#he really does love that swagger stick

[qhostcaptain]

i think ben spinning caps swagger stick is the cutest thing in the world oh my god i adore him so much what a man

[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

[toxicanonymity]

steady as she goes.

3.5k, Clement Mansell x f!reader | spotify playlist CHARACTER BACKGROUND: He does a lot of crimes but car theft is the only thing referenced. He loves Jack White 🎶. He's sexy and has swagger. Hot clips with audio 🥵 🥵 SUMMARY: He takes you out on his idea of a date. WARNINGS: I8+, unsafe p in v (car), creampie. Praise. Mild hybristophilia (craving that criminal cock). Canon-typical destruction of property. Reader can straddle him. Jack (White) gets cucked (by Clem's vocals). ONE SHOT. A/N: Dedicated to @milla-frenchy: happy 500 followers! 🎉 well-deserved (masterlist). I'm so glad we share an interest in this man. And THANK YOU, gifmakers!! Always inspired by gifs from @boydholbrook-fan, @ilovewhiteroses, and more. Co-written with my partner, "Jordi" 🖤.

A car cruises down your street blasting music, but you don't think it's Clement. It's too early. The sun is just starting to set, and you're fresh out of the shower. It's still an hour before he’s supposed to pick you up. But sure enough, the loud rock music gets close enough to make out the White Stripes. You look out the window, and his classic car is rolling into your driveway with the top down. Shoot. You're not ready. But goddamn, he looks good. Too good to worry much about the time. 

You grab the closest item of clothing - a black slip dress – and throw a silk robe on over it. As you rush down the stairs, the car door opens outside. You wait a minute for him to ring the doorbell, but he doesn't. You stick your head outside and he's reclining with his butt against the passenger door and his arms crossed. You slip on a pair of shoes and go out to the driveway. 

********************************

This man is wild. You can tell already, and you met him just last night.

He came into your bar. You took his order and he said, “Whatever you’re drinkin’.”  You were only drinking coke with grenadine, but to your surprise, he nodded without hesitation. You made the drink and watched him take his first sip. “Man, this shit ain't bad,” he said. He had big energy, and his presence really commanded the room despite how casual and carefree he acted. He put the Raconteurs on the jukebox.

Throughout the night, you felt his eyes on you and had a few tense moments. His hand grazed your hip as you passed each other. When you came to give him a refill, he introduced himself before going to play pool. At one point, when he was leaning forward to line up his shot, you noticed a gun sticking out of the back of his pants. You discreetly warned him that the manager would kick him out if she saw it. 

“Keepin’ me outta trouble. That sure is nice of ya, sugar.”

You smile shyly. “Just hide it,” you tell him 

“Why don’tcha come on out and watch me put it away?.” 

His charm was irresistible. 

You quickly found yourself out in the parking lot, pressed up against his car with his nose dragging up your neck.  “Mmm,” he hummed into your skin. “Not every day a lady sees my gun.” You felt something against your hip, looked down, and were startled to see him holding the gun. “It's okay baby,” he reassured you, then opened the passenger door to the car. “Wanna touch it?” 

“That's okay,” you shook your head, still flustered. “It looks nice though.”

“Yeah? How ‘bout I let ya shoot it tomorrow?” he asked as he leaned over to open the glovebox.

“Really?” You asked, heart fluttering. 

He acted like he was mentally debating it, then laid his weight into you against the car again. He rested his hands loosely on your sides. “Really,” he murmured, then leaned in for a slow kiss -- no tongue, but it felt pornographic nonetheless. “Pick you up at eight.” 

Instead of going back inside, he got in his car and peeled off, blasting the White Stripes.

********************************

You take in the view of Clement leaning against his car in your driveway. He's wearing a dark, button-up shirt and a chain. His shapely arms stretch the material. 

“You're really early,” you smile, almost breaking into a laugh. “Wanna come in while I finish getting ready?” 

“I dunno about that,” he drops his hands to his sides, then stands upright and slowly steps forward. He looks you up and down and his voice becomes sultry as he gets closer. “Look ready to me.” 

You assure him it'll only take fifteen minutes. 

“I dunno if I can wait that long,” he murmurs as he comes within arm’s reach. He runs his hands down your sides, his expansive palms gliding over the silky robe. 

You suppress a giggle. “You can wait fifteen minutes.”  

“Course I can,” he murmurs, getting right up against you. He brings his mouth to your ear and lowers his pitch.  “But I ain't gonna.” He grabs your ass. “Mmm.” 

Your cheeks heat up. Has he noticed you're not wearing panties? “Look perfect,” he insists. He goes to open the passenger door. All the thoughts are gone from your brain.

You get in the car, no bra, no panties, no jacket. And somehow you feel completely comfortable. 

-

Clement rests a broad, veiny hand on your thigh as he drives. His touch is light, and he occasionally takes his hand away to make a turn. When he passes the shooting range and keeps going, you ask, “I thought we were gonna shoot.” 

“Oh we are, darlin'. You're gonna be my gorgeous gunslinger.” He smiles and turns up the music.

He drives to the outskirts of the city, pulls into an industrial area, and parks behind a big abandoned building. There's one flood light and it’s buzzing, casting a flickering white light on the gravel. 

Clement parks and turns off the car, then gets out. He pulls a six pack out of the back seat. You get out and join him at the back fender.

He opens a bottle of PBR beer and takes a swig, then offers you your own bottle from the six pack. 

“I'm good,” you decline.

“You sure?” He asks, holding the new bottle up. It's a Mexican Coke.

“Oh, wow,” your face lights up.

He opens the bottle with a wink and mentions, “didn't have cherry.” 

Your heart flutters and your ears get hot as you accept the drink.   

You sit on the back of his car talking and enjoying your drinks for a while. You shiver and he asks, “you alright?”

“Well, I'm not really dressed,” you laugh. 

“Lucky for you, this car came with a jacket.” He hops off the trunk of the car and reaches behind the driver’s seat. When he returns a few moments later, he’s wearing a vintage brown leather jacket and holding a jacket for you. 

“Looks about right, whatcha think?”  

“Yeah.” You carefully step down off the car. 

"Hold on,” he says and drapes the jacket over one arm. Then he steps in closer and nudges his fingers under your robe, hitting your bare shoulders and giving you goosebumps. He nudges the robe off, and it falls down to your elbows. You take it off. His eyes glue to your chest. You rub your arms. He holds out the jacket for you and you let him put it on. 

He looks you up and down and gives a low whistle. “Perfect,” he nods. Then he steps closer and slips his hands inside your jacket, sliding them along your silk dress, then resting warmly on your lower back. He pulls you into him for a hug. Your erect nipples are poking him through the fabric. He lets out a low growl and pulls you in tighter. A warm, mostly soft bulge presses into you and makes you throb. He noses your hair and inhales as he grabs a handful of ass. 

“Ready?” He asks in a low growl, and you've forgotten what he's referring to. 

“Hm?” You respond. 

“Ready to shoot?”

“Uh, yeah.” It doesn't seem like the safest environment, but there's something sexy about it, too. Your gut tells you he's dangerous, but you like it because he makes you feel safe at the same time. Like you’re not the one in danger. 

“One second.” He grabs something from under the driver’s seat and puts it in his pocket. It looks vaguely flask shaped but taller. It barely fits. Lastly, he gets his gun out of the glovebox and puts it in the back of his pants. 

—

Clement lights a cigarette, then you walk with him toward the floodlight. He puts his arm around you and offers you the cigarette, but you decline.

“Mmm good girl,” he murmurs with the cigarette still in his mouth. “I can tell ya ain't *too* good though.” 

“Hey. I turned down beer and cigarettes. How do you know I'm not good?”

“Just got that vibe, baby.” He squeezes your arm. “And I sure am glad.” 

There are multiple wide garage doors along the side of the building. You arrive at a door that's lifted up two or three feet.  He holds it at the bottom and slides it up another foot or so. You still have to crouch down, and you hold your dress and the jacket against your bare thighs as you do it. It's spooky inside. Way too dark, and the space is derelict. 

Once Clement's inside the building with you, he pulls a string hanging from the above. Then he drops his cigarette and the sparks bounce over a dirty concrete floor before he stops it out. Several bulbs buzz awake along the high ceiling, evenly spaced but far apart. The furthest one is against a half painted brick wall. There are crates stacked up along some of the walls and a few in the middle of the space. As you get closer, the light clearly illuminates a host of bullet holes in the back wall. There are also casings on the floor. On the wall to your right, some of the windows are busted out. 

He takes his jacket off and lays it on a crate against the wall. He removes his gun from his pants and puts his leg arm around you as he shows it to you. It’s a silver gun with two swallows engraved on the handle. The birds have their wings spread and are facing each other. 

“It was my daddy’s,” he says. “Only thing Mama saved for me.”

His face hardens and he turns and aims toward the back wall, triceps bulging under his shirt. He pulls the trigger. The gunshot is loud, but not as terrible as it could be. Debris bounces off the wall.

He hands you the gun, and. you accept it apprehensively.

“Are you sure this is okay? Here?” You have to wonder about people hearing the gunshots, and plus how you're destroying the wall.

“Don't you worry, darlin’. Place won't be around much longer anyway.” 

“Okay.”

“Ever shot a gun?”

“Yeah but I'm rusty.” 

“You'll be fine, darlin’. Go ahead.” You aim it hesitantly, half expecting the entire wall to crumble. Clement gets behind you and braces his hands on your arms. “Steady now,” he murmurs. His body is so close to yours, you get butterflies. Then he puts his arms around you. He doesn’t help you aim right away. He noses your temple and inhales your scent. “Mmm,” he hums. You relax your arms, holding the gun with your elbows bent. Then he plans a wet kiss on your neck. “Can’t help myself, sugar.” He kisses and sucks at your neck and you moan. He lightly bites you and you take your right hand off the gun to reach back for his head. You're gushing, and wonder if it's going to run down your legs at this rate.

“Mm-mm,” he shakes his head. “Wanna see ya shoot first.”

You let out a disappointed sigh, and he rests his hands on your hips. He presses his pelvis forward, and a hard shape in his pants gives you a rush of need. He murmurs, “You feel that? Oooh.” His hands on your hips pull you back on his bulge. “You can have it when you're done.” 

You compose yourself and aim the gun again. He slightly adjusts your arms and directs you toward an unblemished patch of paint straight ahead, just above the exposed brick. “Hit that, and we’re done.”

It only takes you one shot.

“Well hot damn!” He celebrates. “Look at you.” You hand the gun back to him. He slinks around you, hugs you from behind again, and murmurs “don't even need my help, do ya,” then kisses your neck again. “Let's go,” he says into your skin, then retrieves his jacket from the crate. As you're walking back toward the garage door, he turns around and starts walking backwards and whistling. You glance back and he's pulled a bottle of lighter fluid out of his pocket. He's trailing the liquid as he walks. 

Your heart jumps to your throat. “What are you doing?”

“Ohh, don't worry, darlin’. It'll burn slow at first. Plenty’a time to get outta here.” He holds the garage door up for you to duck under. He flips the lid of the lighter fluid closed and crams it back in his pocket. 

You back away as he takes out a matchbook. He lights a match and drops it into the lighter fluid. The fire races under the garage door and Clement’s eyes are beaming darkly in the glow of it. After a moment, he says, “Woo! Lets go, baby.” You're speechless, and very turned on. He takes your hand in his and charges toward the car. His stride is so long, you're nearly jogging to keep up.

“Hahaaa,” he laughs to himself as he gets in the car. He revs the engine and turns on the music. He pops a breath mint. He sings along with Blue Orchid, and his voice really isn't half bad. 

“Where are we going?” You ask.

He looks at you fondly for a moment. “Love a woman who's up for adventure.” He puts his hand behind you to reverse.

As he drives by the building, you crane your neck to see. The fire is only a flickering glow through the busted out windows so far.

He turns down the music only slightly. “Stars are out tonight,” he observes. “Know a spot with a great view,” he offers as you exit the property. 

“Ok,” you try to suppress a smile. 

“Yeah!” He yells and peels off on the main road. You look up at the stars with the wind in your hair. Soon, he turns onto another dark road, somewhat winding, uphill.

-

He parks in a dark corner of an abandoned office park. It's littered with empty bottles and faded cans. The chainlink fence has half fallen down, and there are a couple of steel drums. Clement gets out of the car.   With most of this part of town abandoned, the light pollution isn't very close. You're up on a hill now, too. 

He takes the lighter fluid out of his pocket, squirts it in the barrel, and drops the plastic container in with it. Then he lights the matchbook on fire, drops it. And a blaze quickly grows in the barrel.

Then he gets back in the car and moves the seat back. He leans over and pulls you in for a heated kiss. Then he pulls back and murmurs, “Now get over here” as he takes off his jacket. 

—-

Thankfully, the car is roomy and so are the seats. You take off your jacket and put the robe back on. The air is cool and crisp and feels fine. As you climb over to straddle Clement, he greets you with his hands on your thighs. He slides his palms all the way up the backs of your thighs and reaches your bare ass. Then he lifts your little slip dress and says “God *damn*,” at the sight of your bare cunt.  “If I knew this. . .”

