#and they’re like ��� get this dumb bitch outta here

[leemarkies]

just had a client email me that the affidavit i sent “needed some work” and low and behold i have like two random sentences in it documenting something completely wrong

[alphabetboyluvr]

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:

x

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

[1427]

When the Levee Breaks (pt. 1)

Daryl Dixon x OFC

The one in which a stripper that used to know Merle and Daryl shows up at the Atlanta camp. Daryl’s feelings are complicated but mostly he hates her. Right?

Chapt. Setting: Atlanta camp

Chapt. Warnings: degrading and sexist language, season 1 Daryl, he’s not nice in this, probably won’t be for a while. 

Word count: 1600 

A/N : (aka authors warning) this is written in Daryl’s POV soOo idk. Probably not everyone’s bag. Maybe it’s no one’s bag. These first three chapters are kinda rough and I’m sorry but I can only proofread my own stuff so many times before I either post it or delete it forever.

masterlist

17+ mdni for the whole story

After stringin’ a few squirrels for dinner I figure I should get back to camp. ‘m breakin’ through the tree line, and that’s when I see her.  Beatle. Beatle, for the first time in… shit, who knows? Definitely years, I’m not exactly sure how many. Beatle, just fuckin’ sittin’ at my fire. Like somehow she knew it was mine and showed up just to take it from me. Just sittin’. Smile on her face like she belongs there. She doesn’t. She doesn’t belong at this camp, with these people. Shit, Beatle doesn’t even belong alive if I’m bein’ honest. 

No one in this fuckin’ camp can hunt worth a damn.  They’re gonna expect me to feed ‘em, ain’t they? Eventually. Eventually the food’ll run out and it’ll just be me feedin’ fuckin’ everyone. M’not doin’ it. I’m not doin’ shit for ‘em anymore. Why should I? Left my brother on that roof to rot. Naw, I’ll hunt for my damn self. Don’t even know why I’m still fuckin’ here. Should be out findin’ Merle. Honestly, don’t even know why I’m not.

Even before the dead started walkin’. I figured her days were numbered since the first fuckin’ time I met ‘er. Drunk as hell, eyes glassy, loud annoying voice barkin’ like a damn dog. Just yap yap yappin at Merle and me, tits half hangin’ outta her bikini top. Ones cinched in the string like she’d just forgotten to take ‘em out from her last time around the bar. A dumb drunk bitch, Beatle. Stupid fuckin’ stripper name. Who’s dick gets hard over a stripper named Beatle? 

I watch her, just for a second, checkin’ to see if maybe it’s not really her. But it is. ‘Course it fuckin’ is. 

Shane’s the first person I see that’s not doin’ anything, going through some clothes in a duffel bag in the back of a van, figure he might know, “Where the fuck did she come from?” Pointing toward Beatle, her back to us, fifty yards away. Stupid purple hair blowing all over the damn place. 

Shane looks to see who I’m pointing at, but who the fuck else is new at camp? His eyes finally land on Beatle before looking back at me like he’s trying to fight the smile on his damn face, “Why? You interested?”

I’m tryin’ not to lose my shit that she’s even fuckin’ here. “Nah…” I shake my head, “I know ‘er.”

Shane looks up, surprised maybe, and then not. Looking from Beatle back to me again, eyeing us up. “Yeah, makes sense.” 

I squint back at ‘im, “S’that supposed ta mean?” 

He shrugs, making a face, before smiling again, folding another shirt into his pack, “Just that you look like you might know eachother.” He doesn’t say more but I know what he’s not sayin. “Is all.” He adds on the end just to reiterate. 

He means we’re both fuckin redneck trash to anyone who looks at us. I look back over at her, startin’ to get real mad at this jarhead dickhead. Not for her or nothin’. Even if he’s right, he don’t gotta say it. Or maybe it was the way he said it. Or the way he didn’t say it. Like a fuckin’ pussy. 

A part of me feels like standin’ up for myself. Hell, a part of me feels like stickin’ up for Beatle. But, shit, it’s not even worth it.

I cough up a lougie and spit it close to his foot. “So where’d she come from?” I’m fuckin’ repeating myself. I hate fuckin’ repeating myself. 

“Think she just wandered in. Must’ve been lost in the woods or something. Ask Rick. He seems to know everything.”

Can’t keep myself from crackin’ at his petty comment. Always so fuckin’ loud with his contempt, makin’ the situation obvious to anyone with eyes. Messy. 

I decide I’m gonna ask ‘er. She’s gonna see me eventually. Better I approach her first, right? Don’t need to get football tackled in the middle of doin’ somethin’ else when she sees me for the first time. So I pull out a cigarette and start walkin’ over.

She’s talkin’ to Andrea. She fuckin’ would. Both of them loud dumb bitches. Talking about all the dumb shit they miss since everything’s turned to shit. Not talkin’ about people or nothin’ important. Just bullshit like getting your damn nails done, and eating fuckin’ ice cream. 

“Where’d you fuckin’ come from?” Sayin it louder than I meant. More aggressive than I thought my voice would sound. Usually fuckin’ is, though.  The laughing between Andrea and Beatle stops and they look over at me, just standing there waitin’ for it to register. Waitin’ for Beatles reaction. Starin’ ‘er the fuck down like she doesn’t fuckin’ belong here. She doesn’t. 

Beatles eyes light up, getting up from her chair and runnin’ over to me like she’s never been more excited to see someone in her whole damn life. I try to brace myself, but she still rocks me backward as she jumps on me, “Daryl!” Should have stopped her, could have moved just right out of the way. But nah, I let her. 

I don’t hug her back though, just push her off and let her own feet catch her. Dumb bitch doesn’t know personal boundaries. Her voice so close to my ear, “Damn, don’t look so happy to see me.”

Happy to see her? I’m not. Didn’t think I could be so unhappy to see a familiar face in my whole fuckin’ life. But she wasn’t letting that stop her, never fuckin’ did. “I was lost, found this camp. They said I could stay.” She explains, her voice high and happy and annoying as it ever was. At least she’s not drunk. 

Everyone around the fire had gone back to what they were doing. Not watchin’ us anymore. They could probably see as well as Shane that it was obvious how we knew eachother. Well, maybe not exactly how. But they probably had a good idea. 

I dunno what to say to her explanation, so I don’t say nothin’. And she just stands next to me, too close, clearly not gettin’ the hint that I didn’t really wanna talk to her. Just wanted to know why she was here. Now I know. She wasn’t gettin’ that she could and should just go back to her conversation with Andrea about ice skating, or cocktails, or what the fuck ever. 

“What about you?” Her voice quieter for fuckin’ once. 

I shake my head, blowing smoke out, “Merle and me, met up with everyone...” I don’t feel like explaining it, so I don’t. 

Beatle’s lookin’ up at me, her big eyes all wide and excited like a dumbass deer too stupid to move out of traffic, “Merle’s here?” 

This coil of disgust, I feel it snaring it’s way through my abdomen. Yeah, that’s the feeling Beatle usually gives me. Back like it never fuckin’ left. “Nah, not anymore. Sorry to dry your cunt.” 

Beatle says “Ew” fast. Like she’s so disgusted by my vocabulary. Like she isn’t just as crude, the things I heard that little mouth of hers say. 

“He’s not…” she means dead.

“Nah, hes not dead.” Usually this is where I talk something nice about Merle, about how he’s a tough sunuvabitch or some other shit. But not to Beatle. Beatle already knows, and for some reason talking about Merle with her makes me.. fuck… whatever. 

Glancing over, it looks like Beatle’s finally got the hint that I don’t wanna talk to her. She probably really was excited to see me, and I almost feel bad for a second. Before she puts her grubby fuckin’ hand in my face and asks if she can have a cigarette. Needy fuckin’ bitch. 

I laugh right in her face. At the gall of her. That at the end of it all, of everything; she was still trying to get some fuckin’ handout. “Naw.”

“Oh, come on, Daryl, please? I haven’t had one in days!” As if I give a shit what she has or hasn’t had. Hasn’t seen me in years and wants to ask for favors? 

I keep draggin’ on my cigarette, blowin’ the smoke out, and m’not smiling anymore, “I said naw. I don’t see your tits out, why would I give you anything?” Fuck repeating myself.

“You wanna see my tits?” She says it like it’s actually a question. Like she really fuckin’ believes that I’m askin’. 

“You’re a dumb bitch, Beatle, y’know tha’?” I shake my head at her, laughin’ at her again. She’s fuckin’ ridiculous.  Taking another drag I realize the cig is trash, and I almost throw the butt into the fire but decide to hand it to her instead. 

She takes it, with needy fingers like I knew she fuckin’ would. Trying to hide my smile at how fuckin’ pathetic she always seems to be.  Watching her take my trash like it’s fuckin’ gold. She drags it once, I can smell the filter burning and she throws it in the fire. “Next time maybe you’ll share one with me?” Her voice is so sweet it makes me sick. Like I didn’t just call her a dumb bitch to her face. 

Saccharine and fake, that’s how she’s always been. All her cute little movements and motions, all just tryin’ to work me up so I’ll share my smokes or listen to her dumbass whine about anything and everything. Annoying.

“Prolly not.” And I’m already walking away from the fire. From Beatle. Going back to my tent and praying to god, Jesus Christ, don’t let her follow. 

Chewin’ on what she said. Lost, huh? See? Didn’t even belong alive. 

pt 2

[desswright29]

Ghetto Story Summary

Y’all it’s this story I want to find and I’m not sure if it’s on here or A03 (I’m leaning towards A03). It was a series and it was never finished. But y’all about to get one hell of a summary.

Shuri and reader are in an arranged marriage. Shuri actually liked reader but ol girl wasn’t tryna hear it. But she wasn’t blind or nothing every once in awhile she would be like yea she is looking kinda right ya know. Anyway Shuri’s given it her all. And one day they have to go to this meet up at the White House with the president and his wife. The wife is instantly giving y/n bad vibes. But she’s chillin. But she keeps throwing lil jabs at Shuri. Shuri ain’t catching it but y/n wasn’t having it. So the 1st lady goes to the bathroom and y/n follows her in there and they have a slight lil altercation cause we went in there like “bitch you gone respect my wife!” And then they walk out like nothing happened and we curl up under Shuri and give that hoe a nasty mug. So we have to leave cause Shuri has another event to speak at at a school. And it was real cute or whatever y/n sees her in a different light and all that.

So reader and her family used to come to DC often and she had this reaturaunt that was her favorite she mentioned it a looong time ago. Shuri remembered and surprised her now readers warming up because she didn’t think Shuri was paying attention that much. So they leave and now y/n want some damn ice cream right. Okoye like “Aight now we already made to many got damn detours we need to get outta dodge.” And Shuri’s like “Maaaan Shut up! My baby want some muh fuckin Ice cream she gone get some muh fuckin ice cream.” So they go get the muh fuckin Ice cream. So Shuri is standing with Okoye and I think Ayo (don’t quote me) keeping watch out while you get Ice cream. Whole time ol dude at the ice cream stand is the Opp. Upped the tooly on her shot her 3 times. FAH FAH FAH!!!! 1st lady put a hit out on us! Now Shuri scrambling and Okoye nem go to catch ol boy. Shuri gets y/n stabilized with a bead. And get her back to Wakanda because she doesn’t trust the American hospitals.

You’re in a coma for awhile. Shuri’s pissed and spiraling. Now They’re keeping it very private that you’ve been shot. But some how Washington puts out a statement. Sending their condolences. 😬 Big mistake Shuri’s catching on. So Shuri calls Okoye who has the dude that shot y/n (they’re still in America because they can get in trouble for taking him across the boarder). Shuri’s like “is he talking?” Okoye like “Nah”. Shuri said “Fuck that shit bring that nigga to me IMMEDIATELY.” They tried to talk her out of it. She wasn’t hearing it. You wake up out of your coma.

Y’all have a beautiful moment. She’s in the hospital bed with you chilling when Okoye comes in like. I got your package. And Shuri like “Bet” you notice the interaction and you’re like “Shuri don’t do no dumb shit” she like “nah not me.” She leaves. You don’t believe her. They leave Aneka with you. You like take me to where she is. Aneka like “I can’t do that!” You like “Yes you can!” She like “aight” So she gets you in a wheelchair and takes you to the basement of the palace you didn’t even know was there. She gets you behind the double sided glass and Shuri is in there BEATING THIS MAN INTO A PULP!! 🫦 Fucking that man UP I tell you! And that’s where it ended.

Anyway. Anybody else read that story and know the name of it? That was one of the most gangster sexiest non smut versions of Shuri I’ve ever read in my life. 😩

[yelenasdiary]

Okay, I though of a head cannon for Yelena or Flo, (you pick). One of them helping the reader through a big family gathering because they know it gives them major anxiety. They subtly squeeze your hand as you walk into the party to let you know they’re there. They wink at you from across the room like “you for this”, and take every opportunity to brag about you to your family. 💜

Posting this early, you know why! I did this with Florence, I could see this being more a Flo thing! Enjoy 💜

Florence likes to remind you that things are going to be just fine, she'll drive you both to the party and of course, she'll hold your hand with her free hand the entire trip.

