to clergy, rulers, nobility or whathaveyou. Authors on Toril are having great fun with the copyright thing, and often get ripped off by their publishers stealing their work. Also child labour is involved with the printing, but that's not the topic on hand.

When the punishment for a crime is arrest then the highborn, wealthy and influential will be placed under house arrest instead of spending their time in a jail cell.

Crimes Against the Lords A category that includes government officials, rulers, nobility, the extremely wealthy and influential, and generally high priests/temple leaders (are you going to blaspheme argue with somebody who speaks directly to a god? On Faerûn the answer is "no".)

Assaulting a Lord: death

Impersonating a Lord: death

Assaulting or impersonating an official or noble: flogging, imprisonment for up to a tenday, and a fine up to a max of 500gp depending on severity

Blackmailing an official: flogging and exile up to 10 years

Bribery or attempted bribery of an official: exile up to 20 years and a fine up to double the bribe amount.

Murder of a Lord, official or noble: death

Using magic to influence a Lord without consent: imprisonment up to a year, and fine or damages up to 1,000gp

While killing a commoner may be split into murder and justified self-defence, no such clause exists for killing a noble, which is always met with the death penalty.

"In many lands, common-born people are bound by law to defer to their betters, the lords and ladies of the nobility. Even if the law does not require deference, it’s usually a good idea." - Forgotten Realms Campaign Setting

For the Gate, the nobility are the patriars.

Merchants and powerful Guildmasters (the trade guild, not the Thieves Guid) may have the money and connections to worm their way into this special treatment.

"The wealthiest merchants are virtually indistinguishable from mighty lords, Even if born from peasant stock, a merchant whose enterprises span-a kingdom might style himself "lord" and get away with it." - Forgotten Realms Campaign Setting

While you might get away with styling yourself a lord, as Gortash does, the patriars nevertheless insist on maintaining boundaries between themselves and the new money. I believe they've also occasionally introduced fun additional little laws like who is not allowed to wear what (colours, fabrics) so as not to be confused with the wealthy merchants and lowborn of the city with their inferior breeding. True nobility is a matter of birthright, after all.

Still money opens a lot of doors, especially in a major trade hub like Baldur's Gate.

Crimes against the City

Arson: death or hard labour up to 1 year, with fines -and/or- damages covering the cost of repairs plus 2,000gp

Brandishing weapons without due cause: imprisonment up to a tenday -and/or- fine up to 10gp

Espionage: death -or- permanent exile

Fencing stolen goods: fine equal to the value of the stolen goods and edict

Forgery of an official document: flogging and exile for 10 summers (years)

Hampering justice: fine up to 200gp and hard labour up to a tenday

Littering: fine up to 2gp and an edict

Poisoning a city well: death

Theft: flogging, followed by imprisonment up to a tenday -or- hard labour up to a year -or- a fine equivalent to the value of the stolen good/s. Maiming, either through flogging or loss of limb. Baldur's Gate decided to edit this one for the extreme.

Treason: death

Vandalism: imprisonment up to a tenday plus fine - and/or - damages covering the cost of repairs plus up to 100gp

Using magic to influence an official without consent: fine -or -damages up to 1,000gp and edict

Crimes against Citizens

Assaulting a citizen: imprisonment up to a tenday, flogging and damages up to 1,000gp depending on severity

Blackmailing or intimidating a citizen: fine or damages up to 500gp and an edict (presumably in the form of a restraining order)

Burglary: imprisonment up to 3 months and damages equal to the value of the stolen goods plus 500gp

Damaging property or livestock: damages covering the cost of repairs or replacement plus up to 500gp

Disturbing the peace: fine up to 25gp and edict

Murdering a citizen without justification: death - or - hard labour up to 10 years, and damages up to 1,000gp paid to the victim's kin

Murdering a citizen with justification: exile up to 5 years -or- hard labour up to 3 years -or- damages up to 1,000gp paid to the victim's kin

Robbery: hard labour up to 1 month and damages equal to the value of the stolen goods plus 500gp

Slavery: flogging and hard labour up to 10 years

Using magic to influence a citizen without consent: fine -or- damages up to 1,000gp and an edict

Crimes Against the Gods

Assaulting a priest or lay worshipper: imprisonment up to a tenday and damages up to 500gp

Disorderly conduct within a temple: fine up to 5gp and edict

Public blasphemy against a god or church: edict

Theft of temple goods or offerings: imprisonment up to a tenday and damages up to double the cost of the stolen items

Tomb-robbing: imprisonment up to a tenday and damages covering the cost of repairs plus 500gp

"In a polytheistic setting such as this one, it’s important to stand back from any real-life religious views of “absolute good"". - Elminster's Forgotten Realms

"Baldur's Gate has widely adopted a "do no harm" policy when it comes to faiths and organizations operating in the city. Any group is welcome to operate openly so long as the city's important citizens aren't harmed [and as long as they don't disrupt trade]." - Descent into Avernus

"Important citizens" is an interesting distinction. Usually the rule is "so long as citizens - in general - aren't harmed".

A familiar refrain on this blog, which I have already talked about at length, but from a Torilian perspective: just because the god is evil and howling for the blood of the innocent doesn't make their priests criminals for providing it unless they get caught in the act or breach their "understanding" with the government. Evil or Good (or neither), the gods are holy, and to offend any is blasphemy. There are no gods whose worship is illegal in Baldur's Gate, so long as their clergy aren't stupid about it. (Sharrans usually prefer to go underground anyway, because they'd rather preach sedition and do crime than play nice, which will get them outlawed.)

Crimes against the clergy make people nervous, as it is attacking a god, in a way. Still, most crimes against priests fall under either crimes against citizens or crimes against the lords. Generally, high ranking priests are closer to the latter, and lower ranking to the former, though it does depend on the strength and influence of the temple and larger church in the city/region:

"The powerful temples of Faerûn's deities parallel the king's authority. The lowest-ranking acolytes and mendicants are rarely reckoned beneath the station of a well-off merchant, and any cleric or priest in charge of a temple holds power comparable to that of a baronet or lord. The high priests of a faith favoured in a particular land are equal to the highest nobility." - Forgotten Realms Campaign Setting

That said, the clergy are wise not to push their luck too far, as people will risk the wrath of a god if they feel the need to defend themselves, and the law will turn on the temple for disturbing the peace and disrupting trade.

The Gate has four active temples whose clergy will rank highest amongst the various priests within the city: Tymora, goddess of luck; Umberlee, goddess of the sea; Gond, god of artificers; and - of course - Bhaal, god of murder. The leading priests of each of these - the High; the Wavelord/Wavemistress; the Artificer or High Artificer; and the High Primate/Primistress or Primate/Primistress - will generally be afforded the kind of treatment and leniency by the law that nobility may expect (though this will not extend to the lower ranks of the faith), and of these, Gond's church wields the most power.

As the most recent addition to the four, still in recovery due to their deity being out of commission for a century, the Bhaalists likely wield the least political power, however "[the faiths of the Dead Three] still command respect and fear throughout Baldur's Gate." Also there's a rumour that some important political figure or other is a Bhaalspawn, and it might be the High Primate, but these have always been proven to be smear campaigns.

Beneath these are the other well established faiths, who have shrines (though no temple heads): Ilmater, Lathander, Oghma and Helm.

And then a smattering of every other god on Toril, presumably represented by anything from a handful of priests to one. Also the Banites, who have been doing a fantastic job of climbing the ranks. Couldn't be anything to do with the systemic corruption and tolerance of evil, nah.

Still, clergy will not necessarily bother to take offenders to task and often take offenses against their deity into their own hands. Churches and secular powers tend to have some friction between them, as the government feels that its rules should hold sway while priests consider themselves (and the government) to be beholden to the wills of a higher power that takes precedence over those mere mortals in the High Hall.

Punishments vary according to faith and offense, and may range from placing a quest (gaes) upon the offender, enslaving them to the church, to simply murdering them and discretely disposing of the body. That last one may involve ritual sacrifice unto the deity of the temple, if appropriate. When the offender escapes the temple, the priests may call for the aid of their rural siblings in faith to hunt them down - wandering paladins, the Deathstalkers, etc. Many clergy have some amount of priests that don't stay still.

Churches have their own law enforcement systems. Temple guards are commonly seen, and in larger temples will answer to a paladin. Temples are often home to animals - selected from the deity's holy animals - who serve as security and defence. Certain deities will also have undead bound to the temple's service.

When one of their own ranks is caught breaking a law (say, murder) the priests usually prefer to deal with it themselves. The most common result of getting caught rocking the boat is either for the church to excommunicate the priest, or else for that priest to suddenly, silently be removed from their post and reassigned by the church somewhere else outside of the jurisdiction of the realm with the promise to secular authorities that they will be disciplined, which is accepted. The latter happens "more often than the general public would be pleased to know".

Evil-aligned religions are also held to another set of rules, whose terms are negotiated between the rulers and the church, but generally go thusly:

1) The church owes fealty and service to the government when demanded (assassins, spymasters, mercenaries, whatever) 2) Activities like human sacrifice are to be kept to agreed upon limits: no more than necessary, and the targets must not be "innocents, citizens, or government representatives." - random vagrants and criminals are fine. 3) Clergy must not attempt to overthrow the ruling class, 4) Nor cause too much distress in the general public (people are resigned to the existence of evil and accept and worship the evil deities, but they should not be pushed to the point where daily life is disrupted.) 5) Shrines and temples must be kept out of public view. 6) Keep your identity as a priest and your identity as a citizen separate: the public must not be able to identify you - the Gate has slightly looser restrictions on this, it seems 7) No forced conversions.

#I am screaming internally louder and louder with each piece of information #Also: “There's rumours a political figure - probably the leader of the Bhaalists - is a Bhaalspawn.”#“Nah that's ridiculous. Slander.”#long post #lore stuff

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marvelsswansong · 5 months

Text

perfectly poisonous pair

summary: the three times Coriolanus realizes you're his perfect match, his eternal soulmate: darkness and all.

tags: coriolanus snow x fem!reader, possessive and dark soft!Corio with equally unhinged reader (an anon previously said morticia x gomez addams vibes), fluff, violence, non-canon compliant, CW for graphic descriptions of violence, kidnapping, murder, possessive/dark thoughts - please take care of yourself first!

☆ word count: 6K+ words ☆

⚠️ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞.⚠️

Marriage is, at first instance to Coriolanus, an institution and an act that he doesn't quite see the point of.

The legal and financial benefits, sure. But committing himself to one person, to be bound to them body, heart and soul for the rest of his life? That level of vulnerability and permanence feels too foreign. Too abstract, even, that thinking about it quickly makes his stomach churn with sickness.

Coriolanus spends the majority of his upbringing, consoling himself that he doesn't have the time to worry about such things as romance. After all, there was always the next bill to pay and the next threat of eviction to dread.

Not to mention, he thinks, no one will truly ever get him. Not even grandma'am or Tigris understands his inner being. The man deep within his guts, the cunning voyeur who enjoys violence and manipulation. And if they only knew, he believes, they'd be horrified.

No one really knows Coriolanus for who he is. And no one will truly be able to understand what it's like to feel and think like him.

So marriage is completely out of the question for him.

At least for a long time.

Until he meets you.

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

the beginning: "must be a coincidence."

You're the first person (other than the wide-eyed idealist, Sejanus) to treat Coriolanus with kindness at the academy.

You come in as a transfer student mid-way through the semester and he comes to notice the small ways with which you show your appreciation for him. Slyly backing up his answers in class discussions. Smiling at him in the hallways. Sticking up for him in conversations, not caring if the others give you odd looks for defending a 'clear outsider' amongst them.

"If you ever need anything, you can always count on me." you'd once told him after school, his knees barely brushing against yours in the car you've invited him into so that he wouldn't have to walk home in the freezing cold.

Suppressing the urge to interrogate the reasoning behind your kindness, his numb fingers felt sudden warmth when you delicately placed a crumbled up note into his fist with your address in it.

"Stop by whenever you need something. Don't suffer alone, okay?"

He never takes you up on your offer.

At least, not until a few months later, when he finds himself knocking on your door late at night. Three in the morning to be precise, with a busted lip and dark red stains blossoming across his white shirt.

And when you open the door, you don't react to his disheveled state in the same way he'd expect from his family. No pity and shock like grandma'am, nor is there a trace of light apprehension and fear like there would be from Tigris.

Instead, your eyes crinkle with kindness as you invite him inside your home and sit him down on a nearby chair in the living room.

"How bad is it?" you ask, cutting him off with a stern glare before he can lie. "And don't lie to me, Snow. I need to know if you're going to need a drive to the hospital instead of my attempts at first aid."

Sighing, the blonde gives in, his bones aching too much to put up a fight.

"Not that bad, I promise." he grumbles, trying to keep his breathing normal as you lean in closely to examine his injuries. At this proximity, he can see the reflection of the overhanging yellow lights in your irises, your eyebrows furrowing in concentration before you leave the room and return with a soft towel and warm bowl of water.

"Could you look up for me?" you question, your cold fingers steadying his neck to carefully crane it upwards.

The warm, wet fabric in your hands then trace the edges of his jaw, picking up the droplets of blood scattered across his face.

Keeping his eyes forward at the line of bookshelves by the fireplace, time seems to slow down. His senses are overwhelmed by your hairwash - rosemary and vanilla, he thinks - and the room is awfully quiet. All he can hear is the muted sounds of your soft breaths and the rustling of leaves outside, the pale moonlight creeping in through the gaps of the floral curtains in the dead of December.

"Do you mind me asking what happened?" you ask, now switching your attention to the trail of blood buried into the crevice of his neck. You cringe right afterwards, almost wincing at your audacity. "Sorry, you don't have to say if you don't want to."

If anything, it just makes him smile. He likes seeing you embarrassed, he thinks.

"No, it's fine. I'll say. It was just... a party gone awry. Felix managed to convince everyone to go downtown."

You frown at the mention of the downtown area - it was common knowledge that it wasn't safe to wonder the south of the Capitol this late at night, especially if you were obviously from central.

"And then?"

"Got jumped. Felix and his friends ran away quickly. Sejanus got caught up in the mix and I couldn't just... leave him."

Coriolanus hates admitting the slightest sign of weakness, that perhaps he had a friend he cares for, so he's eternally glad that you don't dwell on it. Humming in response, you squeeze the towel in your hands, the water below now a murky shade of brown.

"And how much of this blood is your own? Do I need to get the sewing needles out?"

"I-"

His response is staggered by brief flashes of the fight playing in his mind. He recalls there being a lot of heavy breathing and fast movements. A slash there. A broken nose there. His feet driving down onto the man's chest repeatedly, down, down, down - he hears bones cracking at some point and Sejanus is suddenly pulling him backwards, begging him to stop but Coriolanus can't-

"Coriolanus."

Your voice snaps him out from his dazed state. He then swallows nervously, not knowing how much is safe to disclose.

"I'm fine. Really. Just some bruises and a split lip. The blood is from dodging a few knife attacks and the criminals stabbing one another."

It's a half-truth, really. Coriolanus had dodged a few stabs his way, but only because he tripped the man charging him and grabbed the knife instead to drive it into the man's sides. Enough to severely wound, but not kill. He feels the soles of his left shoe drag on the floor, the fabric nearly coming off from the repeated force with which he'd stepped on the other accomplice's ribs. It makes his jaw clench with embarrassment.

If you notice it's a lie, you don't say anything.

You ask him if he can undress, so that you can wash his clothes for him. After all, you tease in a lighthearted manner in an attempt to lift the mood, you still have school tomorrow at eight.

"You can leave the dirty clothes hanging by the chair outside the bathroom. I think you're overdue for a long, hot shower."

All arguments die in Coriolanus' mouth when he realizes how nice this feels. The foreign comfort of being cared for by someone else, of having his guard down and following someone else's lead for once. So he wordlessly follows you to the bathroom in the back and discards of his dirtied clothes outside.

The hot water is a nice luxury, the scalding temperature starting to erase his memories of the fight. He rubs his scalp raw and watches the water beneath his feet fade into the drain, the steady dripping of water droplets calming his mind.

When the blonde finishes, he comes out and sees that you've folded a set of new, clean clothes for him by the door of the bathroom (your father's old clothes, he learns). Once changed, he wanders outside and finds you hanging the freshly washed clothes outside on your front lawn.

"You should go home, Corio." you say quietly. "Your cousin and grandmother must be worried sick." you look back at him, a reassuring smile on your face.

"How... how can I ever repay you for all this?" he finds himself asking, desperate for an answer. Surely, you'll want something back for this. Certainly, this was all to get something back from him-

You shake your head sideways, waving your hand in dismissal.

"There's no need to repay me. I like to think you help me out every day at school, so think of this as more of... a much delayed gift."

Once you're both back inside the house, no longer shivering from the cold, he finds the silence to be oddly tense. You're in your sleepwear, after all, a silky night dress stopping right above your knees with a gray knit cardigan on top.

He swallows, nervously. He hopes you can't tell how fast his heart is beating.

"Uh, thank you. Seriously. I owe you."

"You really don't."

"I really do."

You roll your eyes playfully.

"The only person who owes me anything is Felix. He shouldn't have suggested you all go to downtown when it's dangerous, and he especially shouldn't have left you and Sejanus to nearly get stabbed to death." you spit, and your angry expression makes him chuckle.

"Ah, well, but he is the president's son. What can we do." he jokes. A small grin flickers onto your lips for half a second at that comment.

"So he is. Good night, Corio. I'll see you tomorrow."

It's initially an uneventful day for Coriolanus the next morning when he walks into the academy, naturally catching your eyes from across the room. You give him a reassuring nod from behind the door of your locker, where the majority of your attention is being held up by an overeager Felix - your assigned partner for the week.

Due to his schedule, Coriolanus doesn't see you again until lunch time. By which the newest rumor sweeping the academy has been the sudden violent illness which has fallen upon the president's son.

"I heard he was puking blood." he hears Clemensia whisper to Arachne, who nods furiously.

"Sejanus had to carry him to the medic's office - Felix looked like a half-dead ghost."

He's itching to speak to you as he quickly rounds the corner and runs up the flights of stairs leading to the library, where he's shared many lunches with you before. He knows your favorite sport by heart, that being the cozy seat under the large arched windows overlooking the front lawn.

As expected, he finds you there, sitting cross legged and gazing out towards the lawn. Upon closer inspection, he sees that you're watching Felix get escorted into a dark vehicle, an unreadable expression on your face.

"Have you heard that Felix is sick?" Coriolanus carefully asks, sitting down from across from you. You turn to him, your face scrunching up in sadness.

"Yes I have. Terrible news, really. Something about nasty nausea and uncontrollable vomiting."

Your tone is sympathetic and your face has all the features of genuine worry, but there's a small twinkle in your eyes that indicates a secret.

It makes Coriolanus delirious with want.

"And would his illness have anything to do with you being close to him as his project partner?" he questions, sliding in closer towards you to keep his voice down.

He looks down at your lips then back up at you, smirking.

"Just seems strange, don't you think? Given that he seemed just fine last night?"

A half-second smile, you shrug.

"Must be a coincidence."

He kisses you right then and there.

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

the point of no return: "you're quite a messy lover, Coriolanus Snow."

Finding you is a miracle to him.

And now that you two are officially dating, he sees the glimmer of hope for something permanent like marriage in the future.

But Coriolanus is still unsure of the publicity of that kind of arrangement, which leads him to request that you two keep the relationship under wraps. At least until graduation, he justifies, to keep the romance hidden away from the judging eyes of the faculty and fellow classmates.

You don't seem the least bit bothered by the news, your lips only quirking up into a warning smile as you tease that you may then have to bring other men as dates to public events to save face.

At the time, he'd just shrugged at that, playing it cool. "I don't get jealous easily." he'd said confidently.

Oh, how he was wrong.

It's only after he becomes your boyfriend that he becomes acutely aware of and sensitive to how desirable you are to others. Visitors to the academy flirt with you openly, not knowing that Coriolanus is watching from the background, fuming with anger. Your male classmates are too eager to carry your books for you, their body leaning ever too close towards yours when you ask them to pass on the papers in class.

But this, right now, seeing you with another man at the spring gala... It feels different.

Those people, the strangers and classmates, you let down firmly but gently. Those people, you wouldn't even let their hands hover above your skin, always placing a firm distance between you and them. Those people-

Fuck.

You didn't smile at those people like you're smiling at this date of yours. The tall, dark haired man's arm is lingering just above your waist, too close for Coriolanus' comfort, and his thoughts turn lethal when the man leans down to whisper something in your ear that seemingly makes you laugh.

It takes everything within him to not lose control then, when Sejanus speaks up.

"You alright?"

His friend's voice cuts into the tirade of violent thoughts playing in Coriolanus' mind, the whiskey starting to taste sour in his mouth. Forcing another sip of alcohol, he meticulously coaches himself to nod along, feigning disinterest in you and the mystery man.

"Just fine, Plinth." he grits out, but with his steely blue orbs not deviating from where you and your date are standing, it's obvious to any bystander that he's lying. So Sejanus chuckles, nudging the blonde playfully.

"Yeah right. Though, I'm not surprised that (Y/n) brought him along." Sejanus takes a sip of his wine, before pausing at seeing the blonde's expression remain hardened. "You do know who he is, right?"

"Am I supposed to?" Coriolanus scowls.

"That's Harrison Bramford. His grandfather was one of the main generals back in the days of the war and his family single-handedly leads the weapons manufacturing industry in Panem."

"Hm." is all Coriolanus says in response, the revelation doing little to appease his anger. His left arm rises in a reflex to force more alcohol down his throat, only to find the glass half empty.

"I need another drink." he announces, not caring to hear his friend's response.

Sliding into the bar, he hears your soft laugh and whisper before you disappear into a nearby hallway, leaving your 'date' alone. Out of the corner of Coriolanus' eyes, whilst he leans forwards and pretends to watch the bartender grabbing him another glass of whiskey, he sees the tall dark haired man also beelining towards the bar.

"Vodka on the rocks." Harrison growls, nearly slamming his glass down onto the counter. It's only then that Coriolanus lets himself look into the man's light green eyes, taking care to keep his expression fairly neutral and his voice calm.

"Rough night?" Coriolanus asks, deciding to play the unassuming role of a concerned stranger. Harrison chuckles, wiping his hands on his thighs whilst shaking his head.

"You have no fucking idea. Women are such pieces of work."

The blonde tastes blood with how hard he bites his cheek in an effort to stay silent.

"Your whiskey, sir."

He's grateful for the interruption of the bartender sliding his drink down towards him, as with every word leaving your date's mouth, Coriolanus is feeling his rage boiling and threatening to spill over like toxic waste.

"This chick asked me to come here tonight, you know? Me. A Bramford. I put up with her annoying stories and stupid questions all night, I even held her fucking bag for her to go to the bathroom." the man rants, his skin starting to twinge red with how fast he was speaking. "But will she even let me kiss her? Nooooo. Apparently it's too quick. Wouldn't even let me grab her ass."

It's then that your boyfriend finally loses it, and there's a muted sound of something shattering and the feeling of something sticky and hot running down his right hand. There's a few gasps of shock, the bartender hurrying over with a spare napkin as Coriolanus' blue eyes adjust to the blurry scene in front of him.

He's shattered the glass in his hand.

"Shit, you alright?" Harrison asks, leaning over to see and then pulling back with a disgusted expression after seeing the bloody sight. Remaining calm whilst pulling out the chunks of glass, Coriolanus chooses to play nonchalant, shrugging his shoulders.

"Yep. Sorry, not used to..." he pauses, trying to find the right excuse. Instead, he finds a brilliant plan. "Not used to going so long without smoking."

The dark haired man nods in agreement, seemingly sympathizing.

"Ah, I get you. Nasty withdrawal symptoms, huh? Seen a lot of my buddies get them whenever they try to quit smoking."

Securing the makeshift tablecloth wrap around his injured hand, Coriolanus pushes his chair in with his legs, his uninjured hand strategically reaching into his pockets.

"I think I need a cigarette. Care to join?" he asks, already knowing the answer from the overwhelming scent of cigarettes spayed over the man's clothes.

"Why not."

Suppressing a smile, the blonde leads the drunken man out the door and far away from the venue, down a few shady alleyways and into narrow dirty streets crowded by graffiti and trash bags.

"Uh... you sure this is the right way?" the man behind nervously asks, and Coriolanus almost wants to roll his eyes at how pathetic he finds the man's fear.

"Don't worry, Bramford. Just avoiding the 'no smoking' signs and security guards by the venue."

Once the blonde is sure that they're both sufficiently far away from the venue, at a dead end alleyway sandwiched between a run down bike shed and abandoned dumpsters, he stops in his tracks. Coriolanus then uses the split second of confusion felt by the other man to strike him directly in the chest, forcing the taller man's entire body down.

Grabbing the nearest object next to him - a wooden crate- Coriolanus smashes it into bits on the man's head, whose face is now pressed up against the dirty cement.

"You absolute piece of shit." Coriolanus swears, adrenaline pumping through his veins in irregular rhythm as his boot kicks into the pained man's ribs repeatedly. "You disgusting, vile, privileged piece of shit."

Each insult is compounded by a stronger kick, the three glasses of whiskey and pure rage emboldening his thoughts and strengthening his attacks. Coriolanus thinks he may have heard a bone or two cracking, but he isn't sure. He can't even bring himself to care, not when his mind's fixation switches to the enticing sight of a broken glass bottle laying to his right, the jagged scars glistening under the moonlight. Coriolanus snatches it up in half a second, before pressing the edges of the makeshift blade against the whimpering man's throat.

"W-why are you doing this?" Harrison barely gets out, mouth already filled with blood, his gasps stuttered in pain.

The blonde only chuckles, his left knee coming down to press the man further into the ground, right hand beginning to trace the edge of the glass down the man's neck.

"Because, Bramford. You denigrated the love of my life. You dare try and place your filthy hands on her. Hell, for the crimes of your family and your disgusting behavior tonight, I should do the Capitol a favor and ki-"

"That's enough, Corio."

Your boyfriend nearly drops the bottle in his hand out of shock at hearing your voice ring out from behind him, the development so unexpected that for a second he almost wonders if he's hallucinating. But no, when he tilts his head backwards, he sees as clear as day you standing there with an amused grin on your face.

"Darling, I-" Coriolanus begins, stepping back up carefully and setting the glass bottle aside (but far away from Harrison's reach).

You just shush him, that ever-so-understanding twinkle in your eyes, your heels clicking on the uneven cobblestone as you stand with your body right up against his.

"I warned you about this, you know." you sigh. Coriolanus frowns, confused.

"What?"

"That you'd be jealous. He's just a toy, love. Nothing happened nor was ever going to happen tonight." you assure him, taking his uninjured hand in yours and squeezing it in comfort. You frown at the sight of his other bloodied hand, but he waves it off as an explanation for a later time.

"It's not that I don't trust you, petal. It was just... this scumbag was speaking about you in a revolting manner. I just couldn't contain myself." he slowly explains, a mix of guilt for being caught and anger for not being able to finish his actions creeping in. "He deserved it."

"Not denying that, love." you assure him again, smiling. "But goodness... What a mess you've made. You're quite the messy lover, Coriolanus Snow."

Coriolanus then can only watch, mesmerized, as you walk up next to Harrison's squirming body on the floor. Crouching down next to the man, you tut, as if you're saddened by the sight in front of you.

"Here's what's going to happen. We'll do you the favor of making it looking like you had too many drinks and got robbed. We'll take your wallet and expensive jacket. You'll survive, only a few major injuries but nothing life-threatening, and that's the story you'll tell your father and his friends." you pause, letting out another sigh, as if explaining this whole ordeal is tiring you. "In return, I will keep quiet about your nasty drug addiction to your father. One more strike and you're out, as your daddy said, so let's not aggravate him further. Deal?" you ask, smiling sweetly.