“You didn't let me get ready,” you lightly punch his chest with a hint of laughter, cheeks burning. He chuckles.

“Well good. Guess I'm *never* gonna let ya get ready.” Your heart flutters at the implied future. He sticks his left hand between your legs and cups your bare cunt. “Oh, baby.” You hover above his thighs while he leans back and unbuttons his pants, then unzips and pulls them down to expose a massive bulge in his white briefs. Your breath hitches at the sight. 

He grabs your ass and pulls you forward so your crotch meets his cotton-clad bulge, and a shock of desire spreads through your body like fire. He thrusts upward and you moan at the contact of his warm, hard, package. He kisses you and uses his hands on your hips to rub you against him with your mouths connected. He breaks the kiss with a sigh and says, “Fuck, let's go.” He shoves his hand down his briefs and you allow him the space to take out his commanding cock and balls. Your mouth falls open. 

“Not as huge as it looks,” he reassures you. “Gonna love every inch of it.” You nod. It's the girth that has you wide-eyed.

“Oh you're drippin’ on me, sugar.” He lets his thick manhood rest against his lower belly and pulls you in so your clit presses against his warm, smooth shaft and you’re aching to have him inside you. “Let’s feed this hungry pussy already.” 

He holds his cock as you hover over it then begin to slowly lower yourself, getting closer to entry. You pause, and he runs his tip through your dripping folds and helps spread the slick down his shaft. Then he nestles his tip at your entrance and you twitch. 

You begin to sink down on him, with his tip spreading you wide open. “Mmm,” you whine. 

“Yeah, good girl. . . you can take it, baby.” It's every bit as big as it looks. You sink down, feeling taken apart in the best way, and he pulls you down flush. 

Speared on his engorged cock, pleasure races through your chest and thighs, out to every inch of your body. 

“You good?” He asks, chest heaving. 

You rise up then sink back down.

“Attagirl,” he murmurs. “want ya to hear somethin’.” He reaches for the tape deck and changes the cassette. He presses play and it's Ball and Biscuit by the White Stripes. 

“I know this one,” you smile. It's a sexy, languid alt blues song. 

“Just wait for the next one,” he murmurs, looking at you with a raging lust in his eyes. His cock twitches inside you. He pulls your face into his again and lifts his hips, pushing farther into you. You've never felt so full. “Oh baby,” he breaks the kiss. “You feel so good.” His face is so handsome in the flickering fire light. His blue eyes look almost black. The slice of bare flesh in his eyebrow is too sexy. You run your hands through his hair and he groans at the light rake of your fingers against his scalp.

He lifts into you to the beat of the song. You begin to roll your hips in sync with him. 

“Ohhh, yeah,” he breathes. Part of you wants him to lose control and ravish you, but this slow fuck is perfect for the intense stretch of your cunt around his cock.

You kiss and moan as your bodies move together, and the pleasure swells deep inside you, all around his cock. He nudges the silk robe off your shoulders and pulls down the straps of your dress. He groans at the sight of your breasts. He covers one with a hand and one with his mouth and his whole body is moving in time with the music. Your chest feels light. For the rest of the song, your body is wrapped around his, and his hips are slightly lifting you with each thrust.  

The same song starts over, but it's not the same singer. The voice is smoother, deeper than Jack White’s. You pull your head back to listen. Clement studies your face, and it takes you a few seconds to recognize the vocals. It’s him, Clement. 

“Holy shit,” you mutter, and his face comes to life. “Your voice is–God.” It's hard piecing sentences together impaled on him.

“You really like it,” he marvels. 

“Of course I do, it's . . . perfect.” 

His eyes soften with affection and he kisses you deeper, smoothly thrusting. He seems to take up all the space in your body. 

The passion between you intensifies until it might burst. You need all of his body. You break away from a messy kiss to undo one of his shirt buttons, then another, and he unbuttons the rest in a hurry, and leans back against the chair as you spread his shirt. His chain sparkles in the firelight. It's hanging slightly above a chest tattoo that has the same birds as the gun. His tan skin glistens in the flickering glow.

You plant your hands on his hard pecs to ride him. The movement of his hips becomes more pronounced, and soon he's taken over. He thrusts upward sharply but smoothly and starts fucking you from the bottom, grunting and sighing. He pulls you down on him each time he thrusts. You moan, feeling like you're on the brink. 

He pulls you close again and kisses you sloppily while your bodies move as one. “Clem, I'm gonna–”

“Mmm,” he cuts you off. He grunts and moans against your mouth. He's close too. 

“I'm gonna fill ya up, baby. . .You want that?” he pants. 

You nod.

“You want big Clement dribbling’ down your thighs?” 

You nod urgently.  

“That's my girl.” His massive hands move you on his cock, and you whimper as you begin to unravel. You clench around him, and he fucks you through it. Then he grunts as he thrusts upward “nngg—ohhhh, uugggh.” He pulses into you, warmth spreading in your core as you finish choking his cock. 

You collapse into his arms and twitch with aftershocks as he cradles your head. After a minute, you're still impaled on him and he says your name. You pull your head back. 

He looks back and forth between your eyes. A firetruck siren interrupts you. There are more sirens in the distance. Clement shifts his head to look past you, through the windshield, through the broken chain-link fence. His eyes illuminate warmly and he breaks into a small smile. You look behind yourself to see a building on fire in the distance. It's now half engulfed in flames. 

What a view. This man is wild, and you can't get enough of him. 

-------- -------- Thank you so much for reading!! If you want, you can subscribe to notifications on @toxicfics for all my fics. If you want to be on a Boyd Holbrook character tag list lmk but fyi I sometimes write dark. I have a dark fic rn called The Raid with Steve and Javi. Javi captures reader to make her get clean (off drugs) and she's very horny for them. Steve shows up in part 2, then he has his own PWP one shot, Javi isn't home. Series ongoing.

[capswarmedals]

BBC GHOSTS: DEEP DIVE

"You're a bloody fool, James!" - Ben Willbond, Inside Ghosts: A Christmas Gift.

CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR CHRISTMAS EPISODE AND SEASON 5. BE WARNED.

Okay, just before we start, I WILL be referring to BOTH James and The Captain. Wait and see, your poor little dumplings.

We all know The Captain. Brave, stern, always has a stiff upper lip and of course, most obviously, he's an ABBA loving star. Joking (not really though)!! The most obvious part is that he is gay, but he hides it deep down inside himself. You'd have to kill him to find out or well, you know what I mean (/ref). That part deep down inside himself is James. James. The real person, the person under the mask, the villain, the mastermind of it all. Except that... James isn't really anything like The Captain. James is not brave, not stern, never has a stiff upper lift, but he's still an ABBA fan and gay. Incredibly, incredibly gay.

We know that he had a very, VERY strong crush on Havers (Anthony as I will be referring to) as evident in the Cricket Report in the Button House Archives and in Redding Weddy/Carpe Diem. Throughout the series, we see James fall for men. Mike ("Yes, he'd make a very fine soldier."), Adam, the director ("Yes, though I might just... Check."), Pat (even though it's not as obvious, but it's certainly there).

Many people, including myself, head canon James/The Captain to be autistic, and I can very much add some reason and proof to these reasons.

1. A very strict routine. This man will NOT let go of routine, and it is clear in 4x02 (Speak As Ye Chooses) where he states: "It's all very well saying 'At ease', but what do you do for the rest of the day?" and visible expression of shock and anger to finding out that a club was cancelled. As we come to the end of episode, where we see the man casually without his jacket on, he says "We've got forever" before immediately re-settling himself into his strict routine when being reminded of Film Club. But of course, this could be either that James is attracted to Captain America or is just reminded of his strict routine. This links into another point about change. In 3x05 (Something To Share?), this silly man agrees with Pat about how it is frightfully important to have an extremely strict routine. DON'T get me started on his almost coming out. (I will talk about this.)

2. Hyperfixations. This man has a hyperfixation/special interest in tanks, birds and basically anything remotely military related. He made a club solely dedicated FOR birds. He values his hyperfixations over secrets ("This is outrageous, I'll simply have to tell Fanny-" "No more war documentaries, then." "Your secret is safe with me, she'll have to kill me first- Well- You know what I mean."). 1x02, watching Hitler's Secret Superweapons "It's Christmas! I mean, it's Christmas Morning!" and when Mike turns it off... "What the bally heck do you think you are doing? Where the bally hell are the tanks?" "If you were dead, I would thrash your bottom, sir!". As like other autistic people, such as myself, taking away our hyperfixations isn't a good thing. We don't like that.

3. Masking/easily overwhelmed. (Basically what this deep dive is about). James is the true individual. The Captain is his mask, his shell. And he's been living in it for far too long now. He does not like change, and hates loud noises. This is clear when a club is cancelled in 4x02, and when he realizes the Queen's speech is televised in 2x07. He stress stims by using his swagger stick (Or Anthony's) and twirling it around in his fingers, he bounces a lot, he hums a lot, and whenever he matches about the place, he swings his arms depending on what arm the swagger stick is under (usually the right), and yes, I know that military marching is very exaggerating on the arms, but STILL, it's an output of energy that he does CONSTANTLY. I don't think I've seen anybody talk about the fact he hums. He does it SO MUCH.

4. Tone. Because of his ridiculous amount of gayness inside of him, this man cannot always understand straight jokes. 5x04, where they play Blankety Blank and he does not understand the word "saucy" (I mean, it is late 20th century/early 21st century slang...) and does not approve of the meaning. He gets jokes late, but that's alright because I do too.

ANYWAYS. Back to his pining.

In the first GIF, you see James check Adam out. This also happens in another scene with the quote "Do you find yourself to be distracted?" where he takes the moment to check Adam out yet again. In this second GIF, you see James slightly creep out when he realizes that he's openly saying he'll miss a man, with that look down, almost ashamed of himself.

But why does he fall for these men of order? Because it reminds him of Anthony, not because they're bossing everyone about - it's as if they're doing the bossing about for him, so he can relax and be himself. During Redding Weddy, we see Anthony order the unit around whilst James is looking outside the window (suppressing stims, but bouncing slightly on his feet) trying to spot Germans. I could see why James fell for Anthony. Despite everyone else, Anthony does not see these stims as annoying or his remarks to be unfunny. We see him SMILE when James makes a joke.

As we know, their love for each other was mutual.

He knew.

Anthony smiles after saying "James" and saying "I know". Why? He knew he was dying, he knew that James loved him, he knew why James was here. He wanted to be by James' side as he died to comfort him. To just be together, maybe once. Maybe twice. We don't know if they've held hands, kissed, but still. This is a very significant moment.

Additionally, Anthony's knowledge of James' intense crush is during their talk in James' office in Redding Weddy as it starts to reach a conclusion. Anthony subtly hints to the fact that if James should say anything, the moment is now ("Well, if that's all?").

He raises his eyebrow slightly, communicating to James that he is eager to hear what he really says, and that it's okay to be them because they're alone together. But no. The Captain completely hides James away. Anthony understands, he always has. The Captain probably hid James away because of Anthony's reaction to "I shall miss you, Havers." (his smile drops).

But... "I say, Havers?"

The way Anthony turns around. SO QUICK.

His smile. It's so ridiculously warm. But he knows because he saw that hesitancy, he saw James' sad expression. James is bally well sad that Anthony is leaving!!

Masking is clearly shown in this conversation. The Captain is preventing James from speaking the truth. And just like how he buried the limpet mine, he too, buried his feelings. And it became a ticking time bomb to Carpe Diem, where that emotional bomb finally explodes.

He leaves it to the last second. Literally. Let me show you proof.

Ben is absolutely AMAZING at micro-expressions, one of the many reasons I love to delve into The Captain so much. Carpe Diem (5x05) is an excellent example of some of the best James scenes.

Right here, what I am personally reading is that James is attempting to unmask, or is in the process of doing so. He deciding whether he should tell his story or not. This frame is important as it comes just after the quote "When I died, I never got to be surrounded by the people I loved." Blatant foreshadowing here because well, it shows that James loved Anthony and still does, despite it being 83 years since Anthony left of that year, he still holds him very dear to his heart. Of course, he has Anthony's swagger stick, which I love because he's always been there with James to help him out through moments. I love that and I love everything about that. How I ADORE Simon Hynd's directing here of the camera position, openly hinting to the fact that James died with Anthony next to him. God, everyone in that show is a mastermind!!

I also think that he is remembering here. Perhaps remembering the good memories? That Sunday afternoon stroll, or that certain Cricket Report? He's trying desperately to remember Anthony so he doesn't forget him when he moves on. For all he knows, he doesn't even know if Anthony thinks of him. All he knows is that he knew, and is most probably dead. He doesn't know what's beyond the veil. He doesn't know if he'll see Anthony. It's worth it.

This "desperate searching" facial expression is the same as the expression he had when glancing at the gate a few scenes prior to this, eyebrows furrowed and mouths slightly agape. It cuts to the gate, where we know, that in Redding Weddy, Havers walked out of. Anthony. Yet again, he's remembering him. James is obsessed with the memory of Anthony, the good times they had yet the good times they never were really good as laws about homosexuality were extremely strict. You could even say he is clingy.

Another thing is that, The Captain is one of the most favourite characters and people have been demanding to see how he died for ages! Why is it near the end of the last season? Well. I may have an idea to why it is in the last season.