Any given chance, she'll kiss your cheek and whisper sweet nothings, reminding you that you're doing amazing.

If she sees you across the room talking to one of your family members and you lock eyes with her, she'll send a supportive wink your way along with mouthing "you've got this!"

She's close with your parents, especially your mother so you'd often find her helping her out with food/tidy up.

She loves to tell the story of how you both met whenever it's asked!

If a family member asks you a question about a topic that Flo knew you'd been stressing over, she'll kindly take the conversation and answer for you without it seeming like you can't talk for yourself.

She'll refresh your drink, keeping you hydrated of course!

She'll gently pull you close to her when she see's you're starting to get anxious and remind you that it'll be over soon and she has a treat for you after the party.

Mostly likely taking you out for dessert after the party on the way home.

Florence knows you're not big on talking about yourself or your recent accomplishments but she's so proud of you and will mention them anyways!

After the party, Florence can't help but tell you exactly how proud she is of you and tells you that she knew you could do it!

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[victoriously-regal]

Aaron Burr, sir (but it’s when August meets Emma in Storybrooke and he’s trying to get her to believe in the curse. lyrics rewritten by me! )

Purple: August

Red: Emma

Green: Everyone

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

2011

Storybrooke, Maine

Pardon me, are you Emma Swan, ma’am?

That depends, who's asking?

Oh, well sure, ma’am

I'm August. W Booth, I'm at your service, ma’am

I have been looking for you

I'm getting nervous

Ma’am, I heard your name in Phoenix,

And then attempted to getcha here to this town

When I got sort of out of sorts with a buddy of yours

I kinda threatened him

It's a blur, ma’am

He stole those fancy watches?

You made Neal frame me!?

Yes! Made ‘im give you the watch, let you go, to get you to Maine, so you’d believe

Bae looked at me like I was stupid, I'm not stupid

So how'd you do it? Get to this town at last?

Long story short? Birthed Henry Mills, ten years in the past

You an orphan?

Yeah, so what? I'm an orphan, God, I wish you’d tell me how

You know this? It’s starting to piss me off.

Can I buy you a drink?

Fine. That’d be nice

While we're talking, let me offer you some free advice

Stay in town

What?

Defeat the Queen.

Who?

Don't let her know if you believe or if you don’t

Oh great, you’re crazy.

You want some intel?

How?

Allow me to enlighten you. Listen well.

Ah-yuh-yo, yo-yo-yo, yo!

What time is it?

Roll call!

Here’s the basics...

Roll call! Role call! Yo!

That’s Regina Mills, Head Bitch, Queen Bee

She created this town, outta revenge and misery

Em, please, I beg ya. Listen to me.

Don’t leave this town 'til her curse breaks, and we’re all free.

Next up over there, Shepherd Boy, Nolan D.

Biggest rags to riches story of the century.

Met his one true love, settled down, had a kid

You’re that kid, by the way. Ain’t that funny? (What? No!)

Hey wait, who’s that? Look, it’s Mary Margaret Blanchard.

She’s actually Snow White

She’s your mother.

Huh? Wait, come again? (Yup)

Look out for her and Regina

The Queen truly hates her, blames her and her childhood misbehaviour

This ain’t real, pour me another drink, Booth

These are dumb fairytales.

They’re not, it’s all the truth.

No, I’m not some prophecy, here to fix all these folks

Believe what you want, the curse’s end is still close

Good luck with that, I’m calling a hoax

Try convince me if you want, let’s see how this goes (fine)

Emma this is your destiny, it won’t just disappear.

And if you don’t believe me, Swan, how come you’re still here?

Tell me Swan, you gonna fight? Beat the Queen? Speak what’s true.

Savior, tell me right now.

Whatcha gonna do?

[kokokerome]

I grew up in a red state. Those anons were trying to murder you by cop. It's vile and disgusting and I'm sorry you're dealing with this. I saw they are trying to act like they didn't do this....saying they didn't know your name but they made a post saying they did see your info before. I hope they all fuck off to hell

well they’re dumb asf then because police brutality ain’t that big of an issue here, our police are okay they’re just lazy. I’m assuming it’s white knife who said ts, also why would they admit to seeing my dox info. Like if you’re gonna play dumb nigga play fully fucking dumb. Personally I’m thinking it’s white knife due to one. They had contact with that one girl who blackmailed me and sent an uncensored screenshot of my info on PayPal. And the fact I cooked tf outta them under my thread with the doc on Twitter. But yknow, allegedly just my opinion. I sus Mara could too but who fucking knows. They’re all sus in my eyes.

the worst part about all this is I tried to see if I could file a report against them but since their bitch asses hide on a anon account I was told there’s nothing they can do. I’m really tying my tongue here guys because everything’s off the table now, if I say some shit like kys to them later don’t get mad at me guys, I’m trying my best.

[tigresslanzhu]

It’s Your Character That Counts: Ashlynn Juarez

Yes, I’m back! I wish I had caught up on this, but when you’re too busy IRL to do posts that take longer than two minutes to write and can only do so at certain times, things like this tend to take a hiatus.

You all know the drill. Everyone automatically loses trustworthiness and citizenship points because they let Buster talk them into breaking the law and lying along with him.

But at least Ash is willing to call him out on this behavior on occasion. Obviously she does it in private, but speaking out when someone wants you to do something wrong, according to the “workbook”, is another big part of trustworthiness. Also, we can’t forget how she called bullshit on that night club owner who payed her way less than all the other acts. Okay, it’s just half, but STILL! Way to stand up for yourself, Ash!

Well, well…

This is mainly for occasional backsass and maybe a dirty look of two, although if we’re also counting self-respect, I think we know what happened with Stupid Dumb Lance. How she was able to put up with his verbal abuse and belittling is still baffling to this day.

Oooooh! You were so close, Ash! You’re usually so good in this department, but unfortunately, I have to count the actions taken in Sing On Tour, no matter how not-canon it is.

I’ve been wanting to talk about this for a while, but without these Kids For Character rankings, there just wasn’t a decent way to being it up without seeming like I’m bitching too much.

If you’ve seen the YouTube videos of Sing On Tour in Universal Studios Japan and Universal Studios Beijing, you know that Ash is absent throughout most of the show because it appeared she had an errand to run. For a year and a half, I thought a guitar string broke and she needed to get a specific brand to make her performances that much more epic… but I was WRONG!

For the longest time, English subtitles for this show were unavailable, but two weeks ago, I found a video where someone translated the Beijing show (They’re both the same, so don’t worry about that) and it turns out she just left the theater to get a bigger speaker!

Like… REALLY, ASH?!? This is not like you! In a canonical version of this, you would have made do with what was there, right? Or, I know that most of the cast didn’t even know who Mizuki was and why she was there (probably a spontaneous decision on Buster’s part), but since she was the new intern, you could have had her get the speaker! Any Ash fan knows that she would NOT pull a stunt like this right before a show!

Yes, I’m also saying that Ash’s Sing On Tour stuff counts for fairness, as it sounds like she was the first act, but also keep the fact that she did sort of abandon Lance and went ahead with the singing competition anyway, even though he lost interest after Buster said he only wanted Ash. No, I’m not saying that I side with that dork, but you still don’t just do that to someone.

But again, if we go back to her first scene in Sing 2, she is more than willing to make things fair between her and the other acts in the night club. Dealing with a jerk like Lance has taught her that she has self-worth and that she deserves to be treated fairly.

“See, I have this rule about not letting guys like you tell me what I’m worth, so, you know, unless I get payed like everyone else, I’m outta here!”

This leads back to her snarkiness. She mostly does it because she cares. When she calls Buster out for his lies, it’s because she doesn’t want to see him hurt. She went ahead with the singing competition because she thought it would help Lance with HIS music! And you can’t say her staying behind at Clay’s house was solely malicious. She was one of his biggest fans and knew he couldn’t just leave him there in a depressed state!

Yeah… You know why this one is the lowest. For the most part, she does the right thing, but Buster trained her to break the law along side him. She was even an accomplice in trying to break into Clay’s house.

[zorua-gaming]

Chapters Sixteen through Twenty and Paralogues Seven through Twelve

All twelve rings have now been met.

But before we go on to the next chapter, first we’re gonna do the Corrin paralogue!

Lowkey kinda shipping Alear and Corrin right now.

For a second, I was wondering who were these two Elusian defects who took an Emblem ring with them, but then I remembered Rosado and Goldmary. It’s GOTTA be them.

YUP, it’s them.

XD that “blink three times” line! THE DELIVERY! This game is SO funny.

And with “Restore calm, Emblem of the Sacred!” we have all the summoning phrases of the main 12 non-DLC emblems.

Oooh, we’re getting some info on the last war.

And now time for the Eirika paralogue.

I hate these evil bitches but love how unapologetically evil they are.

JUST KICKED CHAPTER 17’S ASS

Wait, that means we have Leif back!

YO, PURPLE VEYLE JUST GAVE US SIGURD BACK TOO!! Also that was quite the impressive throw.

OH SHIT ZEPHIA JUST SLAPPED THE HELL OUTTA HER!!

God, that post-battle wandering really hits you. (Especially the NPC who said “so much for gods.”)

Now onto the Leif and Sigurd paralogues.

First, the Sigurd paralogue.

Just looking at the map, wtf Sigurd? Why do so many of these enemies have multiple revival stones?

And now that the bridge is down, he just brought out a million reinforcements. WTF

Alright, he came at us and we took him out.

Now onto the Leif paralogue.

And now that that’s done with, onto chapter 18!

Still no explanation as to why Sombron doesn’t wear a shirt.

Okay, so Zephia said she’s a mage dragon. So why is it that she and Sombron are the only dragons in the game to have pointy ears?

Wow, Father of the Year™ over here. Guess it’s up to me to headcanon what they were like.

Ooooh, meeting of the Emblems!

Sigurd, what do you mean by “other option”?

God, the way Alear and Ivy instantly put together that there were no survivors in the port town. This game is giving me so many feelings.

Marni, I would like to thank you as it tastes like I’m getting some rings back after this fight!

KNEW WE WERE GETTING THE RINGS BACK! YOUR DUMB ASS SHOULDN’T HAVE BROUGHT THEM WITH IF YOU DIDN’T WANT TO LOSE THEM!!

Now onto Micaiah’s paralogue!

That wasn’t so bad.

Now to the Roy paralogue. And he has a Wyrmslayer. I might be fucked.

I ended up fine. Took some time though. Now onto chapter 20!

Damn Marni just got bitch slapped too.

Okay 1) why/how does Alear summoning Celica with “Care for us, Emblem of Echoes?” prove they are Sombron’s child and 2) Alear, why are you believing Griss on this?

At least Griss is now answering my first question.

I really do like that they’re explaining all this lore and calling back on things they’ve shown us to do so.

[birdstooth]

Whoa I just looked up that Popcorn guy and was having a good time reading his bio until the end 😭 RIP HOMIE 😓😓😓 I think popcorn and bumblebezos should do a collab tbh and make like a peach schnapps and cut preacher Bill out of the deal.

Brain: yeah, and then they can run him out of town and turn the church into a cool speakeasy with live jazz

Me: I don't think its even prohibition times tho

Brain: Loretta can be the bouncer

Me: haha she can herd the drunks outta there when they've had too much

he was ostracized.  No one wanted to talk to him but Alan Hamby gave him a shot at being the farmhand, and well, Hal is still there.

HAHAHA I'M NOT CRYING YOU;RE CRYING 😭. I feel dumb saying this after that thing about "cool felons" last time lol but I'm now actively trying to be sincere about at least ONE (1) thing every day and I don't think giving my coffee order counts so here it goes lol:

It really does suck that some "crimes against society" are more negatively perceived than others. Bc I feel like it was just pure chance that my inner toxicity manifested as petty theft/trespassing/vandalism, or was channeled into not so peaceful protesting for something I felt an affinity to, when I probably could just as easily been that person that drives drunk or operates dangerous machinery when high. If it weren't for the fact that I don't driving and alcohol tastes foul af to me, I could definitely have been the young adult person that gets a DUI while trying to reclaim their teenage rebellion years in university lol.

So even though I joke about it now, I feel bad when people say stuff like "oh well at least you aren't THAT kind of person/did THAT kind of crime" bc like, bitch I could have lmao. Not to downplay the fact that drunk driving does objectively have a higher risk of harming other people, but it just feels weird that some offences make you a "worse person" when like all of us basically had the same lapse in judgement/self control but some of us end up suffering the consequences for that mistake more or for longer. 🤷‍♀️

haha yuck, feelings and guilt right?? Anyway, so is he also a leper but not as much as a leper as Cole? What is the misfit hierarchy here? If there was a purge and only one spot left in the safe house who's getting it?

but Hal does drive.  If he didn’t then Bee would take him home.  