When the man stays silent, only letting out pained breaths in response, your right hand snaps out to press his face further into the concrete.

"I said, do we have a fucking deal, Bramford?"

Coriolanus finds himself completely transfixed by the attractive sight playing out in front of him: your pretty face scrunched up in fury, your delicate fingers dipped in blood as the man beneath you pathetically sobs and agrees. You then smirk, harshly dropping the man's head back down. Your boyfriend is by your side immediately, taking off the man's jacket as you pocket the wallet, your eyes finding Coriolanus' once more.

"I think I'm in love with you." the blonde confesses, the words coming out faster than he'd anticipated. It's a mix of things that causes the sudden confession, the adrenaline from having beaten a man nearly to death, the way your hair is being caressed by the harsh winds, the smell of your sweet perfume mixing with the harsh stench of copper in the air...

It's all making him dizzy and lovesick.

But all you do is roll your shoulders back and chuckle, kissing him quickly on the lips.

"I know."

But, Coriolanus thinks, you can't know - the real depths of his love, the unbridled fire now lapping at his skin, the overwhelming desire to claim you as only his.

And when he finally comes back home, he digs through his cabinets and finds the family ring. Swallowing thickly, he stores it in a small jewelry box and tucks it right underneath his bedroom's windowsill.

One day, he knows. He'll marry you.

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

the final act: "sorry for worrying you."

He'd meant to propose sooner.

He really did.

But then the games happened, his victory came with the assistant position to Dr Gaul and a full ride scholarship to university from the Plinths, and you'd be called away to District 2 to assist on your family's business operations.

Coriolanus missed you, fiercely. No amount of blurry phone calls and monthly visits lasting no more than the short weekend could satisfy his ache for you. Your melodic laugh. Your soft touch. Your witty observations and jokes, your soft breathing on his chest when he'd hold you at night.

But it's necessary, you'd remind him, lips trailing across his cold skin. It was how you and him were going to conquer the Capitol. Together.

On an assuming Tuesday in April, on the day you were due to arrive in time for Tigris' birthday, the phone rang in the mansion. The housekeeper, mid-way through dusting the library in preparation for your arrival, had come running into Coriolanus' room without even knocking. He'd woken up bleary eyed, a few swear words of annoyance on the tip of his tongue, all of which dissipated upon seeing the alarmed look on the housekeeper's face.

"It's for you, sir. Says it's urgent."

Brows furrowing, but not thinking anything much, Coriolanus answers the phone.

"Coriolanus Snow speaking." he mutters into the receiver, eyes still foggy from the remnants of sleep. The voice on the other end chuckles, a dark and pompous sound which makes him scowl in annoyance.

"Mr.Snow... when was Miss (L/n) set to arrive in the Capitol?"

The sinister question jolts the blonde awake immediately, a quick glance at the clock hanging by the door confirming his worst fears. It was four am, at least three hours past the time you were set to arrive.

"Is this a ransom call?" Coriolanus growls into the phone, his fingers clutching the receiver so tight his knuckles were beginning to redden. Teeth aching with how tensely he's clenching his law, his frantic eyes find the housekeeper's worried ones, before he urgently signals for the older woman to fetch the guards roaming the front of the property.

The stranger on the other side only chuckles in response, clearly gleeful at the distressed sound of Coriolanus' voice.

"I'm not sure, Mr. Snow. Would you like to perhaps ask her instead?"

The string of curses and violent threats bubbling under his throat never get spoken when he hears the sudden shuffling of feet and muffled arguing on the other side of the phone, before your voice fills his anxious ears.

"Hi, Corio."

Huh.

You seem awfully relaxed for someone taken as hostage.

Yes, he recalled having numerous discussions with you about such a scenario occurring once Coriolanus' status was elevated in the Capitol and you'd agreed to take on some share of the family business. And your boyfriend also knew that you'd grown up training in archery and fencing, so it wasn't as if you were wholly unprepared to defend yourself.

But still, it shocks him how your voice is completely aloof and calm, with even a hint of a smile at the end of your sentences.

"Hi, darling. Are you alright?" he carefully responds, pondering if you are perhaps being held at gunpoint and forced to speak in an unnatural manner. But you just hum in response, the same noise you'd make if he'd asked you something simple like what you wanted on your toast, nonchalant as ever.

"Yes, I'm perfectly fine. Just don't forget to water the lilies, they get very temperamental this time of the year. Wouldn't want a repeat of last April, now would we?" you joke, and Coriolanus feels himself slightly relaxing into the conversation.

"Of course not."

"And don't forget you promised me pancakes the moment I came back to the house. I've been missing your banana pancakes dearly."

He can almost picture your smile at that comment.

"Well then... you should hurry back soon." he calmly responds, only for the phone to then be ripped away from you and the stranger's voice returns - grating and aggravated. Coriolanus can tell that your kidnapper is frustrated and dumbfounded by your seemingly calm disposition and mundane conversation with your boyfriend, a revelation which fills him with great satisfaction.

"If you still want her alive, leave a suitcase of $20,000 by the coordinates sent to you. You have two hours."

As if on cue, the housekeeper rushes back in with a note - tied to a bird sent over to the house, she says - and the security team behind. Unravelling the coordinates written onto the piece of paper, and looking back at the clock, Coriolanus' mind whirls with endless possibilities.

Explaining the situation in brief, he directs three of the guards to go out into the location with a briefcase loaded with fake cash - one to drop off the bag, the other two to keep extensive watch to see who picks it up. The other two, he commands to stay by watch at the house.

Sitting in an unmarked van whilst staring at the spot where his security guard had placed the suitcase, Coriolanus' leg won't stop bouncing up and down.

He's riddled with anxiety and doubt, hating himself for being unable to protect you, worrying about your whereabouts. As even if you sounded awfully calm and capable on the phone, a part of him can't help but wonder if that was all for show, to prevent him from worrying too much.

A torturous hour passes before Coriolanus gets a call from the housekeeper.

"Sir, she's home."

He nearly drops the phone.

"What?"

"Miss (Y/n) is home. She is sitting in the kitchen, having a cup of tea as we speak."

It's a blur as Coriolanus commands the car to race back towards the house, his heart nearly pounding out of his chest as he bursts through the doors of the main hallway.

And there, calm as ever with a light grin on your face, is you.

You're sitting in his favorite velvet cushioned chair by the dining table. Your face smeared with blood, your clothes are torn and hanging in loose threads, and your hair is wet, red crimson droplets falling onto the floor in steady drips. And as the sun rises over the estate, the golden light illuminates your hairline and Coriolanus swears he sees a halo above your bloodied form.

"Hi, love. Sorry for worrying you."

Without a single word, he rushes over to you and nearly yanks you up to a standing position, backing you up against the wall to kiss you fiercely. Your knees almost buckle from the force with which he grabs your neck, his shaky breaths so desperate, his hooded eyes still looking into yours as his left hand suddenly shows a ring box in his hand.

"Marry me, darling."

You blink twice, surprised at the sudden action, as he chuckles and laces his fingers with yours - blood on blood.

"We're perfect for each other. You are my soulmate, my perfect pair: body, heart and soul. Truthfully, I've had the ring with me for almost two years now, but it never felt... quite right." he pauses, taking in your shaky, happy smile. Your cold hands warming in his embrace. "Not until now. You're the one for me."

"Even if I bleed all over your kitchen?" you croak, as he slides the cool metal onto your ring finger, before kissing your bruised knuckles.

"Especially if you bleed over my kitchen. As long as it's not your own blood, of course."

It's you who closes the gap this time, nearly tackling him with the force with which you kiss him, arms encircling around his back. Smiling into the kiss, he tastes the mix of your strawberry lipgloss and the metallic hint of blood on your lips, an intoxicating combination.

When you two finally part for air, the silver band now glistening on your ring finger, Coriolanus chuckles.

"Now, would you like those banana pancakes?"

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

epilogue: "nonsense, darling. I'd clean blood off of you forever."

"I think I'm starting to see a gray hair. on you, Corio."

Your husband scowls at the playful joke in the bedroom mirror, standing up to straighten his tie as you get changed in the walk-in closet.

"Please, I'm barely 30. Are you sure you're not hallucinating, darling?" he fights back, and you peek out half-dressed from the closet, pouting.

"You're questioning my eyesight now? How could you be so cruel."

Your faux sour expression is quickly kissed away by two cold hands cupping your cheeks, and you would've lost the balance in your heels had he not steadied you immediately, his hands dropping to your waist.

"Aw, I'm sorry, petal. Will you ever forgive me?"

You pretend to think about it, cocking your head sideways.

"That would depend."

"On what?"

"Mom! Dad!"

Your snarky response is cut off by the sound of small feet pattering on the marble floor, the front doors swinging open as a small figure runs straight to you and crashes into your legs. A spitting image of you and Coriolanus, your daughter, looks up from your knees before grasping onto her father's hand.

"Up, please."

Clearly amused by the sudden burst of energy in the room and his daughter's politeness even in moments of silliness, he crouches down and picks up the squealing child who comfortably settles into his arms.

"Guess what."

"What is it, honey?" you ask, brushing the stray hair out of her eyes.

"I got the highest score in my entire class on my math test."

"Wow, that's incredible, sweetheart." Coriolanus practically melts on the spot, bouncing the child up and down as she giggles into his neck. "You are the smartest person ever, Belle."

"Not as smart as mommy." she sasses in response, looking up at you for approval. You coo, ruffling her hair affectionately before looking up at your husband with raised eyebrows.

"See, Corio? Even our daughter is kinder to me than you are."

He rolls his eyes in response, left hand sneaking out to pull you in close as his lips kiss the top of your head.

"Nonsense. I love both my girls equally." he says, only for the picture perfect moment to be interrupted by another figure rushing into the room.

"Mrs Snow, the car's just arrived for you by the fr-" the intern freezes in his steps, having clearly caught the Snow family at a private time. You of course don't mind, just being amused by the situation, and your daughter is just curious at the new person who just walked in. All the while, Coriolanus' reaction couldn't be more different, his glare sharp and mean.

"I thought I made it clear, I don't want to ever be disturbed when I'm with my family. Unless it's an absolute emergency." Coriolanus states, his tone icy and unforgiving.

By the furrowing of his eyebrows and the cold stare in his eyes, you can already anticipate the flurry of murderous thoughts filling his head before you cut in. After all, the interrupting intern, a 17 year old boy by the name of Elijah, is only trying his best. And you find him oddly endearing and sweet, particularly with how badly he tries to impress your husband.

"It's fine, Elijah. Please ignore my husband's rude comment. I'll be right out."

Setting your daughter down, Coriolanus leans forward and growls into your ear, watching the young boy scatter away quickly.

"You're too nice to him, darling. Don't you think we should dispose of him and get a new intern...."

You slap his shoulder.

"What do I always tell you? No need to create unnecessary messes. Besides, he's really good with Belle and easy to control."

He smirks at that, irises filled pink.

"You're probably right. Can't have another bloody mess on your hands to clean up."

"Or vice versa."

He leans in close, cold lips touching your forehead.

"Nonsense, darling. I'd clean blood off of you forever."

And he truly means it.

a/n: andddd that's another major Corio fic down! thank you to everyone who showed me love on my last Corio oneshot ("melting snow") and for those who answered my poll - dark soft! and possessive Corio won out but girldad!Corio also got a TON of love so I included it a bit here and will probably write a whole standalone fic with girldad!Corio as the concept. thank you again to everyone for remaining patient, I had writer's block for a bit and I've just had the most awful few weeks ever (mental health wise and life wise) so it was difficult to find moments to write.

as always, please leave a like/comment/reblog/ask if you enjoyed. the interactions is what motivates me to write! I hope you liked it hehe x

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you #coirolanus x you #coriolanus x reader #tom blyth x reader #tom blyth x you #coriolanus snow fanfiction #thg x reader #the hunger games #1k #2k #3k #4k

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ririblogsss · 1 month

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what if Danny give no fu-ks

Ok hear me out, Dannys obsession has never truest been confirmed by the show itself (that I remember) I've seen a lot of people say his obsession comes from wanting to help / protect people. But what if he feels as though that he is now doing more damage than good, after all there are a lot of people getting hurt as colateral damage from the chases he has to go on. Or simply when he has to run away from getting captured.

What if one night he was up late and saw a post about a tragedy that happened because he slipped up (it wasn't even his fault, but he still blames himself for everything). And then he starts looking at all the bad comments against him ignoring all the good ones saying how much Danny Phantom has helped Amity. Because Danny is still human and confirmation bias is real. Imagine how he felt the moment he realized that he was causing people to get hurt instead of keeping them save.

Image the desperation clawing at him with the realization that he has never been able to fully manage his obsession. it makes him sad, desperate, angry.

His entire self is filled with too many emotions at the sametime he isn't even able to identify them and catalogue them properly like Jazz taught him.

and then everything stops and he feels nothing.

Completely and utterly numb.

Like his whole reason to keep going suddenly disappears.

And it has.

He gave up on his obsession and now he has to make / get a new one.

But it's not that easy.

This drastic change could've ended any ghost as they run on (live off) emotions.

Luckily because he's a Halfa, so that has given him the upper hand. Unfortunately it makes it so that he is completely devoid of any emotion.

Months go by and people immediately notice changes, the more drastic one is that Phantom went missing, and eventually a lot of ghost that where coming in looking for him stop. Amity Park is no longer populated by ghosts, and slowly the GIW started to retreat from Amity going to another place following a lead that says there are more ghost activities up north.

But those changes aren't the only ones noticeable. Dannys classmates and teachers can vouch that Danny has changed. Most say he was always quite , and others say he looked down right depressed. Danny didn't do much in classes not that he paid attention before. Its just this time it seems that its not out of being sleepy or anxious about another ghost attacking the school instead Danny looks like he coundn't give less of a fu-k about anything.

He never smiles anymore not even when his favorite subjects (mechanics and space) are brought up. Not even a quirk of a smile. The school decided to contact his parents about Dannys new behaviors. That includes skipping classes, not handing in work, not doing the assigned work in class ect....

And its not like his parents havent noticed, they've had more time in their hands since they aren't using hours of the day/night going out hunting anymore. and they have witnessed their son become a shell of himself. They don't know what to do, and they don't want to worry Jazz about it because she's at collage and needs to focus on her studies.

So when the school contact them and told them that the behavior is the same in school they decided major changes needed to happen. Starting with a change of environment.

Maddie and Jack decided that Amity park was too big of a city with too many people. They could nearly see the stars at night because of the light pollution, hence they decided to move next door to Alicia, Maddie sister, home in SmallVille.

They decided it was the best choice, Danny would be surrounded by nature and he could do online classes that would go the pace he wanted. The move was immediate, the day off they packed everything sold the house and moved.

They only stopped to say goodbye to Danny's friends. A small bye and hug later they were on a 7 hour road trip to their new home.

When they got there the old resident handed them the keys of the home and told them to ignore the their neighbors 'The Kents' as they often made a lot of noice and had group gatherings every month.

The one thing Jack and Maddie forgot to double check was if the house was an actual house or a farm house. Sounds similar, but completely different as they now had 2 cows, 16 chickens, 1 rooster, and 3 pigs to take care off.

Danny was put on duty of taking care of the animals, such as feeding them on time and making sure they were healthy. Jack and Maddie made more of the heavy weight as to re building broken fences and fixing the questionable roof.

(The first thing Danny did when meeting all the animals was name them. After all this was about all the interaction he was going to do.)

Danny didn't have time to think about his lost obsession or his lack of emotions as he was now too busy making sure each animal was taken care off.

Marcy and linda (the cows) were danny's favorite they were very gentle and he felt that they could understand him when he spoke to them the stories of his vigilante past.

On the other hand The Chickens were a nightmare, Glinda was cool as she never chased him down. But Matilda and Bethany were a nightmarish duo spiteful too when he was seconds late to the finding time. Mark the rooster was chill he mainly acted as of he was part of the group that needed protection.

Marice, Betty, and Miss Piggy were the chillest of the bunch never gave Danny any trouble when feeding them and always made a point that they loved their new mudbath installation that Danny made for them on his first 2 days on the farm.

A month after arriving at the farm house Danny noticed that mark was missing. Danny looked everywhere around the property and saw him from afar, at the road. So Danny did the sensible thing anyone would do when spotting a run away pet, and that is call their name at the top of your lungs whilst running after them.

naturally Mark the escape artist run the opposite direction. By the time Danny caught up to him Danny didn't recognize the house he was infant off. So with Mark comfortably in his arms He swears he can see a smug look on marks face. Danny turned away from the house to start his walk back to the farm, but he was met with a kid his age looking at him with distrust.

"Ehhh look kid Im sorry to have crossed the properties border but Mark here" Danny made a point to acentuate Mark in his arms "Runaway from me this morning and I've been trying to catch him ever since, anyways I need to go feed the girls"

The kid starred at him for a second "OMG your from the new family in Mr.duncans farm right? in Aver ST.?" and wow the kid was like a ray of sunshine.

"Yea-" Danny could even finish his sentence before the kid cut him off by starting to talk a mile a minute about how he was so exited to meet people his age that lived near by and how farm chores were harder that normal house chores.

"Jon, give him time to respond. Im Damian this is Jon" Danny jumped he hadn't noticed the second kid at all

"Oh yeah... sorry about that what's your name?" The kid (Jon) slightly less enthusiasm, a bit embarrassed if his tone of voice was anything to get by.

"Danny, Im 15" he responded before he started walking away after all he did need to get in time to feed the chickens unless he wants to suffer their furry. Danny shuddered at the memory that popped up in his head.

"Wait!!! I just thought we could be friends cause we live close by u know" Jon said catching up with Dannys steps. Damian was following from behind.

"Sure kid I don't care" Dannys voice was monotone much like it had been for months.

"Hey were not kids for your information, Im 14 and Damians 16 soon to be 17, so if anything you night be the actual kid!" Danny chuckled slightly it was more similar to releasing air from his lips than a laugh.

Soon a quite and enjoyable science encompassed the group as they went to Dannys home.

"Hmm... you're hold on Mark is adequate and the your determination for getting home in time for feeding is acceptable" Damian spoke up after a while of the passive silence.

"yeah and what is It to you" Danny was slightly urked by Damians default setting speach. He told him as such.

Jon blanched before erupting into giggles that sent him to lay down on the grass uncontrollably laughing. Damians right eyebrow quirked up in what Danny assumed was amusement.

Thus a new friendship grew that day.

They often gathered at Dannys or Jons yard to have picnic in the weekends (as Damian and Jon has school in Metropolis on week days) and hangout with the animals. Danny found out that Damian was a vegetarian and that he had various animals at home. One time he brought his Great Dane Titus, who bodied Danny on sight to give him kisses.

Also Damian was Damian Wayne as in bruce Wayne, Batman sugar daddy. When he said that, Jons milk flew out of his nose and Damian choked on his cucumber wrap. Even Titus gave him a judgemental stare.

Slowly Danny started to smile more, laugh every so often. And things were feeling so much better after not being able to feel anything for a while.

Jazz, Aunt Alicia and especially Maddie and Jack felt so relived to see that Danny was slowly coming back to them.

Danny to this day backs the fact that Mark knew something and planned the whole thing.

#dc x dp #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #danny fenton #mark the chicken is definitely a meta with super intelligence

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alphabetboyluvr · 8 months

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NIGHT CRAWLERS - JJK

title credit: night crawlers - kids in glass houses

pairing: drugrunner!jungkook x sugarbaby!reader, college au

synopsis:

jungkook’s always been good at running. track, field, red lights, shit outta luck. drugs, now, too. but he doesn’t expect to run into you. in your shared lecture halls, sure. maybe. but not down the back alleys of daerim at ass o’clock in the morning. there are only three types of women he ever sees in daerim: hookers, sugar-babies and addicts. you aren't any of those; you're a trust-fund baby who can get percocet on private repeat prescription, if you really want it. he's sure of it. so it then further begs the question: why the fuck are you here?

warnings: jungkook and o/c are polar opposites, but y’know what they say, opposites attract and all that jazz, jk is a college student but also a drug runner, mentions of gang dynamics and hierarchy, oc is a sugar baby, mentions of consensual but uncomfortable sexual encounters as a result of this (proceed with caution), drugs, violence, blood, motorbikes, hurt/comfort, all the good stuff, smut – fingering, tittie sucking (wow pretend to be shocked!), unprotected sex, jk has the hugest cawk in the whole entire world, jk is a lil aggressive but in a sexy way, he accidentally says something mean during sex (not sexy mean, actually mean (he makes up for it tho!)), jk on top, oc on top, mentions of his pubes (yummy), tummy pressing, kissy kissy kissy koo, creampie, post-coitus nap, they’re literally in love idk what to tell you, ambiguous ending!!

wordcount: 26K

note from holly: originally published to wattpad in 2021 and also briefly uploaded to tumblr, too. It’s just hit 100k reads over on wattpad so I thought I’d put it here too!! There are two additional chapters on wattpad, connecting the story another fic of mine and also showing us jk + oc four years on from the events of NC!! If you’re interested, you can find it here (x).

i write in british english!! both in spelling and dialect!!

minors dni // cross posted to wattpad

IT'S BEEN SAID that with great notoriety, comes great responsibility to uphold the expectations of those who presume the worst about you.

Okay, so that's a lie. No one's ever said that - but Jeon Jungkook has never been one for sticking to traditions, and so he likes to live his life as if that's his motto.

That, and 'rather be dead than cool.'

Which is ironic, because it's only the heteropatriarchal bores - the ones from upper-class families, who want a white picket fence and 2.4 kids - that actually think he's lame.

And he doesn't particularly give a shit about their opinions.

Everyone else thinks he's actually pretty fuckin' cool.

Black nails, black cargo pants, black hair that waves loosely over his sharp features. An air of command as he walks, a swagger in his step that lingers in stranger's heads like the silage of his aftershave.

Yeah, Jungkook is cool, and he fucking knows it.

A rucksack is perpetually slung over his shoulder, the top concaved slightly to indicate there's very little in there, not much more than a tatty notepad and a few loose pens - or so you assume.

You've never actually spoken to him. Why would you?

Daddy's little princess, glossy lips, manicured nails. The kind of girl who gives him a second look, but only to sneer. He doesn't think of you often, but when he does, it's never nice.

Jungkook doesn't have time for you, and you don't have time for him. Your paths rarely cross.

At least they barely crossed. Past tense.

Now that you're taking a few of the same classes as him, he sees you a lot more than he likes. Hair always up in that stupid fucking ponytail that he can't see past, perpetually on your phone. Attention seeking little bitch.

He'd ranted a little to Jimin about it, told him that you really must have been a dumb bitch to swap from an economics major to a film studies major with only a single semester left.

Jimin hadn't said much in return. Unlike Jungkook and his insatiable hate-boner for you, Jimin really doesn't give a shit about you. Barely knows your name, let alone the fact that you studied economics before switching over. Was kind of curious as to how Jungkook knew that. Not enough to bother with asking, though.

Jungkook thinks it's normal to scope out the competition. A little Facebook look-up, Naver search, Instagram scroll. Surely it's rational to do that? Check out their LinkedIn, cross-reference their Twitter history to see what they've said about the course.

It absolutely isn't normal, but then again, nor is Jungkook.

He's exactly as he appears to be; the rogue look isn't a front.

But beneath the exterior, there are a few more traditions he's subverting.

He's the first in his family to attend college, and he needs to ace this class to keep his scholarship.

It's all just projection, the way he despises you.

You've got everything he wants. A well-to-do family, money, prosperity, financial security. He's never known that. And while he shits on you for having parents that have provided for you, all he wants in life is to be able to do the same for his own children one day.

"I've matched you all with students of a similar grade level, so no one is at an unfair advantage," your professor calls out, tearing Jungkook from his thoughts. "Not a single one of you will experience the city in the same way. From shortcuts to your favourite coffee spots, your lives here will have been different to those of your peers."

Jungkook smirks, leaning back on his chair. He knows this city better than most; its dark corners, where the monsters lurk... how to hide and where to run.

Again, the rogue look isn't a front.

But he also knows how to work a camera better than anyone in that room, how to time his shots, how to frame them, too. Top of the class, though modestly quiet about it (he's got a reputation to uphold, after all), he's curious to see who would be considered an even match for him.

"That being said, your experiences are also shared with those around you. For this assignment, with your partner, I want you to create a unique piece of film that captures what the city means to you. Think outside the box. Create something that excites, that invokes. You've got eight weeks. The partner list is on the noticeboard at the back of the hall. Dismissed."

Footsteps echo around the lecture hall as everyone trundles out of the room. You wait back, having already seen the list before you entered the class.

Instead, you pull out a pen - one of the ones that Jungkook hates, with a ridiculous fluffy pink pom-pom on top - and jot down your number. You aren't aware of his insatiable hatred, and either way, you don't really care.

He ignores you as you approach his desk, eyes only drifting upwards when you slide the torn-out piece of paper towards him.

"Mhmm?"

He's rude, you notice. Brows raised, expression flat, he's fed up with you before you've even said a word. Kinda hot, admittedly, but rude.

"We're partners," you say with an ambivalent shrug. Jungkook's jaw seems to tense, head tilting as he breathes out a short smirk.

Partners?

"You haven't even gone out to check the board."

"So what?" You scoff a little. He doesn't like your tone. The feeling is mutual. "I just made it up?"

It's his turn to shrug, now. "Dunno. You tell me."

His hair waves around his features, and you wonder how long it takes him to make it look so natural. The girls around campus swoon over his hair, like he's some kind of God. Other boys try to emulate it, but they can never quite pull it off like he does.

Another thing that all the girls giggle about are his doe-like eyes, but they're hard, now. Narrow, almost. Less of a doe, more like a dragon. Maybe if you get his nostrils flaring, he'll breathe fire, too.

Yeah, he's hot, you want to laugh to yourself, but not that hot.

"I checked before I came in. Didn't take a genius to work out what it was for."

He takes a moment before he nods. "Right. Well, you should probably know that I work better alone. Just let me handle the assignment, a'right? You can put your name on it, whatever, I don't care. Just let me handle it."

A control freak, you note. Nice.

You didn't transfer majors in your last semester, and face all the hardships that came with such a decision, just to sit back and let someone else do the hard work for you.

"With all due respect, it's a joint assignment. I'm not putting my name on work I didn't actually do."

A stickler for the rules, he assesses. Fucking fastastic.

"Look," he sighs, adjusting his body so that he's practically leaning halfway over his desk. As much as it sounds like he doesn't want to be a part of this conversation, his body language is oddly engaged. "I need to ace this class. You've been here, what? All of three minutes? Film what you wanna film, send it over to me for editing."

"I'm very much capable of editing-"

"And if you could do me a favour and keep the nail salon footage to a minimum, that would be much appreciated. Everyone's seen that shit. It's not interesting. Gangnam underground shopping centre B-roll, too."

It's a thinly veiled insult. Assumptions he's making about you based on the clothes you wear and the company you keep. He doesn't explicitly say it, but you know what he means: you're not interesting.

Jungkook doesn't mean to be an asshole. Not really. He's just got a lot riding on this course, and doesn't want to risk it all for the sake of keeping the peace with someone he doesn't particularly like in the first place.

"Like our Professor said, we all experience the city differently," you plaster a smile on your face, the plastic kind that Jungkook hates. "You might just be surprised at what I can offer."

Private tennis clubs and shopping sprees worth more than a second-hand car? Yeah, no. He'll pass, thanks.

"Whatever," he reclines back, giving your number the once over before tearing a strip of empty paper from the bottom of the note. His hand moves quickly, scrawling his own number onto it. He doesn't hand it to you, but instead tosses it down onto the desk as he stands. "As I said, I work best alone. Don't bombard me with messages about the project. I'll have it under control."