James leaves things until the last second, he leaves the real explanation to things until it's too late. I saw someone on tiktok quote that James is as pretty as poppies because his love sprouts up in the wrong times and wrong places, which I think is amazing. I personally believe that his death was purposely the last one because you needed to see that he's more than just a stern WW2 CO with no feelings. He's an anxious man who's terrified of the real world so decides to seclude himself in a time and place where he was loved. World War 2. 1940. When Anthony loved him. We needed to see this inner secluded character within him to make the death sadder, which is what Ben likes, the silly man.

This also explains why he says "Is it? Is it, Alison?" during Redding Weddy because, well, with his mindset and attitude, he doesn't believe the war is over. He wasn't very good at keeping a unit of alive people under control, but perhaps he could try at keeping a whole bunch of dead people under control to keep himself busy from accepting the fact that Anthony is gone and he should emotionally move on.

In 4x04 (Gone Gone), the episode where Mary moves on, we see that James' coping mechanism is to keep himself busy. Keep himself busy so he doesn't have to focus on his feelings, but when he's given the time to pause and process it... He completely breaks down. Imagine that with Anthony when he left for North Africa.

But why does he like Pat?

Well. It isn't canon. But, the most recent Christmas special definitely hints at it. Pat introduced James to the amazing thing of baby talking, attempting to teach him just as Mia is put to bed. But once again The Captain's hard shell is back again and gives him a monotone voice and tone, rather making him seem like a robot. But at the end of the episode. He learned, and the glance he takes towards Pat is "Did I do it?" and Pat gives him a warm smile and a subtle nod. HUSBANDS I TELL YOU!

The Woodworm Men (3x03): Pat outbests The Captain with camping, yet they are still both very keen. The Captain trudged back though!! In this episode, James is awarded the teamwork badge from Pat, and when you see the scene, you can tell that he is smitten and in love. Because, now rewatching that scene with the context of his death, he must've been the happiest he had been in a while to achieve and properly earn a badge. James, I think, personally likes Pat because he still has all the leading roles (being a scout leader) and that reminds him a lot of Anthony hence why we see them working together in a lot of episodes (2x06, 2x02, etc). It all leads back to Anthony. Who knows what would've happened if they didn't meet.

I also think that Getting Out (1x06) is a good episode that represents self growth as well as debating with the issue of being mocked, as James is mocked in the episode.

This is him overhearing the conversation. Confusion. Anger. This episode is where James learns that not everybody will adapt themselves for him, not everybody will accept the way he acts. It's pretty clear that he cannot control this mindset he has, it was probably drilled into him, the poor soul. The way he brings himself back into the group is through a secret weapon (Kitty, because she's the most likeable and their relationship is mwah).

This episode is also important because of the scene in the library with James and Kitty.

"What matters more? Keeping Alison here, or letting her be happy?"

Now imagine that question but Anthony. James has sacrificed his life and soul towards Anthony, and even has a piece of him with him. This man is obsessed with Anthony. Crazily in love. He can't control his feelings for people. It just... Happens.

After Carpe Diem, it took me only a fraction of a second to see how comfortable he was. He was free to love who he wanted! I was stimming so crazily when the last scene of Season 5 (disregarding the Christmas special) was him being gay. Fanny comforted him after he came out, and every one supported him. He feels safe now.

The mirror and the draw in the intro.

Personally, I believe that the mirror represents the fact that his medals are the right way, meaning that the man in the mirror is The Captain and the man looking at his reflection is James. He's looking what he could've been. A hero. Yet now that he's come to terms with himself, James knows that he can be himself now. Free of judgement. Free of secluding himself away. I believe that the drawer represents him ever searching for more memories to grasp onto, more things about Anthony to remember. I also think it represents the fact that there is something inside of him that is worth looking for, and that thing deserves to be looked for and looked after. The draw is pulled out as far as it can go, so this could point to the fact that there is something buried within the house that needs to be found and given back to him. Could be the limpet mine. Or perhaps that William letter truly was a love letter.

OVERALL:

James is a different man to The Captain. The Captain is merely a costume or a nickname James wears knowing full well of the man he is underneath those perceived images of him. James is a coward. James is obsessed with Anthony. His heart has bled so much he has to rely on the small amount of attention from someone so he can carve it out and then offer it to those people who attention has been wasted on him. Ben is an amazing actor and writer who threads things together so subtly and sneakily it's insane. James won't let go of the military mindset, just incase he meets Anthony when he moves on. He thinks that no one will fall in love with the present him so he tries his best to act like his old self. Ben is right. You certainly are a fool, James. But oh, how I love your character.

[thirdtidemouse]

hilda characters in taskmaster, if this means anything to anyone:

for context, taskmaster is a show hosted by greg davies and pathetic assistant (/creator) alex horne. each series five comedians are made to do pointless and difficult tasks and are awarded points. it ends up being very very funny and very amicably argumentative.

for now, i'll do my classic 5 faves, but i would love to do more like edmund + some ocs!

hilda - starting with the kids, likely winner. i mean she is the main character, but she has those problem-solving skills and unbeatable enthusiastic spirit (which would definitely take a beating in this godawful game). i considered how different the competition might be given that they're kids? but lenny rush recently competed at 14 and he did awesome. hilda would definitely stand up for herself if she thought her score or the task was unfair but she is a good sport all round. most likely to miss the huge hidden-in-plain-sight clues. here to have fun but not fuck around. all the cheerful demeanor of rob beckett. likes to very gently make fun of alex. would never ever give up.

"what you can't take away from me is that i had an absolutely lovely day."

"people say my ADHD means i have shit problem solving skills. no sir!"

frida - nerdiness to rival josh widdicombe. knows the taskmaster's tricks and snoops all around for clues/hidden solutions. genuine competence and competitiveness of someone like sarah kendall, as indignant and argumentative as ed gamble. the one time she doesn't find the hidden alternative answer is when the main pathway is just 'do a really long maths sum to get the code for the lock' and she just gets on with it because she can. tries not to act overly proud of herself but after a particular stressful win she definitely gets up and cheers. argues with other contestants. gets very annoyed by alex and sometimes tells him to shut up.

"the only way i get out of this with any dignity is if i die right now."

[to a small plush vole] "you've got no chutzpah! your organizational skills are lacklustre, and your timekeeping is abysmal."

david - the awkward swagger of james acaster but absolutely 0 of his winning spirit. definitely a fan-favourite pathetic contestant. the show would wear his psyche down so much he would snap and end up begging for points in a total breakdown à la joe wilkinson. gets genuinely cocky after a rare win. gets very stressed out by alex and is very scared of greg. like mae martin, is initially very nonchalant about the tasks, but can become freaked out quickly. not very good at getting points. ashamed of his failures and overjoyed with his successes. most likely to be given a humiliating solo task.

"please don't take it away from me."

"well well well! looks like last in P.E., first in being a legend!"

johanna - total sweetheart, smiling all the time even when she fucks up and loses, much like charlotte ritchie. although she does fuck up and lose considerably less. less nervous though, here to have fun AND fuck around. a sally phillips approach to tasks, meaning chill as fuck, inconspicuously normal contestant, that consistently produces either the most terribly planned OR the most creatively out of pocket and deranged 'solutions', of which back in the studio she has zero explanation for and can only laugh uncontrollably as if it wasn't entirely her idea. this will inevitably win her a lot of points but she will fall short on something like charlotte ritchie's first prize task, in which she brings in all of her bedding, is told 'you can't just pick up stuff from around your house,' and is given last place. this also makes her place her head in her hands and giggle. her attitude carries charlotte's consistent likeness to a children's tv show host. zaniness and well-spoken ramblings of mike wozniak.

"when you have no other ideas, you stick to your bad idea."

"i was excited, there was fire, i'd been told to undermine a vole and i let him have it."

kaisa - will not embarrass herself for love nor money. could not give a fuck about any of you people and simultaneously is incredibly determined to win. would get increasingly distraught with the incompetence of any teammates in an ed gamble outburst. despite this, is a cooperative and hardworking teammate. would spend long periods of time in silent thought before carrying out her plan with no explanation along the way. like james acaster, does not ever say hello to alex, just because she 'doesn't have to.' generally does not like alex. to quote jamali maddix, 'he's a punk. i don't like him.' acts like a rebellious teen in the presence of greg. i have no solid outfit headcanons right now but she would wear what bridget christie wore:

"i've got three sensitivity levels! and i'll be honest, i'm on my top fucking one right now!"

"i knew we were against the clock, and i didn't give a fuck" 

and here is my final test of character - one of the most simple and most telling tasks, from the very first episode:

"eat as much of this watermelon as you can in one minute."

hilda - romesh ranganathan. upon entry of the lab, she wields the watermelon above her head and smashes it into the floor, devouring as much of it as she can. total tunnel vision. she throws up a little at the end. wins the task.

frida - josh widdicombe. enters prepared with a knife, manages to hurriedly cut and eat a portion of the watermelon, with not nearly as much vigor as hilda. is not giving up any dignity for this. 3rd place.

david - frank skinner. was not expecting a whole watermelon. manages to quickly get into the melon but falls short at his eating speed. is clearly trying not to choke. 4th place.

johanna - tim key. no utensils required. cracks it open right there on the table, eating as fast as possible, almost to the same wild and untamed degree as her daughter. is docked points because she sneaks a final bite of watermelon after the minute is up, just because she enjoys it. 2nd place.

kaisa - roisin conarty. was also not expecting a whole watermelon. total lack of urgency in comparison. leaves the room and spends 50 of her 60 seconds retrieving a knife, which she totally could have done beforehand, manages to crack open and eat a total of 9 grams of the watermelon before her time is immediately up. last place. couldnt give a fuck though

thanks for reading guys. if you have anything to add or ask then please do. peace and love

[sithwitch13]

In honor of Forbidden Door, I took some scans from the New Japan Academy manga to share with the class.

(What is New Japan Academy? It's a high school AU with Tetsuya Naito as the main character, but also focuses on his interactions with Kazuchika Okada and Hiroshi Tanahashi, and how the three of them refine their philosophies about pro-wrestling.)

Here's Naito, our POV Special Boy.

There are interviews in the back of both volumes, and in one the writer/artist, HIROKU, admits that he drew him as a shounen protagonist on purpose. Let's admire the insoucient swagger.

Next is Tanahashi, who acts as inspiration and a measuring stick for Naito.

He's always pretty, but he doesn't quite breast boobily enough. Except for maybe this panel. Here he is being flirted with by Okada, who is always portrayed as a pretty little shit with an oral fixation.

Except when he's being malicious and evil, like so:

Aww, look at him. So pretty and evil. This is why he and the Young Bucks are friends.

While the Bucks don't appear, guess who does? Kenny Omega shows up in volume 2!

He's only tangentially involved with Okada's story. But look how pretty he is! His hair has never looked so good.

And of course, we can't have Kenny without his precious: Kota Ibushi!

I feel like this manga captures the himbo essence very well. And of course, we get some relationship drama:

Yes, Kenny does call him "Ibu-tan" at one point.

No story about Naito can ignore Los Ingobernables de Japon. This lineup, which HIROKU laments has changed by the time of publication of volume 2, is EVIL, SANADA, Bushi, and Hiromu Takahashi.

They're just a bunch of little guys, especially Hiromu, who looks up to Naito and is the sweetest most chaotic little guy. In a back of volume interview, Naito compliments how adorable Hiromu was drawn and says his essence was really captures. I happen to agree.

And then, some familiar faces we'll see tonight (or have seen recently:)

Katsuyori Shibata, who looks like the coolest motherfucker! Tomohiro Ishii, who looks like he means business because he does! Shingo Takagi, who is just sort of like, "And I'm here, too!" And Jay White, who looks distinctly un-ferret-like and more resembles Angry Jesus, but he only shows up here so it doesn't really matter.

Anyway, it's a cute series and I don't think any more are planned, but I'd love to see a continuation once we have a few more years of story to cover.

Happy Forbidden Door!

[slippinmickeys]

A few prompts for you or anyone indspired. What advice did Frohike give Mulder about going after Scully? What were Mulder's thoughts the first time Mulder sees Scully dressed up? What were Scullys thoughts when she realized that she loves Mulder or that he loves her? What was their first time like? What was their first kiss like? What prompted their first kiss? What are their feelings for each other compared to the past lovers?

I’m in a weird mood (see also: insomnia), so I took ‘what prompted their first kiss’ and kinda went with it.

“Hey, Scully.”

She turns to look at him over a navy shoulder pad. He’s got a look about him which gives her the same pleasantly repellent feeling as peeling off a scab.

“What’s the largest lake in the world?” he asks.

Ah. A test. He clearly knows the answer and is leading her somewhere.

“The Caspian Sea,” she says.

His face falls. “That’s an oceanic basin. And a sea. Hence the name.”

His smart mouth could use a little sassing, and so she decides to split hairs, turns her chair square towards him.

“Okay,” she says. “If you’re insistent on limiting it to the specific typology of freshwater, by volume, Lake Baikal in Russia is the largest—“

He groans, flops back in his chair.