This is hilarious tho. It's like me passively aggressively arguing with my mom for half an hour and then being like "also can I get a ride to the mall after school pls"

Just for reference, like I live in a small town population wise, but it’s quite large (living in the mountains you can’t just build anywhere).

Me, having played many world-building games, but speaking like I know based on life experience: Yes, I also know this. I am very familiar with the difficulties of developing farmland and infrastructure on rough terrain. On the flip side, kind of gives you an advantage in a wartime scenario tho, as the land serves as an additional defence against invaders.

Literally, my teenage years consisted of us riding through the national state park on a 1.5 lane road.  That’s fun when you come across a car coming towards you.

so do u usually play chicken or like how do u win here

What if there is very few places to eat??  She might have to go to the next town over in order to get food.

omg imagine not having 46 restaurants available on your local ubereats I'm sweating lmao. (I feel like u said there was only one uber driver in your whole area and he was unreliable? lol omg)

he did create an apple tree called the Red Chief, there’s only one of those apples in the world, and you have to go very early in the season to get some of those apples, and they cost more than the regular apples, and they’re delicious!

lol, there's only ONE of these apples in the world and we ate it so it's got now!! 🤣🤣 I totally get having apple preferences tho. The only apples I will eat are Jazz, Pink Lady or Fiji if that's the only option but I don't like golden delicious or anything else mushy or overly sweet.

Tbh I thought fruit was only lucrative in Japan lol where a watermelon can be hundreds of dollars or something and people will actually buy it... and its not even like expensive bc its from wholefoods it's like specially grown or engineered to be the tastiest and most aesthetically pleasing or something haha.

True story, not about a body, although I would assume there is many out there in the woods.  But there was an Olympic bomber that lived in the Appalachian woods for five years before the FBI caught him.

IS THIS THAT RUDOPLH GUY??? that's the only cabin in the woods bomber I can think of other than ted kaz.. kaczy... the Unabomber.

tangent, but this is why I've always respected FBI more than CIA. bc I feel like CIA get like an expense card, they get to travel and do all the glamourous infiltrate this high society network shit, and 75% of the time FBI people are just in the middle of small-town nowhere, staking out a swamp or rural woods waiting for an unhinged person to take a break from writing their manifesto to go out and get some firewood or catch a fish. They're LUCKY if they end up in a nice town like Twin Peaks.

I can attest that sex education in a small town in the Bible Belt SUCKS!  Like…it’s horrible, and they never talked about a clit.  Even a few years ago when I had cousins in school.  They didn’t know the basic anatomy of their body.  Why???  

Wait what would they even learn about in sex-ed then? like is this just putting condoms on bananas? Or do they only learn about the post-sex stuff like childcare?

 That’s why I prefer multi part fics instead of one shots.  Most one shots is just about the smut.  I like a bit more meat 😂 I don’t know if that is the best word to use in this scenario, but oh well.

I'm not going to believe that your decision to use "meat" here was anything but intentional and deliberate!!

I was going to make a joke about me being a scrabble champion bc I can think of many alternative words to use there (more substance/story/context/background/plot/etc), but then I realized u could probably think of just as many if not more alternative words that wouldn't even occur to me b/c of my low spice tolerance lmao (more... filling? that's the best I've got man)

Stained Like Georgia Clay, Part 4

Summary:  Cole takes you out to the middle of nowhere

Pairings:  Cole Turner X Reader

Rating:  explicit

Warnings:  explicit language, explicit sexual content, teasing, a bit of thigh riding (If you squint), ab riding, mutual fingering, squirting, 18+ ONLY

Word Count:  5K

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*dividers created by @firefly-graphics​

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[hyenahunt]

Obbligato: The Baptism of Jun Sazanami - 1

Writer: Akira

Season: Spring, three years ago

Characters: Jun

Proofreading: 310mc (JP) & Skyress (ENG)

Translation: hyenahunt

Jun: But it's not like I could just leave you alone. I mean, it's so shitty of 'em, ganging up on you like that and beating you up.

Time: Spring, three years ago

Location: Reimei Academy, in front of the school gates.

Jun: Damn it all! I'm quitting this school...!

Special Students, my ass! What's so fucking great about those guys, huh!? They just gang up on others and beat the hell outta 'em...!

They can't just get away with this shit! Who do we even take this to? Teachers? The police? God Himself!?

Jun: O-ouch... Ngh~ Think there's a cut in my mouth. Hurts to talk.

...Um, hey, you... okay? You took way worse of a beating than I did, yeah?

I appreciate 'cha patching me up, by the way~ But you should tend to yourself first.

Huh? There's no need for that? You're saying this is the punishment you deserve, and you're used to getting kicked and punched around...?

Jun: Fuck that shit! Whether you're used to it or not, what hurts is gonna hurt anyway! An injury's an injury!

Is there somethin'... I mean—something wrong with what I said!?

Jun: —Wait, sorry 'bout that. There's no point telling you off, huh? You got your ass ki... I mean, you're a fellow victim, too.

Huh? You're asking if my mouth hurts that much since I'm speaking kinda awkwardly?

Jun: Nah~ I just kinda suck at—I mean, I'm bad with formal speech…!

Plus, I don't wanna be all polite with guys who don't deserve my respect!

Jun: Er, wait, it's not that I don't respect you or anything... I just don't really know you, y'see.

But I mean, you're my senior, so I oughta— should be more polite, right?

Yeah? I should do that 'cause Reimei's strict as hell about its pecking order?

So that's how it is, huh~ I did hear it was a school full up of aggressive try-hard elites, I guess?

It promoted itself as being different from that laidback Yumenosaki that's only an idol school in name, see.

I wanted to seriously work at being an idol and all, and wasn't sure if I could get a scholarship there, so I wound up enrolling here in Reimei since tuition's cheaper.

But I kinda feel like it was a mistake... Who’d have thought that some seniors I don’t know would beat the hell outta me on my very first day here?

What's up with that? It's like I accidentally popped into a school you'd see in a manga 'bout punks or something.

...Hmm? Y'mean incidents like this have been more and more common lately? And the Special Students in particular keep taking all their stress out on other guys?

Bullshit! So what if they're stressed!?

Whatever their damn reason, they shouldn't be going around using aspiring freshmen as literal punching bags!

Jun: — Wait, what're you bowing so low for? Like I said, I'm not blaming you for anything.

In fact, I only wanted to help you out~...

I saw you getting kicked around by that snobby-looking gang and ran in to help, but I wound up bitching 'em out instead.

But then they got pissed off at me, and kicked both our asses. I didn't manage to do a thing in the end, huh~ Things really don't go like they do in TV shows or manga...

All I've done since I was a kid was train up in singing and dancing, with not a clue 'bout how to fight, so I gotta admit that was pretty dumb of me to try.

But it's not like I could just leave you alone. I mean, it's so shitty of 'em, ganging up on you like that and beating you up.

What're the police even doing? Isn't this a law-biding country and all that?

Mm? It's how things are? 'Cause that's just the kinda place Reimei is?

Like I said, miss me with that shit! What is this, some kinda parallel world where the laws of Japan don't apply?

Jun: Ahh... Ngh~... Like I said, please don't go bowing so low to me. I'm not some kinda respectable guy who deserves this kinda courtesy from other folks.

Huh? I am respectable? You think I'm a brave person for standing up to some scary guys for the sake of saving a stranger I don't even know?

Jun: Ah, haha... Well, thank you. Not even my parents have ever said somethin' like that to me before.

Ahaha, um, anyway, if we don't get a move on we're gonna be late for the entrance ceremony, huh? We should stop sitting around chatting and head to... the auditorium, was it? Wherever the ceremony's being held.

But I mean, I'm a new student, so I dunno where anywhere like that would be... This school's way too big for no reason.

Hm? Ahh, you'll show me the way there? As a way to pay me back for tryna help you?

Jun: You're pretty conscientious, arent'cha~ I may have wanted to help, but I only got the tables turned on me without doing a thing, so there's nothing to really repay.

But well, thanks to you, my awful first impression of Reimei might be a little better than it could've been.

Like hell I'm ever gonna forgive those douchebags who beat us up, but it's not like the whole school's full of guys like them, huh?

I mean, I ran into someone like you, right? Not even getting hit makes you bear a grudge, and you've been so nice to me even though we've only just met.

I may have started off with the absolute worst luck, but since I'm paying for tuition here and all — maybe it won’t be so bad to see how things go for a lil’ longer.

Alrighty... Well, let's get going, yeah? Please show me the way to the lecture hall, um... What was your name again?

Jun: Hmm, Tojo? With to like the number ten and jo like in condition?[1] Gotcha, then. Tojo-senpai it is~

Jun's asking how Tojo is written - 十条 is made up of 十, the kanji for ten, and 条 from 条件, the kanji for condition (jouken)

✦✦✦✦✦

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[slasherhaven]

hi!!

can I request hcs about a reader who is on a trip with her s/o and her best friend, and ends up defending Thomas from a group of other travelers, and ends up probably getting like punched in the face for him.

they have car trouble, and are allowed to stay at the Hewitt household for the night, (solely because reader took a punch head on, and still continued to defend Thomas) only for reader to discover that her s/o is railing her best friend, and u know that that means— death for them, and now Thomas gets to keep reader.

Thomas Hewitt X Reader

Warnings: cheating, mentions of blood

Disruptive:

This road trip had been being planned for the last couple of months, the three of you planning on travelling the states, hitting the more rural areas and not just the main tourist destinations. It was supposed to be a an opportunity to get away from everything just for a while.

The plan was in the works for a couple of months, so how hadn't any of you thought to plan ahead if the car broke down?

Ian, your boyfriend, had his head under the hood of the car while you and Cecilia, your best friend since childhood, stood by the edge of the road. Ready to wave down a car if one drove by, but none came. You hadn't seen another car for at least two hours now. You must have hit a very isolated part of Texas.

"Well, I think a professional need to take a look at this" Ian sighed as he closed the hood. "I think there's a gas station a little further down the road, maybe they know somebody who could help" he informed you.

Not wanting to leave your car full of your belongings on the side of the road, you all grabbed your own bag and locked up the car before beginning the walk.

It wasn't a long walk, but the heat made it feel much longer, before you arrived at the gas station. It almost seemed abandoned, looking pretty run down, but their was a truck parked outside by one of the gas pumps.

You walked behind your two friends as you approached the front door, pausing when you heard somebody shouting. With a frown, you stepped back as Ian and Cecelia stepped inside the station. Neither of them noticing that you were no longer following behind.

You considered ignoring the shouting but just couldn't, glancing back at the front door before walking around the gas station. As you walked around to the back of the small building, you saw three men.

One was significantly taller and broader than the other two. It looked like he was just trying to work, hoisting up a crate with an impressive amount of ease, while the two men just berated him.

The larger man just continued to ignore them. You wondered why he didn't respond, surely he could scare them off pretty easy. Maybe he was just trying not to cause any trouble while he worked?

"Hey" you finally spoke up, making the two men look at you. The larger man glanced at you, and that was when you noticed the leather mask. It was curious but you tried not to stare. "Is there a problem?" you asked.

"No problem. Just came for gas, didn't think we'd be treated to a free freak show as well" one of the shorter men jeered.

"Sounds like he's just trying to work and you're just being jerks" you folded your arms over your chest. The larger actually seemed to be reacting to the conversation now, placing the crate down and looking over at you. "Looks like you're just bothering him" you added.

"Just get outta here, we're only messing around" one of the men rolled his eyes.

"Dumb bastard probably doesn't even understand" the other man scoffed.

"He's the dumb one? You're the ones picking on some stranger to make yourselves feel better" you huffed, walking further towards the three men before smirking slightly.

"You know, from my experience if men feel the need constantly put others down and act like the 'alpha', they're usually overcompensating for something" you knew men like this and you knew the best way to get to them was to bruise their ego.

One of the men glared at you, stepping closer, trying to intimidate you. You glanced down at his crotch with a look of disappointment and disapproval. "Looks like the math checks out" you smirked as you met his gaze again, not backing down.

"You little bitch" he growled.

Maybe you had underestimated him...you had thought they were just a couple of jerks, finding some fun in pushing a stranger around, but you had underestimated them. You never even saw it coming but the bastard had punched you. You hadn't expected him to actually violently act out like that. You thought you would bother them enough for them to just storm off, you had been very wrong.

The shout that left you was out of your control, hands coming up to clutch your face after the impact.

You stumbled backwards, knowing you had to get away from these men, but there was suddenly something in front of you. The large man with the mask had moved between you and the two men as soon as they lashed out, squaring his stance and glaring them down, fists clenching at his sides.

Thankfully, the two men came to their senses and realised that they couldn't take the larger man even if there was two of them. They tried not to show fear on their faces but failed as they muttered to themselves, hurrying back round to the front of the gas station.

"Ah shit" you cursed, clutching your bleeding nose.

The large man turned to you with wide eyes. What was he meant to do?