He vacates his desk with an air of arrogance that you don't think he's yet earnt. Sure, he's hot, and from what you've seen of his work, he's pretty talented, too. But no one likes working with assholes, and the whole point of being at college was to make yourself a desirable candidate for jobs.

Or at least that's what your parents had always said.

When they were still talking to you, that was.

Before they decided that you're a disgrace to the family name, all for the simple desire of not wanting to spend your life slaving over finances and spreadsheets.

Like inheritance and a slightly crooked nose (straightened out for your high school graduation gift), econ majors ran in your family - and just like you'd cut off your parents' dream of watching you become an economist, they'd cut you off. Full stop.

So as far as you were concerned, Jungkook could take his arrogant whining about your financial situation, and the hobbies you might have enjoyed as a result of your upbringing, and shove it up his ass.

You really wish he would. Shove it up his ass, that is. Might relieve him of the pent up tension he seems to have going on.

Swiping up his number, you tuck it into your back pocket, ruing the day you'll actually have to text it.

It comes as a surprise to both of you when, a week later, Jungkook is the first to type a message into your fledgeling chat window.

I'm filming tonight. Could use a Grip, if you're free. Dongdaemun Design Plaza, 7pm.

You wonder how much pride he must have had to swallow in order to send you that.

On occasion, during the past week, you've caught him looking at you in that slightly menacing way he always likes to do.

Part of you thinks he's unaware that he's doing it, just zoning out in your direction, but then you see him shake sense into himself - quite literally, a bunny with an itch behind its ear kind of shake - before he averts his gaze.

He does a similar shake of his head when your response pings through to his phone.

Can't do Tuesdays or Thursdays. Sorry. Maybe another time.

He doesn't reply.

REJECTION HAS NEVER been something Jungkook has taken well. It's why he works so hard, fearful of being told that he isn't good enough.

He'd only sent that text because he genuinely did need a Grip.

Well, no.

That's not quite right.

He needed a muse; a subject of his shots, a pair of eyes to catch the confetti of night market lights in. Someone's hand to film as they exchanged money with a hotteok stand server, another human to get lost and found all within the same shot.

But that felt awkward to ask, especially after his insistence that he could do it all alone, so he'd settled for pretending he'd needed a grip. Just someone to hold his gear while he took tricky shots. That's all.

Given your rejection, he was pleased with his choice.

"Familiar," Yoongi nods over lunch the next day, following Jungkook's gaze. "Yeah, I've definitely seen her around. Dunno where, though."

"Campus, maybe?" Jimin rolls his eyes, confused at the fixation Jungkook seems to have on you.

Yoongi shakes his head. "Nah... She looks like-" he glances over to Jungkook conscious of Jimin's listening ears.

"Like?"

"Just like a girl I see occasionally," Yoongi pauses again, making sure Jungkook's focus on him. "At work."

Jimin laughs. "So yeah, on campus. You work in the campus cafe, Yoongs."

It was the only legitimate place that would hire him. Dumb choices as a kid - and a questionable nickname that's now etched into his knuckles - prevents most places from seeing him as a viable candidate.

Yoongi laughs along with Jimin, but Jungkook knows Yoongi isn't talking about the once a week shift that he picked up as a form of extra credit.

Jungkook knows, because on paper, he doesn't have a job either.

On paper, he manages to survive on his scholarship bursary, The Holangi Honour, awarded to gifted students from underprivileged backgrounds.

On paper, Jungkook is the Korean dream of hard work and perseverance.

His reality isn't so pristine, but it never has been. He comes from a long line of high school dropouts with dubious morals and criminally reckless career choices. It was naive to have thought attending university would help him escape it.

Scholarship funds dried up pretty quickly, rent and t-money cards eating away at it, until Jungkook had no choice but to revisit old haunts.

Yoongi had told Jungkook that he didn't need to worry, that he could help him out if he needed money, but Jungkook was no leech, much to his older friend's despair. He didn't want the kid getting into the same trouble that he was in.

One meeting with Yoongi's old school friend, Hoseok and Jungkook was in the rat race again, delivering people's come ups for when the sun went down.

He'd always been good at running. Track, field, red lights, out of luck. Drugs, now, too.

Jungkook had managed a good year and a half on the straight and narrow. For that, he was proud. And sad.

But he's also determined.

Top grades mean top jobs in the future, which means never having to traipse around Daerim at ass o'clock in the morning.

He hates this part of town, but it's where business is currently booming.

Hobi texts him a drop-off list each morning, ensuring his nights are almost exclusively spent in Daerim.

This is how Jungkook sees the city: grotty back allies, groups of men huddled around a pack of cards and dice on the floor, cigarettes hanging out of their mouths, phlegm spat onto the foor. He sees the women of the night in the early hours of the morning, and the sadness in the smiles they give to the men who approach them on street corners.

There's only one club of any worthwhile note in the area, and between jobs, Jungkook likes to sit up on the fire exit that rests above the back entrance.

It's where Hobi works, assisting some other reprobate that Jungkook doesn't care to learn the name of. Nasty piece of work, or so he's heard. The son of some powerful motherfucker that Jungkook knows to stay away from. He isn't interested in joining any stupid fucking gang. He just wants to get his money, get through university, and forget about this place.

That's the big dream at least.

His current wish, which feels much more immediate, is to outrun the fucker who has been on his tail for the past half a mile. Jungkook's pretty fast on his feet, and he gives a mean left-hook, but the guy chasing him has a pocket knife and that doesn't really feel like a fair fight.

It's his fault, and he knows it.

As per usual, Hobi had texted Jungkook his drop off list. Six of them, all in Daerim. He had no business being down by Jungang Market, especially not on a Thursday evening.

He couldn't even explain why he was; he was just curious about what life could be like if he ended up flunking out of college. He wanted to see where the monsters liked to lurk, or if they hid in the shadows like boogeymen.

But reprobate recognises reprobate, and drug runner recognises drug runner.

So now Jungkook really is running, out of territory that he shouldn't have infringed upon.

He's not out of breath yet, but he is conscious that his heartbeat feels like it's in his throat. A few streets over, his motorbike is parked behind an industrial-sized trash can, and he prays that no thieving cunt has tried to make a get away with it. They wouldn't have managed it - it's his prized possession and he never leaves it unprotected.

When he spots it a few minutes later, he laughs, relieved. "You beauty," he praises the engine, pulling his key from the pocket of his leather jacket.

The fucker chasing him is nowhere to be seen, probably nursing a stitch or panting down a different back alley. Jungkook doesn't want to risk it, eyes darting all over the place as he unbuckles the chain on his bike wheel with muscle memory alone. The metal clangs through the iron bars that protect the banjihas down the alley from break-ins. He always feels a little bit of guilt for chaining his bike up to the only source of natural light for the half-basement dwellings, but it's quarter past two in the morning. Not exactly sunshine hours.

And yet his eye is drawn to the light pouring down from a street lamp at the entrance of the narrow lane.

Usually, you ignore the noises you hear on your walk home - but, as strange as it sounded for Jungkook's voice to issue a compliment, you're almost positive that it is his voice.

Dark hair, dark eyes, he doesn't recognise you at first. You're wearing black, and your hair is down, but your lips still have that stupid fucking pink lipstick on, the one he'd seen you blot away onto a tissue in the middle of a lecture a few days prior.

His eyes linger, the lights flickering in his glossy dark irises as if there are fireworks inside that pretty little skull of his. For a moment, he thinks you must have been filming for the assignment.

The lack of a camera proves otherwise.

"Get on the bike," he yells over to you, tugging on the sleeve of his leather jacket, pulling it down. Cognitive thoughts aren't something Jungkook's really working with, the adrenaline speaking for him.

That, and the fact that he's acutely aware of what men like the motherfucker who was chasing him down did to girls like you. Might not like you, but he doesn't want that on his conscience.

Plus, he needs your signature on the coursework documents, too. You're no use to him if you end up chopped into little squares and scattered in the river.

"Damnit, just get on the fucking bike!" He continues, noticing that you haven't moved a muscle. His jacket is off now, held out for you to take. He's impatient, eyes darting down the alleyway, as if he's scared of the rain that's pouring down around you. "Look, I ain't asking again. Just get on the bike, or I'll fuckin' leave you here. Some nasty fuckers about tonight."

And while you may not trust Jungkook, you don't trust the alleyways of downtown Seoul even more. You've seen the horrors. You know the dangers. Your mother didn’t raise a fool.

She also didn't raise you to bow to the commands of assholes like him either.

You ignore his jacket, hiking up your skirt, revealing far more of your thigh than most get to see. He doesn't make a comment, but you know he sees a flash of your underwear as you do so.

For once, sex seems to be the last thing on his mind.

Rain pools in the gutter by the drainpipes, trickling down, collecting in the ducts. A puddle sits on top, a tell-tale sign that the street is going to flood soon, but Jungkook also doesn't give a shit about that. Not right now - but he does make a mental note to check that the drains are unblocked by his place when he gets home.

He's a fellow basement dweller, dependent on the cheap rent. A banjiha boy with big dreams of getting out.

You hoist your leg over, ignoring the droplets of water on the leather seat, as your hand wraps around his waist. The front of his white shirt is damp from the rain, elevating the scent of his laundry detergent. You don't hate it. Quite like it, actually.

"Wet conditions," he rasps, voice still hurrying out of his mouth. "So take the jacket. If I slide, the tarmac will rip your skin off." He turns, wrapping the jacket around your shoulders. "I'm not your father. Dress yourself."

"I'd be a bit concerned if my father was trying to dress me at the ripe old age of 21," you bite back, as if the fabric of his jacket doesn't feel like it's melting into your skin on account of how bloody warm he is. You push your arms through the material, shaking it ever so slightly as Jungkook begins to rev the engine.

"Thanks would have sufficed," he bites back a scoff, not wanting to waste time arguing. "Try not to fall off, a'right?" He gruffs.

Some would have considered his concern endearing. You know it's just because he doesn't want to spend his evening scraping your flesh off the sidewalk. Not because he gives a single flying fuck about you.

"Hold on."

He doesn't wait for longer than a second, just enough time for you to wrap your arms around his waist, before he pulls down on the accelerator. His exhaust chortles, spitting out petrol as he goes, water from the ground splashing up against your bare leg. You can feel goosebumps forming, and yet your arms are completely warm.

Of course they are. Jungkook's chest is a fucking furnace, heart pumping blood through him faster than the speed of light. Forward, forward, forward, he pushes his bike on, away from the downtown area he found you in, and away from the demons who were hunting him.

The vibration of the bike is a welcome disguise. Beneath the motor's veil, you're shaking. Partly terrified, partly the victim of an adrenaline surge.

Hardly a surprise. You've never been on a bike like his before.

There weren't many men on motorbikes around your neighbourhood as a child, only Old Jinyeon, who had a Harley that he only rode on the weekends, or when his wife was away at that spa retreat that everyone knew was really code for 'rehab'. Prescription medication was her poison, mostly. There were whispers that alcohol was a bit of a problem, too.

It was a shame, really. She was a nice lady - she'd just married into a lifestyle that didn't suit hers.

Old Jinyeon's father had also been called Old Jinyeon, and his father before that, regardless of their age. The name wasn't the only thing inherited, but a fortune too. Old by name, old by money.

He'd met his wife at a gentleman's bar; gambled all of his chips away just so that he could keep talking to her as she worked.

But the good is rarely easy, and the easy never good. Women like her weren't supposed to be with men like him.

And girls like you aren't supposed to be on the back of boys like Jungkook's motorcycle.

But here you are, hurtling through the city at a speed you're pretty sure isn't legal, clinging onto him for dear life. Your eyes are shut, streaming with tears from the wind, mascara blotting onto his back.

"Left turn," he calls over his shoulder to brace you. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, stomach losing all stability as he rounds the corner. You've never suffered from travel sickness before, but now seems like the prime time to develop it.

The lights of the city all bleed into one kaleidoscope of colour. Your sense of direction has been rendered useless, only opening your eyes once every few seconds to make sure that this is real. And every single time, you're surprised to find that it is.

You expect it to be like a dream where you fall, only to wake up at the last second - but you've never had one of those dreams. You've only seen them in movies. You're not even sure they actually exist in real life. Perhaps this would be the closest you'd get to one. A main character moment - though this felt more like a crime-thriller than the rom-com you would have liked.

The feeling of damp wind in your hair like this is new, and exciting, but all you can think about is the fact that you're pretty sure one of your fake lashes just flew off. You pull your hand back to stroke at your lashes, just to check, but it's caught by Jungkook grabbing for it.

"I told you to hold on," he shouts, though he doesn't need to. The vibrations of his vibrato can be felt through his back. "So hold the fuck on, a'right?! I don't say shit like that for fun."

Jesus, you think. Who pissed in his cornflakes?

But he's right. You do need to hold on. He proves it by not warning you the next time he turns, the bike leaning so close to the tarmac that you're convinced you can feel rubber burn. He eases as soon as he hears you shriek, the grip you have on his chest so hard he swears you might puncture his skin. Reaching back, he cups your knee with his palm, checking for any sign of blood or broken skin. Negative. And yet his hand lingers before he retracts it. He's just making sure. Double-checking. Over-indulging.

"The fuck was that, asshole?" You all but scream.

"I told you to hold on, didn't I?!"

He did. And if you weren't doing so now, tighter than before, you'd have hit him so hard in the balls that he'd have no choice but to adopt in later life.

"You could have fucking killed me!"

"Oh, boo-hoo," he sneers, catching his tongue before he says something he'll grow to regret.

Jungkook would never have killed you. He knows these streets like the back of his hand, and how to ride his bike almost as well as he knows how to get himself off. It's second nature. Innate. A gift.

But before you can argue back, he draws to a stop, his exhaust rattling, the motor purring. As much as he'd like to tell you to get the fuck off his bike, he can feel you trembling now. A part of him - a very slim, deeply hidden part - feels guilty for being so hard on you.

He's grown up with bikes. Trusts them. Lives, breathes gasoline.

He doesn't imagine you know how to change a bicycle tyre, let alone anything with a motor.

The hand that had checked you for damage earlier returns, his fingertips warm against your goosebumps skin. He strokes lightly, once, twice, quickly. "You're fine," he tells you, and you want to believe him.

"Never said I wasn't."

He snorts a small laugh, then taps your knee, encouraging you off of the bike. His hand remains close as you do so, conscious of the fact that you'll most likely be unsteady on your feet - feet that he now notices are clad in the strappiest pair of heels he's ever seen in his life. Perhaps he doesn't need to worry about your stability at all. If you can walk in those, then you can surely handle a pair of wobbly knees.

Without much thought, you take his offer of assistance, his jacket dwarfing you as you stand, hand clasped in his.

"Where are we?"

The alleyway you're down is unlike the previous one he stole* you from (*rescued). It's cobbled and damp, yes, but the doors down here lead to dwellings, garages too. Not an industrial-sized trash cart in sight. And it doesn't smell like fermented piss either, which is a surprise. You thought that was just the standard for side-streets around these parts.

"Doesn't matter," Jungkook shrugs ambivalently as he unhooks his leg over the bike.

He wants to ask why you're wearing such stupid shoes.

That's a lie.

He doesn't think they're stupid.

He actually quite likes them. You've nice ankles. They look good.

What he really wants to ask is why you're wearing them on a school night. The pair of you might be in college, but it wasn't student night at the clubs, and he hadn't picked you up from a particularly nice part of town.

There are only three types of women he ever sees in Daerim: hookers, sugar-babies and addicts. You aren't any of those; you're a trust-fund baby who can get Percocet on private repeat prescription, if you really want it. He's sure of it.

So it then further begs the question: why the fuck were you there?

Sliding off his jacket, you offer him a small smile. It's the least you can do, you suppose.

It's funny, because you only ever see three kinds of men in Daerim: drunks, gamblers, and dealers. Jungkook isn't any of those. You might not know that much about him, but you know he's a scholarship kid, and that he won the winter film festival on campus for his documentary on back-alley gambling.

"We're not too far from campus," he eventually states. Few blocks over. He assumes you live on campus. Got the money for it.

"Cool," you nod, sure that you'll be able to find your bearings from here. You don't live on campus. Not anymore. No money for it. "Thanks for the lift, I guess."

The atmosphere is awkward, dewy mist in the air dampening both of you. He nods back, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

He knows he should invite you in, offer you somewhere to wait while you call a cab or something, but he's embarrassed. Of himself. His living situation. The fact that he doubts you've ever even been in a basement that isn't a wine cellar.

"Look I-"

"So-"

Jungkooks nose scrunches, cringing at the awkwardness. You glance down, self-conscious.

"What were you doing over in Daerim?" he asks rather out of the blue. He doesn't even process that he's asked until it's too late.

You clear your throat a little. "Just had some errands to run."

"At two in the morning?"

You nod.

"Right," he doesn't believe you, but can't think of a better explanation.

"Well, what were you doing there?" You ask, albeit a little more confrontational than intended. You were on the defensive.

His mouth is flat as he speaks, a narrowness to his eyes that makes your lips purse to suppress a smirk. "Running errands."

So you're both dirty little liars. Who'd've thought?

"Fairplay," you say with a smile. "Look, I still appreciate the ride. I'd have been fine," you add."But yeah, appreciate it nonetheless."

"Was nothing. I was headed in this direction anyway. If you take a left at the end of the street and follow the road down, there's usually a bunch of taxis waiting for the university cleaners to finish their night shifts. I'm sure you'll be able to get one."

"Take a left," you hum. "Cool. Will do." Bracing yourself to leave, Jungkook wonders if he should offer you a lift to your place too. "See you tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?"

"Yeah, tomorrow. Class? That thing we attend during daylight hours?"

"Oh right. Yeah. See you tomorrow."

Bizarrely enough, if this is how awkward Jungkook is when he's being nice, you think you prefer him being an asshole. At least he has a little spark in him then.

Unbeknownst to you, Jungkook feels overloaded with fucking sparks, like someone's holding an axe grinder against the metal of his earrings, deafening him. The reality of his evening is kicking in, and the knowledge that he came a few metres from having a hole in his abdomen becomes overwhelming. He doesn't let it show, though.

"Thanks, again."

You make a promise to punch yourself in the face if you say thank you one more fucking time.

"It's fine, again," he smiles, with a small laugh, before focusing those eyes of his on the floor.

And so you leave, walking straight past the taxi rank and taking a shortcut to your apartment, which is a lot closer than you had realised.

Seven steps below street level, you jog down to your front door, petting the neighbourhood calico stray on your way down. The door closes with a slam, but you don't give a shit because the people in the apartment above never seem to give a shit when they stumble home at four in the morning.

Before he sleeps that evening, Jungkook wonders how much of the skyline you get to indulge in. Your dad works in the accounting side of one of the largest law firms in the city, he knows that much from his research. Knows that your immediate family has more money than probably all of his relatives combined. Alive and dead.

He just isn't aware that you're not seeing a single dime of it. Not since you dropped out of the economics and business side of school to focus on the creative arts. All that money your parents had 'wasted' on your education? Well, they weren't wasting any more.

Because you're a commodity, to be bought and sold, apparently. Not their daughter, who they should have just wanted to be happy.

So now you spend your Tuesday and Thursday evenings down in Daerim.

Because you are a commodity; and if anyone's gonna be selling you, then it may as well be your fucking self.

A stack of yellow 50,000 won bills sit on your desk. Twelve of them. 600,000 won. Not bad for a week's work. 6 hours.

Might have been cut off from your Dad's money, but your replacement 'daddy' wasn't a bad substitute.

The bluntness of such a statement usually makes you laugh, but not today.

If Jungkook knows the Daerim area like you think he does, then he'll be able to work it out soon enough. A bitterness fills your chest, like coffee dripping through a filter, forgotten about and left to go cold. You've been so good at playing pretend.

Secrets are so much easier to keep when they're not shared.

Perhaps that should be your project piece.

Secrets of Seoul: The Seedy Underbelly of The City.

After all, that was your unique view of the city; the side you saw that you were pretty sure no-one else did.

At least, no one else except Jungkook. Go figure.

"SEVEN WEEKS LEFT!" Your professor reminds the class as they dismiss you from your lecture. There's a little chatter, partners sharing ideas and friends discussing what to have for lunch - and then there's you and Jungkook.

He waits by the end of his row for you to walk to meet him, an inconspicuous look on his face.

The girl who he's watching neatly put a fluffy pen into her handbag looks a lot like you, but a hell of a lot different from the girl he gave a lift to last night.

Who the fuck are you?

Jungkook has always liked a little mystery. Seen the romanticism in the unknown. Still doesn't like you - but you've gotten him curious.

"You haven't sent anything over yet," he notes, keeping a slight distance from you as you walk together up the stairs.

"You told me not to bombard you," you remind him.

"Sending me video files once in a blue moon is fine."

"Once in a blue moon. Gotcha."

It's Friday, so he knows it's not one of your pre-determined days of having prior engagements.

It's only now that he realises that must have been why you were in Daerim last night; that your 'errands' are actually scheduled into your routine. It doesn't bode well for his 'not a hooker, an addict or a sugar-baby' theory.

"I was thinking of heading over to Dongdaemun this evening, seeing as you weren't free on Tuesday," he starts a little awkwardly, but the more he speaks, the easier it becomes. Being nice, that is. "I could still use a hand, if you're free? If you're serious about helping out, I mean. It would be good to make a start on things."

Relief washes over you. You've been fearing a conversation about the night before, but Jungkook doesn't want to talk about it just as much as you don't.

You meet him at seven o'clock that evening at Dongdaemun Design Plaza. You've always loved the green roof, how organic the landscaping looks above such a futuristic building. He listens as you explain this, eyes wide and in awe of the sloping pathways and curved walls, showing him your favourite of all the trees in the park.

Jungkook looks at you for a second, observes your hands, how they delicately move a few leaves to frame the shot you're taking. You've a Midas touch, and Jungkook wonders if your fingers would turn him to gold, too.

It's a silly, fleeting thought, but it doesn't stop him from focusing the camera on you as you roam Dongdaemun night market later that evening, lights cascading over you like glitter.

He thinks you're pretty in this light. Pretty when it's just him and you. No distractions.

Except there's hustle and bustle everywhere, a vendor chasing a thief, groups of high schoolers laughing on their way home from Hagwons, food sizzling, vapours making his stomach rumble. Perhaps you're the distraction, instead.

The pair of you spend the next week traipsing the city together.

Somehow, you only ever come together when the sun goes down, but it's fitting. You're a pair of nightcrawlers, swarming through the city when traffic sounds like a melody and destinations are unknown.

He learns that you drink your coffee black, no sugar, lukewarm. You learn that he'd rather rub coffee granules into his eyes than drink it.

And despite your preference for no sugar, he always tosses a little white sachet towards you whenever you order a coffee. He finds it funny. Insists that you have to be a sugar baby. It's the only way he can explain that night he saw you Daerim.

He's just joking. And you pretend not to, but you find it hysterical.

Mainly because he doesn't realise how bang on the money he is.

But also because you can't help but laugh whenever he does.

There's a comfort that grows between the pair of you, a familiarity. A casual ease that doesn't feel dangerous, not even when he's pulsing through the city on his bike, you holding onto him, his leather jacket wrapped around your body. You begin to like the way that the wind feels in your hair, and you stop wearing fake lashes. Jungkook doesn't tell you, but he likes you better with a few freckles showing, dewy highlighter and a little mascara being the only makeup you wear for the midnight city roams.

It's only because you can't be wasting resources reserved for clients on a boy from your film studies class. Times are tough, money is tight. No point in pouring funds into a boy you won't make revenue from. It's a bad business decision.

A few months ago, you did your makeup multiple times a day just for fun. Now you have to ration it. Life... life isn't what it used to be.

But Jungkook is ignorant to that, and you quite like it. Escaping from your reality. Becoming the version of yourself that he thinks you are.

He isn't sure which version of you he wants to spend time with the most; the too-good for him daddy's girl who dresses in Celine and comes with a pout, the enigma who lurks in the shadows that he thought he had a monopoly over, or the master director who seems to rival his talents for capturing moments of life in 4K.

As he watches your brows furrow while you turn your phone upside down, trying to understand a map, he decides that he doesn't care which version he gets.

Jungkook wants what he wants.

There's an impulsion to his desires and subsequent actions that he takes to obtain them. He's driven by gratification, and little else.

On the days he wants to feel wanted, he'll go to a bar. He never whispers false promises or pretends like he's after anything more than what can be achieved in a single night. The girls he goes for tend to see that as a challenge. They think they can convince him otherwise. It's not his fault when they can't. It's not his fault that they end up falling for him regardless. It's not his fault that he never has any intention of loving them back.

He tells them this. They ignore him. It isn't his fault.

On the days he wants to feel accomplished, he'll stay on campus until the cleaners usher him out of the room so that they can prepare it for the next day. Their insistence is lost on him - no amount of Cif can polish the dirt out of the walls. Once a shithole, always a shithole. He'll offer his apologies for getting in their way, and they'll coo over him like he's their own grandson. It's all very sweet.

They tell him not to overwork himself. He lies and says he won't.

On the days he wants to eat more than a single cup of ramyeon - which is most days, given his absolutely mammoth appetite - he'll send Hobi a text and request more drop-offs for that evening. Yoongi will give Jungkook a subtle look whenever a message from Hobi pings through, knowing it mustn't be good news. It never is.

Jungkook tells Yoongi to mind his business - but with a grin and a glint in his eye that eases his friends worry ever so slightly.

Disapproval never stops Jungkook from doing what he wants, regardless.

Not from his friends, from the cleaning ajummas, and especially not from you.

So he ignores the look in your eye, as he encourages you to follow him through a gap in the chainlink fence, which surrounds a disused water tower on the outskirts of the city.

Jungkook wants what he wants.

And right now, he wants to get a shot of the midnight city from his favourite vantage point.

"You said you've taken thousands of shots here," You hiss as a twig snaps beneath your foot. He smirks as you utter out a curse. "Surely you can just reuse one of those?!"

He guides you round, ignoring the ground level rubble, until you get to a ladder that definitely isn't safe for use. It's rusting by the bolts, and has a few vines trailing up it, undisturbed for months. Remnants of paint are flaking from the structure, collecting like ashes on the ground below.

"I have," he shrugs, unhooking your camera bag from your shoulder, popping it into his rucksack for safe keeping. He crouches, putting his palms upwards to offer you a leg up. "You haven't, though. You see the city differently to me, remember?"

He's taunting you. Reusing the phrase from your Professor that you had quoted to him on the first day of the project. Asshole.

Asshole with a smirk that suggests he's only teasing. Suggests that he's fond. Words that suggest he remembers the things you say to him. Memorises them, even.

Curious.

"Can't we just pretend like we see it the same way?"

"No can do, sugar."

"Oh my god, stop calling me that."

You're thankful for the midnight sky and the way it disguises your blush.

As if throwing packets of the white stuff at your face in coffee shops isn't enough, he's taken to calling you 'sugar', too.

"Give me a reason not to," he says as he tilts his head, encouraging you to accept his leg up. You check your feet for mud, then put your trust in his grip.

"I've already told you, I was just running errands," you defend yourself for the thousandth time. A short yelp escapes your lips as he boosts you up, your hands gripping onto the flaking bars beside the ladder.

He doesn't believe you for a second. He also doesn't believe that you're actually a sugar baby. It's just fun to fuck with you a little.

Once you're up, he waits for you to safely sit on the ledge, and then he makes the climb too. He's up a lot quicker than you, coming to sit beside you with his legs dangling over the ledge of the railings.