“Fine,” she says, breathing through her nose. She was showing off, anyway. “It’s Lake Superior.” She could really be a bitch and point out that technically, Lakes Huron and Michigan are connected, even if it’s only a five mile stretch, thus technically one lake, and together they are bigger in square mileage by almost half. But he seems pleased, so she won’t.

“And do you know the biggest island in Lake Superior?”

Only because Charlie went through a pretty serious National Park phase does she know the answer, and only then because it’s the least visited of all the parks in the NPS and thus a trivia question, but she answers, with a fair amount of intellectual swagger:

“Isle Royale.”

“That’s right.” God, he’s not even impressed. It’s fucking annoying. “And did you know that the largest lake on Isle Royale is Siskiwit Lake, which has several islands, the largest of which is Ryan Island?”

Oh god, she thinks. She knows where he’s going with this.

“So,” he goes on. “On Ryan Island, there’s a pond. And in that pond, there’s a boulder.”

She pinches the skin at the bridge of her nose.

“So. That boulder becomes the largest island in the largest lake on the largest island in the largest lake on the largest island in the largest lake in the world.”

He’s pleased with himself, and strafes a thumb over the stubble on his jaw. He tilts his head back so he’s looking at her through fawny lashes, tilts it so she can see his overbite.

“I’m going to go walk into traffic,” she says.

She will, too. She’ll either walk into traffic or over to his office chair where she’ll straddle his lap and wipe that smirk off his face, stick her tongue down his throat, triple his dry cleaning bill.

“Did you know sharks have been around longer than trees?”

She’s in motion before her brain registers what she’s doing, the scrape of her heels on the gritty office floor producing a trembling cortical pulse, then his silk tie in her fist, his eyebrows to his hairline. He’ll think twice before opening that smart mouth again. He’ll think twice. He’ll think.

[missing-sock-misto]

2, 6, 15, 17, 22, and 25 for tuggofelees? I love your hcs for them

Hi thank you for the ask!

(And thank you so much, glad your enjoying them!)

2-Big spoon/Little spoon?

[Checks art portfolio]… yeah I clearly have no opinion on this XD

(More art here: Missing-sock-art)

But in seriousness!

Big spoon: Tugger

Little Spoon: Misto

There’s a lot of reasons; it’s more comfortable, Misto runs cold, so it’s cozier being the little spoon. But he also feels incredibly safe in Tugger’s arms, hidden away from the world. It’s also reassuring to be held like he’s precious, and like he isn’t dangerous.

For Tugger’s part, he is very protective of Misto, and being the big spoon helps him feel like he’s shielding Misto from the world. But he also doesn’t like being confined or restrained while sleeping, so he prefers being the big spoon.

In CATS as cats, I do headcanon that Misto alternates between using Tugger as a heated bed and sleeping under him with basically only a black tail and maybe a nose sticking out XD

6-What is their favorite feature of their partner’s?

Misto: [looks at Tugger’s pants for a long moment.]

Misto: [Looks back at asker.] His laugh 😐

Tugger [grinning]: He’s got a GREAT ass

Misto does love Tugger’s laugh the most. When he first met Tugger, he was annoyed by his cocky attitude and self-centeredness. But when he laughed, like, properly laughed, it made him seem so warm and friendly and… jubilant. It was the first redeeming quality Misto decided he had.

Tugger Loves Misto’s magic. As Misto got more comfortable with it and with Tugger, he stopped controlling it so heavily. Now, his hair has a dusting of sparkles that shift and dance to reflect Misto’s mood. Tugger will entertain himself by trying to see how he can change Misto’s sparks by saying something flirty or funny. It also makes him happy to see how much more comfortable he’s gotten with his magic since they had first met.

15-Who wakes up first?

It changes. Both of them are night owls, neither of them going to bed before midnight or waking up before 9.

Tugger’s sleep schedule tends to be more erratic, sometimes staying up all night because partying/clubbing/hyperfixation, so then he’ll sleep until noon. But other times he wakes up relatively early because he’s excited about something, a concert, a trip, an event, etc.

Misto tends to be more consistent (he has his routines, his routines are important). He tends to go to sleep and wake up around the same times, though he’ll sometimes sleep longer if he exerted himself too much (magic, dancing, excitement, sensory overstimulation) etc. In more human aus, he loves Tugger’s concerts, but he will sleep 12-14 hours afterwards.

17-Who says I love you first?

Tugger. He falls in love first and realizes it first too, which sets off a crisis of identity for him. While he never identified as fully aromantic, arospec is a good description for him. But he’s also used to getting fixated on a person, but after sleeping with them, poof, feelings gone.

But sleeping with Misto when he’s using his magic- boy. Changes something in his brain chemistry.

He goes cold on Misto after he realizes, desperate for the feelings to go away. Which makes Misto feel like shit, honestly. But he can’t stay away for long, and comes back, though he tries to convince himself this is just a fling.

As for Misto, he is mortified when he realizes he’s fallen in love. Sleeping with the tom was bad enough, but FEELINGS?? Really?? But over the time they spent hooking up, he’s gotten to see the more authentic Tugger. He’s still cocky and irreverent and swaggering, but he’s also kind and mischievous and surprisingly clever. He trusts him. After the shock of realizing exactly what the warm-and-fuzzy feeling he gets when looking at Tugger wears off, he’s sad. He knows Tugger doesn’t feel the same way about him, knows he never will. So he carries on, compartmentalizing the relationship as purely physical, as a secret affair that can never become anything more.

When Tugger tells him he loves him, he is flabbergasted.

22-Who cooks more/who is better at cooking?

Misto is an okay cook but he needs a recipe, and NEEDS to follow it to a T. (This actually makes him a pretty good baker, if a slow one). If there is something wrong with the recipe, he will not catch it.

Tugger has the uncanny ability to throw a bunch of Stuff in a pan and make a phenomenal dish. King of pastas and stir-frys. But he is allergic to recipes. If he’s trying something new, he Might skim a recipe, but he Will change it depending on his mood. He is a terrible baker because he doesn’t care about any of the steps or ingredients or ratios.

Tugger mostly takes care of cooking, with Misto preferring to chop veggies and clean afterwards. However, baking is Misto’s domain. He WILL kick Tugger out if the kitchen, because his spontaneous “Vibes” style stresses him out so much.

25-Who needs more assurance? Answered here!

Bonus to make up for it:

24-Who whispers inappropriate things in the other’s ear during inappropriate times?

Tugger XD

It’s not his fault Misto is so entertaining to fluster.

Thank you for the asks! They were good questions! 😁

[goodlucktai]

give me something that’ll haunt me when you’re not around

chapter one: keep on keeping your eyes on me

rise of the tmnt  pairing: leoichi (leonardo / usagi yuichi) word count: 1k title borrowed from sparks fly by tswift  post-movie

(next)

read on ao3

x

Usagi Yuichi doesn’t have a crush on that striped turtle guy who used to come into Run of the Mill all the time, because that would be stupid.

Because that turtle guy, Hamato Leonardo, is such a joke—he’s loud and obnoxious, all swagger and big talk and dad jokes that don’t even land half the time. He’s annoying, and it’s annoying that he acts like he can do whatever he wants just because Señor Hueso treats him like an unruly nephew, and it’s super annoying that he has the audacity to stop showing his face around here now that everyone has come to expect it.

It’s not because Yuichi misses him or anything! He just—noticed that Leonardo hasn’t been around lately, because Yuichi is very observant. That’s all.

The restaurant has felt weird and off-kilter in the turtle siblings’ absence the last couple of weeks. Yuichi brings it up once, a casual “I haven’t seen those Hamatos around here lately, have you?” that makes his coworker Qiao lower their glasses to stare at him over the rims so pointedly that Yuichi blushes to the tips of his ears and resolves to never bring it up again.  

Okay, so maybe he’s always been a tiny bit preoccupied with Leonardo—it’s not Yuichi’s fault the guy is so distracting.

Always propping his hip against counters and door jambs while he waits for a table, long and lean and dangerous, striped arms tight with muscle when they cross over his armored chest. Ugh.

And his stupid picture-perfect smile—the way it warms into something crooked and affectionate when his siblings are being particularly crazy, like those same ridiculous antics that send normal people running in the opposite direction are the absolute highlight of his day—ugh.

He’s so nice to look at. When he’s not fronting like he’s got something to prove, he’s really funny. He helps out a lot around the restaurant just because he can and he portals Yuichi’s coworkers home when it gets too late and they don’t have a ride and he’s. It’s. Ugh!!!!!

And he’s a fellow swordsman. He loves kenjutsu the same way Yuichi does, in a way that lights him up from the inside.

The first time they ever talked, months ago now, Yuichi struggled to sound cool and collected under the spotlight of Leonardo’s sharp golden eyes, trying to channel the samurai spirit of Miyamoto himself to possess Yuichi and keep him from stammering like an idiot.

Somehow he managed to maintain a flat, level tone as he casually mentioned that he trained with a sword, too. Leonardo’s face brightened in a way that Yuichi was woefully unprepared for. Mentally, he had to take a knee.

Their first conversation went on for most of an hour. Yuichi forgot he was supposed to be bussing tables and got dragged off by Qiao eventually, and Leonardo got an earful over the phone from the brothers whose dinner was getting cold in the takeout boxes in front of him, but until then—it was fun.

They compared their respective training, despaired over the same horrible, awful, whose-idea-even-was-it-and-why-did-it-stick katas, and at some point Leonardo reached over his shoulder and withdrew one of his beautiful katana, flipping it deftly in his hand and offering it hilt-first to Yuichi.

It was such an off-handed gesture, as if it wasn’t precious and important and an extension of his own self, as if it made perfect sense to let a complete stranger take it. Even Leonardo’s sister, sitting on the other side of the booth with Sunita while Sunita was taking a lunch break, looked wide-eyed at the move.

And when Yuichi gave it back, a piece of himself went with it. It’s a very inconvenient thing that happened and Yuichi is holding a grudge.

The only thing that tempers his extremely righteous and not-at-all-unreasonable ire is the fact that, since then, Leonardo has taken to seeking Yuichi out on his own whenever he’s making a nuisance of himself around Run of the Mill, spending Yuichi’s breaks rolling silverware with him and arguing hotly about TV shows and comic book characters.

Yuichi has gotten used to him. To the dizzy, twisty way his stomach acts around him. And now he’s just not around anymore, with zero explanation.

How dare Leonardo disappear. What’s his problem. Clearly this is an attention-seeking ploy. Well, Yuichi isn’t playing his game. He officially doesn’t care what Leonardo’s doing with his time, and that’s that on that.

Then one evening, as Yuichi is waiting at the bar for his drink orders, he sees Señor Hueso come rushing from the back of house. He’s always running around putting out fires, since their regular clientele can be an eclectic, eccentric crowd, but there’s a bit more frantic energy in his step than sits comfortably in Yuichi’s brain.

It’s a hold-over from his most ancient ancestors, that prey-animal intuition, keeping him fine-tuned to his surroundings even when he doesn’t mean to be. He always notices when something’s off, and something is definitely off.

So Yuichi turns, instinct nudging his eyes to follow his boss’s progress through the dining room, and then his elbow slips from where it’s propped on the bar and he almost eats it on the polished tile floor.

There’s a huge, hulking figure by the hostess stand, with a spikey shell and red mask that Yuichi recognizes instantly. This is Leonardo’s biggest brother, the eldest sibling Raphael, though from all the snippets of conversation Yuichi has overheard over the last year, he might as well be the mom.

Raphael turns as Señor Hueso approaches and something cold slinks into Yuichi’s stomach the second he does, because now Yuichi can see his face. Raphael’s left eye is milky white, the skin around it pale with scars. His shoulder is bandaged, and there’s a crater in his shell above the wound.

Ice slides through Yuichi’s gut. Suddenly he’s remembering a tense evening at home about a month and a half ago, the way his aunt yanked him into a hug the second he got home from work, holding him against her like she’d almost lost him. Then she expressly forbade him and all of his cousins from going into the human world for any reason. She even called Run of the Mill and spoke to Señor Hueso (which was humiliating, because Usagi is sixteen, not six) who in turn had assured her that the restaurant wasn’t currently connected to that door, and wouldn’t be until the invasion was long over.

“Invasion?” Yuichi had asked from around the corner of the hallway where he’d been eavesdropping.

“Nothing for you to worry about, baby,” Auntie said firmly. “You just stay put and let the humans sort themselves out. That’s what we always do.”

Yuichi had been curious, but not so much so that he was willing to get himself grounded. And he really didn’t go into New York City very much anyway. All of his friends were down here.

Most of his friends were down here.

It never occurred to him to worry about the Hamatos. He knew they lived in the mortal world, but they’re so much larger than life—they’re so quick and clever and stubborn and strong—that worrying about them feels about as useful as worrying about whether or not the sun is going to rise.

Now he feels sick. Now he thinks he should have been worried.

Señor Hueso is talking in a terse undertone, shoulders set and stiff. He’s transparently worried about something. Raphael shuffles anxiously, wringing his hands while they speak, the apprehensive mannerism incongruent with his imposing size.

A tap on the counter drags Yuichi’s eyes back to the bartender. They’ve finished his drinks and they’re watching him with sympathy in their eyes.