You pinched the soft part of your nose and tilted your head back like you heard you were supposed to do. The man quickly shook his head, stepping closer and cautiously touching your head, making you look down instead.

"Thank you" you thanked him for correcting you. "I've never been punched before" you confessed with a slightly bitter laugh. He didn't know what to do, so he just stood there, his feet shifting slightly in the dirt.

Once you had managed to dry your eyes that had started to water, you lifted your head slightly too look at the man. "Are you alright?" you asked, glancing down at your bloody hands once you stopped holding your nose.

The man just nodded, digging around in his pocket before pulling out some clean cloth, holding it out you.

You thanked him again as you accepted it, brining it up to your nose to soak up the blood.

"Is it broken?" you asked. Surely, you would know if it was broken? But he seemed more knowledgeable about this sort of thing that you were, you didn't even know that you shouldn't tilt your head back when your nose was bleeding.

The man hesitated before carefully lowering your hand, letting him examine your nose. Thankfully, he shook his head and you let out a sigh of relief.

You were about to ask his name but got interrupted by a call of your name. You recognised the voice, it was Ian.

"Back here!" you called back to them.

Ian and Cecilia came running around the corner, looking between you and the masked man, their eyes widening them they noticed the blood on your face and the cloth.

"What the hell did you do?" Cecilia snapped at the large man standing beside you, looking like she was ready to set Ian on him, not like he stood a chance if she did.

"Hey, leave him alone, he didn't do anything" you were quick to defend the man again. "Just some assholes" you told them.

"Christ, why are you always doing this sort of shit?" Ian rolled his eyes, seeming more irritated than concerned.

"I didn't know he was going to punch me. I was just trying to help" you muttered, feeling like you were being told off for doing something wrong when you just wanted to help.

"Well, the car is pretty much fucked and-" Ian began to change the subject, giving you an update on the car but he was interrupted by the back door of the gas station swinging open.

"Thomas, what is all this noise?" a older woman asked as she stepped outside. "What happened?" she asked, looking between the two of you, glancing over at your friends.

The man, Thomas as she called him, didn't answer, so you spoke up. "I'm really sorry, ma'am. There were some men causing trouble, I was trying to help but...guess I made things worse" you explained, pulling the cloth away from your nose, noting that the bleeding had slowed.

The woman looked between you and Thomas again, seeming to add things up in her mind. "You took a punch for my boy?" she asked, her expression softening slightly.

"Uh...I guess, just asked them to leave him alone. Guess I pushed it too far" you nodded.

"You with those two?" she asked, gesturing towards your friends, "with the busted car?"

You just nodded and she hummed to herself. Feeling a little uncomfortable, Ian and Cecilia moved closer, coming to stand just behind you.

"Alright well...for your trouble, how about you come stay at the house for the night, we can get someone to look at your car tomorrow morning" the woman offered, surprising you.

"Oh we couldn't intrude" you shook your head, hating to be a burden.

"I insist. It's the least we can do" she didn't look like she would take no for an answer.

"Only if you're certain" you looked back at your friends, who just shrugged, alright with the arrangement. "Thank you, this is very kind" you look back at her with a smile.

"I'm Luda May, this is my son Tommy" she introduced herself and the man that was awkwardly standing to the side now.

"I'm Y/n. This is my boyfriend, Ian, and my friend, Cecilia" you introduced your small group.

Tommy frowned under his mask. Boyfriend. Of course. It's not like he even dreamed of getting his hopes up, thinking your kindness was anything more than pity. Still, for some reason, it stung a little. He just couldn't explain why.

"Come on, dear, let me lock up and get you back to the house, get you cleaned up" Luda May offered, placing a hand on your arm comfortingly.

After Luda May locked up the gas station, you all walked back to their home. It was a large but somewhat run down house. Luda May guided you all inside and introduced you to Hoyt and Monty, two rather rude older men, but she had told you not to pay them any mind.

"Thomas, will you help Y/n clean up while I show them to their room?" Luda May asked as you all stepped out of the living room, leaving the two older men behind. Thomas seemed surprised by her request but nodded.

Ian and Cecilia were ushered up the stairs, taking your bag with them as well as their own, while you followed Thomas into the kitchen.

Thomas gestured for you to sit down on a chair and you did, while he grabbed a bowl of water and a clean cloth. He seemed nervous but determined to help, cautiously taking your hands in his to clean them.

You watched your hands, almost in amazement. They looked so small in his hands, he must have been able to break your arm just by holding on too hard.

"Can I call you Tommy?" you asked, breaking the silence. He paused for a moment, looking up from your hands to meet your gaze. He had nice eyes. He nodded. "Well, thank you, Tommy. I'm sorry about those men, I hate people like that. You'd think they'd grow out of it when they left school, but they don't" you sighed.

Thomas only nodded again, obviously not a talker but you didn't mind. He still seemed nice enough.

Once your hands were clean, Thomas moved to clean the blood from your face but you noticed how he paused, seeming nervous again. He didn't want to make you uncomfortable and you thought that was sweet. "It's alright" you assured him.

Gently placing his hand under your chin, Thomas angled your head up slightly, holding it in place as he wiped away the drying blood from your face. Making sure to be extra careful around your nose.

You stayed still, letting him work. He was a large man with strong arms and large hands, and yet he was being so gentle. Like he was afraid of hurting you. It made you smile a little.

Just as he finished cleaning you up, pulling his hands away from your face, Ian walked into the kitchen. "How's your nose?" he asked, walking over to you, glancing at Thomas suspiciously.

"Good, it's stopped bleeding" you told him with a smile. "Thomas said it's not broken, but it still hurts" you chuckled. It was sore but there was no real harm done.

"Just don't get what you were thinking" Ian huffed, shaking his head.

"Was just trying to help" you rolled your eyes, not in the mood for an argument.

"C'mon, he's like twice my size, I don't think he needs you defending him. I'm sure he could've took a couple of men" Ian scoffed, making Thomas tense again. He had been so relaxed around you, now he wanted to leave the room, feeling like he had done something wrong.

"Ian, stop being rude, you're being an ass" you told him, sounding tired.

"Fucking freak" he muttered under his breath, glancing at Thomas.

"Ian!" you snapped, eyes wide in shock and disgust. "What is wrong with you? Just get outta here" you stood, pointing towards the door. You didn't even want to look at him right now.

Ian just rolled his eyes before leaving the room, not seemed to care about your anger towards him.

"God, Thomas, I'm so sorry" you turned towards the masked man, looking genuinely apologetic and horrified by your boyfriend's behaviour. "I don't know what's been wrong with him lately...never used to be like this" you made a weak attempt at an explanation, sighing as you returned to your seat.

Thomas just shook his head, telling you not to worry about it, but you knew it had bothered him.

"Hey, I'll kick his ass for you as well, if you want" you offered with a playful smile, hoping to lighten the mood a little.

It worked, at least a little. Thomas smiled a little under his mask, you were cute and kind. He liked you and, if he didn't know any better, he would think that you liked him.

Luda May had provided the three of you with one room, the only spare room they had, but that was kind enough in your eyes. She had even invited you for supper with the family. All of you sitting around the table, you sitting between Thomas and Ian, as Luda May dished out the food.

It was a little awkward, eating with complete strangers, so you all mostly ate in silence. "So, where are you lot heading?" Luda May finally asked, breaking the silence and trying to start a pleasant conversation.

"Nowhere in particular" Cecilia shrugged, still being polite.

"Just taking a little road trip. Get away from things for a while, you know?" you added.

Ian and Cecilia had been glancing at Thomas whenever they were in the same room. From behind the gas station to right now at the dining table. You thought it was rude but as long as they didn't say anything stupid, you wouldn't comment on it.

Unfortunately, there was a lull in conversation and Ian thought he would speak up. "Alright. What's with the mask, anyway?" he asked, looking past you to Thomas.

"Ian" you warned through gritted teeth, in complete disbelief with him and frowning at Cecilia when she giggled to herself.

The Hewitt family was looking at Ian, glaring. Thomas had tensed beside you. Shit, how do you save this one?

"Did you make it yourself?" you asked, turning your full attention to Thomas. He just nodded, staring down at his plate, assuming you were going to beginning mocking him. "That's pretty impressive, it looks good. You must be pretty handy" you complimented with a smile. Thomas looked at you with surprise in his eyes but smiled, as did Luda May.

Ian muttered something under his breath that you couldn't understand. You just ignored him, not wanting to risk him causing more trouble.

The rest of the supper was uneventful and you had thanked the family once again before everyone started to turn in for the night.

You had taken a shower before bed. When you returned to the bedroom, you frowned when you saw that both Ian and Cecilia were gone. With a sigh, you left the room and began to search for them.

You couldn't find them anywhere in the house so you stepped outside, onto the front porch. Once you were outside, you heard movement and followed it. Hopping down the steps of the porch and wandering around the side of the house. Maybe they had stepped out for a smoke? You thought Ian had quit, maybe he hadn't...

You followed noise until you heard what sounded like a moan. You frowned and turned the corner, freezing at the sight that greeted you.

Ian was pinning Cecilia up against the side of the house, her bare leg hooked over his hip, his pants bunched down under his ass. They clearly hadn't noticed you.

"What the hell!" you shouted, getting their attention.

They both jumped apart, Ian pulling up his pants and Cecilia fixing her skirt, looking horrified. "Shit" Ian cursed.

"Yeah. Shit" you scoffed. "Are you seriously fucking my best friend?" you asked rhetorically, wondering how he was going to try to talk his way out of this one. He didn't speak. "And you're fucking my boyfriend?" you looked to Cecilia, who looked down at her feet. "Will somebody answer me!" you were tired of being ignored.

"Yes!" Ian snapped, making you flinch. "Obviously that's what we were doing" he rolled his eyes, knowing he couldn't lie his way out of this one.

"...how long as this been going on?" you asked.

"About a month" Ian shrugged.

"I can't believe you!" you shouted at him, tears stinging your eyes. You were furious, more from the betrayal than anything. Ian had become a jerk over the last few months but now you were losing your boyfriend and your best friend.

"Look, we can talk this out, alright?" Ian approached you, going to place his hand on your shoulder.

"Don't touch me" you snarled, stepping back. How could he even think that you would be willing to 'talk this out'.

"What the fuck is all the shouting?" Hoyt's angry voice boomed as he rounded the corner.

"God, you are a fucking asshole" you ignored Hoyt, glaring at Ian. "I hope you're real happy together, you deserve each other" you spat before turning around, walking past Hoyt, who watched you leave with an irritated expression.

By the time you had made it back inside the house, tears were rolling down your cheeks. Thomas had been coming to find the cause of all the shouting, nearly running straight into you.

"Oh, uh, sorry Thomas" you apologised as you nearly collided with his chest. You kept your head down, hoping he hadn't seen the tears. But he did, and he worried that you had been hurt, had Hoyt hurt you? He swore he heard Hoyt shouting.

Without thinking, Thomas gently took hold of your shoulders and examined you. You were confused by his actions at first but when you realised what he was doing, you smiled a little.

"I'm not hurt, Tommy" you chuckled, sniffing slightly. He looked so concerned for you, it was sweet. You couldn't remember the last time Ian had looked at you like that when you cried. "So, uh...Ian really is an ass" you laughed bitterly, wiping away some tears. "...he's been cheating on me with Cecilia" you told him, explaining the cause of your tears.

Thomas could kill him. You were so kind and sweet, putting yourself in harms way for a complete stranger. How could he do something like this to you? How could he or your friend betray you like that.

Both of you could hear shouting coming from outside again, it sounded like Hoyt and Ian were arguing.

"Oh god" you groaned, embarrassed by everything that had happened. "I'm so sorry, we shouldn't be bothering you all with this" you were crying again, and getting frustrated with yourself.

Thomas wasn't sure what to do, people didn't normally like being around him but you didn't seem to mind, so maybe you wouldn't mind him comforting you as well. His movements were slow and careful, guiding you closer to him and wrapping his arms around you.

As soon as you realised he was offering you a comforting hug, you accepted it. You wrapped your arms around his waist, just needing somebody to hold you, as you cried into his chest. Feeling more confident, Thomas wrapped his arms around you more securely. His arms were large and strong, making you feel safe. His body practically engulfed yours, making you fell like the world couldn't touch you. It was a nice feeling.

"Thomas?" Luda May asked, also coming to investigate the commotion. "What is all that shouting about...are you alright, dear?" her attention turned to you when she saw that you were crying.

"I, uh..." you sniffled as you pulled away from Thomas, wiping your wet cheeks. You looked up at him and he nodded, reassuring you that you weren't being a burden. "I think Hoyt and Ian are arguing about something outside" you told her.

"Is that why you're crying?" she frowned. Has Hoyt decided to pick a fight even when she had warned him not too?

You shook your head. "...I caught Ian cheating on me with Cecilia" you sniffled again.

"Oh...I'm so sorry" Luda May's expression softened once again. Something flashed behind her yes but it was too quick to name.

