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#I also want to make a whole class swap

alphabetboyluvr · 8 months

Text

NIGHT CRAWLERS - JJK

title credit: night crawlers - kids in glass houses

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

synopsis:

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

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

wordcount: 26K

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

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

minors dni // cross posted to wattpad

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

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

That, and 'rather be dead than cool.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At least they barely crossed. Past tense.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Again, the rogue look isn't a front.

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

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

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

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

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

"Mhmm?"

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

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

Partners?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A control freak, you note. Nice.

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

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

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

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

"I'm very much capable of editing-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When they were still talking to you, that was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn't reply.

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

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

Well, no.

That's not quite right.

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

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

Given your rejection, he was pleased with his choice.

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

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

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

"Like?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he's also determined.

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

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

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

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

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

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

That's the big dream at least.

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

It's his fault, and he knows it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The lack of a camera proves otherwise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hold on."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jesus, you think. Who pissed in his cornflakes?

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

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

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

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

"You could have fucking killed me!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Never said I wasn't."

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

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

"Where are we?"

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

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

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

That's a lie.

He doesn't think they're stupid.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Look I-"

"So-"

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

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

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

"At two in the morning?"

You nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Tomorrow?"

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

"Oh right. Yeah. See you tomorrow."

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

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

"Thanks, again."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perhaps that should be your project piece.

Secrets of Seoul: The Seedy Underbelly of The City.

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

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

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

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

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

Who the fuck are you?

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

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

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

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

"Once in a blue moon. Gotcha."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook wants what he wants.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook wants what he wants.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Curious.

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

"No can do, sugar."

"Oh my god, stop calling me that."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he's right. It is worth it.

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

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

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

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

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

"It's good," he promises.

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

"Are you broken?"

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

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

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

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

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

And neither of you really care.

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

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

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

He knows you read them.

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

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

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

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

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

You have been thinking about him.

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

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

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

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

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

You don't ask him to expand.

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

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

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

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

And so you return, every week.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Per hour?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You've gotten good at playing pretend.

Jungkook only jokes about you being a sugar baby.

He doesn't fathom that you actually are one.

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

The way you hold onto his waist is different tonight.

Physically, it's the same.

But it feels different.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod appreciatively. "You sure?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Kook?"

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

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

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

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

"Like what?"

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

"I don't."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As if he fears the consequences of his claim.

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

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

But you don't.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unlike Jimin, apparently.

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

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

"You're being dramatic."

"You're being boring."

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

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

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

But then you stand up, and Jungkook turns caveman. Head empty. No thoughts. Just nonsense. Jesus Christ. Who gave you the right? God damn.

A few months ago, he would have looked at you in that outfit - a silky sage green playsuit over a white tee, sunglasses resting on your head like an alice band and a pair of white converse on your feet - and he probably would have scoffed. Wouldda said some bullshit about the fact you're dressed like a child, or that the weather isn't good enough to warrant such an outfit.

A few months ago, he was a fucking idiot.

You feel his gaze on you, just like you always do.

And you ignore it.

You've been getting good at that. Pretending as if you don't feel his eyes. As if you're unaffected, unbothered by the simplest form of intimacy: a single look.

He knows you've been keeping your distance. Watching from afar is all he can do when you slink out of class before he can catch your attention. He tells himself that he doesn't care.

Jungkook mutes the audio track of the editing software he uses when he stitches together your footage, so he doesn't have to relive your conversations or hear you laugh, or worse, hear himself laugh.

It's all a bit nauseating.

Maybe a party would actually be a good distraction.

"Tonight, did you say?" Jungkook pipes up out of nowhere, only dragging his eyes away from you when he sees you pull your phone out to send a text.

He pouts. You never text him. Not once since last Thursday.

And you were nowhere to be seen on Tuesday.

He had called you, and for once, you didn't pick up. He didn't try again. Decided that it was on you just as much as it was on him.