“Should’ve got Little Blue’s number when I told you to, huh, Usagi?” they say wryly.

“Shut up, Qiao,” Yuichi mutters, lifting his tray.

By the time he’s finished dropping the drinks off and taking everyone’s food order—a painful process, since no one can agree on an appetizer, and they have questions about every other thing on the menu, and Yuichi desperately wants to not be dealing with any of them right at this second—Raphael is already halfway out the door. He’s holding a bunch of to-go boxes, ducking his head and stumbling through his gratitude, and Señor Hueso is waving him off briskly.

The rest of Yuichi’s shift is agonizing. He comes up with a dozen half-formed intel-gathering schemes and discards all of them because they each essentially boil down to begging Hueso for information, and that’s his boss. He’s not quite that level of desperate, thank you very much.

…Not yet, anyway.

This is all your fault, Leonardo, Yuichi thinks darkly during closing that night, stuffing paper napkins into their receptacles with maybe six times the necessary aggression. All of his coworkers give him a wide berth, except for Qiao, who mops around him where he’s viciously restocking tables and very loudly says nothing at all.  

Fuck. Yuichi really should have gotten his number.

[allthatmay]

Two shanksace AUs, hot off the press:

Reincarnation AU??

gosh Shanks struggling under the weight of having a Second Chance to "do things right" in a new life

Maybe there's tension between him feeling obligated to pursue relationships that failed before, while maybe not recognizing that those things could have followed their natural course and still ended up where they did

OOOOO the AU could also change drastically depending on whether shace was established in their previous life, or if things strictly followed canon!!

Pirate Radio AU!!

Yes!!!!

I know you suggested it but I'd love to hear more thoughts there

the creativity/artistry really suits them both so much... Plus, the renegade swagger!! Shanks in some kind of loudly-patterned blazer, stubble, & colored glasses, as he sizes up the newest addition to their operation........ yes!!

This is longer than intended. Forgive me?? (Or not.)

Reincarnation AU

Okay, omg. Like you say, there's so many ways a Shanks reincarnation AU could go, so the whole idea is pretty exciting. A Shanks/Ace reincarnation AU in particular? Oh-ho!!!! So many possibilities, and yet I've never really considered it before.

I think you could write it two ways? One where Shanks dies after meeting Ace (he would find the reversal in their age gap hilarious!!!), and one where Shanks dies before they meet. Maybe he dies from blood loss after saving Luffy? Traumatising, lol. But that's potentially where I'd start, and go from there.

As for the kind of people he'd be born to, I think it'd be fucking hilarious if he was a Celestial Dragon (especially considering people speculate this about his birth anyway). Just some vague ideas:

During childhood, he'd take advantage of his position to find out incriminating military secrets he'd previously been unable to discover, including personal secrets. Just for funsies!!! (And, you know, blackmail.)

He doesn't stick around with his parents, setting sail as soon as he can fend for himself. I think he would, at first, go to Rayleigh. He can't go to Buggy—he wouldn't be quite helpful enough—and he can't go to Garp or Whitebeard (what if he makes him his son????) So, he spends a few years with Rayleigh (working with Dragon during this time) until he's 18ish, maybe?

He sets sail alone, seeking out Luffy, who of course ate the Gum Gum Fruit. That's how he meets Ace, who is reminded of another runaway high-born he knows, and invites Shanks to join his crew. Which, well, why not? He's Luffy's brother and son of the Pirate King. What better way to be in the centre of the action.

What's going on in the background? Why is Ace still alive? Well, Shanks' death was so traumatising for Luffy, and then Sabo's, that he became so terrified of Ace dying, he got incredibly protective. No way was he letting Ace hunt down Blackbeard, especially not when he finds out Whitebeard didn't strictly permit it. This is also assuming the timeline moves more slowly, which it does, because I say so, so there.

Having said all of that, I also totally think Shanks would try to make amends in his old relationships just by being a better person for them (and totally burns himself out doing so). However it goes, you're so right in that Shanks would totally struggle with the idea of getting another chance (because he's a fucking martyr who wants to fix everything). I do think a timeline where Shanks/Ace were previously a thing could be interesting, but I'm not as certain how I'd do that. (Probably I'd have Ace born earlier, while Roger's alive.)

(Also, Shanks would call himself, like, Stabby, as homage to Shanks. Or he gets Rayleigh to name him.)

Pirate Radio AU

This idea is underdeveloped but I love it. It just works for them/their relationship, and fits snugly with the OP universe. I imagine secret radio stations transmitted through specifically bred Den Dens. I'd prefer to write it that way than to write an modern AU simply because Den Dens are fun! (As you well know, Chromo... 👀)

So, the backstory would be like OP, just: Roger is considered the king of pirate radio. After his death, Shanks follows his lead and creates his own station, broadcasting from a ship, so he's harder to catch, of course. And, yes, Luffy and Ace join him when they're old enough!

"Shanks in some kind of loudly-patterned blazer, stubble, & colored glasses..." YES, exactly. I think Ace would be so, like, dazed by him, and angry about it. Then Shanks starts letting him choose songs, and dedicates songs to him, and they get more and more ridiculous in their outrageous, musical flirting, until one of the others (Benn, probably) plays a very passive aggressive song about it. Or something.

Also, love the idea of them running a timeslot together, only to get caught flirting live on air. (Or, having sex in the booth and accidentally broadcasting it. Oh, god.)

When they're not aggressively flirting, they're pissing off the government, of course, who are meticulously censoring all music. Maybe while sailing, they seek the legendary scores of Joy Boy, the first true pirate radio host, lol.

This was fun!! Thanks Chromo!! ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶

[krikeymate]

Do you have any mindy and tara friendship headcannons?

I feel like their friendship is not really talked about

I loved that scene in scream 6 where tara rests her head on mindys shoulder

Mindy really does get the short end of the development stick.

Mindy and Tara have a beautiful relationship where they just roast Chad endlessly. Even Sam is not safe. They just riff off each other so well. Mindy always starts it, and Tara cannot help but join in.

I 100% agree with Swagger here that Mindy and Tara have very different movie tastes. Tara cannot bring up her movie choices because Mindy will just go off. She has thoughts and everyone is going to hear them.

They're study buddies. Chad gets too distracted and restless to study with them, so he's banned from homework time. Mindy helps Tara a lot with her homework once they go to college.

Mindy and Tara have always been the type of friends that will just sit down next to you quietly as you have a breakdown and provide silent support. They'll put their hand down on the floor next to the other and give them the option to take it if they want it.

Mindy makes cosplay costumes. Tara is always roped in to be her mannequin. Tara loves seeing Mindy's enthusiasm, whether it's creating or tearing into her movie choices. She always encourages it.

[hacash]

ted lasso 3x02 thoughts

Listen, I think we can all agree that this episode could pretty much be titled ‘Trent Crimm: Return of the Crimm’. I’m not even a big tedpendent girl but this was definitely their time.

I loved seeing Trent back at Richmond! It’s going to be great having more of James Lance on the show: one thing I did think was that Trent had definitely lost a little bit of his customary swagger – he’s back at Richmond but he’s no longer dominating the press room, he’s very much now in the jock-dominated locker room where the Roy storyline made it clear that he no longer has that commanding power that he did in the world of journalism (James Lance’s headcanon that Trent got into sports journalism because his dad wanted him to be into football – Trent is both of that world and not of it - lives in my head rent-free), and the entire arc of this episode was a really interesting way of easing Trent into this scene.

Being a non-sports, non-celebrity, non-rich person, the one gripe I often have with Ted Lasso is it very much takes the rich celebrity jock-ish status of the team as given – of course the himbos are justified in being paid ludicrous sums of money, of course it’s funny and not unsettling that Jamie thinks of non-celebrities as ‘muggles’. So having Trent, who’ll be the first locker-room-regular to come from a more academic, working-a-regular-non-sports-job-background, will be an interesting dynamic switch.

Roy’s entire arc with Trent just stabbed me in the heart. I always knew there had to be more to the ‘you’re a colossal prick and you always have been’ line and now I feel so freaking vindicated. And whoever pointed out that Roy refused to carry on the cycle of condemning teenage players back in s2 as a pundit…argh.

AND HE CARRIED THAT REVIEW AROUND WITH HIM FOR TWENTY-ODD YEARS. (Apparently the British comedian Eric Morecambe did a similar thing: carrying an old bad review of his first television appearance with him for the rest of his life despite reaching unparalleled success in his heyday. *sniffles*)

The one thing that was slightly jarring about Trent’s return was it felt like everyone (except for Roy) was surprisingly chill about him being at Richmond, considering that he was the journalist who broke the story about Ted’s mental health problems (Keeley even mentions gunning for Trent in the S2 finale). Of course, Ted being Ted we can assume he did a lot of sticking up for Trent at the time, but this only turns us back again to the big, painful, heart-stomping elephant in the room…how much does the rest of the Richmond crew know about the leak? And if it does ever slip out, how exactly is that going to go down?

On that note, I was under the impression that we only had to suffer more of Rupert if we also got more delicious Nate angst and arcs into the bargain. The fact that this week we had Rupert’s gross manipulations and no Nate is just a slap in the face.

(Anthony Head remains so wonderfully evil though.)

Zava! I’ve been hypothesising about him since leaked pictures of the first West Ham match hit Twitter, and I’m really interested in seeing where he goes…though, I’ll be real, right now he strikes me as just a prick. And not even a dumb, amusing prick like s1 Jamie (who I knew I was going to have a grudging soft spot for back when he piped up about the snacks being shit), but just…a prick. We’ll see though. I’m also really looking forward to seeing Jamie’s reaction to Zava: if he doesn’t like sharing the spotlight with another ace, or if it’s seeing the primadonna beneath the glamour and not wanting Zava to hurt his team.

And speaking of Zava’s hire…Rebecca’s takedown of him was magnificent, and her ability to be dragged into dodgy business decisions just to one-up Rupert are being played for laughs right now…but let’s be real, this show always plays things for laughs before turning the tables on you. Which basically means: this is going to hurt like a motherfucker.

Also REBECCA WAS THE OTHER WOMAN?!?!? God, that adds so many layers to Sassy telling her she’d hurt people while with Rupert. I cannot wait to find out more about that, it’s already hurting my heart.

DANI SCORING A GOAL WITH HIS FACE. Also his puppy dog excitement about Zava, which I’m sure won’t come back to bite him in the arse later.

I love how Higgins is basically the Richmond equivalent of Varys – he has his contacts everywhere, and no secrets are secret from him.

Keeley and Barbara! Honestly, I’m quite here for where this is going – Barbara’s attitude in this ep unkind and, let’s be honest, pretty classist when it came to Shazza(? Keeley’s model friend?), but also you do need someone to be boring and sensible and check the numbers when it comes to running a business. I’m hoping they keep working together well.

And that moment when Keeley watched Roy come back to Chelsea *lip wobble*

Actually, that entire Chelsea return moment…

AND the knowledge that Roy left Chelsea and Keeley because he couldn’t bear to be left… That revelation hurt. Not even Ted batting his eyes cartoon-anime-style could take the sting out of that kick to the chest.

Jamie continuing to go from strength to strength by trying to comfort Roy (unsuccessfully) in this episode, in his own unique fashion. ‘Old people are jumpy because of the war’ was incredible.

Not nearly enough himbos in this episode, I’m sorry to say, but the scene where they react to Zava, Trent, and Roy breaking up with Keeley was a thing of absolute beauty. And Beard’s shriek at the news was both hilarious and justifiable.

I’m also fascinated by the choice to have the himbos identify the best tactic to fight back at the Chelsea match, rather than Ted – it’s the second time in so many episodes when someone else has stepped up to do something which would traditionally be Ted’s role, and I’m wondering if there’s a pattern here. (And if there is, how Ted – who’s clearly uncertain about his place at Richmond – will interpret that.)

God, I almost nearly forgot that this was the episode where we found out that Isaac is a student of kinesics (Renaissance man!) and apparently regularly checks out Roy’s arse. Here we were all thinking Colin would be confirmed queer this season…is McAdoo about to sneak in from under our noses?

Also the post-gym scenes made this the episode where I realised the Greyhounds are definitely sporting a somewhat more...athletic look this season. I may have to put together some s1 v s3 comparison pics to be sure about this. Stay tuned.

[mahuhumaling]

post velum;

textpost edition. a freeform poem about the journey of patpran.

🔗 — [visual edition.] [insp.] [x]

PRELUDE.

PROLOGUE

Let me not tell you a story about two households both alike in dignity, in fair Bangkok, where we lay our scene. And instead: about two boys, their hundred stop-it's, but-what-if's, and what-the-fuck-does-this-mean's; simultaneously flown and grounded by the passage of time.

And maybe a little bit of Fate.

THE ENGINEER

Picture fierce eyes, dark swept hair, and a natural affinity for people. He walks with such swagger and charm that makes you both remember and forget he's been Head of the Class for years. But don't let that fool you: despite always being sleeveless, he wears his heart on it.

THE ARCHITECT

A walking amalgamation of a question mark and an exclamation point, he is sarcasm embedded in a smirk that extends to deep dimples for most, a sketch book with a puzzle lock for some, and a thousand meters of ocean depth for him alone.

ACT I.