"Thomas, will you go and help Hoyt?" Luda May asked calmly, looking up at her son. Thomas squinted at her and she nodded.

Thomas gave you a soft look before leaving through the front door. You didn't like the idea of other people dealing with your problems, but you couldn't argue because Luda May already had your attention again.

"Come on, dear" she took your hand, leading you to the living room and sitting down with you on the couch.

"I'm so, so sorry. You've all been so generous and my friends have been rude and now we're being so disruptive. I'm so sorry" you apologised. This family had tried to be so kind to you all and now you were being completely disrespectful.

"Hush now, it's not your fault" Luda May cooed, gently guiding your head to lay against her shoulder, beginning to stroke your hair. "Tommy and Hoyt will take care of them" she promised.

You just nodded, trying to stop the tears. You were too worked up to dwell on what Luda May meant exactly, just letting her hum and soothe you.

Luda May smiled as she stroked your hair, humming the same tune she would hum to shush Thomas when he was a child. You seemed pleasant, polite and kind. You would make a good addition to the family and you were so good to Tommy. Of course, she had seen how her son looked at you, amazed by your sincere kindness, already falling for you, the poor boy. Your so called friends did not deserve any kindness, but you deserved mercy.

Oh, she hoped you could forgive Tommy, she hoped you would continue to see him as the sweet boy he is.

[xoxoavenger]

I Still Love You

pairing: Peter Parker (Tom Holland) x Fem!Reader

summary: Peter and Y/N get into a massive fight, one that takes a toll on Y/N.

word count: 7429

warnings: mentions of sex

masterlist

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"No, apparently just fucking, which is all you ever want to do anyway!"

The young couple's voices could be heard throughout the whole compound, and Tony wished he had sprung for soundproof walls. The Avengers were half temped to go to the training basement or leave the compound entirely, and a couple already had.

"Don't act like you didn't enjoy that shit too! It's really a shame you're too busy with your dumb patrolling to pay any attention to me!"

"Do you think this will be the last one?" Bruce asked, making Tony shake his head.

"This is the worst one, but it probably won't be their last." Natasha sighed, laying across the couch.

"I'm sorry my job of protecting people is a little more important than fucking you!"

It was quiet, and then a groan was heard.

"Did she just,"

"What the fuck, Y/N?" Peter's yell made Wanda go silent.

"Oh God, I hope she bitch slapped the shit outta him." Sam said, laughing. Bucky chuckled, but otherwise everyone else was silent. The yelling had gotten quieter, and the Avengers almost wanted to go to the room to see what was going on.

"I am not just a 'thing' that you fuck. I am a human being. I am a goddamn superhero." Y/N's voice was low and shaky, and Peter could tell that he hurt her, even if she had slapped him with a warming hand.

"I didn't mean it like that, Y/N. You know that." Peter said quietly.

"Maybe not, but you had a choice. You have a choice every single fucking day. Me or Spider-Man. And day after goddamn day, you chose Spider-Man. Every hour actually, when you could come back just a little bit earlier and be with me, your girlfriend. But you don't. If you couldn't handle a personal and hero life, why'd you ask me to be your girlfriend?"

'Y/N, you can't-"

"You do it everyday!"

"And they're back." Steve sighed, drawing on his sketchbook in the corner. The Avengers without superhearing hadn't heard the small talk they had been having for a few peaceful seconds, but now it was back to yelling.

"I have a job to do, Y/N! I have people to protect! I'm sorry that you're too much of a bitch to-" Peter's groan cut himself off.

"Oo, another one. His face is gonna be hurting for a hot second." Tony chuckled, swiping through the magazine he was looking at.

"I am not a bitch." Y/N said quietly, getting close to him as she pointed a finger into his chest hard. The fabric around it started to burn. "And I'm not asking you to put other people's lives above mine. I understand that you're a hero, and I understand that you won't always be here. But you could at least try to be around some of the time!" She yelled, pushing him.

"You're putting words in my mouth!"

"Pepper and I had an argument about this a couple years ago." Tony remarked, and the rest of the Avengers shook their heads. Bucky, Bruce, and Wanda actually got up and left, not able to listen to the young couple argue any longer.

"And look where that got you." Natasha said, not looking up from her book.

"Exactly, we're fine now." Tony flipped to the next page.

"How am I putting words in your mouth? You called me a 'bitch!' It was loud and fucking clear!" Y/N screamed, tears now rolling down her face. She began to swing clumsily at Peter, to upset to think of technique.

"I know that - I KNOW THAT!" Peter grabbed her hands, the two breathing hard as they stared into each other. "I'm sorry." Peter whispered. For a second, he thought they were going to kiss and make up, that they were going to roll into bed and everything would be fine.

"You're not sorry." Y/N shook her head, tears falling down her cheeks.

"Yes, baby, I am, I swear-"

"You're never sorry! You don't care and you never will!" Y/N pulled herself from his grasp. It was just as well, since Peter's hands were starting to burn.

"Are you kidding me? I care so much it physically hurts!"

"You are such a liar!" Y/N screamed turning and throwing the first thing she had at him. Peter caught the vase before it hit him, making her even more angry. She kicked the coffee table over, screaming in a fit of range.

"Okay, time to intervene." Natasha jumped up when she heard the crash.

"This is bad." Steve mumbled, going to aid her. They walked down the hallway quickly, where more yelling and fighting was heard.

"Don't you fucking leave again!"

"You're not the boss of me!"

Crash!

"Shit." Natasha mumbled, the two jogging the rest of the way to the room.

"Alright-"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Y/N reached out to hit Peter, hand glowing red with the heat her powers were giving off.

"Nope," Steve grabbed Y/N's upper arm to avoid getting burned, as well as to keep Peter from getting a hole punched through him.

"Oh my God, this is between us two! Get off of me, you whore!" Y/N screamed, turning to punch with her other hand, which was less burning but still hot as she began to warm it up.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic, hot hands." Natasha grabbed her other arm, struggling as they tried to keep her from lashing out again. "Peter, you better leave right now before I let her burn a hole through your diaphragm."

Peter scoffed before leaving. Just a couple seconds later, Steve was forced to let go of her arm, his skin starting to scorch.

"Please tell me you guys didn't hear all that." Y/N sighed, trying to cool her hands down as Natasha let go as well. She turned to them, eyes wide as more tears rolled down her cheeks. She clearly realized the fight was over.

"You aren't exactly quiet." Natasha muttered, crossing her arms. As much as she loved the younger Avenger like a sister, she wasn't good with emotions.

"I didn't want to break up with him. I just wanted to talk about how he's never with me anymore. But then he put words in my mouth and he was getting so mad which made me mad because none of this is my fault!" More tears rolled down Y/N's cheeks, and now it was getting hard talk as her throat held in the sobs. "Just, please, go. Please." She cried, turning to the bed. She hadn't even laid on it for a second before she turned back around, a loud sob ripping her throat. Steve and Natasha looked at each other, at a loss for what to do, nor did they even know she was crying. "It's Peter's room!"

"Alright, let's get you to your room." Steve shared another look with Nat before walking over to the bed that Y/N was still strewn out on. When she didn't move, Steve pulled her to her feet, and she angrily pushed him away with sizzling hands, stomping to her own room. Steve tried to follow her, but Natasha held her arm out.

"I may not have been a normal teenager, but I know we need to let her have space." Steve sighed crossing his arms.

"Lady Y/N! I am b-why are you upset?" Thor's booming voice was heard down the hall. Just as Natasha and Steve made their way outside Peter's room to save Thor from the burns he was bound to suffer from the girl, Thor was being pulled inside of Y/N's room.

"Since when are they best friends?" Steve asked, feeling hurt that the girl didn't open up to him. Everyone opened up to him.

"Calm it, Cap. Not everyone has to open up to you."

~

"He's only in love with his job, Thor! He doesn't care about me. He doesn't even care that we broke up." Y/N cried, sitting on her couch. Thor plopped down on the other side, lifting her own side slightly.

"You do not know that. He is just as upset as you. Probably." Thor comforted her. Y/N shook her head.

"He just left. He didn't even try to fight for me! Even when Tony took his suit, he fought for it. He hasn't even tried." Y/N put her head in her hands, and it was quiet for a moment. Thor put a hand on her shoulder.

"He still loves you. You know he does." Thor told her. She opened her eyes and lifted her head, rolling her eyes.

"Are you kidding? He definitely doesn't love me anymore. At least, not as much as he loves being Spider-Man." Y/N cried. Thor moved closer.

"Jane and I had a fight similar to this, once." Thor told her, putting his arm all the way around her now. It was silent as Y/N wiped some of her tears, fresh ones falling in their now dry tracks.

"Didn't you and Jane break up?" Y/N asked, turning to look at him. He looked nervous.

"Um, that's part of the reason why we broke up." Thor still didn't have a good filter, but he knew he shouldn't have said this to a mourning teenager.

"Oh God!" Y/N cried, standing up and falling on her bed. She began sobbing into her pillow. "I don't want Peter to leave me."

"It'll all be okay, Lady Y/N." Thor sat on the end of her bed with a creak.

"No it won't! Get out of my room! I want to be alone!" She screamed.

"Y/N, don't-"

"Get out!" Y/N screeched as she sat up. She was breathing fast, and heat was radiating off her hands. She looked at them, overcome with rage and fear. She looked up at Thor, who was also looking at her in fear. Her chest tightened weirdly.

"Your hands," Thor started to say, standing up.

"I-I can't control it! I don't-I don't know what to do!" Y/N yelled, holding her hands away from her body. They were burning white, heating the room up.

"What do you normally do when this happens?"

"It normally doesn't happen!"

"Just, just calm down. Don't think about Peter - I mean,"

"Oh no, Peter!" Y/N cried, and the heat in the room intensified.

"Go to the bathroom! Lady-In-The-Air, call for help!" Thor yelled as Y/N ran to the bathroom.

"I have sent for help." FRIDAY replied to Thor. Just as he went to check on her, Y/N screamed and a blinding white light came from the bathroom, accompanied by a loud noise.

"Y/N? What's going on?" Steve burst the door open, but Thor was already running toward the bathroom.

"What did you do?" Thor asked, looking in the bathroom with wide eyes. By this time, half the Avengers were in the room.

"Y/N? Are you alright?" Steve asked, running into the room. The girl was collapsed on the floor, but that wasn't even the worst part. The wall directly across the bathroom was decimated, almost as if an atom bomb had gone off only on that wall. Luckily, her room was in the corner of the tower, because now fresh air was blowing into the room instead of a hole a mile long throughout the tower. The room was now dark, as the lights had gone out and it was now dark outside.

"Shit!" Steve hissed as he tried to pick her up. Her body was burning, and even the super solider couldn't endure it. "How did this happen?"

"She got really upset, and her hands were glowing, and she said she couldn't control it." Thor informed the captain.

"But, that's never happened before. She's always been able to control it." Tony said as everyone's eyes were on the girl. The tile beneath her body was glowing slightly with the head radiating off her body.

"What do we do? We can't just leave her on the sweltering tile." Bruce said.

"We can't move her, she's still radiating heat." Thor crouched next to her, hand hovering over her forehead. She had begun to cool down, but they still couldn't pick her up.

"Sorry, but Peter was fighting to get in here. I told him that whatever was going on, she needed space, because quote frankly he was be-"

"It's fine, Wanda. We don't really need anyone in here for now. Thank you for coming." Bruce said, as everyone else was in the bathroom.

"Where is she gonna stay now? I mean, I'm good, but this can't be fixed in one day. No one is that good." Tony stared at the decimated wall.

"We have to have an extra guest room. This is a huge place." Steve said. Tony was about to answer when Y/N stirred on the floor. Thor reached out, noticing she was getting cooler as she woke up. She was back in control.

"Y/N?" Thor asked as Steve, Bruce and Tony came closer. Everyone else had left.

"Oh, God," Y/N groaned, flipping fully on her back to lay flat against the tile. The remaining Avengers crowded her.

"Y/N? Can you hear us?" Steve asked, putting a hand to her face again. It was still hot, but not enough to make him withdraw his hand immediately.

"What happened, Y/N? How did you burn a whole through the wall?"

"A very large hole." Tony almost cut Thor off with his mumblings. Steve shot them both a sharp look as Y/N took a shuddering breath.

"I-I don't know. I was just so upset, about everything, ya know? And - I don't know what happened! It was too much, I couldn't take it. And I could feel my body heating up, but I couldn't stop it like a normally do. It just kept heating and my hands were glowing. And my chest was tightening, I couldn't breathe. The more I thought about how upset and scared I was, it kept getting worse until I couldn't take it. I don't know what happened! I don't know what happened!" She repeated the phrase over and over and over, and the male Avengers blinked for a minute, not able to comprehend how to help the girl having a mental breakdown in the bathroom with a hole in the wall.

"Hey, it'll all be okay. You're fine now, everything is fine." Steve told her, and she shook her head, and stood, making the other Avengers stand pack, Thor tripping and almost falling out the hole in the wall.