That being said, he didn't get home till four in the morning, two and half hours after his last deal. Spaffed away an entire tank of petrol. Rode in fucking circles. Just in case.

"Now we're talking!" Jimin grins. "Tonight. It's her birthday, she's rented a bar in Itaewon - Dad knows the landlord or something."

Jungkook didn't know who 'she' was. Hadn't been listening to that part of the conversation.

"Well, you kids enjoy yourselves," Yoongi sighs as he gets to his feet. "Can't risk my finals over a few crappy drinks in a shitty bar."

"Oh boo-hoo!" Jimin pouts. "Spoilsport."

When Jungkook enters the bar that evening, he's greeted with everything he expects. E-cigarette vapours cloud the air, a cocktail of flavours violating his senses as he heads to the bar, shitty EDM pumping through the speakers. It's been a while since he let his hair down, so to speak.

There's something about him that commands attention. People gravitate towards him, even through the smoke clouds and sweaty bodies. Girls buy him drinks. Guys buy him drinks, too. Anything just to spend time in his presence. Like leeches, they hope to share some of Jungkook's aura.

It's impossible, though. It's Jungkook's authenticity that gives him such charisma. Trying to emulate it only ever comes off as tacky - like the guy towards the back of the room who's permed his hair to look like Jungkook's. Pierced his eyebrow, too. Looks like shit. Jungkook doesn't want to judge him, but he's a few drinks deep, and being kind is what got him into that mess with you in the first place.

No good ever comes from being nice.

He takes a shot. Tequila. Chases it down with lemonade. The girl next to him is playing with the bracelets on his wrist. Her nails scratch a little bit, and he quite likes it, so he doesn't resist when pulls him onto the dancefloor. He observes the way she moves first, and isn't disappointed. She knows how to move her hips, and seems to like it when he puts his hands on them. He can't really feel the sensation when she kisses him. The alcohol has numbed his lips. Maybe Jimin was right to force him into this.

By the time he goes to the bar for another drink, he's faded. Off his tits. Helped himself to some of Hobi's stash that he was supposed to be distributing that evening. A little bit of coke never does him any harm. He knows his limits. Tastes like shit down the back of his throat, but he kind of enjoys it.

At first, he thinks he must be seeing things when he catches you with an espresso martini in hand, laughing with people he doesn't know.

You've this whole life that he's no part of. A whole entire world. He really is an outsider looking in.

You're one of the elite; an old-money heiress. The type to own a miniature dog breed and only fly business class. It was stupid of him to think your interest in him had been anything more than entertainment. A 'little bit of rough.' Excitement away from the confines of the life he's sure your parents must have planned out for you.

It might just be because he's coked up, but he doesn't care about any of that.

All he can think about is the fact he's pretty sure you've never looked more beautiful.

He feels so lost looking at you like this, as if he needs to be closer, for fear of losing sight of you entirely.

And so he sits beside you at the bar, orders his drink, waits for you to notice him. Which you do.

You'd spotted him the very second you walked into the bar, his hands all over some girl you don't know.

In all fairness, you didn't realise he would be there. Sohyun, the girl whose birthday it was and an old friend from high school, has been fawning over Jungkook for months. Just superficial drawling, comments about his thighs and the fact she'd quite like to be suffocated by them. Harmless, really. You know she's never actually made a move.

Sohyun doesn't know you're working on a project together. You avoid the topic of him altogether, especially with her.

But she does notice the way Jungkook is looking at you like he's seen a ghost; haunted and comforted all in the same expression.

"You're here," he finally says, and it feels as if your chest is about to cave in.

Turning to face him, you're casual in your posture. Unbothered. Completely unaffected by him, and the lipstick that's painting those lips of his that you like so much.

You raise your thumb and swipe it across his bottom lip. He's silent as you do so, watching you, holding his breath. His lip moves like rubber beneath your touch, soft and supple, springing back into position once you release it.

You raise your thumb to study the lipstick you've collected from him. "Plum's really not your colour, Jungkook."