"Tell me it isn't worth it," Jungkook says a little airily, enamoured with the view.

And he's right. It is worth it.

A maze of city lights twinkle like the Carina nebula, interstellar, yet entirely of this earth. Bright whites, reds and greens speckle the horizon, and for a moment, it's easy to forget that you're looking at Seoul. There's a magic that can only be appreciated from a distance, far away from the scent of alleyways and the void nothingness of grey brick buildings. Skyscrapers tower above the skyline, but still look small from where you and Jungkook sit, silently, in awe.

"Look over there," he points across the vast expanse. You follow his trajectory, but you have no idea if you're picking out the right spot. "Daerim. Can always tell. Know the street layout too well."

"You're gonna get me thinking you're a sugar baby," you nudge your shoulder into his, and he laughs.

Reaching into his rucksack, you expect him to pull out your camera. Instead, his hand comes back into vision holding a pair of chopsticks and a tub of instant ramyeon. Uncooked.

He pulls the seal back, stabs at it with the chopsticks and offers you the small chunk he's broken off.

"It's good," he promises.

You know what dried ramyeon tastes like. You know it's good. You just can't understand what the fuck is wrong with him.

"Are you broken?"

He grins as he tosses the chunk of dried noodles into his own mouth. "Absolutely - but ramyeon is ramyeon."

You tell him he's weird, and he continues to smile, not resisting as you take the tub from him and break off a chunk with your fingers.

It's one of his favourite snacks. He's impatient and impulsive at the best of times. Waiting for it to cook? Too much effort. Cooking it at the convenience store and carrying it up the tower with him? Disaster waiting to happen. It's just easier this way.

And so the pair of you sit, not really saying much, watching the city roll by. Every now and again, he offers you a chunk from his chopsticks.

By the end of the night, neither of you have gotten any footage of the city.

And neither of you really care.

AS YOU SPRINT home after yet another spree around the city with Jungkook, running late for your Thursday evening appointment, you curse your inability to send his calls to voicemail.

You should really be working more. You need to be working more - but for the past four weeks now, you've answered every single one of his calls.

His messages? Yeah, you ignore those. He's learnt this, though. He messages you regardless, because... well, because he wants to, quite frankly. He doesn't give a shit if you respond.

He knows you read them.

He knows you saw that picture he sent of a flyer detailing a live art event last week. He knows that you noticed the veins on his arms.

You don't know that he'd spent a couple of minutes tensing his arm before he took the picture. Deliberately.

It's been said before that Jungkook wants what he wants - and what he wants more than anything, frustratingly, is your attention.

The way you study his arms the next time you see him proves that he's gotten it.

If anything, the delayed gratification makes it so much more worthwhile.

You have been thinking about him.

So as far as Jungkook is concerned, you can ignore his messages all you like, because you still always answer his calls with an airy 'hi,' as if talking to him takes your breath away.

The only time you don't answer is between the hours of eleven and two on Tuesday and Thursday evenings.

Chances are, if he just so happens to be in the area - which he always is - he'll catch you down on the wrong side of the tracks at just gone quarter past two.

He still calls you 'sugar', teasing you for the reputation of the area. You just roll your eyes and grin, then banter with him about how even if you were a sugar baby, he wouldn't be able to afford your prices.

He argues that he'd pay in ways that didn't include monetary value.

You don't ask him to expand.

But as you wipe your watery lash line in the bathroom of a shitty rental apartment in Daerim, you think about what he could have meant. If he actually meant it.

The TV blares from the living room, faint vapours of a mango e-cigarette wafting through the gap beneath the door. You've always thought mango smells like cat piss. Rancid.

Whatever Jungkook could have meant didn't matter. His flirty tone and angel eyes didn't pay the bills. The cash tossed down on the bathroom counter did - or more specifically, the widower, who occasionally wanted company from a pretty young girl, did.

A hundred thousand won for an hour, three hundred thousand total. It takes you just a week, two appointments, to make up the month's rent - but you still need to eat, to study, survive.

And so you return, every week.

It's not his actual apartment. He lives over in Gangnam, close to his kids' schools. More money than sense. He doesn't tell you much about his personal life. You think a lot of his small claims are lies, anyway - but you smile and flutter your lashes as if he's reciting bible verses.

Some nights are better than others. Sometimes, he genuinely makes you laugh. Occasionally, he'll ask you what you want to do. Takes you to museums. Fancy dinners. Theatre shows.

But he has a nasty streak, and in those three hours, you're his. He owns you. There's no sex, that's not the arrangement, but his hands have been known to roam, and the disparity of equality within your working relationship becomes apparent. You brush it off, tell yourself that it's natural for a man engaging with you in a romantic capacity to forget the rules. You tell yourself that it's okay.

The churning in your stomach and dis-ease of such a situation tells you that no, it isn't okay. But if you laugh at his painfully unfunny jokes loud enough, you're able to drown out the noise in your head.

The worst nights are the ones where he pays you extra.

There's no discussion anymore. The stack of notes is just thicker than usual upon arrival, and you know that at some point during the night, you'll have to sit in silence and watch as he sinks his hand down into his pants.

It's easy to forget the way it looks. Your eyes glaze over, and the discomfort, the slight disgust, indicated in your features gets him hard. He thinks it's taboo. Thinks you enjoy it too. That your panties look a lot like his hand by the time he's finished.

The snort-like grunts are what you find hard to forget. The wail of a moan that comes when he does. You hear that shit in your nightmares.

But it earns you an extra two hundred thousand, so you endure it because you don't have much of an option at this point.

Come 2 AM, cash stuffed down your bra, you don't have to think about it anymore. The fresh air of the city, a little smoggy and polluted, hits you like a freight train. You thank it.

When Jungkook enters Daerim that evening, he expects to find you. He normally does. You never look particularly happy - in fact, he often tells you that you've got a face like a slapped arse - but it's more so today.

He whistles from across the street, clad in black, a thick hoodie keeping him warm beneath his leather jacket. "Oi, Sugar," he calls, that boyish grin on his lips. Teeth so pretty you wonder how much novocaine it would take for you to be numb to the way it makes your stomach flip.

Eyes dancing up and down your body, he likes what you're wearing. Black tights, black dress that cuts off at your mid-thigh, a sweetheart neckline and chiffon sleeves that puff around your slender arms. He decides your boots are far more sensible than the heels you're usually in.

"That'll be twenty thousand, Jeon," you call back, arms folded over your chest as you change direction to walk towards him.

"Per hour?"

"Per every time you call me that stupid fucking name."

"What would you rather?" he goads, leaning against a window ledge on the back of a restaurant building. There's nothing down the alleyway, just trashbags and the distinct scent of fermenting piss. "Shugs? SB? Baby?"

You smirk, walking to the wall opposite him, mirroring his position, hands resting beside you on the ledge. There's a safe distance between the pair of you. A look, but don't touch type of vibe - but this time, unlike earlier on in your evening, you actually enjoy it.

"You really gotta make your mind up," your eyes roll, lips rising into a crescent. "One minute I'm a trust-fund princess with Daddy's money on tap, the next I'm a sugar baby with a different type of Daddy altogether."

Jungkook shrugs. "Just don't see why you waste your evenings roaming fucking Daerim of all places."

"Best dandanmian in the city," you say, referencing the abundance of traditional Chinese restaurants in the area. "Can't get the authentic stuff in Itaewon."

"Can't get hookers in Itaewon like you can in Daerim, either," he taunts you.

He doesn't really think you're a hooker, but he likes the way you grin whenever your eyes roll.

"Ah, so that's why you're here."

He holds his hands up to playfully admit defeat. "Guilty."

You laugh, knowing that there's no way in hell Jungkook will ever have to resort to hookers. Not when he looks like that. All doe-eyed and charming, floppy hair just begging for a pair of hands to run through it.

The pair of you let the moment simmer, droplets of water dripping from the drainpipe and into the sewer. He's lit by the neon light of a restaurant sign, red and yellow painting him like an impressionist masterpiece.

"You look cold," he acknowledges, but you shake your head and insist you're fine. Your hair is a little damp from the small shower you'd been caught in a little while previously, mascara smudged around your eyes. You looked like that before the rain, mind you. He shakes his jacket off and tosses it across to you, snorting quietly as it hits your face and crumples over your feet. "C'mon. I'm now about to ride home. I'll give you a lift."

He asks for your address, and you tell him that you'll just get a taxi from his place like you normally do. There's no need for him to go out of his way.

"The princess doesn't want the pauper to see her castle, huh?" he teases, always talking in bloody riddles.

"See!" you protest. "Always changing your mind! A minute ago I was a sugar baby, and now I'm a rich bitch again. Which is it, Jeon?"

"I dunno," he reaches behind himself, adjusting your legs and pulling you a little closer into his back, tapping your side to make sure you've got the jacket on. "You tell me, sugar."

He doesn't see you roll your eyes, but he knows you do it. You always do. Even when your pretty pink nails are clutching the fabric of his shirt, you pretend like you don't enjoy his company.

You've gotten good at playing pretend.

Jungkook only jokes about you being a sugar baby.

He doesn't fathom that you actually are one.

His engine begins to purr, and Jungkook kicks up the stand, setting off into the night.

The way you hold onto his waist is different tonight.

Physically, it's the same.

But it feels different.

And it is, because you're not just holding onto him; you're hugging him. Comfort in an old routine. You adjust your arms, keeping tight against his back, and he pretends like he doesn't notice the shift in dynamic.

He pretends as if he didn't notice your sad eyes earlier, too, and as if he can't feel the stutter in your chest as if you're trying not to cry.

Jungkook isn't a knight on a white horse, and nor does he want to be - but he doesn't mind being your rogue bandit who steals you away from the things that make you sad.

He's just an arc in your fairytale, not your happy ending.

But you've always been a sucker for a bit of a plot twist.

When you arrive at his, he wants to ask you to stay. He doesn't want an orange taxi cab to appear at the end of his lane and act like your actual knight in shining armour. He doesn't want you to ride into the sunrise with anyone but him.

And as luck would have it, your phone shares his desires.

Well, no. It doesn't. It's a mobile phone. It doesn't have cognitive thoughts - but it is out of charge.

"Different charging ports," he grits his teeth as he holds up his Samsung after you ask if he's got an iPhone charger. "I'm pretty sure I have an apple cable lying about though. You can come in for a second, get a little bit of charge just so that you're not stranded in a taxi without a way to contact anyone."

You nod appreciatively. "You sure?"

He doesn't answer, instead holding his door open and ushering you inside.

Jungkook cares in strange ways. He's practical, forward-thinking, trying to find solutions to problems that you'd normally shrug your shoulders at.

He's never told anyone that he loves them before, but he did once swap the hinges on his ex-girlfriend's bathroom door to the other side, so that it would stop hitting the sink basin every time she opened it. He shows his affections in meaningful ways, often without being asked or expecting anything in return.

Neither of you realise it yet, but this is one of those occasions.

It's not until you're perched on the worktop bench in his kitchen that he realises he let you in without hesitation. No longer embarrassed of where he lived, he kind of likes having you here.

You look out of place, silver pendant round your neck, expensive, and hair professionally coloured, nails done, toes, too. Not that he can see them. He just remembers a conversation you had once over chicken and a beer about the fact your toes always matched your nails.

Small details like that are what he thinks about when he's alone; like the way you blink a little faster when you're confused, and how you sprinkle Cheeto dust back into the bag off of your fingers instead of licking them like he does. He thinks about the way you laugh in his company, and how he's never heard you laugh like that with anyone else. And he tries to stop, but dammit, he thinks about how sexed up you look on those Daerim nights.

You're dressing like that for someone else, he knows that much.

But he gets to indulge in it too, when your body is pressed against his back as he takes you home.

He's stopped asking what you do in Daerim. He doesn't want to know.

For a few minutes a night, when he's alone, he likes to pretend what it would be like if he was the one you were dressed like that for. Only ever a minute or so. Gets him too hot. Finishes him off too quickly. Absolute sin.

"Kook?"

He doesn't even realise he's halted his movements until your voice breaks him from his thoughts. His jeans tonight are tight, and do a pretty good job of hiding the swelling between his legs. Fucking uncomfortable, though.

"Sorry," he doesn't turn to face you. "Was just trying to remember where I last had the cable."

"I was just saying that it's fine. It's really not that far. Don't wanna be a bother."

"Why'd you say shit like that?" he turns to face you, face twisted a little. He's annoyed.

"Like what?"

"Call yourself a bother. You do it a lot."

"I don't."

"You do," he insists, and you can't work out why he's so annoyed by it. You want to apologise all over again. "You just-" he takes a moment to find the right words. "I dunno who's conditioned you into thinking everything you do is bothersome, but it really isn't. If I didn't wanna help, then I wouldn't. It's not a bother. You're not a bother."

And you don't know why, but for some reason, you choke up a little. It's not like he said anything particularly groundbreaking, it's just for the last few months, your entire existence has felt like a drain on those around you.

The money you can live without, but you miss family dinners on Sundays, and face timing your little sister, more than you can even begin to explain.

And while no, you didn't want your parents' money, you didn't want to keep seeing a perverted old man just to be able to afford to eat, either. The flat rate was 500,000 now. Every single time. Without fail. You hadn't put the price up. He was just always paying extra. Always touching his prick. Always jerking himself off over your repulsion.

Earlier that evening, he had queried how much it would cost him to finish on your chest. You told him a million. He asked if you accepted bank transfers. You told him no. He offered 1.2 mil.

Part of you considered it. It's a lot of money. Not something to be taken lightly.

But when you ran into Jungkook, just like you knew you would, you were adamant you had made the right choice. He had scanned your body, getting a read on your mood, assessing what you needed, what you wanted, and then had offered up his jacket. All doe-eyed and sparkling. You finally got what all the girls swooned over, 'cause you were doing it too.

"Hey," he says softly, noticing the way your eyes are reddening. "Hey, hey, no. Don't cry, sugar."

You laugh through the first couple of tears. Stupid fucking nickname.

"I meant it," you sniff, wiping your cheeks with the back of your hands. He's standing closer now, hesitant to touch, hands hovering around you. "20 thousand won, Jeon. Pay up."

His fingers tenderly wrap around your wrists, keeping them from rubbing at your face again. He's smiling, eyes ever encompassing, cheeks so appled that you bet you could get drunk off the cider he'd produce.

"Can we do it on an I.O.U. basis?" he speaks quietly, playfully. "I get paid on Monday."

It's a lie. He gets his commission cut straight from his sales figures. There's 2 million won in his rucksack. He only gets ten percent. 200K. His job's not nearly half as lucrative as yours, but it's still nothing to be laughed at. He's making bank.

"Nuh-uh," you sniff again, letting out a little laugh. He laughs too. "Told you that you couldn't afford me."

And then it's silent. You can hear your heartbeat. He moves a little closer.

"Told you I'd just pay in other ways."

His voice is hoarse, as if he's scared.

As if he fears the consequences of his claim.

Your eyes drop to his lips. They're trembling slightly. Preparing.

The grip he has on your wrists loosens. He's giving you freedom. He's giving you the chance to back out, to run away.

But you don't.

"Pay up, then," you all-but whisper, lips closing on his.

Jungkook doesn't stall, no, but it takes him a second to respond. To realise.

And once he does, his brows furrow into the kiss, demanding that you know just how much he wants this. Wants you. Has done for weeks, now.

He pulls your body into his, needing you close. Your body curves, his arm hooked behind your back to keep you balanced.

A surge of intensity washes over you like crimson paint. It'll stain you, and everyone will know: That's her. That's the girl who let Jeon Jungkook kiss her like he actually meant it.

He kisses, and he kisses, and he kisses, and he doesn't stop, as if he knows his first with you will also be his last - and when he finally does stop, forehead on yours, the pair of you are breathing so heavily into each other's mouths that it's as if you're sharing oxygen. Keeping each other alive. Both capable of first-degree murder.

And so neither of you pull away. There's no way he's doing time for you. There's no way you're doing time for him. Looks like you'll just have to kiss forever. Shame. Such a hardship. However will you cope?

"I-" he begins, before cutting himself off, easing his grip on your waist. One of his hands lingers, while the other pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes wincing. "Shit-" he finally lets you go. "I don't know what that was. I'm sorry."

You want to tell him that it's okay, that you didn't mind, that he could do it again - but it's clear he doesn't agree.

"Just adrenaline," you offer, sinking down to perch on the worktop bench. Your defeated posture is hidden well like this. "Don't sweat it."

He stays silent as he turns around to resume his rummaging, looking for a charger that will fit your phone. He knows there's one in there, he just can't for the life of him remember when he last had it.

Everything feels a little awkward. You half think that you should fill the void with something, that you should break the ice, but what was the point? You'll be out of his hair soon.

And you are, home twenty minutes later. You had only charged your phone for ten minutes at his, just enough to get you home. It's about to die again. Not before Jungkook pings you a message, though.

He doesn't expect a response, but he lies awake until he sees your read receipt confirm that you've seen it.

Sadness doesn't suit you, sugar. I'm not gonna pry, but if you ever need a ride earlier than normal out of Daerim, give me a call.

He spent a good six minutes debating whether or not to end his message with a kiss, eventually deciding against it. No need to make the message any softer than it already was.

To his surprise, a bubble pops up on your side of the chat thread.

His heart twinges, your response saying everything he wished he had with just one simple letter:

JUNGKOOK HAS A terrible habit of taking out his stress on the people around him; the ones that he holds closest.

"I just don't see why it's such a big issue," Jimin says through a mouthful of salad greens. His teeth chomp so loudly that Jungkook thinks they'll have to swing by the dentistry labs later that afternoon. Which Jimin'll probably like, considering he won't stop fucking rambling on about a dentistry student at the moment. "She's hot, she's got guys practically falling at her feet and she's interested in you. It's one party. Stop being so fucking boring."

Yoongi casts Jungkook a sympathetic look. He doesn't work so much at the moment, what with his chemistry finals coming up, and especially not in the Daerim area.

That's Jungkook's market now - but he did happen to have a drop-off for a last-minute order a couple of weeks back. Territory isn't an issue between the friends, with Jungkook respecting Yoongi far too much to ever tell him to back off, or to not take deals in that area.

He had been about to approach Jungkook that night, when he noticed you crossing the street, a smile plastered on your face. He couldn't see Jungkook's face from the angle he was at, but he could see how raised his cheeks were. And so he left the pair of you to it, knowing better than to stick his nose where it wasn't wanted.

Unlike Jimin, apparently.

"Not boring," Jungkook retorts, tossing the wrapper his chopsticks came in at Jimin's face. "Got a bunch of assignments due in."

"Dude, you've been MIA for weeks. If we didn't have classes together, I'd have sent out a search party by now."

"You're being dramatic."

"You're being boring."

"Kids, settle down," Yoongi interjects, and wonders why he doesn't just find friends his own age. Logistics, he decides. The perils of having to save up for university before he could actually attend.

Jimin, being Jimin, then proceeds to bicker with Yoongi, leaving Jungkook free to find your face amongst the canteen crowd. You're sat with friends, none of whom he's ever met.

Your hair is up, like it always is during school, but you've let your grown out bangs frame your face. Pretty, he thinks. Prettiest girl here.

But then you stand up, and Jungkook turns caveman. Head empty. No thoughts. Just nonsense. Jesus Christ. Who gave you the right? God damn.

A few months ago, he would have looked at you in that outfit - a silky sage green playsuit over a white tee, sunglasses resting on your head like an alice band and a pair of white converse on your feet - and he probably would have scoffed. Wouldda said some bullshit about the fact you're dressed like a child, or that the weather isn't good enough to warrant such an outfit.

A few months ago, he was a fucking idiot.

You feel his gaze on you, just like you always do.

And you ignore it.

You've been getting good at that. Pretending as if you don't feel his eyes. As if you're unaffected, unbothered by the simplest form of intimacy: a single look.

He knows you've been keeping your distance. Watching from afar is all he can do when you slink out of class before he can catch your attention. He tells himself that he doesn't care.

Jungkook mutes the audio track of the editing software he uses when he stitches together your footage, so he doesn't have to relive your conversations or hear you laugh, or worse, hear himself laugh.

It's all a bit nauseating.

Maybe a party would actually be a good distraction.

"Tonight, did you say?" Jungkook pipes up out of nowhere, only dragging his eyes away from you when he sees you pull your phone out to send a text.

He pouts. You never text him. Not once since last Thursday.

And you were nowhere to be seen on Tuesday.

He had called you, and for once, you didn't pick up. He didn't try again. Decided that it was on you just as much as it was on him.

That being said, he didn't get home till four in the morning, two and half hours after his last deal. Spaffed away an entire tank of petrol. Rode in fucking circles. Just in case.

"Now we're talking!" Jimin grins. "Tonight. It's her birthday, she's rented a bar in Itaewon - Dad knows the landlord or something."

Jungkook didn't know who 'she' was. Hadn't been listening to that part of the conversation.

"Well, you kids enjoy yourselves," Yoongi sighs as he gets to his feet. "Can't risk my finals over a few crappy drinks in a shitty bar."

"Oh boo-hoo!" Jimin pouts. "Spoilsport."

When Jungkook enters the bar that evening, he's greeted with everything he expects. E-cigarette vapours cloud the air, a cocktail of flavours violating his senses as he heads to the bar, shitty EDM pumping through the speakers. It's been a while since he let his hair down, so to speak.

There's something about him that commands attention. People gravitate towards him, even through the smoke clouds and sweaty bodies. Girls buy him drinks. Guys buy him drinks, too. Anything just to spend time in his presence. Like leeches, they hope to share some of Jungkook's aura.

It's impossible, though. It's Jungkook's authenticity that gives him such charisma. Trying to emulate it only ever comes off as tacky - like the guy towards the back of the room who's permed his hair to look like Jungkook's. Pierced his eyebrow, too. Looks like shit. Jungkook doesn't want to judge him, but he's a few drinks deep, and being kind is what got him into that mess with you in the first place.

No good ever comes from being nice.

He takes a shot. Tequila. Chases it down with lemonade. The girl next to him is playing with the bracelets on his wrist. Her nails scratch a little bit, and he quite likes it, so he doesn't resist when pulls him onto the dancefloor. He observes the way she moves first, and isn't disappointed. She knows how to move her hips, and seems to like it when he puts his hands on them. He can't really feel the sensation when she kisses him. The alcohol has numbed his lips. Maybe Jimin was right to force him into this.

By the time he goes to the bar for another drink, he's faded. Off his tits. Helped himself to some of Hobi's stash that he was supposed to be distributing that evening. A little bit of coke never does him any harm. He knows his limits. Tastes like shit down the back of his throat, but he kind of enjoys it.

At first, he thinks he must be seeing things when he catches you with an espresso martini in hand, laughing with people he doesn't know.

You've this whole life that he's no part of. A whole entire world. He really is an outsider looking in.

You're one of the elite; an old-money heiress. The type to own a miniature dog breed and only fly business class. It was stupid of him to think your interest in him had been anything more than entertainment. A 'little bit of rough.' Excitement away from the confines of the life he's sure your parents must have planned out for you.

It might just be because he's coked up, but he doesn't care about any of that.

All he can think about is the fact he's pretty sure you've never looked more beautiful.

He feels so lost looking at you like this, as if he needs to be closer, for fear of losing sight of you entirely.

And so he sits beside you at the bar, orders his drink, waits for you to notice him. Which you do.

You'd spotted him the very second you walked into the bar, his hands all over some girl you don't know.

In all fairness, you didn't realise he would be there. Sohyun, the girl whose birthday it was and an old friend from high school, has been fawning over Jungkook for months. Just superficial drawling, comments about his thighs and the fact she'd quite like to be suffocated by them. Harmless, really. You know she's never actually made a move.

Sohyun doesn't know you're working on a project together. You avoid the topic of him altogether, especially with her.

But she does notice the way Jungkook is looking at you like he's seen a ghost; haunted and comforted all in the same expression.

"You're here," he finally says, and it feels as if your chest is about to cave in.

Turning to face him, you're casual in your posture. Unbothered. Completely unaffected by him, and the lipstick that's painting those lips of his that you like so much.

You raise your thumb and swipe it across his bottom lip. He's silent as you do so, watching you, holding his breath. His lip moves like rubber beneath your touch, soft and supple, springing back into position once you release it.

You raise your thumb to study the lipstick you've collected from him. "Plum's really not your colour, Jungkook."

He doesn't say anything, a little transfixed. It's barely ticked past midnight. You should be in Daerim.

In all fairness, so should he. Hobi had some choice words for Jungkook when he told him that he wasn't working that evening at such short notice.

You swipe open your phone and repeat the step, filming your thumb as Jungkook becomes captive to your touch. You want to look, to see how wide his dark eyes are, but you're too busy feigning disinterest.

"There," you smile, forwarding the video along before you lock your phone. "Just sent you a video of how I see the city tonight."

You've no right to be annoyed. You know that.

Jungkook can be in a bar with another girl's lipstick on his chin if wants to be. He can stay out all night, and he can stay in beds that aren't his. It's his prerogative.

But you are annoyed.

It's irrational, and pathetic, and you shouldn't be.

You barely know him. Not really.

After you'd shown him your favourite tree at the Design Plaza a few weeks ago, he'd insisted on taking you across town to Garosugil, a street in Gangnam lined with beautiful tall trees. He questioned why you only had one favourite tree, when you could have had an entire row of them instead.

At the time, you'd enjoyed the way his eyes looked beneath the lights of the designer stores that neither of you could afford. You didn't question what he had meant.

It seems like you found your answer.

"I'm not the city," he eventually says.

And he's right.

He's not the city.

Fuck it, no, he's not the city, but his eyes sparkle like Itaewon on Friday nights, and his hands are strong like the World Cup Bridge. He's not the city, but you find it so easy to get lost in him without a map, and sometimes wearing his leather jacket makes you feel like you're eating comfort food at your favourite breakfast bar over in Myeong-dong. He's not the city.

He's not the goddamn city.

But it feels a little like you'd accidentally anchored your navigation pin in him regardless.

All you do is smile, and tell him that he's right.

"Look," he begins, and you can smell the spiced rum on his breath.

"It's okay," you interrupt. Who are you to make him feel guilty for his promiscuous encounters?

He doesn't know what you do in the dark. Not really. If he did, he probably wouldn't have kissed you last week.

"No, I-" he cuts himself off like he always does when he doesn't wanna fuck up his words. The alcohol is doing him absolutely zero favours. "I dunno, sugar."

Your smile is sad, and he hates himself. You lean forward, press a kiss into his rosy cheek and whisper, "That'll be 20,000, Jeon."

And because he's drunk, and he wants to make things better, he reaches for his wallet. You were about to walk away regardless, but damn, if the boy doesn't know how to hit you where it hurts.

"Really, Kook?"

It's like he doesn't know you at all; doesn't remember how you banter with him, how you flirt with him. Or maybe you were just stupid for thinking that you'd been flirting with him in the first place. Maybe he just speaks to everyone how he speaks to you. Must have spoken to whoever was wearing that lipstick in the same way.

He doesn't answer, not verbally, but his brows pinch together and his lips develop a frowning pout.

When he stumbles home that evening, he asks himself the same question: really, Kook?

In the morning, he wakes alone, with no recollection of how he got home.

He doesn't remember the girl from the bar, or the fact that Jimin threw up in a fish tank, or that they're now barred from three different establishments for encouraging people to snort fish food (which Jungkook had stolen while Jimin was emptying his stomach). Regretfully, he doesn't even remember your arrival at the first bar. Doesn't remember how, for once, you'd dressed to impress just him.

His lack of recollection means fuck all though, 'cause despite his headache, the thing weighing down most heavily on him is guilt. He feels a sense of duty when it comes to you; duty that he hasn't performed lately. Were you getting home safe? Getting harrassed by scummy fuckers on the Daerim path of destruction?