SCENE ONE

The plain black watch tells us we're doomed from the start. But shh. Do you hear that?

It rings to signal a start — to start it is, again, is to love and grieve at the same time, what we equally had and never could. What we really were and never allowed to be.

SCENE TWO

The universal truth is that the sky is blue. But I can also tell you without uncertainty that the day you stormed out with sunken eyes and parted lips with my father's words, that day, the sky was red.

SCENE THREE

Is it worth cutting yourself open over guitar strings? A stolen third wonton? How about a half-assed paper airplane? An imaginary corpse flower? The black instrument case or the makeshift pavillion sign? Or is it the million little things in between them all?

SCENE FOUR

The nightlight's smile looks like a teasing grin now, unsympathetic to the unwashed gray shirt, the shared blue sheets, and the space and warmth in between.

At least it's not bright enough to reveal tears pleading to fall.

ACT II.

SCENE FIVE

What are we? I search for it in the crevices of your mouth. What are we? In the years of distance between our flushed necks. What are we? In the cold rooftop railing full of want.

I can feel it start to rain. It's not the reason you walked away.

SCENE SIX

The only thing the salty water and air can heal is us.

SCENE SEVEN

I lost. I have been losing from the start. Have me.

SCENE EIGHT

It's in the third beer that the weighted truth sinks in. Everything else fades, including the mundane lies. The bang of the xylophone sticks don't quite strike like the drum, but it hits like it's stripping us off of untruths.

Red dropping.

ACT III.

SCENE NINE

Facing the music has never been this loud. An untouched football, a graze across the stomach, a few ragged breaths, and fingerprints obscuring a hidden venom.

Red dripping.

It can't get worse than this, right?

SCENE TEN

Guess not.

SCENE ELEVEN

The only thing the salty water and air can heal is us.

SCENE TWELVE

The strings of our tin cans were shrouded by a strong, lingering mist of guilt and misery, too many decades old to be pulled apart, so it stays. We also do. But it never rusts. We clean them regularly.

POSTSCRIPT.

EPILOGUE

We were doomed from the start. But shh. Just like writing plays, like writing songs, there are revisions. After all, this is our story, our song. We get to dictate who are part of it. We get to compose how the Coda sounds like.

Fate is not as cruel as we think she is.

INTERMISSION.

the Our Skyy 2 crossover.

SCENE 11.1

Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the stupidest one of all? Is it you who insists on cramming every inch of yourself into the spaces I consume, or is it me who pushes you not to?

Because what happens if I get accustomed to it? What if I become so familiar with your fingertips on my arm that I caress the ghost of it when I eventually leave for two years? Even for a while, would the single bed and the sole toothbrush terrorize me awake?

Give me an apple. I'm getting on the bus to leave this doubt behind and seek answers.

In the throes of teasing, of pushing and pulling, Fate's shadows skirt around the edges of another story, waiting for you to collide.

THE FOREST RANGER

You see yourself in him, with the way he closes his arms and his heart. He is years ahead of you, but you can feel it: he is just as scared as you are, except his fear has worn down and dulled. When he says nothing, you go to sleep understanding the faraway look in his eye. It must be a fissure.

Afraid that someone will go in; begging for someone to go in.

(You're also pretty sure that not even Snow White got lost in the woods as long as this, not with a silent Huntsman by her side.)

THE TEACHER

He is also engineer — he is also impulsive and brash with the way he sways to and fro along the road that leads to the cliff. He has the same reckless abandon as you when it comes to loving people with the way he demands to find the student while sporting a high fever. You try to blame it on the surgery scars on his chest or his reputable last name, but you learn that that's always been him, just reformed.

You also learn he's been deaing with guilt.

time for the curtain call.

SCENE 11.2

I don't really think about the fact that my laughter only echoes the loudest when I'm sure they can be muffled by the wild thrash of the waterfall, or that you can fully bury your face in my nape under the comfort of mesh curtains. I don't really think about how I surrender myself to loving you in the most open of spaces — the sea and the mountain.

I don't think about it. Instead, at night, I long to climb up the cliff and just count to a thousand. How did the Teacher put it? 956, 957, 958...

Damn it. I can't finish it either.

SCENE 11.3

It's 10:10 when you first return it to me with kid wonder and the water washed out. It's 10:10 when I take it out the box the second I meet you again with a kick to the chest. It's 9:31 when I decide to start wearing it, 9:04 when I see you at the rooftop, 9:17 when you clutch it close with a confession lodged in your throat thinking you'd lost me, and 9:39 when I reassure you with bandaid words that you hadn't.

It's always been nine or ten PM. It's always been this deep into the night when I can look you in the eye and ask, "So?" with a teasing lilt, but secretly plead for you to admit that you feel as deeply as I do, that you're dancing in the same thread of forever as I am.

You whisper yes, and a whole lot more.

SCENE 11.4

For once, the red doesn't drop. It stays high, high up, high enough that everyone can see. But everyone is cheering. And even if both of us are donned in costumes, I kmow the love we are putting under the spotlight is just as unapologetic and carefully mended and queer as our own. They are cheering for us too.

And since I know you want to be seen, I remove the glass coffin and let you pull me in.

END.

[orthoxrequiem]

Persona 4 Golden Review (Spoilers)

So I promised my friend who got me into Persona (even if he did warn me beforehand) that after I finished Persona 4, I would write an in-depth review of it, and since I stick by my promises, here it is! I’ll separate this into categories, where I talk about the gameplay, graphics, music, characters, and plot of the game before giving my final thoughts about it. So with that out of the way, let’s do this!

Gameplay:

To start this review off positively, I’ll go over the best part of this game. I love the way this game plays and how it handled the battles in it. The battle system is so fucking good and it makes them feel very engaging. I love the whole elemental system that makes up battles as it allows for a lot of strategy for how you’re going to take down certain enemies and how you can defend yourself against said enemies. It’s also always satisfying to knock them down and follow it up with an all out attack. I also love how the social links of your party members affects how they perform in battles as well, which adds more strategy to that as well. Overall, the gameplay is really what made this game so good to me, because IT’S JUST SO PEAK!

Music:

This game’s soundtrack is really fucking good. Even people who hate Persona (reasonable) can admit that the soundtrack goes hard and has them BOISTEROUS TUNES. Some of my personal favourite tracks include:

-Reach Out To The Truth

-Backside Of The TV

-Deduction

-Sauna

-Heartbeat, Heartbreak

-Game

-A New World Fool

-The Fog

-Secret Base

-Heaven

-Long Way

-Corridor

-The Almighty

-The Genesis

-Electronica of the Soul

-Time to Make History

However, I will say that the normal boss theme is pretty mid when compared to the other tracks in the game, but it’s still alright. So basically, WE MAKING IT OUT IF INABA WITH THIS ONE!!!!!

Graphics:

I don’t give a shit about graphics in video games because I’m not a fucking loser, but I will say that this game looks pretty fire. The 3D model’s movements can feel a little janky at times but they’re alright. I mainly really like the sprites in this game, even if I do think that they could’ve be a little more expressive, because it’s a little jarring when a character is crying and their sprite is just “:(“. Either way, this isn’t really that important, but I just wanted to mention it. Adachi’s sprites are also all so peak by the way. He brings that adachilicious swagger wherever he goes.

Characters:

Yu:

Yu, or Reigen Arataka as I named him in my playthrough, is the protagonist of the game and your typical self-insert MC for the “immersive experience” that game developers love to do for some reason despite how fucking stupid it is and how I would prefer if the protagonist was an actual character with an actual personality. Granted, I did hear that he does have a personality in the anime, but I never watched it, so I really only have the game to base it off of. I don’t have anything to say about him because the game doesn’t give him anything to say, so yeah. He’s just your typical self-insert in the game.

Yosuke:

Where the fuck do I begin?! Alright, look, for the first couple of hours of the game, Yosuke is a great character. He’s just this chill bro who you would play Fortnite with, and even if he was a little down bad sometimes, he wasn’t like that too often and it was just him being a goofball. However, around the Steamy Bathhouse dungeon, all of that changes as Yosuke comes out of the closet as…HOMOPHOBIC! Turns out your bro would probably call you slurs during Jackbox vc sessions on Discord which fucking sucks. Even after that section, Yosuke is really homophobic towards Kanji which is NOT funny at all and makes me want to BANISH HIM to the DEPTH of IKEA! However, you don’t need to worry, BECAUSE IT GETS EVEN WORSE! You know when I said that Yosuke was down bad, well as the game progresses, that becomes more and more evident to the point where him being a pervert is just his main personality. Granted, it’s not as bad as a certain character that I’ll get to later, but it’s still really fucking obnoxious how painfully heterosexual he is. If bro was a Danganronpa fan, he would ship KaiMaki. If bro was a Puyo Puyo fan, he would ship SigAmi. If bro was an Angry Birds fan, he would love the second movie. You see what I’m getting at here? However, Yosuke DOES get bullied throughout the game, so that does slightly make up for how annoying he is, but he still sucks in the end. I also genuinely can’t believe that people actually ship him with the protagonist because Yosuke does not deserve an ounce of happiness in his absolutely pathetic life. Overall, Yosuke is a really annoying and unlikable character that fools you into thinking that he’d be your lovable goofball sidekick. Fuck Yosuke! All my homies hate Yosuke!

Chie:

On a more positive note, I really like Chie. Her personality balances out her whimsical silliness as well as her desire to roundhouse kick the shit out of people which makes for a very engaging and fun character that balances off the next character I will talk about very well. Absolute girlboss! She also beefs with Yosuke a lot which gives her extra points because FUCK YOSUKE! I don’t really have much to say about Chie since I got nothing to complain about or anything important that needs to be said, because she’s just a very solid character. Shoutouts to Chie aka Yukiko’s gf!

Yukiko:

Next up, Chie’s girlfriend! Yukiko is very reserved and not as bombastic as other characters but I really like that about her. She just has this calm demeanour and whenever she talks, I’m always really invested in her dialogue. She’s always got some real shit to say. She also really balances out Chie’s personality really well which is why they’re both perfect for each other and I can’t believe they actually got married at the end of the game, can you believe that? However, I will say that she was way too painfully heterosexual during the nightclub scene around Naoto’s part of the game, but that’s more of a flaw on the story then her own flaw. Also, her social link development felt very strange to me because it goes from “I want to be independent from my family” to “Actually, this is where I belong” which I understand the message it’s going for but it still feels strange tbh. I would say I like her around the same level as Chie, which is ANOTHER reason why they are perfect for each other. Overall, she’s very bodacious. Shoutouts to her.

Kanji:

FUCK YEAH TIME TO TALK ABOUT THE BEST FUCKING CHARACTER IN THE GAME! Kanji is the FUCKING GOAT! It may not seem like it from his funny as fuck dungeon, but he is the GOAT! He’s the bro that Yosuke never was, as I would definitely chill and listen to JPEGMAFIA with him unlike with Yosuke. He’s a bisexual icon, even if the game is too much of a coward to lean into the more gay side of his character, but what do you expect from Persona? I love how he’s this tough badass that does deep down have a soft side to him (which reminds me a lot of Onigawara from Mob Psycho who’s one of my favourite characters in that show) and I like how his character development is him learning to except that being a “real man” is by being true to yourself and making cute plushies, as seen in his social link being THE BEST IN THE FUCKING GAME. Absolute ICON! He really makes you wonder why Yosuke is still in the game in the first place because Kanji does everything he does WAY BETTER! Also, him and Naoto are both gay and in love trust me they told me themselves. Anyways, KANJI SOLOS EVERY SINGLE CHARACTER IN THE GAME FUCK YEAH!!!!!

Rise:

I do not like Rise. I don’t utterly despise her like Yosuke or the next character I’ll talk about, but I do dislike her. I thought I was going to really like her from when she’s first introduced, as I really liked her calm and slightly cynical personality and I thought it would be great to have a character like that in the party, but I was so wrong. Turns out, Rise’s development isn’t about her leaving her life as an idol behind, but embracing it for some fucking reason. Turns out, her idol life is actually just how she normally is????? What the fuck????? Rise ends up turning about to be this annoying hyperactive and slightly smug character who’s always flirting with the main character because of Forced Heterosexuality SigAmi KaiMaki Angry Birds Movie 2 style (I already made that joke but I just had to make it again lol), and she’s also like that towards other characters as well. She’s also mean to Kanji, so she can go fuck herself. Overall, she’s annoying and I don’t like her. If she was removed from the game then nothing of value would be lost.

Teddie:

I FUCKING HATE TEDDIE I FUCKING HATE TEDDIE I FUCKING HATE TEDDIE I FUCKING HATE TEDDIE! HE IS THE WORST CHARACTER IN THE FUCKING GAME! If he isn’t making obnoxious bear puns every few seconds, then he is being a disgusting pervert, and when he isn’t doing that, he’s just being extremely fucking obnoxious. He’s also really fucking annoying during battles before Rise joins your party because he won’t SHUT THE FUCK UP! I don’t like Rise, but she is a billion times better then that stupid Freddy Fazbear wannabe. The most unrealistic thing about Persona 4 is the fact that the group view Teddie as a friend because in reality, I don’t think there is a single person who would ever love his pathetic existence. The game tries to give him character development later on in the story, but WHY THE FUCK should I care about the CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT, when I fucking hate the CHARACTER that’s being DEVELOPED! Overall, Teddie is the worst character ever, and it’s baffling how the bad ending of the game is labeled as such when Teddie leaving is the best thing that could happen to the group, because his existence is worse then anything Adachi could even do. If he was removed from the game then the world would be a much better place, and yet here we are.