"Everything isn't fine though!" Y/N yelled. A burst of heat radiated off her, and the Avengers gasped as they sucked in the cold air that was filtering through. "Everything isn't fine because Peter hates me and so I lost the love of my life! It would hurt worse if you stabbed me!" At the last part, another heat wave was sent out of her, and the Avengers began gasping again at the heat filling the air.

"Let's just go to sleep, alright? It's getting late." Steve said, trying to diffuse the situation.

"Great idea. Let's go. Y/N, you can sleep in here tonight. We'll move you to a temporary room when the people come to fix," Tony lead off for a moment, blinking at the hole in the wall for a few moments. "That."

Everyone walked out of the bathroom as Thor and Steve helped Y/N up and to her bed. They tucked her in as older brothers do, making Y/N feel less alone. She was asleep with exhaustion before the boys had even left the room.

~

"Boss, there is a fire in Miss L/N's room." Tony chuckled, his sleep deprived brain not working on anything except the project in his hands.

"There's always a fire in Y/N's room." Tony turned to yell at Dummy as he knocked the coffee over on the bench, but he never got the chance.

"Her bedding and mattress is on fire. It is spreading to her nightstand."

"Oh, shit!" Tony was dropping his project and running out of the room as soon as FRIDAY had finished speaking. He came first to Steve's door, which he barely slowed down to bang on.

"Y/N's setting shit on fire!" He didn't wait to hear if the captain had woke up, hoping he would spring to action. His thoughts were answered when the door was swung open and it didn't shut. Steve quickly passed Tony, but both were stopped when another door in front of them opened.

"Y/N's in trouble." Wanda said, hair in braids. Both men screamed, Tony falling to the ground almost as fast as he began scrambling up.

"What the hell are you idiots waiting for?" Natasha asked, her hair in a half French braid. Only half, though, because the bottom half was already falling out. It seemed Natasha and Wanda were braiding each other's hair.

The four of them ran to Y/N's room, Steve being the first to make it to the room. He opened the door, looking around.

"Y/N?" He screamed, but he couldn't see her. All he could see was the fire on the bed that had now spread to the nightstand.

"Stop! No!" Y/N's voice was heard. It seemed to be coming from the fire, so Wanda ran towards it at the protests of the other Avengers.

"Y/N? Come on, we gotta get out of here!" Natasha yelled as she came into view. She was sitting on the bed, fire licking her face, as she held something in her hands. It was melting though, and she was screaming.

"Let the picture go!" Wanda yelled.

"FRIDAY, deploy fire measures!" Tony yelled. Water began to pour from the ceiling.

"Get out of the way!" Thor was bustling into the room now, and he began to point the fire extinguisher and shoot.

"Shit, dude!" Tony yelled as everyone coughed. In a matter of seconds, everyone was drenched. The water went out as the fire began to die down. Y/N's clothes were hanging off of her, burned. She didn't seem to care, though. She was crying, holding something tightly. When Steve made his way to her, she was holding the burned remains of a picture. The frame had melted, but it was because of her hands, not the fire.

"How did this fire start?" Thor asked, dropping the fire extinguisher to the ground with a thud.

"I had a dream." Y/N whispered, tears rushing down her cheeks. The frame began to melt more, and Steve quickly pulled it out of her hands before she accidentally trapped herself with the metal. He looked at the picture, the glass from the frame broken, leaving pieces of it smoldered. It was obviously a picture of Y/N and Peter, but Steve couldn't tell where they were or what was going on in the picture.

"You caused the fire?" Natasha asked, arms crossed as she looked at the burned bed and nightstand.

"I didn't mean to!" Y/N hugged herself as she began to sob, and the Avengers were left blinking. Normally, when something like this would happen, they would call Peter. But they definitely couldn't do this now, as the entire tower may spontaneously combust. Also, Y/N had never set anything on fire in her sleep, so that was new.

"Let's go to one of the guest rooms. I'm sure this was a one-time thing. Don't sweat it." Tony said, and they all made their way to their respective rooms to sleep.

~

It was not a one-time thing.

Y/N set the guest room on fire the next night. This time, Bruce and Bucky were the ones who had arrived in her room first. She was sitting on the bed, crying. Fire engulfed her, and it seemed like she didn't even know she was doing it.

"She's still asleep." Bruce told Bucky as Steve came running in. Thor and Tony followed quickly, the former already spraying the fire extinguisher as he ran in. It was no use though, because Y/N was still dreaming, still creating the fire. It was decided that Bruce would kindly wake her up, and then they could put out the flames.

However, Y/N swung out and lightly burned three marks across Bruce's cheek.

"Why can't we just call in Peter? He's always been able to calm her down." Bucky asked, crossing his arms. He was over all of this bullshit, not understanding why the two couldn't just kiss and make up. They seemed to like each other enough.

"Peter's the reason these are happening." Tony said, looking at Bucky as if he hadn't understood what 1+1 is.

"Exactly! Let him deal with it." Bucky explained. Steve shook his head.

"She's one of us. We have to take care of her." Steve stared at the fire, not sure what to do now. All his brain could think about was calling for Peter, but that obviously wasn't a good option. The two were avoiding each other like the plague, and when they did happen to see each other, the room would get hotter and Peter's hands would start to stick to everything he touched.

"Hate to say it, but I'm almost with Manchurian Candidate. Calling in the kid would solve all our problems."

"Or make them worse." Bruce said, not seeming to care too much about the marks that adorned his face.

"She burned you, Bruce. Literally. This is bigger than us." Tony defended.

"Or smaller, because that kid is tiny."

"Are we all forgetting there is a fire?" Thor broke up the discussion. The Avengers all turned back to the bed, and now that they were paying attention they noticed that Y/N had started sobbing.

"This is a problem for the spider." Bucky mumbled.

"He's probably stuck to his sheets right now. His power's been acting up too." Tony fired back. They all took a step back as they watched the fire rage on. There really was nothing they could do now.

"Move out of the way." Natasha's voice was heard. The boys turned around to see her standing in her suit, zipped all the way up and hair braided out of the way. She quickly got in and woke Y/N up, and then Thor put out the fire.

"Nothing to see here. Go get your beauty sleep." Natasha waved the boys out of the room before whispering 'amateurs' under her breath. She led Y/N to her room, knowing the girl wouldn't be able to sleep.

~

The Avengers had gone three days without a fire. Tony had begun to make a fully fireproof room, but it seems he just needed the girl to have a day or two to grieve. She was fine in the new guest room.

Except she wasn't. Every night, she would sneak out of her bed and go to the common room. She made coffee and watched scary movies so that she wouldn't be able to sleep, because thinking about Peter was obviously the problem. While she was awake, she could keep herself from thinking about him. But while she was asleep...

His hands on her body. His kisses on her lips. The words he would whisper to her. Their fingers intertwined. The way he broke her heart, ripped it straight out of her chest and ripped her heart in half in the most brutal way

Her hand burned a mark into the couch cushion. Y/N looked around, shook her hand to cool it off, and then flipped the cushion over.

So maybe she wasn't as good at not thinking about Peter as she thought.

Makeup was a permanent dust under her eyes, and she always had coffee with her no matter where she went. She caught small naps here and there, but made sure to set her alarms for an hour after she fell asleep, not long enough for her to have a dream and set the room on fire.

Training sessions were hard, but they could be worse. She hasn't had to train with Peter yet.

Yet. Today was the day though, and Y/N knew it as soon as she saw Steve's apologetic look in the training room.

"You need to spar with him eventually." Steve mumbled as Y/N put on the protective wraps which kept her from burning things.

"Don't you think there's a reason why I haven't set things on fire in days?" Y/N asked, not looking up.

"Because you aren't sleeping?" Natasha muttered at her other side. Y/N jumped, making Nat smile.

"I am sleeping." Y/N defended, moving to wrap her other hand.

"Not long enough to have dreams, which is why you haven't set anything on fire." Damn. Y/N hated living with spies.

"Well, nothing has been on fire, so," Y/N angrily ripped her tape, throwing it back in the bin.

"I'm getting deja vú." Sam said, and Y/N reached to light fire in her hands. Her tape stopped her from doing so, however, so she angrily glared.

"Alright, get on the mat." Natasha yelled. Peter and Y/N got on the map, neither of them looking at each other. Y/N picked at her tapes as other Avengers acted like they were working out when they were really only there to watch the fight. "No powers, alright? This is hand to hand combat."

"We have our powers in hand to hand combat on a mission." Peter pointed out. Y/N looked up, but not at him.

"Would you like me to unwrap my hands, then? Light a fire?"

"No. Three, two, one, fight!" Tony counted them off, not giving them room to argue. The two put their hands up, getting ready.

"I know you want to punch me." Peter spoke first.

"Don't taunt me. It doesn't take much for me to get hot." Y/N finally looked into his eyes. "I'm sure you already know that, though."

"I'm not trying to taunt you." Peter sounded exhausted.

"I don't want to do this." Y/N complained, dropping her arms. Before she could respond, she was hit across the face. It was silent as she fell back a couple steps, one hand coming up to her cheek, which was definitely bruised.

"Do you wanna do this now?" Peter asked, and Y/N looked up at him.

"I can't believe I ruined my bed sheets for you!" Y/N screamed, lunging at him. Peter dodged it, but she grabbed his leg, bringing him down.

"Is that some kind of innuendo?" Peter asked, but the second he took to say something, Y/N was on top of him, arm pressing against his throat.

"Tap out." She muttered, face close to his. Her body was starting to heat up, which was a rare occurrence. Usually, her hands would get hot and they would be the ones to set things on fire or, as of recently, project her heat to decimate a wall.

"You know I last longer than this." Peter choked out. Before she knew what he was doing, he grabbed her arm that was braced by his head and wrapped his leg around her corresponding leg, making her fall against him. The room seemed to still, but then they were rolled over and Peter was now on top. "Can we talk?" Y/N looked around, seeing all the other Avengers now openly staring.

"About what?" Y/N whispered, trying not to cry. She bucked her hips up, then turned to her side and shrugged herself up and away from Peter. She hooked a thigh around his neck, so that now her body was above him, meaning he couldn't flip them over unless he used his powers.

"You can't run away from me forever." Peter told her. She tightened her leg, and Peter inhaled deeply. Y/N began thinking of Peter, all the things he said to her before. He gave blood to her when it almost killed him, and then decided to put her at second best. Peter began hitting the mat, but Y/N couldn't hear him. She was too stuck in her own brain, in her own thoughts.

"Y/N! Stop!" Steve yelled, but she still wasn't paying attention. A couple Avengers came over and started to pull her away, but she was burning. Sam and Bucky grabbed her wrists where the special tape was, pulling her away from Peter. Only when she was pulled away did she realize that she was out of it.

"You're burning up!" Sam yelled.

"No I'm not!" She fought back. "Only my hands get hot. That's the way it's been for years, and that's the way it'll always be!"

"I know what your burns feel like." Peter said, rubbing at his throat. Y/N's eyes widened in horror as she realized that she had really just burned Peter.

"Why didn't you tap out?" Y/N cried, fear seizing her. This had to be why Peter broke up with her. Of course she was the reason. He had to of noticed she was getting out of control before now.

"I was!" Peter defended, face upset.

"Oh my God." Y/N whispered, not able to look at anyone. This was not only embracing, but upsetting. She had hurt Peter, which, as much as she was upset with him, she never wanted to hurt him. She was a liability.

"No you aren't." Steve said, and oh shit, she said that out loud.

"I think I need to go, um," Y/N couldn't finish her sentence as she stood.

"Wait," Peter started to say, but then an alarm went off before anyone else could speak.

"What is that?" Y/N asked as the alarm stopped.

"It's an alarm Fury made me put in, just incase he needed us quickly. Tasha is probably calling him right now." Tony said, gesturing to Natasha, who was on the phone already in the corner.

"Why have we never heard it?" Peter asked.

"Because you're children." Bucky said, barely loud enough for everyone to hear. It was silent, which made everyone uncomfortable. Normally, Peter and Y/N would begin fighting the older Avengers together, but today it didn't seem like either of them wanted to. Everyone waited in the awkward silence for a moment, until finally Natasha got off the phone and jogged back to the group.

"Fury says this one is big, all hands on deck." Natasha said quickly. Everyone nodded, different 'tough guy' poses around the circle/oval/square/rectangle they had formed.

"So, what? Old Hydra base? What else needs all hands on deck?" Steve asked. Natasha shrugged.

"Tell us on the plane. We gotta go, though. Get suited up. If you can't get in your suit in five minutes, bring it with you or you will be left behind." Tony said, and everyone immediately left.

~

"Maybe you should talk to Peter." Wanda said. Y/N and Wanda sat together on the quintet, while everyone else finished getting into their suits. They had been briefed a couple minutes ago; they were on their way to a Hydra base. They had all been given their assignments, and Y/N and Peter were in charge of getting the information. Although there had been some argument over this, about whether or not the two would be able to work well together, let alone at all. But Y/N and Peter wanted to impress the Avengers too much to let their personal relations get in the way of their chance to show themselves.