Out of habit, he checks his phone, ignores the messages from unknown numbers and goes straight to your message thread to check the damage. He's surprised to find that he didn't drunk text you, but even more surprised to find that you'd messaged him. It's a video, just a few seconds, but it's enough to provoke some of his memories back.

He watches your thumb as it glides across his bottom lip. Watches it again. Notices the lipstick. Notices the thumb ring he never realised you wore before, and the fact that your nails are black now instead of their usual pink. There's something erotic about it; the way you touch him. The way you filmed yourself touching him. He'll probably get in trouble for it, but there's no way he isn't adding that to your project.

You consider ignoring his call when your phone flashes with his caller I.D.

It's only just gone seven, and you're still in bed, still try to make heads or tails of your life.

But you're weak, and so you slide your thumb across the little green icon.

"Hey."

"Uh, hey."

"You good?"

"So hungover, I think I might die," Jungkook jokes, voice hoarse. You wonder if he always sounds like this in the morning. "Just wanted to check in with you though. Barely seen you all week, and then I end up with a weird-ass video in our message thread that I don't remember."

Ah. You cringe.

"Ran into you at the bar," you shrug, not that he can see you. "Didn't realise you were friends with Sohyun."

"Hmm?"

"Sohyun... the girl who's birthday it was?"

"Oh. Right. Yeah. Nah, no, not really friends with her. Jimin forced me along."

You don't know all that much about Jimin, but from your limited interactions with him, it doesn't surprise you. Not in the slightest.

"Good night?"

Your question sounds forced and awkward, and he doesn't quite understand why.

"No idea," he admits honestly. "Remember fuck all."

He sounds as if he wants to keep talking but doesn't know what to say.

You don't know what to say either.

It's a mess. You liked it better when he hated you.

"Were you at the bar for long?" He asks, genuinely curious. "You're normally busy on Thursdays?"

"Just a drink. Had a last-minute change of plans."

"Oh?"

"Yeah..."

You know he wants you to elaborate. He wants more without having to explicitly ask for it.

Which is apt. Seems like it's a common occurrence with Jungkook.

"So what did you call for?" you change the topic, not wanting to dwell. The aversion doesn't go unnoticed by him, but it does go unquestioned.

"I-" there he goes again, cutting himself off prematurely. Coward. "Are you free? Now?"

Oh.

Not a coward. Just cautious.

"Now? I mean, yeah, I guess."

Jungkook takes a second, and then he bites down on the grenade pin.

"Can you come over?"

THE WAY YOU keep Jungkook hanging on tenterhooks is deliberate.

You're unsure of him, of his motivations, and what he does in the dark. And so, while you want to let your guard down, you can't. It's probably something to do with your parents - the people who are supposed to love you unconditionally - making their love entirely conditional and withdrawing it so suddenly.

It's the kind of shit you would have spoken about with your therapist, but you can't afford her anymore.

Can't afford much of anything, anymore. So much of the money you've earnt recently is tied up in credit card debt or rent.

Foundation was the first luxury that you'd compromised, and you're still yet to buy any more. Cheap stuff always makes you break out, and thankfully your parents did give you decent genetics, at least, so your skin was pretty clear.

It's the lack of make up that suggests to Jungkook you're opening up; not hiding from him anymore.

But it's also what tells him something is incredibly wrong, when you show up at his door half an hour later with a graze beneath your eye. Little flecks of reddened skin creep up your cheekbone, and Jungkook thinks it almost looks like carpet burn.

He hadn't noticed it last night, but it was dark, and he was drunk.

He lets you in, takes your jacket, offers you a drink. Everything that he knows he should do. Asks how you are, keeps a safe distance.

You don't know why you're here. Why you didn't say you were busy.

Except you do.

It's cause you miss him whenever you're away from him.

"I like these," you smile as you look at the artwork he has up in his room. The studio space is small, cramped, like all semi-basements are, but it's distinctly 'his'. A lot different to yours. Everything you own is still in boxes, not yet unpacked.

You've refused to come to terms with that being your life now.

"Thanks," he nods, watching you as you explore the box of a room he calls home. "They're from a guy down by the coach station. Has a little stall."

"You'll have to show me," you muse, turning to smile at him. It's saccharine, but the graze on your face is just so bitter. He hates it. Hates that he doesn't know how you got it. "Think I'd like some for my place."

"I have a feeling they'd look a little out of place in a princess tower, sugar."

Your shoulders shake as you laugh quietly, not correcting him. He doesn't need to know that you're a basement dweller, too.

"How's the editing coming along?" You steer the question away from your living situation.

"Nearly there," he grins, brimming with quiet excitement. Something about the way your camerawork looks with his editing technique layered on top just really works. He's always been confident with his final projects, and this one scares him a little bit, but in a good way. It's his best yet. Maybe he did need you after all.

"Can I see?"

"Not yet."

"Kook," you say, and - oh god - you're pouting. Jungkook suddenly begins to feel nervous.

It's that scary feeling again. A fear of the good stuff. Trepidation.

"What?" he grins, walking a little closer to you, letting his hand stroke against your back as he sits down on his bed. His fingers catch yours. It's fleeting, but enough.

You both feel it.

"Such a tease," you say, talking about the project, but there's innuendo in your words, too.

"Some girls like it," he flirts back.

"The girl at the bar last night seemed to like it."

Jungkook rolls his eyes, boyish and charming. It's annoying, you think, how impossible it is to be mad at him. It's not because you're weak, or because you can't resist his charms, but because he has a way of playing things off as if they're no big deal.

The girl at the bar? A nobody, his shrug suggests. She doesn't matter.

And it's so easy to believe, because you're the one in his apartment. You're the one he wanted here, the one that he missed. Or at least, the one that he was thinking of when he decided that he could do with some company.

It might be nothing, just something to pass the time, but it makes you feel wanted. Desired. Needed.

So you accept his hand when he reaches out towards you, pulling you closer, positioning you between his spread legs. You're standing, his eyes level with your chest, unashamed as he looks at your body.

"You look warm," he husks.

Just like he always uses your body temperature as excuse to give you his jacket, he's using it as an excuse now, too. The desired effect is obvious.

His AC switchboard is on the wall behind his bed. You'd clocked it when you were walking around, observing his possessions. Yanmar, the branding reads, the plastic outer frame beige. Once, it would have been crisp white. Age has dulled it. The monochrome monitor has a clock symbol in the corner, an indicator that Jungkook has his AC set on a timer. It suggests a sense of permanence. This is his home.

You haven't set your timer yet. You just flick it on when you get hot. It isn't your home.

He watches you as you move, curious. He's smirking, because he just cant help himself.

And because he knows that you like it whenever he does. Gets you a little bit flustered.

One of your knees hooks over his lap, and then the other follows suit.

He'd have said you were straddling him. You'd have argued that you were simply reaching over to the AC.

And you do exactly that, flicking the switch, watching as it lights up. "There. Much better."

Touche, he thinks. Smiles. Grips your thighs, as if he's scared you'll stand up again. Scared to lose you.

In all honesty, he had been hoping you'd take your shirt off, but he isn't going to complain with you in his lap, instead.

Doesn't matter if you mix the eggs with the milk first, or the flour. You still bake a cake at the end of it all.

Jungkook looks at you in such a way that you find yourself thinking maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't be so horrible to let someone in. His eyes are honest, void of ulterior motives. He's doing this because he wants to. Because he wants you.

Wants that feeling back. The one where his lips are cushioned between yours, his tongue licking into your mouth.

Jungkook wants what he wants. Jungkook gets what he wants.

And, fuck, if it isn't bare minimum - but you know this, and you don't care. Bare minimum tastes pretty fucking good when you're licking it from his lips.

His hands roam, and you let them. He's rough with his movements, but the fleshy pads of his fingertips are soft, like silk against your skin. It's almost like he's afraid, filled with the knowledge that he can bruise, if he really wants to.

But he doesn't want to. He wants to ask about the graze that's sitting pretty where blush should be. Jungkook doesn't wanna hurt. He wants to heal.

"I catch you looking, you know," you tell him before he gets a chance, wanting to see how he responds. "Every now and again..." He hikes you forward in his lap. Places you dead centre over his cock. You can feel it. He can feel you. "...I catch you looking at me." He presses a kiss against the base of your neck, obsessed with the way it vibrates when you speak. "Why are you always looking at me?"

The fact that you're sat in his lap, grinding your hips against a solid bulge, should be indication enough.

Jungkook isn't going to spell it out for you. The eroticism of suggesting he's a fucking voyeur makes him want to laugh - but the way your nipples are tenting the shirt you're wearing distracts him.

His teeth graze your throat, hands creeping round to your tummy. His fingers are long, practically the length of the expanse between your hips and the underneath of your plump tits. Just a little further and he'd be holding them, cupping them, caressing. Just a little further.

"I look at you-" His hands continue their exploration as he leans back, watching the movement beneath your shirt. It somehow feels forbidden - like he can touch, but not look. After all, your question had sounded quite a lot like a telling off. "-because you like me looking at you."

He's fucking with you, trying to get a rise.

"Do I?"

The way that you whimper as he brushes against your nipples has him pulsing his hips. Your eyes close, head tilting back ever so slightly. You like this. The way he does it.

"Uh-huh," he mumbles, lips wet against your neck. His fingers knead into the flesh of your tits, nipples hard in his palm as he relieves his stresses. "Bet you think about it all day, don't you? Think about the way I look at you when no-one else does."

Yes.

"All day?" you smirk between dulcet moans. "You're lucky if I pay you any attention at all."

"I think you're lying," he declares rather boldly, hands all over you. "I think it plays on your mind. I bet you fall asleep thinking about it, don't you?"

Yes.

"Ddaeng."

"I bet you get yourself off thinking about it."

Maybe you do.

Maybe you've whispered his name in the dead of night, imagining how it would feel to have his body weight on top of yours. Maybe you get intrusive thoughts of that kiss every single time you try to draw close. Maybe Jungkook has made you cum without ever laying a single finger on you.

But even if he has, you won't tell him.

And you don't need to, because his phone buzzing on the bedside table behind you cuts the conversation dry. Jungkook glances towards it automatically, then back up to you. His frustration is evident, jaw tense.

"I gotta get this," he mumbles, encouraging you off of his lap. You don't resist, accepting the last five minutes for what they were: a momentary lapse in judgement. He sighs as he stands, adjusting his trousers, swiping his phone and putting it to his ear. He strolls just far enough away that you won't hear what or who is on the other line. "Hobi. Speak to me."

Hobi, you muse. A friend? A colleague? Another girl?

You swallow back the nauseating feeling in your throat, pretending as if the prospect of Jungkook with someone else doesn't chip away at your self-worth a little bit. It wasn't like you thought you had anything special between the pair of you.

But he was right. You did like him looking at you.

More than you had realised until the prospect of him looking at someone else arose.

From the corner of the room, you could hear Jungkook trying to interrupt the person he was talking to. The first syllable would escape, and then he'd hush again, never quite managing to get the words out in full.

"Ho-" His nostrils look quite cute when they flare, lips pursed, a pair of unique dimples becoming evident. They're different to the usual ones you notice. Full of surprises was Jeon Jungkook.

"Hobi, can I-"

He runs his hand through his hair, already dishevelled from your hands.

"Hobi will you let me fucking talk!"

Attaboy.

The pause that follows Jungkook's outburst would suggest that Hobi had said 'no' - and then a few more choice words. If Jungkook rolled his eyes back any further, they'd surely get stuck.

"Look, I'm a bit tied up right now- no! No, not that. Who? No. I don't know a Taehyung, and even if I did- Huh? Ain't got nothin' to do with Holangi. Don't know a single one of 'em."

You try to decipher the conversation, but fail.

"You're a real fuckin' cockblock, yanno?"

You blush.

"Fuck it, fine. But you owe me. I'm not saying yes next time."

He glances over to you, catching your raised brow. Next time?

A smile catches on his lips. You thought this would be a one time thing?

He's barely hit second base. If there's one thing you're yet to find out about Jungkook, it's that he loves to win. He won't be satisfied until he's got a home run.

Any other girl, and he'd have probably been running laps for fun by this point, but you... yeah, you didn't bowl him easy hitters, that was for sure.

Jungkook moves with confidence, like he always does, as he strides over to the sofa, the bulge in his pants considerably softened but still present. "Take a picture," he grins. "It'll last longer."

You roll your eyes, but it doesn't stop you from asking if that's an offer. He laughs - that soft, gentle thrum of his vocal chords that sounds so heavenly in your ears - and tells you to behave.

"I just gotta help a friend out," he says as he reaches over you to grab his rucksack. It's heavier now than it ever is at school, the jingle of crushed tin foil rustling as it briefly catches on your knee. He pretends not to notice the curiosity in your eyes. Pretty eyes, though. He quite likes them, especially when he's towering above you and can see the whites just above your lashline. Yeah, he likes them alot. "I'll only be an hour or so. You can stay here, if you like?"

The way he phrases it is so casual that it's almost like you're old friends.

That, or Jungkook's just used to having women he doesn't know very well stay at his place.

You're unaware of the mental gymnastics he's putting himself through. If he could kick himself without looking like a twat, then he definitely would.

Shrugging, you give him a polite smile. "I don't wanna overstay my welcome."

"Nah, you're fine. I can give you a lift back to yours when I'm home? I'll be an hour. Two, tops."

Finally you agree, watching as he leaves like a lovesick puppy, listening out for the familiar rattle of his exhaust pipe. There's a cough and splutter of petrol spitting onto the sidewalk as his motor roars into action, and then he's gone.

You don't hang around for much longer.

You tell yourself that you will. That it would be nice. That you and Jungkook might not be so ill-suited after all.

But as the clock ticks by on the wall, you find yourself getting antsy. You find yourself asking stupid questions. Who exactly is Hobi? What was in Jungkook's bag? Why is he always down in Daerim? Is that where he's gone now?

The thoughts grow, adapt, intrude. Before you know it, you're considering what you'd find if you opened the top drawer of his bedside cabinet.

Realistically, you know it would probably be a wank sock and a tub of vaseline - it doesn't matter though. Your mind is wondering. You need to scratch the itch.

Just a little peek. He'll never know.

Oh, how you loathe your brain.

What's the worst you could find? A revolver? His ex-girlfriends panties? Love letters? A crack pipe?

Somehow, you'd rather find a pipe than panties.

It's not that you want Jungkook to be a crack addict. It's just the more that you think about it, the more you come to realise that you really, really don't like the idea of someone else feeling how warm his torso is, or how his upper teeth always nip slightly when he starts kissing you, until the pressure of his pecks plump his lips. You've only experienced it a handful of times, and it's stupid to get carried away, but he just makes it so easy.

He didn't ask you to stay, you tell yourself. He asked you if you wanted to.

Moments of instability like this are exactly why girls like you don't spend time with boys like him. It's stupid. Futile. A game for fools.

You leave his apartment as you found it, with not even a note to say thank you. He's had a squeeze on your tits. You deem that thank you enough. If anything, he should be thanking you.

When he returns, just half an hour after your departure, he can still smell your perfume. He tosses his keys down, calls out your name, and is met with silence. It takes him a moment or so to realise that he's alone.

There's a sinking feeling in his chest that he doesn't recognise. Doesn't like. Hates, in fact.

But fine. Fuck it. He didn't want you there anyway. He'd just been doing a good deed. Being kind because - if your face was any indication - obviously someone else had been particularly unkind to you.

Jungkook thinks he knows who, now.

Daerim nights have always been sketchy, but the days are no better.

He's just the lowest rung on a long ladder of criminals who turn a profit when the sun goes down in Seoul.

Hobi had asked him to drop the stash in his rucksack off at a club, some gang-run joint that Jungkook doesn't know much about, so that he could get them back to his boss.

That had been the plan, at least.

He slings his bag down, now empty, and sinks into the sofa, not bothering to get a rag to clean himself up. No point. The dried blood will just wash off in his shower. It's not the first time this has happened. He doubts it will be the last.

Jungkook's nose is currently bleeding, dripping down his chin and hitting the ceramic tiles of his apartment with small slaps. A bruise is forming above his left eye socket, and his knuckles are red.

A punch to the face means very little to Jungkook.

He's young, but he's strong. Fast, too. It could have been a lot worse if he wasn't.

He pushes the back of his hand against his nose, sniffing, before unlocking his phone, and dialing a number he knows now by heart.

The dial tone bleeds out, just like his nose.

And so he hangs up, and calls the only person he knows he can rely on.

"Wassup, kid?"

Jungkook doesn't mean to sob, but he cant help it. He knows Yoongi has finals coming up. He doesn't need his bullshit on his plate, too.

"I got jumped Yoongs."

Fuck.

"You alright? Sound pretty bad? Where?"

"Daerim-"

"The fuck you doing there at this time of day?"

"Hobi wanted me to drop off my stash."

"Kook..." Yoongi speaks slowly, coming to a horrific realisation. A few punches had never bothered Jungkook before. Something bigger was at play. "The stash...?"

Jungkook can hear it in Yoongi's voice: fear.

"Gone."

Yoongi sighs down the line. "Hobi know yet?"

"No."

"Alright, get outta your flat," Yoongi begins, not wasting time. Now is not the time for emotions, and it's clear that Jungkook isn't capable of that just yet. "I need you to go somewhere safe, somewhere you can lie-low for a little bit alright? Let me sort it-"

"Yoong-"

"Let me sort it. I got you into this mess. Don't sweat it."

"Ple-"

"Kook. Seriously. Trust me with this."

Yoongi doesn't let him debate it any further - and it's just as well he doesn't, because as soon as he hangs up the phone, another call comes through. Jungkook wants to answer it. Really, he does.

Jungkook's just very aware of the fact that the guy who jumped him had almost been waiting for him. Right by the entrance of the apartment block which he always picked you up from.

In between blows, he'd warned Jungkook to 'stay the fuck away from the girl'.

The girl who's now returning his call.

"Hey," you say animatedly, having not expected him to call. You thought the pair of you would resume your usual awkward routine of pretending like nothing ever happened. "Sorry, I was in the shower. You good? Sorry I left, I just did-"

"I need a favour," he doesn't bother with formalities.

You want to banter with him, to flirt, but the tone of his voice warns you not to. So instead you tell him that you'll do whatever he needs.

"Can I come over?"

Fuck. Anything except that.

"Please."

YOU DON'T EXPECT to say yes. You don't expect to care more about him than you do about protecting your own dignity. You don't expect Jungkook to traipse down the stairs that lead to your slovenly open door with a glum look on his bloodsoaked face, as you stand there waiting for him.

But he does.

He makes no comment, no remark about the building. Just wraps his arms around your head, cradling you against his chest as you stand in your doorway. You can hear his heartbeat, thud, thud, thud against his ribs.

Go somewhere safe, Yoongi had told him. It was a no brainer.

"I'm sorry," he says, eventually pulling himself away from you. "I didn't know who else to ask."

You tell him it's fine, and you mean it. Keeping up pretences doesn't really matter so much anymore. Perhaps honesty was overdue from the both of you.

"The fuck happened to you?" You ask, tenderly reaching up to stroke away some of the dried blood from his lip. He winces, hisses, body tense, but he lets you continue. "Sorry."

"Could ask you the same, sugar," he speaks kindly, not wanting you to think he's being critical as he nods to the entryway behind you.

You grit your teeth together and let your hand rest on his shoulder. "King kicked the princess out of the castle."

And, suddenly, it doesn't seem embarrassing anymore. In fact, it seems perfectly apt that Jungkook knows. He doesn't pry, don't push for further clarification. Just nods. Accepts your reality.

"Castles are overrated, anyway," he presses a kiss to your head, and gently guides you through the threshold. The corridor is short, opening up to an open plan studio. The layout varies from Jungkook's, but it's similar in size. Small.

"Ignore the wallpaper," you say of the awkwardly granny-ish floral print. It's beige, so not totally offensive, but dear god, you think it looks like vomit.

"No," he grins. "It's... wow. Your landlord really knows how to make a statement, don't they?"

You perch on your bed and cringe. "A statement... a crime against interior design. Whatever you wanna call it."

Jungkook continues to pace around your room with a curious smile. He's partially deflecting from the fact he knows you're probably dying to ask about his face, and why he was so desperate to be with you, but he's also interested in the life you neglected to share with him.

Brown cardboard boxes are piled high in the corners, your possessions not yet unboxed.

This place is just temporary.

You've got three and a half million won sat on your desk. A couple more weeks, just a few, and you'll have enough for a deposit on a decent flat. Then you can get a regular job, something stable, and you won't have to worry. You could work through the summer and then figure out what to do next. Just as long as you keep on moving upwards, you'll be happy.

"So," you begin gingerly, as you head to the kitchenette beside your bed, wetting a cloth beneath your tap. "You gonna tell me what happened to your face?"

He takes your previous position, inviting himself to sit on the end of your bed, anticipating your return. There's light coming in from the thin windows by your ceiling, hitting directly onto your back. He thinks it's apt. Thinks you're the kind of girl who deserves a spotlight. Thinks that Mother Nature agrees.

Jungkook shrugs, in that lazy, boyish way he so often does, as you walk towards him. He spreads his legs, encouraging you between them, letting his hands graze your thighs. You pretend not to notice as you press the damp cloth to his cheek. Tiny crows legs appear at the edges of his eyes, face wincing from the contact. It's painful.

But being alone would be more painful. He chose to be here. To be with you.

And so he tells you what happened, with as much honesty he can muster. There are some things better left unsaid, his occupation being one of them. You listen attentively, dabbing at his wounds, a frown etched into the lines of your face.

"Stay away from the girl, huh?" you muse, avoiding his eyes as you study his face. His nose is still bleeding, but every time you tell him to tilt his head towards the ceiling, it ends up back in its original position. He can't see you as well with his head tilted back. Doesn't like it. Doesn't wanna do it. "Could be any girl."

Jungkook's dimple forms in his cheek. "No. No, it couldn't."

His fingers that have been grazing at your thighs squeeze tenderly, letting you know he means it. More than he thinks you know. More than he knows he should.

There's a chance that any words spoken between the pair of you could be misconstrued. He doesn't know what his feelings for you are, and you don't really understand yours for him - but you understand your body, and the electric current running beneath your lips, dying for a connection. A little spark.

So you do the only thing that makes sense: you kiss him.

And he kisses you back. Slowly, tenderly, deliberately. His lips melt into yours, hand pulling your legs closer. He encourages you onto his lap, as if he needs to be insufferably close to you. Once you're positioned how he wants, just like you were earlier, he grips your waist, keeping you stationed there.

Jungkook knows he should stop.

He knows he should have paid attention to the pair of fists that warned him off you as his skull hit the pavement earlier that morning, knows he shouldn't let himself get so wrapped up in such a red flag - but he just can't help himself. It's like you're laced in the narcotics he deals, and slowly but surely, you've gotten him addicted.

He's craving. Dying for a hit. Just a little taste of your tongue on his, the scent of your shampoo in his nose.

Red flags, red stop signs, pretty red lips all plump from the kisses he's smothering them in. Red blood, too. His nose is still a little damaged, and the way he's painting your cheek in crimson should repulse you.

Should repulse you.

Like fuck it does, though. You can smell the copper twinge through his plasma, and suddenly it's as if the Cullen's had the right idea all along.

When he pulls back, only for a moment, hands clutching at the side of your face to assess the look in your eyes, he notices it too. Hard not to. You blush all the fucking time, so much so that he knew the shade by heart, and the rouge on your cheek is far too vibrant, too scarlet. It's his fucking blood on you.

It should scare him, he knows. But the way you're looking at him, eyes all wide and glassy, lips swollen and waiting for more, has him unable to think straight. It has him obsessed, the way you don't care. The way he's covered you in blood and you still seem to want more.

But there's a softness to the way in which you're looking at him, mild confusion, as if you've got the same strange warmth running through your veins as he does. It's not a feeling he recognises, pulsing through his bloodstream with every beat of his heart.

Perhaps it's nothing. Jungkook tells himself that it is. Just adrenaline, probably.

You look at his lips, all crimson and blushed, and realise you much prefer the shade of his blood to the plum lipstick that had tainted them the night before. You're delicate as you wipe your thumb along his pouted bottom lip, just like you did in the bar. Except this time, the jealousy that had blossomed in your diaphragm is nowhere to be found. There's still a pinch beneath your ribs, but this time it's in your heart, and it's far more aching. This time, you feel his hurt.

Jungkook reaches down to where you left the damp cloth on your bed. It's wet and heavy in his hand, a little warm, too. He brings it to your face and dabs silently, cleaning you of the mess he's made. Fixing you. Restoring you to your former glory.

Its futile, 'cause his nose is still fucking bleeding, and you don't plan on leaving it more than a moment before you kiss him again. You simply don't care. Want him for all that he is, blood, sweat and tears.

But still, he insists on ridding you of his stain. Doesn't want to tarnish you. He's soft with the way he presses the cloth against you, mirroring how tenderly you were with him earlier. He's learning from you, adapting to you. Wants to be like you. Wants to be 'better'.

You watch as his eyes scan your face, brows twisted like they always do when he's about to say something but stops himself. The vertical groove just above his cupid's bow is red, blood tacky as it dries. If he kisses you now, he'll leave a stamp; a mark that says 'you're mine.'

It's too much. Far too much. You aren't his, and he knows this. He never wanted you to be his, in fact, for the longest time, he had wanted to be anything but yours.

But now he sits beneath you, crestfallen, heart in his throat, blocking him from speaking.

This was never part of the plan. He was never supposed to end up here. He was supposed to escape from the trenches, to get on the path of straight and narrow. Thrive. Succeed.

And it's not your fault, he knows this, but there's a little part of him that wonders what could have happened if he hadn't seen you that night in Daerim, hadn't seen the way your eyes look beneath night market lights, hadn't heard your laugh as he looked at his favourite view of the city.

You whisper his name, your palm resting flat on his chest, and his brows soften.

It doesn't matter what could have happened, anymore.

All that matters is what is happening.

The shortness of his breath, the flutter of his lashes against your cheek, the swelling between his legs. You can feel it, feel him, and he knows it. The way he's pulsing his hips upwards is testament to that.

It's a comfortable position, you sat on his lap on the end of your bed, not one that either of you wishes to break from. Not even as he begins to breathe against your lips, unable to properly control his reactions thanks to the friction beneath his briefs.

"Want you," he mumbles, pressing his lips into yours, the air in his lungs giving itself up to you. "Want you so bad."

You shake your head, brows pinched just a little. "I'm bad news for you."

And maybe that's it. Maybe he just wants you because he knows he shouldn't - but fuck it, if he can't let himself indulge in simple pleasures, then why bother getting himself beaten to a pulp over you?

"I'm bad news for myself, sugar," he husks against your lips, tickling them as he slips his tongue into your mouth. Deeper, deeper. Closer, closer. He wants it.

Wants it all.

Wants you naked.

Wants to know what it feels like to have you gasp in his ear as his hands roam beneath your panties.

Wants to know if you'd still look at him like you're stargazing even when he's railing you.

Wants it. Wants you. Just wants.

And what Jungkook wants, Jungkook gets.

He slips his hand up your shirt and pushes it upwards, before letting it crumple to the floor. You know that you should be more bashful, a little bit ashamed, but it's impossible when he's looking at you like this.

He has a visual now that he didn't have earlier. The glow of your skin beneath his bruised knuckles looks almost sinful, like he's plucking forbidden fruit from its tree. He'll pay the price for this, and he knows it, but he just can't resist.