Naoto:

I LOVE NAOTO! THIRD BEST CHARACTER IN THE GAME! HE IS THE FUCKING GOAT! However, Naoto is different when compared to my other favourites in this game because of how utterly dirty he is done by the game. Kanji is disrespected as well and I already mentioned that previously and how it annoys me, but not to the extent that Naoto is. So, let’s talk about Naoto being trans.

The Naoto Transmasc Controversy:

Naoto’s character arc is fine if you just look at it in isolation. It is meant to be a commentary on how women aren’t given a chance in male-dominated jobs such as being a detective, and that’s a based message since women are amazing and I hope every women reading this is having a good day. However, the way the game handles this message is ATROCIOUS! Naoto is introduced as a man. He shows up here and there and isn’t relevant until after Mitsuo’s section of the game. Kanji is also heavily hinted at having a huge crush on him, which is adorable and I hope they live a happy life together. However, all of that changes after Naoto’s dungeon. It is then revealed that Naoto was born a woman and is transmasc, but isn’t actually, and is just presenting that way just because the detective industry is a male-dominated business. Naoto states here and there throughout the game that he wishes he was a man, but his character development involves him coming to terms with being a woman????? What the fuck????? The game is too much of a coward to have a trans character, and also to have Kanji be in love with a character who is a male, which fucking sucks. In my heart, Naoto is transmasc, and him and Kanji are both dating each other because they told me himself. You could argue with me that this goes against Naoto’s development in the game, but I don’t give a shit. So, with that out of the way, back to talking about the rest of Naoto’s character.

Naoto [Continued]:

I fucking love Naoto. He always has some real shit to say for being the only person in the group with an actual brain (Yosuke doesn’t count because anyone who’s homophobic is a fucking idiot). Whenever Naoto speaks, he always has this great way of delivering what he has to say and I love it whenever he spitting facts. He’s also pretty funny sometimes and has a lot of great moments as well (See: Naoto dissing Adachi in the climax of the game). He’s also the perfect contrast to Kanji, and in this essay, I will talk about why they are both gay and- nah, just kidding! I’m sure everyone knows that by now, but yeah. As you can tell, I’m a huge KanNao shipper lol. Overall, Naoto is amazing but the way Atlus treats him makes me want to hit the griddy but in an angry way.

Dojima:

THE SECOND BEST CHARACTER IN THE GAME! THE FUCKING CEO OF DILFS! MY BELOVED! FUCK YEAH! I LOVE DOJIMA! Dojima is the fucking goat! He’s this great older brother figure in the game that keeps the game grounded when compared to the bullshit that happens with the TV world. He also tries his best to be a good father figure to Nanako, even if he is pretty flawed and neglectful, which I do really like about him because it shows that he is human. He’s just some guy who is struggling with the loss of his wife and having to balance detective/police work with raising his daughter, and the game does a good job at showcasing this. You clearly can see multiple times that he is flawed and has a lot of problems with being there for his daughter and the guilt that comes with it, but he grows throughout the game and his social links and learns to be there more for his family. Persona really cooked when they wrote his character and I love him a lot. Also, him and Adachi are both really fucking funny whenever they’re on screen together because they got them toxic yaoi vibes and I just KNOW that Adachi received them Dojima backshots off-screen. There’s nothing to say otherwise, trust me!

Nanako:

Nanako is great. She’s just a silly little critter. She serves her role in the story well and I don’t really have anything else to say about her. She’s just a very solid character. The silly :)

Adachi:

THE FOURTH BEST CHARACTER IN THE GAME LETS FUCKING GOOOOOO!!!!! ADACHI TRUE!!!!! Everyone loves Adachi. Even if you don’t play Persona, chances are you know him and love him from his funny as shit memes, and while that is Adachi-True.png, he is genuinely a great character all memes aside. For most of the game, he’s just this absolute goofball who’s really funny and lovable whenever he’s on screen before eventually revealing himself to be the main antagonist of the game. Even if I already knew that beforehand, the twist is really well-done and I was even wondering throughout my play through how the fuck Adachi could be evil. The way he acts when he’s evil is honestly great, and I think about his big speech at the end of the game way more then I should. Also, the line about him becoming a police officer just to own a gun is an insane af line for a game that is clearly pro-police. It is a true af line through. He really cooked when he said that. Overall, he’s simultaneously a lovable goofball and a great antagonist. Absolute goat. He’s also my friend’s favourite character so extra point for that.

Mitsuo:

Mitsuo is a red herring in the case and that’s all he’s meant to be, but considering how him killing Mr Morooka is a pretty major event, it feels extremely jarring how the game barely touches on Mitsuo’s character. I would really like the idea of a prominent antagonist in this game being an incel kid, but the game barely does anything with that which is disappointing.

Namatame:

Namatame is another red herring in the case, but the game actually treats him more like an important character and I honestly really like him. I don’t have much to say about him because he’s just a really fucking solid character that serves his purpose in the story well.

Mr Morooka:

THE FUCKING GOAT THE MVP OF THE GAME ABSOLUTE GOAT THE BEST CHARACTER IN EVERYTHING EVER KING MORON SOLOS FUCK YEAH LETS FUCKING GOOOOOOOOOO

Marie:

I almost forgot to mention her here which should tell you exactly how much I care about her character.

The Sagiris:

I don’t care about these omnipotent beings. They’re boring tbh, but maybe that’s just my RPG fatigue since they appear pretty late into the game lmao.

Overall, the characters in the game can range from goated to the worst characters ever. They’re kinda hit or miss for me, but the few standouts are really fucking good standouts.

Story:

To easily categorise the story, I’ll separate this section into acts, witch each act being represented by a character that you have to deal with.

Prologue/Act 1 (Yukiko)

Yeah, this game starts off VERY slow. Now, this wouldn’t be a bad thing if it was paced well. I am a fan of slow-burning stuff. I love Better Call Saul, I listen to Godspeed You! Black Emperor, and back when I actually liked the Puyo series, I wished that there would one day be a 50000+ word slowburn AmiEss fic, but Puyo Puyo fans suck and would rather write about the painfully mediocre SigAmi, so that never existed. However, the pacing of the prologue is very iffy. On one hand, the way you become friends with Chie and Yukiko feels WAY too sudden, but on the other, JESUS CHRIST THIS IS TAKING TEN YEARS CAN WE GET TO THE GAMEPLAY NOW!!!!! The story does set up the main mystery well, but it should’ve been condensed, which is a problem that you’ll see throughout the rest of the game. The game does definitely pick up once Yukiko gets kidnapped which is when the gameplay truly begins, and aside from her weird sexualisation in her midnight channel cutscene, it’s a fine first dungeon. I like her character’s motives and the resolution of confronting your problems and not running from them is a solid resolution and definitely better then some other ones (Kid Named Naoto:)

Overall, a decent yet slow start to the game.

Act 2 (Kanji):

This is definitely where the game starts to pick up and get pretty enjoyable. It establishes the main quartet well and I really enjoyed watching them interact (up until Yosuke falls off but I’LL GET TO THAT). Here, Kanji is introduced, with Naoto also having a small cameo. I really liked his introduction as it establishes his badass attitude and the way it portrays his whole closeted homosexual feelings towards Naoto is pretty funny and goofy. However, the dungeon of this chapter is actually fucking insane. Kanji is now almost naked in the TV world and in a fucking bathhouse acting like a gay stereotype and dropping lines that feel like punches to the gut. This dungeon is honestly so out-of-pocket that it honestly makes it fucking hilarious because you have a character who’s hinted at liking men and THIS is the fucking dungeon lmao. However, the end of this chapter is also when Yosuke begins to fall of and reveal himself to be HOMOPHOBIC! So that deducts points for this act, but it introduces the best character in the game which adds those points back so yeah.

Overall, this was a really enjoyable part of the game, but FUCK YOSUKE!

Act 3 (Rise):

This is the worst part of the game. Here, Yosuke is at his most unbearable as the worst parts of his personality (his homophobic and his painfully heterosexual attitude) are amplified by A LOT and this act also has the weakest series of events. The whole “motorbike” scenario with You, Yosuke and Kanji was just so unfun because Yosuke is out here wanting women to press their breasts against him and I’m just hear like SHUT THE FUCK UP! Also I hated having to pick up a girls number, especially since I had to pick up an older women, because in Atlus’ world, liking minors is ok if it’s an older woman and a teenage boy, WHEN IT IS NOT OK AT ALL! Afterwards, there is a camping trip but who the fuck cares about that. There’s an unfunny reoccurring gag about the female characters not being able to cook which runs throughout the entire game and it’s just not funny. Then you meet Rise and she tricks you into thinking that she’d be a cool character before she becomes annoying when she joins the cast. Her dungeon is also the worst one in the game, because it’s a fucking strip club. I know it’s trying to convey the stress Rise felt as an idol but like come on! Her resolution is also mid but I already talked about that so yeah However, Teddie’s shadow was a great twist and I loved that battle so shoutouts to that.

Overall, weakest act in the game. That shit was mid.

Act 4 (Mitsuo):

MR MOROOKA IS FUCKING DEAD NOOOOOOOOOOOO! REST IN PEACE TO THE FUCKING GOAT! Yeah, this act is when SHIT GETS REAL! I really liked how much Mr Morooka’s death completely throws a wrench into the case which adds to the whole mystery of it. It makes things pretty damn interesting. Also, TEDDIE TWINK JUMPSCARE! That shit definitely caught me off guard when I first played the game. I still fucking hate him but that scene was really funny and shoutouts to him bankrupting Yosuke as he should. Anyways, Mitsuo is then revealed as the next person you have to deal with in the midnight channel. He showed up around the prologue to hit on Yukiko and be an incel before dipping so him turning out to be an antagonist was a pretty good surprise. His dungeon is also really fucking good and marks the point in the game where the dungeons increase in quality. I also really liked Mitsuo’s performance for what little we saw of him, even if I wish he had more of a presence in the game. However, his boss fight is impossible on Hard mode which is a pain lmao. He’s one of the three bosses that I couldn’t beat in hard mode and had to switch to normal mode to deal with. Also, I wished he had a unique boss theme instead of just a R-R-RETRO!!!!! version of the regular mid boss theme.

Overall, this was a great act. It was very enjoyable and bodacious. Rip King Moron though. The goat will be missed.

Act 5 (Naoto):

Now, this act may introduce THE FUCKING GOAT NAOTO, but it’s also has some flaws. For starters, I did really like the whole fireworks festival part of the game because it was really nice, and I also liked how the group try to include Naoto in their activities and also Kanji’s crush on him coming back into the plot, which is still adorable. However, I did not enjoy the night club scene at all, and how KANJI’S FIRST KISS WAS TEDDIE GOD FUCKING DAMN IT I HATE THAT FUCKING BEAR IT SHOULD’VE BEEN WITH NAOTO GRAAAAAA also I hate forced heterosexuality like YUKIKO GET THE FUCK OFF OF MY LAP CHIE IS RIGHT THERE YOU BUFFOON!!!!! Anyways, Naoto then enters the TV world on his own will and you have to find him and I fucking love how worried Kanji is about him, like that shit was hype. However, then we reach The Reveal. I’ve already talked about it when I talked about Naoto’s character, so you already know how much it sucks.

Overall, this act had a bunch of great moments but also some not so good moments. It’s a mixed bag.

Act 6 (Nanako/Namatame):

This act is really fucking weird because it was on track to be the worst act of the entire game. While I did really enjoy the whole concert sequence, I did not enjoy the whole school festival part of the game, ESPECIALLY the swimsuit contest and the way the game treated the drag contest (Those outfits were fire, the game is just mean), and then you get THE FUCKING HOT SPRING SEQUENCE! ATLUS HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU I DO NOT ENJOY SEEING MINORS SEXUALISED BECAUSE THAT IS DISGUSTING AND BAD AND HORRIBLE AND STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM NAOTO LEAVE MY MAN ALONE AND STOP FOCUSING ON HIS BREASTS GRAAAAAAAA! HOWEVER, after that, SHIT GETS GOOOOOOD! I love the whole intensity of the situation involving the buildup to Nanako’s kidnapping and the actual incident. Your bonding with Nanako, Dojima finding out about you being tied to the case, and the entirety of the interrogation room section and the buildup to Nanako being kidnapped was top tier. The chase scene with Dojima afterwards was also amazing, and I love how this clearly shows his love for his daughter despite being neglectful and not there for her at all times. The dungeon is also one of the best in the game, and the whole encounter with Namatame is also so fucking good. The game does a good job at making this feel like this is where the case ends, and Namatame’s boss fight is also really good as well. Also, you can really feel Nanako and Dojima’s absence at this point in the game and it HURTS.

Overall, this act started off pretty weak but the climax of it made up for the rest of it, because god damn that was some good shit.