"That's a horrible idea." Y/N said. The thrumming of the jet was enough to make her voice quiet enough so no one else could hear.

"It isn't. He's in love with you, and this will be a hard mission. You need to trust each other." Wanda told her. Y/N glared.

"You're in love with a machine." Y/N mumbled. To her astonishment, Wanda laughed.

"You can't hide things from me, Y/N. I know you love us." Wanda pushed her jokingly, which brought a smile to the younger one's face.

"I didn't mean to break up with her." Peter groaned on the opposite side of the ship.

"It seemed like you did while you were fighting." Sam said, smirk on his face.

"You don't know anything about that." Peter grumbled.

"We heard the whole damn thing." Bucky groaned, head back against the headrest in exhaustion.

"We weren't that loud."

"You were always 'that loud.'" Sam sighed, leg bouncing.

"What did you mean to do?" Bucky asked after a moment.

"What?" Peter and Sam turned to look at him.

"You started a fight with the most hotheaded woman I have ever known of, literally, and your reasoning wasn't even that good. So, if you weren't trying to break up with her, what was your idea?" Bucky explained. Peter blinked as Sam smirked.

"Don't tell me you didn't have an idea, Spidey. I just wouldn't believe it." Sam taunted. Peter elbowed him in the ribs a little harder than necessary.

"I had an idea! I wanted her to understand. This isn't the first time we've had this fight." Peter mumbled the last bit, to which Sam scoffed.

"Yeah, we know."

"I was tired of having the same fight over and over again." Peter continued, acting like he hadn't heard Sam.

"Then maybe you should actually listen to each other. Just a thought." Bucky shrugged.

"We listen to each other!" Peter shouted. When a couple Avengers turned their heads, Peter slunk in his seat a bit.

"Do you even know why she was upset with you?" Sam asked. Peter scoffed.

"She wanted me to stop being Spider-Man."

"No, she wanted you to pay more attention to her. You probably didn't even know that her body is starting to heat up like her hands." Sam shook his head. Peter turned to him, and the men sat in silence for a couple minutes.

"But she didn't even know that until today. No one did." Peter was sure that this was the first time anyone had noticed her problem was today. Everyone looked so shocked, including herself.

"But if you had been with her, don't you think you may have realized it four days ago when she started accidentally setting things on fire?" Sam asked. Peter's eyes widened.

"She lost control?"

"She made a hole in the wall with her powers. Where have you been?" Bucky informed him. Peter began shaking his head, not able to believe the two men next to him.

"She's never lost control, though. She - something's not right." Peter began to stand, but the jet began its descent at the same time, causing Peter to sit back down.

"We're about to land. As soon as we touch down, it's game on." Tony said.

"Obviously something's not right." Bucky mumbled, referring to their former conversation.

"No, you don't understand, I have to talk to her." Peter was standing as they touched down, making everyone lurch. Peter fell to the ground, quickly getting back up as everyone was leaving.

"We don't have time for that right now. You're Avengers, act like it. No personal business until we're back here." Clint said. But Peter was walking over to Y/N already.

"After, kid. You need to think about the mission." Tony stopped Peter. The boy looked up at his mentor with big eyes and fear adorning his face.

"Mr. Stark, she created a blast and decimated a wall!" Peter cried. When he looked around again, he realized that everyone was already gone. "She's not okay."

"She'll be fine for the mission. She is obviously more than capable of defending herself." Tony told Peter. Peter shook his head. He had a bad feeling about this.

~

"We get in, plug the device in, and get out." Y/N said, trying to fill the silence as the pair snuck through the building.

"You don't have to fill the silence. We're supposed to be quiet." Peter teased. He regretted it when he saw Y/N's face fall.

"Sorry." Peter immediately regretted saying anything at the sad sound of her voice. He wanted desperately to speak to her, to make up with her, but he couldn't jeopardize the mission. There would be plenty of time to talk after the mission.

It would be easy.

Peter and Y/N walked slowly through the hallways, listening to the others speak through their ear pieces.

"There's someone coming." Peter said as they walked down a long hallway. There were no doors until the fork, but that must have been where Peter was hearing the footsteps.

"What do we do?" Y/N whispered, fear enrapturing her voice. There was no where to hide, and they were too far away to fight the guard without them potentially notifying others.

"Hang on tight and please don't burn me." Peter whispered. Before Y/N could say something, Peter grabbed her around the waist and flung the both of them up onto the ceiling. Y/N shook as she tried to hold onto Peter, so he flipped the two around so that Peter was sticking to the ceiling by his hands and feet, Y/N resting against him. She could now hear the marching of the guard, and she almost held her breath.

clack clack clack

"Are you alright?" Y/N whispered. She felt bad for putting all her weight on Peter, but hopefully his super strength meant he wasn't struggling as much as she was. She was really close to Peter; scratch that, she was almost merged to Peter, their bodies so close that his made her heart race. She felt her cheeks heat up and mentally cursed as she wrapped herself tightly around Peter. The ground was actually much farther down than she had originally thought, and she could only hope the guard wouldn't see them.

"You're heating up." Peter whispered, shifting slightly. The footsteps were getting closer, and Y/N buried her face into Peter's shoulder without thinking. She didn't want to watch the guard pass by them or shoot them off the ceiling.

clack clack clack

"I'm sorry." She muttered, but held on tighter.

"Y/N, you're way too warm right now. You need to calm down." Peter whispered. Y/N shut her eyes tightly.

"I can't." She whispered.

clack clack clack

The guard was getting closer.

"What do you mean?" Peter's voice was low, and Y/N suppressed a shutter.

clack clack clack

"I mean, I can't control it." She whispered, air barely leaving her mouth. Peter could feel her body and breath burning him, but the guard was right under them.

clack

clack

clack

He was right underneath them.

Peter was struggling. Y/N was burning him, and he wished they had thought to make her whole suit fireproof instead of just her gloves. Of course, no one had known before she could do more than just throw fireballs and heat her hands. Occasionally, she could heat her body, but it always went down very quickly. Nothing had ever stayed.

clack

clack

clack

"Please chill." Peter begged quietly. Y/N loosened herself, but she was still pressed against Peter. Her heart was racing, fear and something else making her heat up.

"I'm so sorry." Y/N said, focusing all her energy into cooling down.

clack clack clack

The guard was almost gone, and that was lucky, because Peter couldn't hold on anymore. He put an arm around her smoldering body, and dropped to the ground silently. The two parted and sneaked down the hallway.

"I didn't mean to heat up, Peter. I-I can't control it anymore." Y/N mumbled as they ran the rest of the way. There was finally a window in the room they were getting the data from. Y/N looked down, surprised to see how high up she was.

"What happened?" Peter asked as he plugged the device into one of the computers. She wasn't sure how Peter knew which one to plug in, as there were multiple in the room they were in.

"What?" Y/N turned to face him, and he was looking at her, leaning on a table as he waited for the computer to upload. Y/N wished she could see his face, but he still had his stupid mask on.

"How come you can't control your powers. You've always been able to control them. Well, except when you would get intense emotions. But you're normally great on missions." Peter said. Y/N sighed, looking down.

"Every emotion the past couple days has been monumental." She mumbled. She could feel herself starting to heat up at the thoughts of her and Peter flooding her mind.

"Y/N, I never meant to hurt you."

"Yes you did." Y/N tried not to yell. They were still on stealth.

"You can't say that. You don't know." Peter sounded broken. Y/N shook her head as she felt the fabric of her suit heat up.

"I do know. I remember every word that came out of your moth that day." Y/N's voice was rising.

"I still love you. And I'll love you no matter what." Peter told her. Y/N could feel herself warming up. Could feel the tightness she felt a couple days ago in her bedroom. Before she could say anything, there was shouting from outside the room. The door opened, and guards came in. Her body was bordering painful now as all the heat was trapped.

"Get down and cover your eyes." Y/N said, standing in front of Peter.

"What?"

"I said get down!" She yelled. Suddenly, the air was sucked out of her chest, and her body felt too warm. The heat needed to go somewhere.

So she released it at the guards.

A blinding light and the warmest wind Peter has ever felt rushed through him. When he lifted his head, Y/N was on the ground and a whole half of the tower was missing. A loud sound came from below, and the remaining building Peter and Y/N were in began to shake.

"Y/N, Peter, give me your location. I'm gonna pick you up." Sam said through the coms.

"Y/N's knocked out, she caused the flash." Peter said, rushing to her.

"Oh shit, she did it again." Tony said.

"Again?" Peter practically shrieked. He tried to touch Y/N's body, but her suit was melting off. She seemed to be waking up, though. The building shook again, and Peter cried out as he grabbed Y/N, still burning.

"Peter?" Y/N groaned. Her suit was no longer crumbling off her body, but Peter still couldn't grab onto her. "Peter, you gotta get out here." She sighed, moving around slightly.

"Not without you." Peter cried, and Y/N tried to get up. "I love you." The grimace Y/N had on wasn't making Peter too happy. They had to get out of the building.

"I'm outside the building. You need to come out one at a time." Sam said. Peter looked out to see Sam landing.

"Come on, let's go." Peter tried to haul Y/N up. She was still burning. But Peter endured it. The building shook again, and it was obvious that the building was about to fall at any minute. Peter let out a groan as Y/N's limbs burned into him. The building shook again, and the two fell to the ground. Peter pulled Y/N back up, crying out as she burned him. He wouldn't give up though.

"Peter," Y/N sighed as Peter tried to push Y/N to Sam. She pushed him first, however, toward Sam. "You think you can treat me like garbage, break my heart and then walk right back in and I'd still love you?" tears streamed down her face as she pushed Peter at Sam, far enough away that he couldn't grab at her. The building shook, and she fell to the ground. "You're right."

"Don't do this!" Peter yelled, but then the building was falling and Y/N with it. "Stop! We have to grab her!" Peter screamed at Sam. He was flying away, though, and Y/N was falling with the building.

"She's gone, Peter. I can't grab her, we have to go!" Sam yelled, and now the two were fighting in the air. Sam grabbed onto Peter tightly, but he was still wriggling. "I need back up!"

Peter began to slip and fall, and although Sam tried to grab him, he couldn't catch up. Luckily, out of nowhere, Tony flew by and grab the spider.

"We'll find her, but we can't lose you both." Tony said as Peter crunched up to punch at Iron Man's hand. The older man had a grip on Peter by his foot, and they finally hit the ground. "Don't make me hit you!" Peter ran toward the building. Well, what was left of the building. He hoped she was still there, still breathing. She destroyed a whole floor, a building couldn't take her out. She was too strong for that.

She couldn't die. Not while she didn't know that he still loved her.

[rotshop]

hewwoooo i had a funney little thougt and so now im continuing it <33333

n e wayssss here's sum fnky little mag main 4 hcs :]

Hank

-the blueprint the man the myth the legend the firestarter. anyways

-he struggles a lot more with speaking than he did pre-magnification, he can understand it fine but when it comes to finding his words he struggles. so!! he kinda just uses asl when he can and short phrases / grunts / noises, also has his own kind of language w/ you??? lot of tapping and misc noises that just mean things only you two understand its. funny actually. he'll just make some chirping noise at you and you go 'haha yeah that was pretty dumb.' deimos and sanford are both so desperate to know what ur both talking abt its insane.