Jungkook has always been a boob guy, always loved the way he could get girls moaning with just a little pinch, but never had he had a pair quite like yours. So full, so round, he's not sure his hands are big enough, and that doubt makes him throb. Soft and pillowy, he groans as he watches his fingers sink into them, utterly enthralled. His hips adjust, pushing upwards, pressing himself into you. He wants this. Wants it so bad.

You can feel the metal of his rings against your skin, and then you can feel his lips, his tongue, his teeth as they graze against the plush skin of your chest. He licks around your nipple, letting the air cool the wet trail, hardening you for him.

He's utterly obsessed.

His mouth pulls at the sensitive skin, suckles, sucks. His lashes are splayed on the tops of his cheeks, lips pouting around your nipple as he does so, small groans of pleasure vibrating against you. It will be a miracle if he can't already feel you seeping through your panties.

You whimper as his teeth graze your hardened nub, and his eyes flutter open. He doesn't detach himself, but instead, he keeps your gaze as he sucks. The pressure varies, and then it's hard. Really fucking hard. So hard you'll think he'll somehow give your nipple a hickey - but fuck, if you don't love the sensation.

"Christ," you gasp, before biting down into your bottom lip.

"Too hard?" He mumbles against you, peppering you in kisses and soft licks as if to apologise.

"No," you pant. "Was good. Was great. Just - fuck."

You laugh, soft and airy, and Jungkook smiles from the sound.

He likes this. Likes how you react to him.

And while he’s patient and gentle with you in a way that he isn't with other people, Jungkook has only ever known how to have sex in one way. It's ingrained into him, as if he was made to fuck like it; like he doesn't give a shit about the person he's screwing.

Jungkook doesn't do love, and you know this. He trades. Works in transactions. Settles debts. You don't really know this part, but you aren't stupid. You know he's never in Daerim for any good fucking reason.

You don't question it as his hands move south, slipping past your underwear. In fact, you're smug as he curses when he feels how wet you are, fingers slippery in your panties.

He pushes a finger into you, and closely follows it with a second. They curl ever so slightly, and it's at this point that you realise Jungkook is absolutely going to ruin you. Just a few pumps. Just to ease you up.

He's bored of waiting. Wants you now.

The pair of you move fluidly, minimal discussion needed, just occasional checks of 'you good?', or 'this okay?'. The answer is, always, without a doubt, 'yes'.

He gets you on your back, panties pulled off, legs not quite hanging off the edge of your bed, but nearly. He strips himself of his shirt first, and grins as he notices the way you whine.

"What?" he toys.

"Nothing," you flirt. "Just wish you'd hurry up. I'm a busy woman."

"Oh yeah?" The sound of his buckle coming undone is enough to make you fucking leak. "Busy doing what?"

You neglect to tell him. Not because you don't have a witty remark lined up, but because he's fucking naked now.

What a sight to behold he is. Body lean, honey skin flawless, muscles defined. You pretend like you're looking at his body, but your eyes are drawn to his cock. You'd expected length, but not the girth - and he has both in abundance. The tip of his cock is blushed and wet, with Jungkook just as aroused as you are.

Noticing your gaze, he rolls his eyes, and toys with your pussy again, lightly running his fingers up and down your slick entrance. When he pulls back, his fingers are still connected by thick clear fluid. His cock throbs.

"You're gonna get me so dirty," he hums, as he crawls onto the bed above you, before holding his fingers to your mouth. "Clean them."

Part of you wants to say no, but the other part of you can see his darkened gaze and the way his cock is twitching. You can't refuse.

His fingers are on the tip of your tongue, the tip of his cock nudging so close to your entrance that he may as well just do it. You raise your hips, encouraging, but he retracts a little just to tease.

The fingers that were in your mouth come to grip at the soft flesh of your cheeks, his thumb on the other side. "Don't you fucking dare."

There's tepid aggression to his movements, and it makes you feel vulnerable - but you like it. You like the way he's gripping your face, the ways he's looking at you with narrow eyes, just like he used to do across the lecture hall. You like being reminded of when you were nothing to one another, because it makes the satisfaction of feeling his stiff cock jump a little against your pussy as you moan so much more worth it.

He used to hate you, now he can't wait to bury his fat cock in you. Victory is yours, even if he's trying to act like he's the one holding all the cards.

You don't correct him, though. You let him think he has the upper hand. You'll play pillow princess just this once if it means you get to see him a little bit mean again.

"Dare what?" you pout, cheeks still squished between his fingers. He grips a little tighter, your chest rising as you gasp. He pulls your face towards his, sinking down into your lips, until he decided he's done with you.

He stands by the edge of your bed, and yanks your ankles towards him, pulling you close enough to the edge for him to fuck you like this.

The loss of his grip is unwelcome by you, a frown forming. He isn't looking at your face now, eyes down on his cock, which he's rubbing between your soaked pussy lips, but he can almost hear you brace yourself to whine. He smirks, one side of his mouth lifting, head knocking to the side slightly.

"Don't you dare try and set the pace," he finally husks, still not glancing up towards you. He's taking his time, making sure the head of his cock kisses every inch of your exposed mess. "Nearly got my nose fucking broken for this pussy-" he spits, hard and fast, right onto your clit, spreading it with his cock. "- so I'm gonna make sure I get what I'm owed."

He spreads your thighs back, his fingers gripping harshly just how you like it. Perhaps you should pretend to be embarrassed by the fact your cunt is leaking for him, begging for him, but the way he hisses at the sight, chest heaving, prevents it.

Jungkook's thought about this before, about how pretty and pristine you'd be, about the mess he'd hoped you'd make. Thought about it so many times. Fingers wrapped around his shaft in the middle of the night when no one can hear him chant your name as he spills over. Yeah, he's thought about it a lot.

His imagination has never done you justice. One look and he's obsessed. Wants to spend hours touching, caressing, licking you.

"Take it," you whisper. "What you're owed, Jungkook. Take it."

He looks up now, brows threaded together. You don't recognise the contemplation his face is laced in, but he doesn't give you the chance to question it, for you begin to feel that burn. The one your fingers can never give you. It's alien, and yet familiar, inherently natural but intrusive nonetheless.

"Shit," is all you can manage to say, eyes locked on his.

He wants to watch himself sink into you, watch as his fat cock forces your slick wetness out of your pussy, but he can't. Not when you're looking at him like that. Not when your chest is heaving and your eyes are watering beneath tense brows. Not when your mouth is hanging open and just begging to be fucked like your tight little pussy.

And then he starts feeling something a little strange. A little unfamiliar. A little bit like his heart has stalled to beat in time with the contractions of your chest. And though he's not in pain anymore, too busy feeling you, he's aware that it hurts. Aware that he can't fuck you like he wanted to, 'cause his chest needs to be against yours. Needs to feel the beating drum beneath your ribs.

He doesn't even realise that he's paused until you whine a meagre, "please."

"That's more like it," he hums, as he pushes into you, the base of his thick cock plugging the weeping mess that he's made. You know that as soon as he pulls out, you'll be whimpering, begging for the tip of his cock to kiss your walls once more. "See how nice things can be when you just behave yourself, huh?"

His hips push just a little deeper, and he knows that it hurts. Knows that the little gasp isn't entirely from pleasure. He's seen his cock. Doesn't take a genius to work out that it can do damage.

"You can take it," he tells you, and like a pathetic, whimpering mess, you fucking nod. He's still inside of you, still deeper than you thought possible, and then his hand is on your stomach. He grabs your hand and places it beneath his. "You feel that?" He retracts just a little, pushing back in just as deep. Beneath your hands, there's a bulge. External or internal, it doesn’t matter. It's him. He does it again. "You feel me taking what's mine?"

Whatever the fuck you moan is incoherent, but he doesn't give a shit, 'cause he's ploughing now. Bucking his hips into you like pneumatic fucking drill. Shit. He's done this before. Got it mastered to a fine art. Momenta worthy of a museum exhibition.

Your tits are pillowed on your chest, nice and round, wobbling as he takes command of your body. He slaps one of them, just to watch it ripple, before that firm grip of his is on it. "Perfect tits," he growls the compliment, not really meaning for it to come out. "Gonna put my cock between them later," he tells you. "Gonna cum all over them."

He doesn't tell you that he'll also clean them with his hungry tongue, before delivering his cum into your mouth. Figures he'll just let you find out. His brain is working at a mile a minute, trying to reign back thoughts of sharing his cum with you in such a filthy manner. God, he wants to do heinous things to you. With you. For you.

But for now, he needs to focus on his cock. It's rubbing inside of you, nuzzling. He knows he's weeping, and that his precum is getting mixed with your slick juices. Knows he won't last long if you keep whining like that. Mewling. Purring.

He stalls his hips, letting go of your tits as they jiggle back into position. Your cheeks are flushed, imprints of his fingers reddening your skin. Lips pouted and resting ajar, Jungkook thinks they've never looked more fuckable. More kissable. More whisper-sweet-nothings-against-able.

"You ever shut the fuck up?" he teases, but is quick to notice confusion flash in your eyes. He didn't mean it as an insult, but it's easy to read the hurt in your perplexed features, and the way you begin to try and push your legs together. It's futile. His cock is keeping you open.

But you feel embarrassed, as if your natural reactions to him are a turn-off. It's silly, because he's quite literally inside of you, fat and solid, using you to milk himself. Of course, he's not turned off, but you're hyper-aware of how vulnerable you're feeling right now. It had been fun to pretend like you were in control, but as soon as he slipped inside of you, all sense of power had evaporated.

He doesn't realise this though. Doesn't realise that his cock is nudging so deep into you that it's practically knocking against your heart. Knock, knock, knock. Who's there? Your mind taunts, but you daren't answer.

"Hey," he coos, one of his large palms stroking on the inside of your thighs. That uncomfortable, obscure feeling is back again. The one that tells him he needs to be closer to you. This time, he doesn't ignore it. His hips pulse, just the once. A reminder he's still very much into this. Into you.

His hands grip your waist, softly this time, as he manoeuvres himself onto the bed with you, keeping himself snug. Your head is by the pillows, Jungkook's knees on either side of your ass, his chest flat against yours as one of his hands cradles your jaw. He presses a chaste, airy kiss against your lips, and whispers, "I love the way you sound." He kisses you again, hips rocking. You're trying not to, but you whine. "Fuck, sugar. You're my favourite fucking sound."

Your legs hook over his back, and he groans now. The angle change lets him delve deeper, your walls massaging him so well. Jungkook thinks he might have died and gone to heaven. He's slipping in and out of you with minimal force, skin slapping together. He makes sure to let his moans roll off his tongue and into your mouth. You eat them up and give them back. The pair of you aren't kissing anymore, just gasping and humming into one another's mouths. He's stuttering.

There's a pause as he adjusts his grip, digging his fingers into the soft flesh of your thighs. He likes it, the way you seem to melt around him in all capacities. His lips nudge against yours as his steady hips begin to rock into yours again.

You groan as he pushes down on your legs, pushing you as far apart as your bones allow. It's typical of him, seeing how far he can take things. Push them to the limit. Always gets him in trouble. There's a click, as air escapes from the socket where your leg meets your pelvis.

"You good?" He checks and you respond with a kiss. Hands tangled in his hair, you hope it conveys the fact you've never felt better. He laughs a little, soft and serene, into your mouth, the weight of his body keeping you trapped beneath him.

You're morbid in your thoughts, and consider how nice it would be for Jungkook to suffocate you like this; steal you of the air you breathe with his tiny giggles of satisfaction. So, so nice, you think.

And so you tell him. You tell him that you want his hand on your throat. He takes a second to respond - not because he doesn't want to, but more so because he can't believe you actually asked.

He doesn't normally fuck the girls he cares about like this. Then again, he never really cares about the girls he fucks.

"God," you moan as he pushes one of your legs over his shoulder. His body is clammy against yours, skin hot and damp, chest lean but built. He's working hard; not just for his release. For yours too. Rams into you, stuffing your cunt with his cock, dipping his head to lather your clasped throat in wet kisses.

"That's it, sugar," he growls as his teeth graze your neck. "Need to hear how good you feel. Need to hear what my cock does to you. You owe me."

You want to laugh. You're about to laugh. But then his head dips down to your chest, and he latches onto one of your pebbled nipples, sucking so hard that all you can do is tremble. He knows you like this. Knows it makes your pussy all creamy and slippery for him - and like clockwork, he's proven right. The sounds are lewd. He loves it.

"On your back," you husk, punctuating your instruction with a whimper as he suckles even harder. He shakes his head, eyes closed, mouth vibrating and full of your tit. Not a chance, he tries to say, but it just sounds likes he's forgotten how to speak. Too busy. Too close to spilling himself into you. Doesn't wanna get distracted.

So focused, he doesn't realise you're pushing him over until you're on top. He frowns as he detaches from your nipple with a pop, but his hands are running all over your body regardless. Obviously doesn't care that much. Course he doesn't. That ache in his chest has settled.

Until he starts thinking about it, and oh god, it's back and it's fucking unbearable.

"C'mere," he pulls you flush against him, as your hips begin to work against him. His hands cradle your face so he can kiss you as deeply as he likes, tongue slipping into your mouth, as his cock slips up and down your pussy. This, he thinks, is it. This is what fucking should feel like.

"Shit," he whispers. "Shit."

The friction of his surprisingly neat hair that rests at the base of his cock is nice. Real fuckin' nice. You're not even fucking him anymore, just grinding against it. Using it, using him, to get yourself off.

You think you're being slick, like he won't notice - but he does. Of course, he does. He's obsessed with your body.

"God, yeah, baby," his back arches, pressing his chest against yours, eyes closed. "Use me like that. Use me," he bites into your shoulder gently. "Fucking use me."

He means it. Doesn't give a shit about himself anymore. Just wants to feel you tremble as he holds you close. Wants to press kisses against your lips as your moans become undignified. He needs to be the reason you cum; needs to be responsible for your oxytocin rush.

You sit up a little, and Jungkook holds back a pout from the separation - but how can he complain when you're sat like that, his cock buried inside of you, hair a mess and with eyes like his favourite constellation? He's hypnotised as your boobs begin to bounce, pussy working up his shaft like the true Daerim woman of the night you are. He's forgotten about all of that, now. Can't think about anything except for how to not fucking cum.

He can't and he won't. Not until you do. But you're bouncing, and it's wet, and he can hear it, and it feels so fuckin' good. His toes are curling, torso tensing, eyes half-shut, pretty little pout hanging open. He's fucking whining. "Yeah like that," he encourages. "Gonna milk me so well, baby. Gonna... ah. Fuck. Gonna-"

Jungkook can't fucking speak. He wants to. Wants to tell you how fucking beautiful you look, how he wants this endlessly, how he never wants to let you go. Needs to tell you how right this feels, how good you make him feel, how he doesn't understand his feelings but fuck, just that he is feeling. Feeling so much.

You're not sure at which point he started calling you baby, but you're actually convinced that the name alone could tip you over the edge.

The pace of your hips is slowly, savouring. He doesn't quite get it. You were so close. Why stop?

The stillness of your movements makes way for something new. He feels a throb around his fat cock, which is begging for release. Notices the way your chest is shaking like you've got hiccups, tiny whines of pleasure making themselves known. Your pussy was always warm, but it's hot now, contracting around him.

And then he gets it.

"Oh, shit," he mewls, his hips slowly pumping upwards. "Yeah, that's it, baby. Let yourself cum. All over my dick," he encourages, hedonistic and self-serving. "That's it. Cream for me."

His slow movements as he fucks up into you amplify the sensation, the tip of his cock nudging languidly against your tight walls. Your entire body shudders, the feeling rippling from your chest right down to your toes. You rasp out moans, the sensation all too powerful, a creamy mess pooling at the base of his shaft. There's a jerk as your muscles spasm, your orgasm well and truly delivered. He pulls you down and into his chest, his strong arms wrapped around your back.

Your body rests on his, spent and sensitive, and he can tell you can't hold out for much longer. He pushes back the hair that's sticking to your clammy face, and presses kisses into your temple.

"So big," you hum, voice hazy, eyes shut.

"Just a little more, baby," he promises. " You're doing so well. Just a little..."

You've considered how Jungkook would orgasm on more than one occasion - and you're pleasantly surprised to find that your imagination was wrong. There's no grand declaration, nor large grunt. He's not aggressive, either, like you'd half-hoped he would be.

Instead, Jungkook kisses you as his hips begin to stall. His brows are creased, moans muffled against your lips. His torso shudders, abdomen as tight as his balls. "Baby," he drowsily mewls, and then it's happening. His cock pumps into you, unloading thick creamy spurts with every stroke of your pussy. The first one is so desperate that you're almost positive you can feel it paint your insides. You moan along with him, utterly obsessed with this, him, whatever the fuck just happened.

He doesn't withdraw immediately. Just lays there and kisses your skin, absolutely spent.

You don't move a muscle. You don't want it to be over. Don't wanna lose this. Lose him.

When you tilt your head to look at him, he's smiling. Eyes closed, cheeks appled. Serene. In a state of fucked-out bliss.

You tell him that he's pretty, and he lets out an airy laugh, covering his face with one of his hands. You move his hand and watch him fondly, enthralled with the grin that he's struggling to fight.

He turns to look at you, and the smile he's been boasting amplifies. "God, you're gorgeous."

It's not a new observation; just one he's never voiced before. One that he was able to resist saying. But you're naked now, chest pillowed against his, eyes glowing and nose blushed.

You hum, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. "I'm glad you chose to come here."

Just like that, there's a knot in Jungkook's stomach that seems to anchor that feeling he keeps having.

"Yeah," he nods. "Me too."

IT'S THREE IN the afternoon by the time you wake from your post-fuck snooze. Jungkook's never had one of those before. Hated being sticky after sex with anyone else. Always had to shower - but with you, he wants to stick to you like glue.

"Should have filmed that," he hums, the tips of his fingers stroking up your arms. You aren't sure if he's joking or not. "Would have given us a unique take on the project. Probably wouldn't have gotten us very high grades, mind you, but art is subjective."

"Some would argue that the critique of art is objective," you muse back, still blissfully cum-drunk from the events prior to your nap. Jungkook's nose has stopped bleeding, and the pair of you have almost forgotten the reason he showed up in the first place. "Documentary maker by night, porn star by day," you flirt. "Although it's cute that you think you fuck like a porn star."

"I felt you shaking," he says, knowing there's no possible way that you didn't enjoy it. His nose feels a little cold after all the trauma of the morning, so he buries it into your hair. "Can't fake that."

"That's what I'm saying," you simper, pressing a kiss against his bare torso, just below the meeting of his collarbones. And then another, simply for good measure. "Porn stars never actually look like they're making the woman feel any good." You trail down his chest, tongue licking gently at the darker skin around his nipple. "You... yeah you don't fuck like a porn star." And then you suck a little. He hisses, in the best possible way.

"Don't," he says. "Not ready to go again."

You laugh.

Jungkook thinks he's reached Nirvana. Almost certain, in fact. Never had a girl do that to him before. He loves to give it, but hasn't ever thought to receive it. Wonders what other things you'll do to him that he's never had done before. He can feel his cock fucking twitching again, achy and sore, definitely not recovered yet from how hard he went earlier - but god, he wants it. Wants to bury himself inside you again. Belong to you.

His hands paw at you, one gripping on your chest, the other on your ass, pulling you closer. Your leg hooks over him, and he can feel how wet you still are on the side of his thigh. His balls fucking tighten. He can feel it happening, blood rushing to his crotch.

Yet despite it all, he just kisses you. Softly. Tenderly. Merely his lips languid between yours. Withdraws slowly. Keeps his eyes closed. Bliss.

"The fuck have you done to me, sugar?" he whispers, dark eyes opening to look into yours. His speech is husky, like he trying to steal the answers of a pop-quiz from you. You can't help him. You don't have a clue what the answer is. You're just as stuck as he is. "Got me feeling all fuzzy 'n' shit."

"Just a sugar rush," you smile. "It'll pass."

You're both acutely aware that it won't, but that will be a problem for another day.

"Tell you what," Jungkook muses, though his thoughts are shallow. He's not digging deep. Just talking for the sake of it. "I might not fuck like a porn star, but you don't fuck like a hooker."

He pulls your arm up so that he can study the crease of your elbow. You let him move your body like you're a barbie doll. You'll be his toy, you think, if he wants. No bother.

His fingers press at the thin skin that covers your veins, inspecting.

"Not a scratch," he assesses. "So you're not an addict either."

You laugh, slightly amused. "No? Maybe I just don't inject."

Jungkook gives you a stern look. Hopes you're joking. Tells you that you better fucking be joking. The sweetness of your laughter tells him that you are.

"So?" you press. "I'm not a prostitute and I'm not an addict. It's your lucky day. What of it?"

Jungkook tilts his head down so that his nose is nestled into the crown of your head again. Comforting, he thinks. Smells like laundry. You must have washed your sheets recently.

His next statement takes you off guard.

"Only ever see three kinds of women down in Daerim."

And you know.

You know he knows.

You can feel it in the way he protectively presses his lips into your skull, as if he's Prince Charming trying to rid his Sleeping Beauty of the nightmare she's been living. Wake up.

But Prince Charming rides a white horse, not a petrol-spitting, air-cooled, steel-framed shadow that rips through the city at night.

There are no nightmares, either. You're already wide awake. There's no saving you.

He sighs against your head. Pauses. Resists, and then confronts.

"I know what you do in the dark, sugar."

You don't say anything for a moment, and then you're pulling away from him, reaching for your shirt. He doesn't like this. Misses your warmth, but doesn't stop you. Instead, he follows, sitting on the edge of your bed, the corner of your comforter lazily protecting his modesty. His muscles are relaxed now, a little crease in his stomach from the way that he's slouching, hands in his lap. Those Bambi eyes of his are peaking through his hair, cheeks red and grazed from the morning encounter he'd had in Daerim.

He watches as you pull your shirt over your head, hair just as messy as his, and a graze on your cheek to match. He was pretty certain before that it had been carpet burn, but now that he's seen it up close, softly rubbed his thumb against it during pretty kisses, he's sure of it.

You avert his gaze. Feel shameful. Hate that he knows. You never cared before. It was just a fun little secret, the fact that he didn't know you were no angel.

But you want him to think that you're one, now.

For a moment, you were sure that he had.

Instead, now, it feels like you're falling from grace.

He reaches for your hand, but you pull it back. "Please don't."

And so he doesn't. Just sits for a little while instead. "Do you want me to get dressed?"

You really don't.

But your tongue is lodged in your mouth and it won't budge. You turn away, internally furious with yourself. It's been a while since you've gotten like this; so dreadfully panicked that you can't talk. It's a once in a blue moon kind of thing, the early onset of a panic attack, but you're hoping it won't reach the stage of no return. Praying.

"Babe?"

He sounds worried now, and it's making it worse. Feels like you've just reached the top of Bukhan Mountain without taking a second to catch your breath.

Has your chest always been this tight? Or has someone just been wrapping rubber bands around your torso without you noticing?

It isn't possible, and you know this, but it feels like it and - oh God - you can hear him shuffling, the buckle of his belt clanging. He's leaving, he's leaving, he's leaving, your ribs cackle as they close down on your lungs.

There's a light hum behind you, like a wasp is coming to send you into a state of anaphylactic shock and then it stops. His jeans are tossed to the floor once more.

"Yoongi?" Jungkook speaks quietly behind you into the receiver of his phone. "Wassu- Yeah, yeah, I'm safe. I'm good."

I'm safe.

I'm good.

"Where are- Yoongi stop. Stop it. I'm being deadly fucking serious-"

You don't realise it, but your chest begins to mellow as you listen in to his conversation.

"It's my mess!" He shouts now. "I'll fucking fix it. I don't give a fuck what Hobi says. Where you at? The Zoo? I'll be there- Yes, I will. Don't do anything fucking stupid."

And then he hangs up, chucking his phone into your bed with more aggression than he'd ever wanted to show in your presence. You don't see it, back still turned, but you hear it, the way his phone rebounds against the springs of your mattress.

"Shit," he hisses, and when you turn to face him, you find that his head is in his hands, elbows on his knees.

Crouching by him, your chest expands. You don't give a shit about yourself anymore. Your palms rest just behind his elbows, eyes anchored below his, looking up.

"He's got his fucking final in an hour," is all Jungkook says. "He's gonna miss his fucking final."

He lifts his head, tender lips pouted, eyes bloodshot from the pressure he's been placing on his palms. Looks right at you. Decides he'll never trust another pair of eyes more.

"I know what you do in the dark, sugar," he relays. "But I do worse. So much fucking worse. And I've just gone and fucked it all up."

And while he blames it all on himself, you know it's your fault.

He didn't stay away from the girl. He tempted fate, tugged on the red string, and accidentally snapped it.

Forlorn, he slumps, tongue wetting his bottom lip as he bites down on it. It's only to stop it from trembling. Clouds lurk in his eyes, trying to block his vulnerabilities from you, but it doesn't take a genius to work out that he's scared.

"Take it," you say, lips in a flat line, eyes stern. You nod towards the pile of cash on your desk, and his eyes follow. "Take it. Pay your debts. I can earn it again. I don't have a deadline. You do."

He shakes his head.

"I'm not taking the money you've earned."

"Yes, you are."

"I'm not," he protests and you've got it in your right mind to slap his pretty face silly. "Gonna be totally honest," he adds, "Don't really want your sugar baby money. Kinda resent it a little. Resent the fucker who gave it to you."

Jungkook hates him.

Doesn't know him.

Loathes him.

"So then give him the middle finger and take it," you plead. "He got you fucked up into this mess, he got you jumped, he got your stash stolen. Take his money and get yourself and Yoongi out of it. You don't have time to be fucking arguing with me."

He wants to fight back. You stop him.

"We can argue later," you promise.

And that ever-present effervescent feeling is back in his chest.

"Sugar," he speaks quietly. "Don't do this."

"Kook," you respond, voice much firmer than his. "You gotta do this. Yoongi shouldn't be fixing your mistakes and you know it. We can work it out on an I.O.U. basis. It's okay."

"I.O.U. suggests I'm gonna keep seeing you for a while," Jungkook mumbles. He isn't feeling as confident in himself as he had done earlier.

You stand, offering your hand to him so that you can pull him up with you. Neither of you acknowledge the fact that he's stark bollock naked. It's really not the time. Nothing you haven't seen before, after all.

"Well, yeah," you shrug with a straight face, but there's a glint in your eye. "I'd hope so. Pretty sure you said you were fuck my tits later? Gotta hold up your end of the bargain, sugar."

And despite it all, he laughs, toying with your hands before slipping his finger between yours. "Don't call me that."

"Why not?" You squeeze his hands. "You're technically my sugar baby now."

"That's not how it works."

God, he knows he shouldn't be fucking about, wasting time flirting, but he just can't help himself.

"No?" You question, equally distracted.

"No," he says. "If you're paying me, and I'm fucking you, then that makes me a hooker."

He's not wrong.

"Oh, that's kinda hot," you smile, pulling gently on his hands to encourage him to lean down. He does as he's told, and kisses you like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"You're so fucked up," he whispers against you, knowing that it's exactly why he enjoys you so much.

You don't let the moment linger, though, tossing him his clothes and going to grab the money while he dresses himself. You stack it together, all nice and neat, using the desk to straighten the edges. The wedge is thick in your hands. Yellow 50's are laughing at you. Stupid girl thought we'd fix her problems, they chatter silently to one another.

"Three and half million won," you hold it out to Jungkook. He hesitates, so you force his grip around it and let go. It's his problem, now. Not yours. You smile so warmly that Jungkook can't help but let that feeling in his chest simmer. Your hair is still messy, mascara still smudged. He wants to kiss your cheeks.

Jungkook hasn't disclosed what exactly was in his bag.

But in the same way he knows there are only three types of women in Daerim, you know there are equally only three types of men.

There's only one demographic that he belongs to. Yoongi, too.