Act 7 (Adachi):

NOW THIS IS SOME GOOD SHIT! The city is now covered in fog and now Inaba has more negative aura then Wet Dry World in Mario 64. Also, Nanako and Dojima are still in the hospital so the isolation you feel is further enforced which hurts a lot. Anyways, NANAKO FUCKING DIES IN THE HOSPITAL!!!!! REST IN PEACE THAT SCENE MADE ME VERY EMOTIONAL but then you find Namatame in the hospital and you’re given the choice to FUCKING KILL HIM! That gets you the bad ending which I got on my first playthrough and it was really fucking depressing. You can also not kill him which also gives you the bad ending, but Nanako lives in that ending and Teddie leaves unlike in the good/true ending so idk why it’s still a bad ending because as I said previously, Teddie leaving is based.

Bad Ending:

I honestly love the bad endings because of how anticlimactic and uneasy they feels without being overbearing. It really makes you feel like something is wrong without outright stating it and it’s really effective. Good shit, Persona.

Accomplice Ending:

I’m gonna mention this as well since even though it’s later in the game, it’s also a bad ending so yeah. I sadly did not get this ending in my playthrough since Adachi was NEVER THERE when I wanted to talk with him and I could only get him up to LVL 4 on the social link so yeah. Sorry Adachi nation. I did watch it on Youtube though and I absolutely love how fucked up it is. Great shit, persona. Adachi solos. Shoutouts to his psychotic laughing sprite that’s only used for this scene fr.

Act 7 (Adachi) [Continued]:

To progress the game, you have to follow this specific dialogue tree which is a little frustrating but once you do so, the endgame begins and Nanako lives! Let’s fucking go! Anyways, you then talk with Namatame who’s actually just a chill guy who went down a downfall arc (literally me) and now you have to find the real killer…ADACHI PERSONA! Look, everyone already knows that Adachi is the main antagonist of the game because he’s practically unavoidable on the internet, but it’s still a really good twist and I love how the game handles the confrontation scene with him getting more and more irrationally angry until he slips up and has to run away, where he reveals his true self. Then you head over to his dungeon and fight him and shit goes hard but also the second phase is a bitch on hard mode and this is the second time I had to switch the game back to normal mode lmao.

Overall, PEAK CLIMAX! ADACHI IS THE GOAT! HE SOLOS! FUCK YEAH!

Act 8 (Marie):

After Adachi is dealt with, the game then has a bunch of silly slice-of-life stuff such as you making a snowman with Dojima and Nanako as well as your ski-trip which is all very epic. However, you then have to deal with Marie (after maxing her social link) and honestly I don’t give a shit about that Sagiri shit but yeah you do some shit and blah blah blah look at this point I was tired as shit and experiencing jrpg fatigue so bare with me and also I don’t give a shit about Marie lol. I thought she would be finally interesting here but no she isn’t lmao. Also, there’s another FUCKING HOT SPRING SCENE I AM GOING TO FUCKING LOSE IT FUCK ATLUS GRAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!

Overall, I’m still enjoying myself even if my JRPG fatigue got the better of me lmao.

Epilogue (The fucking Gas Station Tweaker that Ghetto Smosh warned me about):

Alright, the twist was cool and all but at this point I just wanted to beat the game and get the true ending so whatever. I was satisfied with the good ending until an interaction with my friend made me realise that there was a true final boss so yeah lmao. Also the true final boss was the third and final time that I had to switch my game back to normal mode lmao. Anyways, the true ending is also really wholesome and it put a smile on my face. It was really nice and a great way to end the game.

Conclusion:

In conclusion, Persona 4 is a really good game that has amazing gameplay and some pretty cool characters as well as an interesting story. However, weak characters and poor elements of the story hold the game back from being truly amazing. 7.5/10, maybe an 8/10 if I’m generous.

[bear-cubs-art-things]

OKI OKI YOUNG ZECHARIAH AU FANFIC GOO-

part 1 yeeeee!!!

★~🐸~★

It was a beautiful morning in Wartwood. The sun glowed warmly in the pale blue sky, clouds of shimmery white glided along wind currents seemingly so calm. The soil smelled of dew and previous rainfall, plants along every water-body edge they could find. Or really any patch of dirt. Along with the earthy warm smell of dirt, wildflowers and bakery goods filled the air. It truly smelled like home.

His home. Zechariah Nettles.

Zechariah Phineas Nettles. 11 years old. 5 feet 4 inches. Lives with his grandmother Gretchen Basil Nettles and mother Juniper Autumn Yggdrasil. Has no siblings. Loves to read, listen to music, on occasion draw on scraplets of paper. Does chores more frequently than he thinks necessary. Works on his household farm (who didn't have a farm in Wartwood?). Green-grey with dark brown eyes, with a pale blue tongue. Kind and often shy, doesn't talk much.

You get the idea.

Often Zechariah would sit on the garden wall, looking off into the vague and unknown distance. Staring at the summer clouds, lost in daydream thought. He was a nice kid, they said. Soft spoken and well mannered.

And, some might say, a perfect target.

Wartwood, though a kind small town a ways from the capital, had its fair share of pricks and assholes. Unfortunately, older teens had it good with picking on poor 'Riah. Everyday it was the same.

"Staring off at the stars, huh, dreamerboy?"

"He doesn't have any friends, so he talks to the plants!"

"More working less dreaming farmerboy!!"

"I bet his mom hates him so he has to do all the farmwork."

"What's so interesting about the damn sky, huh?!"

"I bet his thoughts are his only company, and that isn't much company is it now?"

And everyday, Zechariah continues on. So deep in thought their sneers fly right between his ears (whatever passes as his ears). But even now and then, it gets bad.

Really bad.

Zechariah was just walking home from the market one day; a bag of assorted groceries for his grandma in one arm, a loaf of bread in the other. He was just a kid running another errand, minding his own business. Three big kids walked up to him.

"Whatcha got there?" asked the biggest one. A newt of dark fuchsia and slit eyes. At least that's what they looked like.

"Hm?" Zechariah responded softly, quietly, being brought back to reality from his daydream.

"I said," the fuchsia newt raised his voice, "whatcha got there."

"Groceries," once again Zechariah responded softly. Light words in the wind. Faint.

"What kind of groceries?" another sneered. A blue frog, high-pitched voice, short and stocky. Wore a newsboys cap. Kinda silly looking.

"Dunno" 'Riah shrugged. "Gramma gave me a list."

"Y'know young tadpoles like you shouldn't really wander alone without an adult," the newt chimed back in. "It can be dangerous."

"How so?"

"You never know," the newt swaggered closer to Zechariah, malice glittering in his eyes, "who might want to hurt you."

Almost as if it were rehearsed, the third one - a big burly red toad with no neck and a wide build - slugged a punch at Zechariah. Sent him straight to the mud.

And his groceries, which he was more upset about than his own physical wellbeing.

The frog joined in, kicking at Zechariah's face. The toad was still throwing punches, but at his sides. The newt stood there, arms folded, smiling and watching.

Zechariah merely trying to cover his head with his sticks-for-arms. Which, must be mentioned, was another part of him that Amphibians made fun of him of.

And when they were done with him, after Zechariah was beaten to a froggy pulp, the newt finally bent down to talk to him.

"Listen closely, little runt," he hissed.

Zechariah uncovered his eyes, looked up to meet the newt's.

Glittering with malice. Hatred. The need to hurt.

"You aren't welcomed here. This is OUR territory."

"Hnnnggh-"

The newt snapped (in a sense) and threw Zechariah up by the collar, so that he was dangling a good 6 inches off the ground. Battered and bruised, lips swollen and bleeding. He looked terrible, awfully terrible. He shouldn't even be in this situation right now... how have things escalated so quickly?

"If I see your dingy ass walking these streets again I WILL kill you." the newt hissed, foaming at the mouth. Insane. Bloodthirsty.

"Hnnngggghh" was the only thing to escape Zechariah's numb face.

The newt then delivered the final blow.

A merciless throwdown into the mud. Face first, if you will. And he laughed. So did the other two.

And they walked away, still laughing.

Zechariah, unable to feel much through the pain coursing through his veins and muscles, laid there in the mud. Groceries spoiled, his Gramma's copper wasted, his body battered in a lifeless heap.

He sighed. Didn't cry. Sighed.

He wasn't much of a crier. And for his age, he should've been crying at that first punch.

He just laid there. Still and breathing. Coping with the immense pain those teens had inflicted on him.

"They're jerks, huh?" an unfamiliar voice spoke.

"Mm hm..." was his muffled reply, quiet.

"I'm sorry they did that to you," the voice said again. "Really."

Zechariah felt his body being turned on his side and brought up to a sitting-up position. It wasn't hard because he was so light and thin.

What he was faced with was a royal purple newt with chin-length black hair curly at the ends, with a apologetic grin on his face. His eyes will filled with innocent brightness, hiding the apparent knowledge that he knew something about those teens that beat up Zechariah.

"My brother can be a pain sometimes, and I always have to clean his mess," he sighed. Sat in front of 'Riah. "I'm truly sorry he did this to you. Wrong place wrong time I guess."

"Mm hm..."

Purple Newt stuck out his hand. "I'm Brocky by the way. Brocky Fronds. That pink newt was my older bro Rasphy. He's always been a no-good."

"Hmm..."

Brocky glanced a long glance in the direction where Rasphy last went. He snapped his head back to Zechariah.

"So anyways, moving on from that, what's your name?"

"Hmh?"

"I introduced myself, and you have yet to do the same," Brocky pointed out. "In case you didn't hear me the first time, I said my name was Brocky."

"I heard that-" Zechariah replied.

"Woah he does speak!" Brocky snarked almost immediately, sarcastically. Zechariah chuckled a bit.

Zechariah stuck his hand out to meet Brocky's, and shook it. "I'm Zechariah Nettles."

" 'The Skinny-Legged Frog' they call you," Brocky jerked his head in Rasphy's direction. "My bro and his friends, I mean."

"They call me lots of things," Zechariah shrugged. "I never paid any attention to that much."

"Well, I know what I'm gonna call you, if you're alright with it," Brocky declared, standing up.

"What?" Zechariah looked up at him, bracing for whatever horrible nickname Brocky was going to give him. Not like he cared much.

Instead, Brocky gave him a goofy grin, ear-to-ear (whatever passed as ears) all-tooth smile, and offered his hand to help Zechariah up.

"My friend."

[mr-independent]

EP 4, aka the one with the real Tom Selleck vibes

-- Ted work pj's to prom and then went to jail?? The backstory keeps unravelling and it's always fascinating

-- Rebecca either already keeps her gala clothes at the club or she specially shipped them over there just bc she's indecisive and takes the whole day to decide her outfit. Either way, respect

-- the Keeley/Jamie puppy play is just. Weird. Good on him for being an asshole who still goes down on his girl, gotta love it

-- Isaacs suit is fucking stunning and Sam learning the names of all the journos 🥰

-- Ted parent trapping Jamie and Roy is fucking hilarious, especially since that's a 10-top. The other five people at that table are forced to watch this dramatic mess and i for one would pay so much money to be one of them

-- is Beard an actual name, or is it a nickname? Does he have a name? Did Ted rescue him from some weird genius clone experiment? The questions never end

-- idk how anyone didn't think Rupert's appearance was skeevy af. He loses the club to his ex bc he blatantly cheated on her with a uni student, then crashes her first big appearance just to one-up her in an all white suit??? Supervillain behaviour

-- Colin still has a concussion from the club scene the episode before, so this all happened within a week, closer to three days probably. So Keeley gets heart eyes over Roy standing up for the kit man, and immediately starts comparing him to Jamie and finds Jamie lacking. She has a habit of falling fast and hard huh?

-- that was Bex betting on Jamie, right? What a fucking nightmare. The old owner of the club takes over the auction from under his ex wife and gets his new beau to bet on a date with the star player of said club, to the behest of his girlfriend? Also what was Rupert's plan there? Seduce Jamie away from Richmond? He didn't even have a club at that point

-- Rebecca finally trusts Ted ❤️ also him following her out of the auction to check up on her is mirrored later with the karaoke panic attack which is just. Cinematic poetry

-- is it just me or do Jamie's tattoos kinda...appear and disappear at will?

-- they added an intermission to an auction? I know it works plot wise to have Jamie and Roy talk between Keeley bidding on them both, but still.

-- ah right it's not Bex it's Jamie's...plus two? At a different table?? Which Rebecca knew about??? Who is...still Bex????? Which makes it even messier tbh. Your sugar daddy is taking your bid over your plus one to the sugar daddy's ex's auction? Where you're betting against the man's current girlfriend? This is giving me a fucking headache

-- colins wearing a hot pink tie, how fucking gay (affectionate)

-- im sorry i still can't imagine Beard with a ponytail. Literally a single year before the series started. Like, headbanging heavy metal hair? Sure. A ponytail tho???

-- also i Love the scene where Ted chases after Beard after the party bc it really shows the difference in...not quite their personalities but their influences in life. Beard, we know from the Trivia thing and context clues, is somehow indebted to Ted, presumably bc of excessive drug use but that's debatable. He runs from the party a little crazed, a little off kilter, and Ted follows stick straight with an almost cartoony James Bond type of swagger. It's just a very visual way of showing the core of their characters