-carries u around a lot!! he's always super duper careful and he prefers to hold you in his more normal hand, he always gets worried about his talons poking you too rough or him accidentally shocking you if he gets surprised. also likes it when you ride on his shoulders, u also like it because it makes you feel tall :]

-his jackets fucking massive on you you could get lost in that bitch. sometimes if you two can't get back to base for one reason or another he'll just let you lay on him and use his jacket as a blanket for you,,its always super warm and he purrs so !! bonus points

-if u get hurt he goes fucking mental buuut i dont rlly wanna add a bunch of violence warnings to this,,,so,,,we'll leave it at that

-also he adores the size difference, you do your best to kinda cup the sides of his face in ur hands when he leans down for you and they're just??? so fucking small?? he puts his overs urs and just melts in ur hands lol

Sanford

-WOOOOO BESTIE FINALLY GT SOMETHING COOOL HELL YEAAAA /J

-he's VERY nervous around you for the first while, he's incredibly not used to his new form and he's so so worried about accidentally hurting you. his hands always just awkwardly hover around you whenever you're nearby bc he!! fucking wants to be affectionate but hes scared!! hank has to kind of. give him a whole pep talk on this sorta thing and it does help calm his nerves a little but he's still super careful,,,whenever he's holding you or cuddling w/ you he always asks to make sure you're comfortable and he isn't suffocating you or anything,,

-once he gets more adjusted then whooo bestie. he already liked showing off his strength to you before but now its worse. whenever he picks you up and you kinda yelp a little in surprise before you lean into him and hold onto him a lil he just goes bonkers on the inside. he's carrying you most of the time since it just keeps him cool knowing that ur nearby and ur safe in his grip. also tends to keep you behind him whenever you two are on missions (u have to kind of. get him outta this habit just a lil bc he keeps being a lil too paranoid abt it and freaks out when you wander off)

-has claws now which he's very careful of around you but if u ever just like. grab his hands and hold onto em and just kinda. trace over the callouses and scars and scratches then he melts. has to look off to the side or something because he has a big dumb grin on his face, it doesn't rlly help tho because you can hear him purring

-he doesn't talk too much since it feels odd and it's easier for him to keep it to a minimum,,HOWEVER,,the exception is you ofc lol. he murmurs little 'i love you's and such to you a lot still, though he has to be real careful of his volume but!! on the bright side deep-ass voice lol

Deimos

-terrible awful man who loves to cause problems for you <333

-he's like a cat in the sense that he's always hanging around you and bugging you to get your attention, cannot keep his hands off of u for more than 10 minutes. im so sorry 4 you,,,,on the bright side though he does have this kind of like. shaky and faint purring that's a lil fucked up bc of his smoking but it's pretty nice. really likes just leaning over you and resting his head on your shoulder or laying down by you and laying his head on your lap. will not stop pawing at you or making little 'chirrup' sounds at you till you pet him :| get a hobby king

-OH YEAH ALSO HES SO FUCKING HAPPY 2 BE TALLER THAN U LOL,,,rubs it in your face a lot by looming over you and resting his chin on top of your head or putting his shoulders on top of your head like a rest. you can counter this by just stepping forward / to the side because he WILL stumble and he will eat gravel and honestly?? he deserves it. also he really enjoys being big spoon w/ you, same as the previous point he'll sometimes just make u (read : annoy you until you oblige) lay down if neither of you are busy so he can curl up with you. again his purring makes up for it

-he's surprisingly the most animalistic, given he's got a tail and claws now. he likes putting you up on his shoulders or back and carrying you around like that (but also having you wrap ur arms around his neck while he's carrying you like. bridal style sorta and leaning into him is fucking HEAVEN to him. adores it). its fun until he gets on all fours and skitters around :|| u spray him with a water bottle bc of this and he hates it

-speaking of animalistic y'know how animals playfight w/ each other?? he does that with you. he still minds his strength ofc but sanford or 2b will be watching from the side and there's almost always at least one, 'fucking CHRIST deimos, be careful would you?' but yeah no it's usually very careful and its rlly just him roughhousing w/ you a little. usually devolves into him just trapping you down into cuddling w/ him lmao

2bdamned

-oh baby u dont even know.

-(un)surprisingly he's the most like his usual self. his intelligence didn't drop too much unlike the others (there's always at least one offended grunt from Hank when someone says this aloud), meaning he was able to mostly keep to his typical routine. HOWEVER,,he does get a little more laid back surprisingly?? like?? he still works most of the time but if you work alongside him it's a lot more common now for him to just stand by you a little awkwardly until you reach back for him so he can rest his head in the palm of your hand. ur the only one he allows to see him this vulnerable and openly affectionate so please enjoy that. his purring is a little quieter than the others but you can usually feel it instead

-has some funny fucked up wings now. he barely even notices that he does it but whenever you come stand by him he ALWAYS tucks one around you and pulls you closer. also has a habit of just placing one over you while he's laying next to you on his stomach like a blanket. they're sensitive tho so if you ask to touch them he's a little hesitant at first, he trusts you though so he gives in eventually. but. yknow. please do be careful, even just tracing along tender spots with your nails can make him jump a bit

-his speech is relatively the same, a little bit lower and rougher but not too much change. you can hear the little bit of scratchiness in it but !! yeah

-his touch starvation bites him in the ass like this. at first he was able to ignore it for the most part but after getting mag'd??? no gd way. its part of why he just kinda hovers around you a lot more, he's not too good at asking for things like affection so he just kinda. hopes you get the gesture. but on the bright side he doesn't mind if you mess up his hair because he's a little too blissed out whenever you're running your fingers through it. more than a few times has he fallen asleep on you because you were petting him,,,he apologizes whenever he wakes up but you can tell he was happy you let him rest around you like that

[katsumiiii]

When they’re mad at you

Katsuki Bakugou x gn! poc reader

Eijirou Kirishima x gn! poc reader

Denki Kaminari x gn! poc reader

Katsuki Bakugou

katsuki and mad go hand in hand

whenever you see his ass he’s always mad about something

and if he’s not...

well either you’re dreaming or he’s sleep

either way he’d probably still be mad tbh

but let’s say you got him actually upset

like ACTUALLY pissed

whew chile I pray for everyone in that room

so you and katsuki were in the common room arguing

both of y’all are throwing jabs below the belt bc you guys are petty af

“you think you can be a hero with that shitty attitude?”

“at least I have a strong fucking quirk, I don’t even know how your ass got in this school. fucking extra.”

anyways, you’re not showing it but katsuki is low key hurting your feelings

ofc you aren’t gonna let him know that

soooo you say something slightly outta pocket

“right so my quirk is ass, but aren’t you the one who got kidnapped....twice? oh alright.”

the look in his eyes is heartbreaking

and although he tries to hide it, it’s pretty obvious that you hurt him

“you know what, fuck off. if you come anywhere near me ill fucking kill you.”

and he stomps off

now everyone’s looking at you like you fucked up

“oh so he can be an asshole to me, but when im one back it’s an issue?? you know what mind y’all fucking business.”

now you’re even more upset bc everyone was taking his side

you hide out in your room for a while, thinking about everything

you then realize that what you said was triffling

“damnit!”

you try everything to get him to talk to you again

but he won’t even acknowledge your  existence

everytime you try to go up and talk to him he acts like you’re not even there

“katsuki listen, can I-”

“shitty hair, come one let’s go fucking work out or some shit.”

okaayyyy guess you have to try again

“babe I know you’re pissed but-”

“DEKU!! BRING YOUR ASS OVER HERE!”

oh, so he’d rather talk to Izuku

the disrespect

but you know you fucked up so you don’t stop trying

and eventually get him to talk to you again

“katsuki please, just fucking talk to me.”

“the fuck do you want?”

you’re elated, I mean he’s never fully ignored you before

plus you miss the cuddles, and food

especially the food

“im sorry babe, I was pissed at the stuff you were saying and I wanted to hit you where it hurt. I made you some hot ramen to let you know I’m really sorry.”

he looked you up and down, his face in that same goofy ass sneer

“tch, fine I forgive you or whatever. but im not eating this shit. it doesn’t even look edible.”

“are you crazy?! the packets are good as fuck babe.”

“YOU BOUGHT ME THE SHITTY PACKET?!”

Eijirou Kirishima

what the fuck did you do to possibly make this boy mad?

I mean seriously

you really had to fuck up in order for him to even be remotely pissed

I don’t wanna talk about it

but we gon talk about it OKAY

so you was in the kitchen searching for something to drink

at the top of the fridge, you see a bottle of cranberry juice right next to kirishima’s premium crimson riot protein powder

so being the smart bitch you are, you decide to climb up on top of the counter top to get your cranberry juice

“fuck why is it up so high?”

you stick your tongue out in concentration trying to get your juice

and finally you grab it

while also knocking over kirishima’s premium crimson riot protein powder

“oh shit.”

“Y/N?! ARE YOU OKAY? WHAT WAS THAT NOISE?!”

your baby walking in with his hair down looking all confused

he then looks down at the floor, noticing the powder pooling into the cracks of the tile

he looks at you

you look at him

he looks back down at the floor

then right back at you

“heyyyyy babyyyy.”

“what the fuck?”

he bites his lip in agitation, trying not to yell

“I spent hours in line for that babe.”

“I know....sorry?”

he literally could not look at you, so he turned around and left

“fuck! great job Y/N.....least I got my cranberry juice.”

the next couple of days he was visibly different

unresponsive, not as smiley

“he’s really mad at me over some stupid protein powder....”

bakugou would not stop staring you down

mentally telling you to fix this shit or he would skin you alive

yeah not gonna happen

so you trot your ass to the store

sighing at the long ass line in front of you

“fucking god.”

eventually you manage to get the powder, placing it in his room for when he gets back from training

the next day kirishima runs over to you, kissing you repeatedly on the face

“THANK YOU BABE!! IT WAS MANLY OF YOU TO FIX YOUR MISTAKE!”

“you’re welcome baby.”

“but how’d you manage to get 6 bottles?”

“I had to fight a couple bitches.”

Denki Kaminari

yeah he literally cannot stay mad at you

like at all

and there’s no POSSIBLE way you could even REMOTELY make him angry at you for a long period of time

he’s not petty like bakugou

he’d be mad for like 1 hour and then come back asking for cuddles

what he’s mad over is probably dumb af anyways

okay so you and denki were hanging out in his room

watching reality tv

bc that’s how y’all bond

and during the show the two main girls were arguing over some dumb shit that ppl on reality tv always do

and denki ofc wants to say his little two cents

“no way, she’s totally wrong for that. don’t you think babe?”

“no, I would’ve done the same shit.”

he’s very much betrayed

looks at you like you’re crazy

slowly gets up from the bed

inching closer and closer towards the door

“are you actually upset? you asked for my opinion.”

“yeah but you were supposed to agree with me!”

you roll your eyes bc atp you’re not even taking him seriously

“Y/NNN, im really mad at youuu.”

“yeah ok.”

“FINE THEN! DON’T TALK TO ME!”

“okay.”

he stomps away, his lips curled into a pout

meanwhile you continue to watch your show

he looks back every once in a while to see if you were coming after him

“IM LEAVING FOR REAL NOW!”

“okay.”

“GOING INTO THE ELEVATOR!!”

“yep.”

“NEVER TO BE SEEN AGAIN!!”

“cool.”

he’s definitely like 10 feet away from your door

you gave him about 30 minutes, deciding that you were sick of reality tv, switching over to a scary movie instead

you see denki’s head peep over the doorframe

“is that the conjuring?”

“yes.”

“mhm I guess I’m not mad at you anymore.”

“what an honor.”

taglist: @mypimpademia @blackweebtrash @xetou @sisifromthed @her-majesty-kiara @moxie-elle @angiebug101 @myhoodacademia @notfiveweenieskids @lilsparkyswife

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[dream-meister-translations]

KAI'S PAST STORY #1

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One fine afternoon, I had been walking around town after making a house call. WOMAN : Oh my God, someone please help! KAI : What? What's going on? Heading toward the voice, I saw a crowd of people in the middle of the street, and on the other side of the crowd, a pair of ruffians were in the middle of a violent battle using magic. DELINQUENT 1 : Brace yourself, cos next time I'm gonna get serious! Uraaaaah! DELINQUENT 2 : Good! Hooraaah! KAI : (Oh, crap, they're fighting in the middle of the day!)

It wasn’t my place to stop them fighting. That was their choice. But if any of the bystanders got caught up in the collateral... As a doctor, it was my duty to protect them and make sure nothing like that ever happened. KAI : Hey, you guys need to stop. You're putting everyone here in danger! DELINQUENT 1 : Shut up! DELINQUENT 2 : Stay outta this! They shout in near synchronicity, and the two begin to prepare their next spells all the same. KAI : I don't know what's up with you guys, but you've got to chill out! I quickly deliver one fist to each of their stomachs, carefully not to do any real damage. DELINQUENT 1 : Oof! DELINQUENT 2 : Ugh! KAI : You're too dumb for your own good, you know that? After breaking up the crowd, I looked down at the kids in front of me again. They were still on their knees, holding their stomachs, looking groggily up at me. DELINQUENT 1 : He's so strong... who is this guy? DELINQUENT 2 : I have no idea. Wait, isn’t that robe from the Magia Seminar? Hey! Is your name Kai? KAI : Hmm? Yes, that's my name. DELINQUENT 2 : Kai-Senpai! I've heard rumors about you! KAI : What? Senpai? Why the hell would you call me your senpai? I was about to say something else when I noticed they were both wearing familiar uniforms. KAI : Oh, I see. That's the uniform of my old magic school. DELINQUENT 2 : Yes! Kai is a legendary badass at our school. I never thought I'd meet you here! KAI : You know what? I used to be an idiot, too. Now I'm a doctor. DELINQUENT 2 : I know that, too! Kai senpai is a Medical Sorcerer, isn't he? But why did you become a doctor and not a magician? KAI : Why the Hell would I tell you that? DELINQUENT 1 : Because I look up to you.! I want to know all about you and your past! They looked up at me like children meeting a real superhero, their eyes sparkling.

KAI : (Damn, this is becoming a real pain...) KAI : (I mean, how am I supposed to talk about the old days with these two complete strangers…?) I clacked my tongue, but in spite of that, a scene from my childhood flashed into memories.

━

KAI'S FATHER : Kai!! What the hell are these grades!? You've been slacking on your studies again, haven’t you? That's enough, you stupid son of a bitch! Things were always like this back then, Dad shouting at me from morning ‘til night. Every. Single. Day.