You don't say it explicitly, not like he does.

"Holangi are nasty fuckers," you acknowledge. "I know they raise the stakes just for the fun of it. Whatever got stolen, the street value doesn't matter. Take it all. You'll need it."

Take what I owe you.

When he kisses you goodbye, it's just like the first time; all breathy and needy, lips parted and pouting. Again and again, he presses down into your lips. His brows furrow, hands on your cheeks, chest pressed against yours.

The crimson paint that had stained you from his very first kiss returns. You're painted in red for the second time that morning, but this time only you can see it. Only you can feel it.

That's her. That's the girl who let Jeon Jungkook kiss her like he actually meant it.

But it's funny now, because you know that he does mean it.

When he finally leaves, his nose is blushed, his cupids bow too. Eyes glassy. Smile forlorn.

Disappointingly, as you close the door of your apartment when he's no longer in your line of sight, you remember exactly how Jungkook had kissed you for the first time:

Like it was going to be the last.

And it consumes you, because the kiss you just shared felt exactly the same.

Your chest is uncomfortable again, but it's not rubber bands this time.

It's that stupid red string that Jungkook had tugged too tightly on.

The one that he'd snapped right in half.

WATTPAD // AO3 // KO-FI // CARRD

#jungkook #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts fanfic #jungkook imagines #jungkook scenario #jungkook fanfic #jungkook oneshot

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cheeseceli · 5 months

Text

You speak another language

Pairing: Ot8!skz × Gn!Reader

Genre: fluff, reaction

Warnings: mention of food at Lee Know and Felix's, I think that's it?

Request: how do you think ot8 would react to the reader speaking in their native language? Especially if it's not korean/english?

A/n: It's embarrassing the amount of time I took to write this one💀 the worst part is that I actually spent every week tryna find the best way of putting all my ideas together. Hope you like it anyways!

Bang Chan

‌Would have a pet name for you in your mother tongue

‌ Like idk if you speak spanish his nickname for you would be "mi amor"

‌Finds it really attractive btw

‌When you're speaking your mother tongue he sees just how much comfortable you are

‌You literally shine in his eyes

‌He'd just be staring at you with heart eyes

‌And if you're learning Korean or English he'd be more than glad to help you overcome your difficulties with the language

‌Would be your personal professor fr

‌Speaks slower around you so you can understand everything, and wouldn't mind repeating himself at all

‌He knows that the language barrier can be a bit intimidating and that it can make you afraid of opening up completely

‌But he'd be so reassuring all the time

‌Really tries his best to comfort you when you need it and it doesn't matter the language, he makes is clear that he loves and will be with you all the time

Lee Know

‌If you had a hard time speaking Korean but still tried your best to communicate with him and his parents in Korean, he'd fall DEEP in love with you

‌He gives me major "I don't understand but I love you" vibes ngl

‌lmao he'd learn the bad words before anything else

‌If you're speaking your mother tongue when in the phone he'd try to guess what you're saying

‌Genuinely doesn't know what's going but he's invested

‌And he repeats some words after you say it

‌Not in a mocking way, he just finds it cool how the word sounds and keep repeating it to himself

‌Like if you speak french he'd be like "bonjour. Bonjour? Bonjour"

‌It's endearing

‌But yeah you'll have to translate everything to him later

‌He wants to know about the tea

‌Cooks your hometown dishes for you!!

Changbin

‌ If you have a foreign accent when speaking Korean or English he finds it adorable

‌ And he also finds your mother tongue adorable

‌ It doesn't matter if you speak one of the sexiest languages in the world

‌ This man finds it adorable

‌Eventually learns your language

‌He'll take classes, buy text books and everything

‌He truly believe that learning how to communicate with you (in every language for that matter) is like a "boyfriend duty"

‌So he'll be more than happy to learn

‌Tries to show his affection in ways that are not spoken as well so you both could surpass the language barrier

‌He'll get you flowers, gifts, would take you to amazing places, would have the best dates with you and everything you can ever think of

‌You'd have the best memories ever with him and no word would need to be said

Hyunjin

‌ Would ask you to teach him some pet names and sweet phrases in your language

‌ And would 100% say "I love you" in your mother tongue in certain moments

‌ Like in more intimate moments that he wants you to truly understand how much he loves you

‌ Would love if you replied with saying "I love you" in Korean

‌If you have a different accent than him when speaking Korean/English he might start speaking like you

‌yk when you get someone's accent just by living next to them

‌That's him

‌He finds it fancy

‌And when the boys tease him for this he might get shy but he's also so proud? Like "yeah I got it from my s/o :D"

‌Writes a letter to you once he finds confidence in speaking your language. It might have some mistakes here and there but it was so sweet, and the intention behind it was so lovely, that you couldn't help but tear up a bit when you read it for the first time

Han

‌Loves your culture so much

‌He'd ask you to show songs and movies and things like that in your language

‌Like if you're Indian he'd ask you to show him some Bollywood movies

‌He'd try to guess what they are saying and it's a whole game for him

‌He's there for the vibes honestly

‌But I think he'd end up learning a thing or two and later would like to learn the whole thing

‌Would incorporate your mother tongue in his songwriting I'm 100% sure

‌And!! would ask for songs recommendations so he could sing to you when you least expect it

‌Learns two words in your mother tongue, probably uses them in the wrong way, thinks he is fluent.

‌But he also knows a lot of slangs in your language, it's kinda surprising ngl

‌He'd occasionally drop a random slang in your language when talking to the kids and everyone would be like ???

‌"what did you say?"

Felix

‌ Learns your language to surprise you

‌ Like every time there is a break when he's practicing he'd open duolingo

‌(He'd have a hella long strike, 100 days in a row or smth)

‌When you're speaking on the phone with someone he tries to listen to it as a listening exercise

‌Is smiling to himself throughout the period of the call and when you ask the reason why he just brushes it off

‌Cooks your hometown dishes for you pt. 2!!

‌But seriously tho

‌He knows it's hard to be far from home, especially by yourself

‌So he really tries to make you feel at home

‌He will cook your nationals dishes, will sing songs in your language, will encourage you to speak in your mother tongue around him etc

‌:(

‌Also, 2 kids 1 room flashback

‌He likes to have meaningful conversations with you where he tells you how much he loves and appreciates you

‌Unlike Hyunjin, he'd say everything in English because it feels more genuine for him, as it's his first language

‌So if you're replying to him in your language, he'd feel SO happy

‌He thinks this is like a proof that everything you're saying comes from a deep place somehow. It makes him fall in love once again

Seungmin

‌ Wants to learn your language the moment you guys get in a serious relationship

‌ Besides wanting to be able to talk to you in your own comfort zone

‌He'd want to be able to talk to your friends and family who speaks your mother tongue

‌ Like the first time he sees your parents he'd be ready to talk to them

‌i'm so down bad for this man it's not even funny anymore

‌anyways

‌Would take you everywhere in Korea so he could show you a bit of his home (would tell stories about the places so excitedly)

‌And would love if he had the opportunity to go to your country

‌Would love it even more if you showed the place around to him and explained a bit about everything you know

‌If in the first stages of the relationship there is a language barrier, he'd plan dates that don't involve a lot of talking

‌Like he'd take you to concerts and karaokes

‌music is universal after all isn't it?

‌He always give his 100% into the relationship it's so cute

I.N

‌ Finds it really attractive pt2

‌ He loves your accent

‌ And he loves your mother tongue as well

‌ He could spend a whole day just listening to you speak, even if he doesn't understand a single word

‌ And if you're learning Korean, he'd love to see your progress and to see you getting more comfortable while speaking it

‌ I also see two possible scenarios:

‌ One, he'd wake up one day really determined to learn your language and wouldn't stop until he does

‌ Two, he'd never stop and actually learn it, but he'd end up catching up with some things you say and show to him. So in the end he'd know the basics and some essential phrases

‌I believe he'd genuinely enjoy to learn about your culture

‌Like, whenever a cultural shock comes up, he'd be invested in understanding it?

‌Of course sometimes there would be misunderstandings, but I truly think he would try to see the positive view rather than seeing only the cultural crash

‌He might even learn a thing or two and get your culture's habits

Feedback is very much appreciated!!

Dividers by @cafekitsune

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starstruckmiraclekitty · 5 months

Text

Saffy Lemur's Call of Duty Masterlist

Last updated: 20.12.2023

A/N: Per a few requests, I’ve redone my masterlist to make it easier to navigate the fic categories 💕😊 Original Masterlist

💕💕💕Welcome!!!!💕💕💕

Simon "Ghost” Riley-

Smut Blurbs

Simon Exploring Choking Kink

Simon And Throat F*cking

Soap And Ghost Threesome

Using Simon To Get Off

Reunion Sex With Simon

Simon Realizing He Has A Daddy Kink

Simon With A Breeding Kink

Late Nights

You're a Minx, You Know That?

You're Mine

Crying During Sex With Simon Riley

Simon And Yours First Time Having Sex

Simon Riley Doesn't Fuck You, He Worships You

Simon's C*ck Being Nearly Too Big For You

Simon And Jealous Sex

Simon Loving The Sight Of You Being F*cked By Him

Simon Letting You Use Him To Forget About Your Bad Day

Simon Sharing You With Johnny

Simon Is a Giver In Bed

Angst Blurbs

You Can't Leave Me

Dreams

I've Got You, Kid

Simon Wanting To Break Up With You Because He Thinks You Deserve Better

Simon Can't Sleep Alone Without You After A Fight

Simon Having A Nightmare About Losing You

Simon Pushing You Away After A Night Together

Fluff Blurbs

Simon telling you he loves you for the first time

Simon Attempting To Cook For Date Night

Simon Riley Showing You His Face For The First Time

Simon Realizing He Has Fallen For You

Simon's Love Language

Simon Coming Home For Good

"I Do"

Asking Simon What His Biggest Regret Is With You

Simon Loves His Wedding Band

Simon Riley And His Kisses

Simon Excited To Call You After A Long Day

Simon Seeing His Family's First Holiday Ornament

Simon Coming Home To You

First Date With Simon

Simon Waking Up Next To You

Simon Comforting You During A Funk

Simon Telling You He Loves You For The First Time

Wanting Simon's Attention While He's Working

Simon Being Scared to Love You

Dad! Simon Blurbs

Simon's Daughter Introducing Him To Her Class

Simon And His Daughter At The Park

Simon's soft moment with his baby girl

Simon's Daughter and Wife Welcoming Him Home On The Tarmac After A Mission

Simon Doing His Daughter's Hair For The First Time

Simon And His Daughter Who Had A Nightmare

Simon Introducing 141 To His Family

Simon Meeting His Newborn For The First Time

Random One- Shots

Soap, The Matchmaker

I'll Take the Big Blue One!

Innate Desire to Protect

Innate Desire to Protect Part 2

Teach Me How To Ride?

Date With Your Lieutenant

Words of Wisdom

What's Your Favorite Color? (Part 2 to Words of Wisdom)

Simon's Bundle of Joy

141 Boys and Others Multi- Character Fics

Smut

141 + König & Alejandro With Reader Surprising Them With Lingerie

141 + König x Fem! Reader Going Down On Them

141 + König & Alejandro Eating Their Fem! Partner Out

141 + König Breaking their GN! Partners Bed

141 + König With Fem!Reader Riding Them

141 + König + LV Cumming Too Quick

141 + König Where Reader Asks Them For A Baby

141 + König Where They Hurt The Reader During Sex

141 + König Where The Reader Squirts For The First Time

141 + König Where Reader Accidentally Calls Them Daddy In Bed

Losing Your Virginity To 141 + König

141 + LV & König Begging Fem! Reader to Sit On Their Face

Giving 141 Boys Roadhead

Fluff

141 + König With Reader Who is a Major Cuddlebug

141 + LV & König x Reader, Where You Don't Say I Love You Back

141 + König x Reader's First Kiss

141 + König x GN Reader When You Slap/Grab Their Ass Playfully

141 + Konig Telling the Reader They Love Them for The First Time

141 + König & Alejandro With A GN! Reader Who Dodges a Kiss

141 + König Where The Reader Wipes Off Their Kiss

Catching 141 + König By Surprise With A Kiss

Angst

141 With Reader Who Uses Their Callsign in Emergency Situation

141 + König Where Fem! Reader Gets Jealous/Insecure

141 + König Reacting To Reader Having A Breakdown From Past Trauma

141 + König Rejecting Reader, Then Regretting It

141 + König Telling Reader They Hate Them In An Arguement

141 + König Crying In Front Of Reader For First Time

Headcannons

141+ Alejandro, Rudy, and Konig w/ Pregnant Reader Headcannons

141 + Königs Favorite Positions / How They Enjoy Sex HC's

141 + König Fluff Headcannons

Other

Ghost/Soap/König's Reaction to Reader Pouring Salt in Their Coffee

How the 141 Boys + König react to the reader getting an epidural

141 + König with a Reader Who Sneezes are Loud as Shit

141 + König Where The Reader Finds Out She's Having Twins

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As always, my inbox is always open for requests/questions/feedback! :)

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shiny-jr · 2 months

Note

Hi! I noticed that your requests were open and I love the way you write Malleus so I was hoping you would do yandere malleus x reader. where the reader knows twisted wonderland is a game (but not imposter au pls) and after they got isekia'd are trying to stop the overblots from happening and malleus is just terrified for them. Idk just an idea I've had for awhile but never found a fanfic like lol. Obviously it's totally fine if you don't want to do it or if I accidentally broke a rule. Anyway remember to drink some water and take a break if needed! Have a amazing rest of your day/night!!

Warning: Yandere (not really, not at all). Gender-neutral reader.

Characters: Malleus Draconia.

Summary: MC sees affection meters and it's not good.

Note: These are mainly thoughts and random words my mind spewed out.

How did one claim victory at a game? Well, it entirely depended on the game, the mechanics and the options. It should've been impossible to lose a mobile game that was primarily composed of the gacha mechanism and visual novels.

When you suddenly found yourself in the series of twisted villains in a prestigious school of magic, you found that it was much more complex than it appeared on screen. Especially when only you could see these small bars occasionally floating above people's heads. Bars which you recognized as affection meters, nearly all of them stagnant at a dull gray 0% when you first arrived. This was the hurdle blocking your way to an easy victory. Because how else were you to escape the game, other than complete it?

Situations became messier, when you didn't have a dialogue options between two mere choices. Add making good impressions and keeping a character's favor, to the list of quests alongside avoiding death by inky overblotted characters. By some miracle, you had increased the affection of the characters you met and interacted with to a healthy 5% or 10%, sometimes more. At any cost you wished to avoid getting in the negatives, because you did not want to find out what would happen then.

Sometimes, the numbers would drop dangerously close to zero, mainly when an overblot was occuring. Never had you realized how the visual novel failed spectacularly at portraying the utter horror of the overblotted in all their wicked glory. The black inky darkness leaking from them like tears or blood with those crazed unhinged looks in their eyes–– was the stuff of pure nightmares.

And yet the one whose overblot you had been dreading the most, the dorm leader of Diasomnia, was surprisingly docile as you dealt with others. However, you knew even when conversing with him, that you would one day witness him overblot and look like some ethereal but deadly fallen angel. So mentally you prepared yourself, while taking on the task of keeping up appearances.

Malleus' affection meter, was a good 20% and a friendly pink shade, quite the accomplishment you were proud of, considering the majority of the cast wasn't even at 15%. The Draconia heir was certainly someone you never wanted to see reach below zero, so you did your absolute best to appeal to him, even if he was quite intimidating at first with the way he stoically watched you complain about the least of your worries, homework and classes.

By the time you spoke to him about your troubles with the Ramshackle dorm and Azul, during what you knew was the Octavinelle arc, the prince's affection had sprouted to a 22%. When you went into more detail of the potential loss you could face, it went to 23%.

The next time you saw him, you were weary and antsy since witnessing Azul's break-down. If the blot of his tears had the magic to gather, it would've been enough to drown, you were sure of it. Even by that maniac look in his eyes, you're sure he would've purposely drowned you if he got close enough.

Throughout that charlatan's chapter, his affection meter had slowly been rising, dropping during the overblot like the tides only to rise once again by the end to a good 45%. This was good!

But no matter how much you may have pondered, strategized, or try to predict each next action, you could've never guessed that the next time you saw Malleus after Azul's overblot, his expression taut with concern, his affection meter had made a jump to 55% and turned red. This entire time you had been avoiding the negatives, but you never once worried of the dangers and implications a red affection meter above 50% would mean for you. Or heaven forbid, anything close to 100%.

#twisted wonderland #twst #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #malleus draconia #twst malleus #yandere malleus draconia

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gyeomsweetgyeom · 6 months

Text

[7:37 pm]

(cw: f!reader, a few curse words, no hate at all to business majors xx)

“Baby! Come on you know I didn’t mean it!” Fratboy!Jaehyun calls out with a laugh in his voice.

“You called me stupid, Jaehyun," You pout.

He fails to hide his laugh at the sight, "No, I said don't be stupid. There's a difference."

"And there's a difference between being single and having a girlfriend, asshole," you reply, slamming the door behind you.

You stomp down the stairs and almost make it to the door when Taeyong, your favorite of Jaehyun's frat brothers, asks if you were going to stay for dinner. You can never say no to him.

In the kitchen you help him chop vegetables before he finally asks you what happened, "I told Jaehyun I couldn't spend the night because I had a big project due by Monday and he told me there was no way a project for my major would constitute me not being able to spend the night. Then he just kept talking and said that none of my classes could be harder than his."

Taeyong stopped with wide eyes, "he said that?"

You nod quickly, "Oh yeah, then he told me that he doesn't think any major would be harder than his business classes, especially mine, and I'd be stupid to think so."

Taeyong ends up agreeing with you and your current upset state, Jaehyun is officially in the wrong. You can feel your phone in your pocket vibrating with texts from Jaehyun but you don't care enough to text back. He can learn from the consequences of being rude.

When the meal is finally ready, you take a seat at the table, far away from your honorary seat at the dinner table, the seat that was right beside Jaehyun's.

Jaehyun walks into the room and sees you sitting beside Taeyong and Haechan, "Really? You're still butt hurt? You didn't answer any of my texts, I wasn't sure if you were safe."

You make it a point not to look at him, so Haechan answers for you instead, "You have her location and you made her feel bad, she doesn't owe you anything."

Jaehyun glares at the younger man, he could be so annoying sometimes. While he ate, Jaehyun's eyes were glued on you with a scowl watching you laugh and interact with everyone but him. He looked like a child who was forced to share his favorite toy, it was hilarious.

While you stood in the kitchen and continued conversing with Taeyong, Jaehyun slipped in and wrapped his arms around your waist, "are you really still mad at me baby?"

"Yes, Jaehyun," You reply curtly, not reciprocating any type of affection like you would usually. This was new for everyone to witness, usually it was you giving the affection. It was you who initiated the hugs, used the mushy petnames, began the disgusting make out sessions. It was funny to see Jaehyun being the clingier of you two now.

He nuzzles his face in your neck, pressing kisses to the slope of your shoulder, "I'm not Jaehyun. I'm your love, your baby, your babe."

"Not when you're being mean."

"I didn't mean to say it," he whines, hearing someone snort out a laugh in the background.

"Jaehyun, I just can't believe you'd say that to me. You're a fucking business major with a 2.8 GPA and I'm on the dean's list with a 3.9. Almost all your classes are freshman level classes. Anything I do is harder than what you do," you finally snap.

"My love, I'm sorry," he cups your face and begins pressing kisses across your face while you still huff in annoyance in his hold.

"I don't like it when you call me stupid or imply that I am," You pout looking up into his eyes.

He presses his forehead to yours, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, "You're not baby. You're so smart and I'm the stupid one."

Someone imitates a whipping noise and mocks, "No, I'm stupid! Me! Me! I'm so stupid!"

"Fucking whipped is what he is," someone else chuckles.

"Would you guys knock it off, I'm trying to apologize to my girlfriend here!" Jaehyun calls out with an annoyed groan.

Another whip noise, "Pretty sure, I heard her call you single bro."

"Did you break up?" Haechan asks hopefully, fingers visibly crossed on both hands.

"Jaehyun gets a pass this time," you reply leaning into Jaehyun to give his cheek a kiss, ignoring the groans of the other guys in the room while he smiles happliy, "but I want flowers too."

He kisses you softly a few times, your face still cradled in his hands while he looks you right in the eye, "then my girl is getting her flowers."

#kpop imagines #kpop au #kpop scenarios #kpop reactions #nct #nct imagines #nct fluff #nct timestamps #nct x reader #jaehyun imagines #jaehyun x reader #jaehyun fluff #jaehyun blurb #jaehyun drabbles #jaehyun timestamps

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onlyhuis · 15 days

Text

study buddies

member — junhui x f reader genre — smut, college au word count — 1.6k synopsis — with finals right around the corner it's important that you know the vocab for the exam, and your boyfriend has the perfect study method to help you. warnings — descriptions of female anatomy (not super detailed this time), choking, marking, hair pulling, fingers in mouth, dry humping, teasing/very light degradation?, he's a little bit subby in this one (m receiving for all the above warnings) notes — requested by @pinkhwacherries & also by @tigerhoshi25 — thanks to @onlymingyus for making sure i don't sound insane !! this is feral and wildly self indulgent i hope yall like it. also very sorry to bio/med readers i'm an english major so if the anatomy terms i used are wrong plsplspls ignore it i am but a humble incompetent smut writer. if you liked this and want to see more, be sure reblog with comments or send me an ask! <3

"baby, you're never gonna pass your exam if you don't stop staring at me and start studying," jun giggles, pointing at your textbook from where he sits at the edge of your bed.

you pout and cross your arms, leaning back in your chair. you had been zoning out, watching jun play games on his phone while you're supposed to be studying. "it's not my fault you're prettier to look at."

he blushes and hides his face, leaning over your desk. "are you sure you wouldn't rather look at—" he pauses to read from your textbook, horribly mispronouncing the vocabulary, "—the sternohyoid muscle?”

"i give up," you say with a groan, leaning your head back against the chair. "it's so boring, i hate this class. why did i even take anatomy?"

he shrugs. "well, boring or not, you'll feel worse if you fail the class and have to retake credits.”

you turn to glare at him, but you know he's right. with a sigh you lean over your textbook, your head in your hands as you stare down at the words.

jun clears his throat, and you glance up at him to see what he wants now. "would it help you remember if you had… a real life example?" he says, almost shyly.

"and where exactly am i gonna find one?" you ask, cocking your eyebrow at him.

gently he takes your hand and brings it up to his neck, pressing your palm against his adam's apple. automatically you wrap your fingers around his neck, like you've done so many times before but never in this context. it catches you off-guard, your stomach beginning to warm at the feeling of his throat moving beneath your hand.

"does that feel better?" he asks, his voice suddenly a little more rough than it usually is.

you blink, trying to remember what you’re supposed to be doing right now. “better, as opposed to…?”

you can see the warmth creeping into his cheeks, but he doesn’t take back his offer. “is it helping you focus more, i mean?”

you pause, your eyes flitting over his face. exams are the absolute last thing on your mind right now. “yes—no. yes?”

he slides your textbook off the desk and onto his lap, never breaking eye contact until he looks down at the page. “submandibular triangle,” he reads.

“huh?”

he repeats the words, covering the diagram with his hand to block your view. “i’m quizzing you.”

“right.” your mind goes blank. “um… here.”

you reposition your hand, pressing your thumb gently underneath his chin. he lets out a quiet gasp, and your fingers tighten ever so slightly at the sound.

“larynx?” you move your fingers lower, and he quickly glances down at the page again, picking out another. “external jugular vein.”

“you’re giving me easy ones,” you say, lowering your hand a few centimeters. you run your thumb along the side of his throat, gently tracing the vein that bulges out. “here.”

he doesn’t have another word prepared, so you take it upon yourself to shift your hand, putting pressure on a section of his neck with your fingers.

his eyes flutter shut with a soft sigh, and the sudden urge to bite him overtakes you. ever so slowly you lean closer, your lips hovering next to him. you can hear his breath catch in his throat, feel his pulse quickening under your fingertips.

“i thought you were helping me study,” you say in a low voice, almost a whisper. your warm breath so close against his neck makes his skin prickle as his face flushes a deep shade of red.

suddenly he opens his eyes, looking down at you through his lashes. “fine. soft palate.” there’s a hint of mischief in his gaze that you recognize far too well.

you narrow your eyes at him, knowing exactly what he’s doing. “i can’t reach that one, jun. it’s inside your mouth.”

“and?”

“and i don’t think shoving my fingers in your mouth is going to help me remember all these for my exam.”

he shrugs and you can feel the muscles in his neck move, your grip still tight around him. “i think it’s worth a try.”

“you’re being difficult, junnie.” your fingers tighten again, a barely audible whimper escaping from his throat.

“maybe that’s on purpose.”

“and why would you be doing that? seems like that would make you a bad study partner.”

“maybe because i want you to kiss me instead.”

you shift your hand, cupping his neck with your palm. “well, how do you expect me to do that if my fingers are in your mouth?”

he pushes your textbook off his lap and onto the floor, giggling like it's the stupidest question he's ever heard and the answer should be obvious. “take them out first.”

you groan and pull him closer to you by the neck, crashing your lips against his. you can feel him smiling against your mouth and you know he's pleased with himself for this, so you squeeze your fingers just a little bit more until he moans.

you pull away from his mouth and start kissing his throat instead, starting at his jaw just beneath his chin and moving your lips downward. he groans and you feel his pulse jump under your tongue as you reposition your hand to press your thumb against his adam's apple.

your tongue swipes at the soft, pretty skin of his neck as you dig your fingers in and tilt his head to the side, giving you a better angle to begin sucking. he leans his head back, easily complying.

you shift from your chair and onto his lap, straddling him with your legs on either side of his thighs. you can feel his bulge pressing against your tummy as you sit down, and it gives your ego a boost knowing he's already rock hard.

the thought crosses your mind suddenly that it's a good thing you're wearing your thick fuzzy pajama pants instead of shorts like you normally do; otherwise he'd definitely be able to feel your pussy throbbing against his lap, and you're fighting not to give in to the desire so easily. you're practically dripping onto his lap, your panties sticking to you with wetness, but he doesn't need to know that just yet. right now, all you want him to focus on is how good your fingers feel on him and how much you're gonna make him regret teasing you.

his hands immediately grip your waist when you sit down, pulling you closer against his body. you start to suck harder on his neck, determined to make sure the marks you leave on him will stay for days afterwards. god, you better pass this fucking test.

you bite down on a little patch of skin and he bucks his hips up into you, fingertips squeezing your hips until his knuckles turn white. he groans loudly, a stream of barely comprehensible words flowing from his lips.

“will you be quiet?” you say, a little exasperated, but really you like the way he can't control his mouth. “you're supposed to be helping me focus.”

“i am he—” he starts, but you cut him off by sticking two fingers in his mouth, pressing down on his tongue.