He doesn't say anything, a little transfixed. It's barely ticked past midnight. You should be in Daerim.

In all fairness, so should he. Hobi had some choice words for Jungkook when he told him that he wasn't working that evening at such short notice.

You swipe open your phone and repeat the step, filming your thumb as Jungkook becomes captive to your touch. You want to look, to see how wide his dark eyes are, but you're too busy feigning disinterest.

"There," you smile, forwarding the video along before you lock your phone. "Just sent you a video of how I see the city tonight."

You've no right to be annoyed. You know that.

Jungkook can be in a bar with another girl's lipstick on his chin if wants to be. He can stay out all night, and he can stay in beds that aren't his. It's his prerogative.

But you are annoyed.

It's irrational, and pathetic, and you shouldn't be.

You barely know him. Not really.

After you'd shown him your favourite tree at the Design Plaza a few weeks ago, he'd insisted on taking you across town to Garosugil, a street in Gangnam lined with beautiful tall trees. He questioned why you only had one favourite tree, when you could have had an entire row of them instead.

At the time, you'd enjoyed the way his eyes looked beneath the lights of the designer stores that neither of you could afford. You didn't question what he had meant.

It seems like you found your answer.

"I'm not the city," he eventually says.

And he's right.

He's not the city.

Fuck it, no, he's not the city, but his eyes sparkle like Itaewon on Friday nights, and his hands are strong like the World Cup Bridge. He's not the city, but you find it so easy to get lost in him without a map, and sometimes wearing his leather jacket makes you feel like you're eating comfort food at your favourite breakfast bar over in Myeong-dong. He's not the city.

He's not the goddamn city.

But it feels a little like you'd accidentally anchored your navigation pin in him regardless.

All you do is smile, and tell him that he's right.

"Look," he begins, and you can smell the spiced rum on his breath.

"It's okay," you interrupt. Who are you to make him feel guilty for his promiscuous encounters?

He doesn't know what you do in the dark. Not really. If he did, he probably wouldn't have kissed you last week.

"No, I-" he cuts himself off like he always does when he doesn't wanna fuck up his words. The alcohol is doing him absolutely zero favours. "I dunno, sugar."

Your smile is sad, and he hates himself. You lean forward, press a kiss into his rosy cheek and whisper, "That'll be 20,000, Jeon."

And because he's drunk, and he wants to make things better, he reaches for his wallet. You were about to walk away regardless, but damn, if the boy doesn't know how to hit you where it hurts.

"Really, Kook?"

It's like he doesn't know you at all; doesn't remember how you banter with him, how you flirt with him. Or maybe you were just stupid for thinking that you'd been flirting with him in the first place. Maybe he just speaks to everyone how he speaks to you. Must have spoken to whoever was wearing that lipstick in the same way.

He doesn't answer, not verbally, but his brows pinch together and his lips develop a frowning pout.

When he stumbles home that evening, he asks himself the same question: really, Kook?

In the morning, he wakes alone, with no recollection of how he got home.

He doesn't remember the girl from the bar, or the fact that Jimin threw up in a fish tank, or that they're now barred from three different establishments for encouraging people to snort fish food (which Jungkook had stolen while Jimin was emptying his stomach). Regretfully, he doesn't even remember your arrival at the first bar. Doesn't remember how, for once, you'd dressed to impress just him.

His lack of recollection means fuck all though, 'cause despite his headache, the thing weighing down most heavily on him is guilt. He feels a sense of duty when it comes to you; duty that he hasn't performed lately. Were you getting home safe? Getting harrassed by scummy fuckers on the Daerim path of destruction?

Out of habit, he checks his phone, ignores the messages from unknown numbers and goes straight to your message thread to check the damage. He's surprised to find that he didn't drunk text you, but even more surprised to find that you'd messaged him. It's a video, just a few seconds, but it's enough to provoke some of his memories back.