“now, shut up.”

he moans in surprise but quickly accepts the intrusion, and you feel the electricity in your fingertips as he purses his lips and swirls his tongue around them. you have to hold back a moan yourself at the feeling, his spit coating your fingers and his tongue tickling your skin.

you let out a short, breathy laugh at his eagerness, rewarding him with a grind of your hips against his bulge. “good boy.”

you can see the lust flashing across his eyes at your words and it only makes you want to mark him more, finally removing your hand from around his neck and moving your fingers up to tug on the hair at the base of his scalp.

you shift your head from the side of his neck to the front, kissing up and down the column of his throat and delighting in the way he whimpers so prettily at your touch.

your exam is at the furthest back of your mind by now, but still you can't help but recall the vocab words and diagrams as you grip him. each muscle that contracts when he tries to moan around your fingers, each bone in his throat that you run your hand over, trying to ingrain it in your memory.

finally you pull your fingers out from between his lips, and he lets out a choked exhale when you wipe the spit off on his cheek, running the back of your hand along his chin to brush away his drool.

you pat his jaw gently, grinning at how out of breath he is. “you changed my mind. you're not a bad study partner, after all.”

and later that night he proves himself again, fucking you into your tiny twin mattress, his hand pressed against the back of your neck so you can feel the same pressure points as he did. and again the next morning before you leave, letting you kiss him until your mouth goes dry and trace every inch of him with your fingers.

after all that studying, needless to say, you ace your exam.

i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, consider reblogging or leaving a comment or an ask :) it shows me this is something people want to see more of, and knowing people like this makes me want to write more of it! thanks for reading!!

taglist will be in the comments under this fic since tumblr is having problems with mentions, i can't add them as i usually do. if you'd like to join and be notified when i post a new fic, you can fill out this short form here! :)

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kelstey · 3 months

Text

i waited

theodore nott x reader

warnings : none

❃゜・。. ・°゜✼ ゜°・ . 。・゜❃

theo kissed your forehead, both you bodies sticky and sweaty from the moments prior. you smiled to yourself as his muscular arms made their way around you.

"i don't think i'll ever get over how beautiful you are," theo ran his fingers through yourhair.

"thank you, theo," you turned your head and kissed his lips.

your happiness was quickly replaced by a sudden wave of what felt like guilt and shame.

the two of you had always been close, sharing kisses, looks, even touching when no oneelse would be looking. that part killed you.

no one knew. not even pansy and luna. given, luna may not be accepted by a large majority of slytherins but you couldn't help but love her, she was amazing and understood you in a way no one else did.

that's how private the two of you had decided- well improvised on. you wanted to show him off. you wanted to kiss him before class, hold hands when sat next to each other, dance in front of everyone, everything.

but he didn't want that. he liked the privacy. but you were never sure if that was really a cover for simply using you.

but you let him.

"i should get going, i'm going out with luna to the three broomsticks," you moved out of theo's arms and started picking up the clothes that were discarded all over the room after theo ripped them off of you.

"tell her i said hi," theo said, another thing that you liked about him. he liked luna. but he was partially stupid as you couldn't tell luna that he said hi, she would ask questions as to why he would even do that.

"i think you forgot we are a secret," you put your tights on.

"fuck, yeah. well- have fun then," theo waved and you hurried out, still attempting to tie your tie.

you felt the tears coming. you couldn't help it. you felt idiotic to allow theo to walk all over you. you promised yourself you would never let a man take you for a fool, but no. here you are, years later, being taken as a fool by a man you were in love with.

obviously he didn't know, he couldn't. it would ruin everything.

the two of you agreed to strictly have just sex. just sex. just stupid fucking amazing sex. he was a natural at it, he knew how to make you cum in minutes. he had you wrapped around his finger.

you typically wouldn't let anyone see or touch you, but theo? he could do anything and you would let him. it also felt like a weird bonding experience.

sex is intimate, of course. it's the closest two souls can get to each other. and you were convinced that the countless amount of times you did it in a day with him made some sort of connection.

you wiped your tears away as you entered the three broomsticks and saw luna sat alone in your usual corner. "luna!"

"you're here!" she exclaimed and got up out of her seat to hug you.

"of course, you know i love our chats here," you smiled and the two of you sat down.

"are you okay?" she asked as she observed the mascara which was evidently smudged under your eyes.

you had to tell her. you had to tell someone. there's no one you would rather tell than her. "luna, please, pinky promise me you won't ever tell a soul."

she nodded, "your secret is safe with me. you know that."

you looked around the place, only noticing two other tables of people who seemed to be in their own little worlds. "okay, me and theo have been hooking up. like friends with benefits style, but i'm in love with him. i cant keep doing this. it hurts, luna. i want to love him and kiss him around our friends but i can't."

luna sat and listened to you ramble on, a few tears shedding in the process. "that's horrible. but you must know, no man, especially one who you aren't even dating, should ever make you feel this way. the right one will make you cry only tears of happiness and pleasure, if you know what i mean."

her comment made you laugh, this was why you loved her. "thanks lu. sorry about that rant, i haven't told anyone and so feel special you're first to hear about this fucked up situation."

"i'm glad you can trust me, but i think i may have an idea," luna sat upright. "how about you stop meeting him so often? maybe start seeing him once a day; then once every few days. if you want to take it a step further you could even start hanging out with another boy more."

"luna you're a fucking genius," you reached over and hugged her.

"you know i always have the best ideas," she giggled.

just then the door opened and luna's eyes focused behind you, as your back was turned to the door.

"who is it?" you asked as you noticed her smile had dropped.

"don't turn around if you don't want to cry," she said and you immediately turned your head 180°.

"no fucking way," your jaw dropped as you saw theo walk in with cho. "is he fucking shitting me right now? luna tell me i'm dreaming. tell me."

"i'm sorry, babe. do you want to go somewhere else?" she asked.

"yes it is best we go. i don't think i'll be able to hold back a fucking fist in both their stupid faces," you both got up.

and as for your amazing luck, they both spotted you and luna. theo called out your name and walked over to you. "hey, what's up?" he asked with a stupid smile on his face as if he didn't know what he was doing.

"hey theo," luna gave a small wave and he smiled at her.

"we were just leaving," you said and took luna's hand and the two of you walked out. you heard theo say something but you were too distracted by the ringing in your ears.

"it's okay, it's okay," luna engulfed you into a very big, very needed hug.

"why would he do that? i literally told him i was going to be here with you?" you cried into her arms.

"he's a boy, they don't think with their brains, only their dicks."

it had been a few days since the incident and you still had not spoke to theo. you were going out of your way to ignore him, not caring if it hurt you more than him.

you would spot theo in the halls, once he noticed you, you had already turned around and walked the complete opposite way before he even got a chance to call out your name.

it hurt too much. it didn't help that after those first couple of days, he eventually stopped trying to get your attention. instead he was being all handsy with cho.

it killed you, hardly being able to speak or react. it also hurt that you had to distance yourself from the other slytherins who noticed the lack of your presence.

but it wasn't all too bad, instead of hanging with them you and luna started hanging out more. she would check up on you constantly, making sure to cheer you up to avoid you thinking about him.

she knew you were deeply upset about it. she allowed you to grieve, cry and let all of it out. she herself had never experienced this type of hurt, but she was almost grateful as she saw how badly it impacted you.

aside from not speaking to theo, you kept your head up high. you still went to class, still did your work, still sat at the slytherin table for meals. everyone noticed the tension between the two of you.

no one asked, or at least in front of your face. they decided it was better to keep quiet and try keep things as normal as could be.

amongst those few days of hurting, you started growing closer with mattheo. he was also there for you, he wasn't sure exactly what happened with theo but he knew it was hurting you and so he decided to be there for you.

he also had to admit that it was also due to the fact that he fancied you. you began sitting next to him at meals, class, even sometimes being spotted after classes walking together.

this didn't go unnoticed by theo, of course. he wanted to punch mattheo in his face. mattheo was one of theo's closest friends and to see him get close with you, it also hurt him.

it was a stupid, stupid situation. the two of you pretending to move on while both your feelings grew stronger- though a large majority of it was anger due to the fact you were not communicating.

or at least verbally communicating. whenever you looked up, no matter where you were, his eyes were the first ones to meet yours.

it was ridiculous, really. you couldn't seem to get away from him, he seemed to stalk you as if you were prey. he couldn't get you out of his mind.

you looked over at the clock, 2:56am. great. you couldn't seem to sleep for some reason and it was starting to annoy you. you quietly got out of bed, slipping on a random hoodie on the floor and your slippers before leaving your dorm. you knew that after 12am, no teachers or prefects would be on lookout so you didn't have to worry too much about getting caught.

you made your way up to the astronomy tower, your favourite spot to go when you were unable to sleep. you reached into your pj short pockets and retrieved the joint that you rolled earlier.

you got the lighter out and attempted to light it. of course it had to be out of fluid. you were just away to get up when you noticed theo standing behind you.

"you spooky bitch! why the fuck would you stand there like that, holy fuck bro. you better be glad i'm a teenager and not an old woman cause you would've gave me a heart attack," you scolded him as you raised a hand over your heart to relieve yourself of the pure distress he just put you through.

"calm down, darling. here's a lighter," he passed you his stainless steel lighter. the same one you carved both of your initials into. you were surprised he used it.

"you don't get to do that," you looked up at him, feeling anger flowing through your veins. theo looked at you, he seemed confused but also like he knew what was happening.

"you don't get to have cuddle me, kiss me, make love to me, everything a couple would do, and then fucking show up to a place where you knew i was at with another stupid fucking girl! do you know how long i've waited for you? years theo, fucking years! i thought it was best to keep waiting, hoping for the day that you would admit you loved me back, but you didn't. but i still waited, theo, i fucking waited. i would never do this if it was anyone else," you felt tears threatening to spill and a lump in your throat.

theo remained quiet, he looked down at his hands and played with the silver rings which decorated his stupidly pretty hands. you waited for him to say something, anything. but he didn't. once again, but were you surprised.

"have your stupid lighter back. i never should've carved our initials in it thinking we could've been something," you shoved the silver lighter into his hands before walking off.

❃゜・。. ・°゜✼ ゜°・ . 。・゜❃

#theo nott x you #theo nott x reader #theo nott imagine #theo nott #theodore nott #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x you #fanfic #slytherin boys #slytherin #fictional men #harry potter imagine

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lovingksuki · 1 month

Text

✰ SECRET ADMIRER pt.2

— highschoolers bakugo x fem!reader

synopsis: an anonymous love letter appears in your locker on valentine's day. surprised, you and your best friend start an investigation to uncover who was that person observing you from afar. meanwhile, a flushed bakugo tries to ruin your plans on the undercover alongside his shitty-haired buddy

cw: sfw; mostly fluff; lil angst; very insecure bakugo; romantic comedy; puberty; silly jokes; little swearing.

an: guyyyyss it's hereeee. i hope you enjoy since i had many people asking for me to continue with this. i hope it is as good as the first part that btw you can read here

wc: 1,3k

the two went on a mission walking around the school and very non-suspiciously investigating whose hand that might be.

"i'm telling you! there's sato, iida and..." counted.

"are they even suspects!?" you mocked. "we have to be coherent about it. i don't even have a major relationship with them..."

"how could you possibly know what goes on inside other's head? i think you're being biased about it."

"what do you mean?"

"i know you want it to be one of the hottest in our class!" smiled diabolically.

"i have no idea what you're talking about." you sweated.

"maybe we should call that double colored guy and just ask a few questions..."

"no way... what are you insinuating?" you almost screamed truly shocked.

"that you have a slight cru-"

"I don't have a crush."

"admit it already."

"I'm not admitting anything. quit pestering."

"you're no fun at all. so... are we talking to Todoroki any soon?"

"no."

"psst, isn't that sero coming this way?" mina whispered looking ahead of the corridor.

the duo telepathically agreed to their next move and mina quickly went in action.

"hey, if isn't our fave tape boy! can I have a high-five?" the pink cheered lifting her hand.

the jet-black haired guy smiled playfully slapping hands with her. watching everything, you caught that glimpse of time needed to take conclusions on the survey.

"what are you two up to? feeling extra energetic today..." sero stated.

absorbed in your own thoughts, you simply couldn't answer any of the questions made, so pinky said in advance: "we're just too excited for the... the-"

"for what?"

"the new movie...! yeah! that one with the clowns. everyone is so hyped to watch it!" mina came up with some excuse.

"oh, so you like 'bloody nightmare' series too? man, me and denki are gathering people to go watch with us." he cheered.

you and mina eyed each other nervously while sero kept rambling about horror films. pinky swiftly poked your side sending the 'make him shut up' signal and you quickly catch the message saying:

"y-yeah! it would be super cool, but we need to... to... go to the 1b room! to dis- discuss the next match-"

"we're discussing the teams for the next training match!" mina rapidly came with an excuse ready to push you up the corridor. "see ya!"

"but guys... their class is towards the other side." sero warned confusedly.

"r-right! it's been months, but we still get lost... hehe!" mina sweated. she spotted a purple voluminous hair meters away. "shinso! wait up!"

and you runned away. sero chuckled observing the girls as another duo approached.

"'sup pal?" kirishima greeted. "it's a important matter so, could you share what are the girls planning? we have business with them."

"it's no use, we're gonna lose sight of them." said the blonde ready to walk away, but his buddy was fast to grab his shirt stopping his tracks.

"be reasonable, it's creepy to chase them around the school." eijiro whispered.

"what are you two up to?" sero crossed arms curious about the situation.

"nothing particularly important. girly borrowed something from bakugo." his heart he thought slightly laughing. "did them say anything about where they're heading?" asked.

"mina said they have something to do with class 1b, and i think they left with shinso." sero explained.

"not that eraserhead wannabe..." katsuki gritted teeth.

"well, no time to lose then! thanks dude." kirishima dragged his best friend away.

when the two males finally found the duo they were shocked to see you holding shinso's hand while walking

kirishima panicked turning to the blonde who watched that scene petrified. it was the second time eijiro saw that expression on his face, the first was when they watched all might last fight. that expression that indicates he started malfunctioning, his thoughts are running wild, and he is about to break.

when he finally inhaled, kirishima's heart skipped a beat thinking bakugo would explode at any moment. he prepared himself to restrain his friend from murdering somebody or start yelling like a psycho, but bakugo just hollowed his lungs right after.

watching deadpanned as you walked away giggling.

that behavior... it was truly concerning coming from him.

"are you totally sure?" mina whispered excited.

"it's a great probability, didn't you see that monstrosity of a hand!?" you whisper-exclaimed. "his grip almost crushed mine!"

"okay, but let's don't get ahead of ourselves, there's other boys to analyze." mina said carefully.

"right, but he's a suspect! and did you notice how he didn't hesitate or felt uneasy to hold my hand?"

"i'm not jumping to conclusions but he seemed too chill! it's almost unnatural coming from a person who wrote a love letter." mina spoke wisely.

"you're right." you pouted.

"what am i suspect about? love letter!?"

"aaaaaack! for fucks sake!" you and mina jolted. "y-you heard us?" you asked shyly.

"were you eavesdropping!?" mina confronted.

the boy leaned in the doorframe crossing his arms unphazed by the pink's attitude. "you're not even whispering... some of 1b even heard about how i have big ass hands and shit." he chuckled.

you looked over shinso's shoulder only to encounter monoma, kendo, shiozaki and komori confusedly observing at some distance. "h-hey guys..." and kendo smiled amused.

"he caught us, mina. what do we do?" you said fidgety.

"there's no other way now that he knows our secret. we must kill you." mina stated creepily serious to shinso, making him falter.

"ha. you almost got me there." he laughed mindlessly. after a couple of seconds staring at each other he came to realization. " you're joking,,, right?"

"why did you have to scare him like that? what if he go out telling others?"

"it's quite the opposite. he won't tell anyone if he believes it's confidential information. you can question my methods but not my results!" the pink girl explained confidently.

walking down the corridor in search for another male friend. now that the lunchtime was coming to an end the school was less fuzzy, and the groups concentrated in their usual places.

"uh... mina... you're not actually dangerous, are you?" you blurted.

she looked at you puzzled, as if that question was more complicated than it actually seemed. "why do you ask?"

"it's just because, you're my best friend, and if it were for me to have a psycho so close to me i would want to know..." you reasoned.

"don't be ridiculous!" she laughed. "but like you said, we're best friends, that does mean i would probably hide a body for you."

"wait. what the-"

"kirishima it's been thirty minutes." the blonde stated impatiently.

the boys were sitting casually at their class waiting for the others to come grab their keys to the closets. p.e was the next hour.

"just be patient dude, when she arrives, you casually get up and go talk to her. do you remember the three steps?" the red haired pointed.

"don't scream, don't curse and look at her in the eye." bakugo grumbled a little skeptical.

when they heard high pitched voices and footsteps approaching the blonde jolted in his seat.

"there they are." kirishima whispered. "good luck soldier"

katsuki got up with a sigh, heart beating fast, he didn't even notice his feet leading him directly to you and almost fainted when you looked at him with those doe eyes.

"h-hey."

"hey!" you greeted rummaging your backpack.

"i was... i recalled that time last week you shared your notes and... i"

"you came to say thanks? it's alrighty! just gimme a shoutout whenever you need!" you smiled

his ears reddened. "y-yeah. but i was trying to ask if ya wanna grab milkshakes sometimes, my treat for the notes." katsuki managed to spill

"oh! i didn't expect that" you giggled thinking that was a cute way to invite someone to hang out. "sure. i provide the notes, you provide the milkshakes." you extended your hand "deal?"

he smirked satisfied shaking you hand.

"deal."

#katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou x fem!reader #self insert #mha fluff #mha fanfiction #bakugou fluff #bakugou x you #katsuki bakugo x reader #mha x reader #katsuki bakugo x y/n #bakugo x reader #my hero academia

466 notes · View notes

mafiadad5 · 3 months

Text

arguments

Genre- smut (mdni), established relationship

Dom!Jaemin x fem!reader

Warnings- oral (male receiving), degradation, unprotective (wear protection plz…), hint of praise, cum eating, slight videography…, choking, hair pulling 18+,

Word count- 2.3k+

Summary- you and your bf got into an argument the night before, but you still have an attitude that he wants to knock out of you.

note- no proof read heheh, hope you like🎀

You loved how you and Jaemin's majors could work together.

All the partner work in your classes just prompted more time you got to spend with your boyfriend, and it helped that he had his own private filming studio. It was perfect, well almost perfect.

Yes the fact that you got to spend more time with him was nice, but whenever you got in fights it was always tense when you had to do projects together, and with your attitude it was almost inevitable that the arguments didn't grow bigger than they should've over little bickering, but Jaemin always tried to keep his cool with you, trying to deescalate the situation as best as he could so nothing major would happen between the two of you. This day was no different, yes the argument was a little heated the night before, but he thought he gave you enough time to cool off so you were in a better mood— he couldn't be more wrong.

"Okay go." He spoke, aiming the camera at you as you stood in front of a black back drop.

"Hi, I'm Y/n! Here is today's news report... the camera isn't even straight Jaemin. Can you please do it correctly?" He looked up at you, his eyebrows furrowing at the snarky comment as you looked up at him with a smug expression.

"Just try again." He said with a forced smile, nodding as he positioned his camcorder differently in his hand so he could get a better grip. He never got offended by advice or criticism from you, but he knew that you were doing it on purpose, and that pissed him off more than anything.

"Hi, I'm Y/n! Here's today's news report!... can I see it so far? To make sure it's ok?"

"Of course baby." He hummed, pulling up the video as you approached him. "There's something off." You said, standing beside him, watching the video of you. "You don't really sound confident and you look a little lost." Jaemin said, he was honestly trying to give you advice—petty actions aside, this was still a project for class so he wanted you to do your best. "I really didn't ask you." You said, his face filled with exasperation.

He was losing patience with you, he's so calm and just wants you to do well, but all you do is shit on him after arguments then act like nothing is wrong after he eats you out, and treats you well as an apology. Well he wants an apology too, but you're too stuck up and he was getting tired of it.

"Baby, please let's not do this right now, please. I'm really trying to be patient. I was just letting you know." He lowered his camera, turning to you trying to grab your hand, but you instantly pulled it away from his, looking at him. "No I just think it's funny that you go here for film, but I know how to work a camera better than you, I'm not the one who looks lost Jaemin... just letting you know."

He was beyond upset at this point, you knew that it deeply hurt him when people downplayed his hard work, and yet there you were using it against him.

"You should take my criticism so you don't look fucking stupid when we present." He scoffed, tension thickening the air as he slowly backed you into a wall, his voice was darker and it kind of scared you, you've never seen him like this before, the intimidation made your knees weak, all you wanted to do is pry and make him even more upset to see what would happen.

"You're nothing but a dumb fucking photographer, take my criticism."

The room grew silent for a little as he paused, his head tilting slightly as he looked at you with ruinous eyes. His mind filled with rage, he couldn't even think straight, backing you into the wall, his hand on your neck, pushing your head to the wall. His eyes were dark as he gripped you tightly, his knee pressing against your thigh pinning you down, causing you to gasp from the sudden physical contact.

"Am I?"

You looked at him, staying completely silent, your demeanor changing completely as his fingers teased the soft skin on your neck. "Jaem—" you let out a soft, accidental moan, a small smirk appearing on his face from your desperation.

"God you're so desperate." His voice was deep and dark. You looked at him with eyes of innocence while staying silent. "Nothing to say now, hmm?" His grip tightened on your neck, causing you to let out a silent gasp as his fingers dug into your skin.

"I've had it with your little attitude, your dirty little mouth. I've been way more lenient with you than I should've been, but it seems like you want me to use your filthy mouth, so I will." He pushed you on your knees in front of him, turning on the camera that was still in his hand, positioning it on you. "Pull down my pants." You didn't even hesitate, unbuttoning his pants, pulling them down to his ankles, along with his underwear.

You couldn't help wrapping your hands around his dick, ready to do anything he told you to do, eyes looking into his as a sinister smile crept onto his face. He grabbed your hair, yanking it up to make you look at him.

"Did I tell you to do that?" You removed your hands from him, shaking your head.

"Do exactly what you're told to do, don't be a greedy little slut, do you understand?" You nodded again, looking up at him with pretty doe eyes, causing a little smile from him.

"Look at my little cockslut on her knees all pretty for me."

He tugged your hair, pulling your head up higher to look at him. "Stick out your tongue." He spoke sternly, a look of lust appearing on his face as you stuck your tongue out. He grabbed the base of his dick, tapping his tip on your tongue, a smirk appearing on his face.

“Suck on it. Just the tip, and I swear if you go past the tip I will destroy your throat. Do you understand me?” You nodded, grabbing his length, holding it to your mouth, looking at him before putting it in. One thing you learned about Jaemin was that he always teased in a way, whether that be on you, or on himself. It drives him over the edge, the desperation and the feeling of anticipation when he teases you with his tip, and now was no different. You began sucking like he asked, causing a light breath to leave his mouth. His moans were silent as he gasped, positioning the camera steady on you, holding your hair as he watched the way your lips moved on his tip, the way your tongue swirled on his sensitive spot, it drove him almost insane, the feeling of wanting more.

The feeling of wanting more was definitely mutual though the way you accidentally went lower and lower, trying to sink yourself onto him. You never gave him head, he wouldn’t let you, he said that he wanted you first, so it was his job to please you, and that’s exactly what he always did. Now since you’ve finally tasted him you wanted to savor it. He tugged at your hair, pulling you off of him, giving you a distasteful look.

“What did I tell you?” He tugged your hair back a little more. “Not to go past.” You hummed quietly. “So why did you?” He said, letting go of your hair and grabbing your cheeks, smooshing them together, forcing you to look up at him.

“That’s the problem, you’re a desperate little whore who gets what she wants, when she wants it, it stops today.” He released your mouth, causing you to look at the floor.

“Jaem I’m sorry, I just wanted to taste you.” You mumbled out. He grabbed your hair again, lifting your head, tapping his tip on your glossy lips.

“Don’t worry, you will— open slut.” You opened your mouth and Jaemin didn’t hesitate, pushing his whole dick inside, letting out a stuttered groan. You choked, latching your lips around him as he thrusted in your mouth. You held onto his legs for support as he hit the back of your throat in a perfect rhythm. He let out curses and moans as you moaned around his dick, causing your throat to vibrate around his tip. “Dirty fucking slut, taking my dick so well.” He said gripping your hair harder, pulling you deeper and deeper.

Tears were dwelling in your eyes as he forced himself into your mouth roughly, still holding the camera steady on you. “Oh shit I’m about to cum.” He moaned out, looking at you with desperate eyes.

“Make me cum baby.” He cried out, throwing his head back as he sloppily moved your head up and down on his dick, pushing once more while letting out a choked moan. “Fuck.” He whimpered before you felt a warm liquid filling your throat, forcing you to swallow which sent a shiver down his spine. He took a few deep breaths before exiting out of your mouth, looking down at you again.

“Good fucking slut.” He slickly smiled, messily wiping the tears out of your eyes, the camera focused on you.

He was way more amused than he’d like to admit, he never knew how beautiful you were like this, under his control, but he loved how drunk you were off his dick and how your eyes sparkled and lips glossed after he fucked your throat out.

“Get up.” He said, setting down his camera. You got up, standing in front of him as his dark eyes looked into yours. “I’m sorry Jaemin.” You said. He backed you into the wall, turning you over so he was pressed against your backside. “Tell me how sorry you are.” He said, pulling down your skirt and underwear in one swift movement, grabbing your hips and pulling you lower half away from the wall closer to his. Your breathing got shaky as he positioned himself at your entrance.

“I’m sorry for treating you like shit.”

He hummed, pushing his tip in and out of your entrance causing little whines out of you. “Do you think you deserve to be fucked right now?” You shook your head no, a chill running through your spine as you heard his dark voice mixed with his teasing. “So why do you think I’m gonna fuck you?” He asked, sliding his dick up to your clit, slapping the sensitive spot softly. “Because I’m your little slut.” You said, causing a chuckle to come out of his mouth. “That’s right, my pretty little slut to destroy.”

He slid back to your entrance, pushing himself into you, causing you to let out a soft whimper. “Jaem—” you moaned out as he started going in and out of you faster. You held onto the wall. “You feel so fucking good.” He whispered in your ear, causing a shiver to run down your spine, straight to your pussy. He started thrusting, punching your hips slightly as he held onto you, pushing you into the wall every thrust. He left wet kisses on your neck as he sped up the pace. “You like this huh, my dick all in your pretty little pussy?” His voice was breathy as he fought the moans that wanted to be released from his mouth as he went at an unimaginable speed, his thrust swift.

One of his hands moved to the back of neck, holding you as you moaned muffled sounds into the wall. Your skin flushed with pleasure as he hit your gspot, whispering sweet nothings in your ear as he thrusted harder, sweet sounds of lust filling the room from both of your bodies. His body moved aimlessly into yours, your walls sucking him in perfectly like a puzzle piece.

“Jaemin I’m about to cum.” You whimpered out. “If you want to cum you have to beg me, or I’ll stop.” The feeling of his hands on your body, his voice on your neck, made a resistant temptation that you couldn’t control, couldn’t fight. You didn’t care if you’ve never done it before, shit you didn’t even care if it was embarrassing, you just wanted him so bad at the moment so you would’ve done whatever it took.

“Please Jaemin, please let me cum, please.” He smiled into your skin, going even faster than before causing you to let out tired moans.

“You’re so desperate baby, it’s so cute.” His moans began to louden and his thrust started to get sloppier by the second. “Cum for me baby— fuck.” He moaned out loudly, the resistance around his dick from your clenching walls made him go insane, pushing him to his near. “I’m cumming Jaemin.” You cried out, holding the wall and closing your eyes tightly as your stomach tightened and your body started to shake uncontrollably.

You felt Jaemin’s cum spill inside of you as you both released, catching your breath. He exited out of you, his ooze dripping down your leg.

It was later on and you laid in his bed, looking at him as he walked into the room, looking at his camera.

“I’m actually sorry for being an ass Jaem.”

He looked up at you smiling, jumping in bed beside you. “It’s ok baby, next time you pull some bs I’ll pull this up.” He showed you the video of what he took earlier, looking at you as he smiled cutting off the camera and tossing it to the side.

“Jaemin stop.” You looked at him, flustered and embarrassed.

“You look cute Y/n. I love you baby, sorry for going hard on you.”

“I love you too Jaemin, and it was kinda hot I guess. You smiled.