He watches your thumb as it glides across his bottom lip. Watches it again. Notices the lipstick. Notices the thumb ring he never realised you wore before, and the fact that your nails are black now instead of their usual pink. There's something erotic about it; the way you touch him. The way you filmed yourself touching him. He'll probably get in trouble for it, but there's no way he isn't adding that to your project.

You consider ignoring his call when your phone flashes with his caller I.D.

It's only just gone seven, and you're still in bed, still try to make heads or tails of your life.

But you're weak, and so you slide your thumb across the little green icon.

"Hey."

"Uh, hey."

"You good?"

"So hungover, I think I might die," Jungkook jokes, voice hoarse. You wonder if he always sounds like this in the morning. "Just wanted to check in with you though. Barely seen you all week, and then I end up with a weird-ass video in our message thread that I don't remember."

Ah. You cringe.

"Ran into you at the bar," you shrug, not that he can see you. "Didn't realise you were friends with Sohyun."

"Hmm?"

"Sohyun... the girl who's birthday it was?"

"Oh. Right. Yeah. Nah, no, not really friends with her. Jimin forced me along."

You don't know all that much about Jimin, but from your limited interactions with him, it doesn't surprise you. Not in the slightest.

"Good night?"

Your question sounds forced and awkward, and he doesn't quite understand why.

"No idea," he admits honestly. "Remember fuck all."

He sounds as if he wants to keep talking but doesn't know what to say.

You don't know what to say either.

It's a mess. You liked it better when he hated you.

"Were you at the bar for long?" He asks, genuinely curious. "You're normally busy on Thursdays?"

"Just a drink. Had a last-minute change of plans."

"Oh?"

"Yeah..."

You know he wants you to elaborate. He wants more without having to explicitly ask for it.

Which is apt. Seems like it's a common occurrence with Jungkook.

"So what did you call for?" you change the topic, not wanting to dwell. The aversion doesn't go unnoticed by him, but it does go unquestioned.

"I-" there he goes again, cutting himself off prematurely. Coward. "Are you free? Now?"

Oh.

Not a coward. Just cautious.

"Now? I mean, yeah, I guess."

Jungkook takes a second, and then he bites down on the grenade pin.

"Can you come over?"

THE WAY YOU keep Jungkook hanging on tenterhooks is deliberate.

You're unsure of him, of his motivations, and what he does in the dark. And so, while you want to let your guard down, you can't. It's probably something to do with your parents - the people who are supposed to love you unconditionally - making their love entirely conditional and withdrawing it so suddenly.

It's the kind of shit you would have spoken about with your therapist, but you can't afford her anymore.

Can't afford much of anything, anymore. So much of the money you've earnt recently is tied up in credit card debt or rent.

Foundation was the first luxury that you'd compromised, and you're still yet to buy any more. Cheap stuff always makes you break out, and thankfully your parents did give you decent genetics, at least, so your skin was pretty clear.

It's the lack of make up that suggests to Jungkook you're opening up; not hiding from him anymore.

But it's also what tells him something is incredibly wrong, when you show up at his door half an hour later with a graze beneath your eye. Little flecks of reddened skin creep up your cheekbone, and Jungkook thinks it almost looks like carpet burn.

He hadn't noticed it last night, but it was dark, and he was drunk.

He lets you in, takes your jacket, offers you a drink. Everything that he knows he should do. Asks how you are, keeps a safe distance.

You don't know why you're here. Why you didn't say you were busy.

Except you do.

It's cause you miss him whenever you're away from him.

"I like these," you smile as you look at the artwork he has up in his room. The studio space is small, cramped, like all semi-basements are, but it's distinctly 'his'. A lot different to yours. Everything you own is still in boxes, not yet unpacked.

You've refused to come to terms with that being your life now.

"Thanks," he nods, watching you as you explore the box of a room he calls home. "They're from a guy down by the coach station. Has a little stall."

"You'll have to show me," you muse, turning to smile at him. It's saccharine, but the graze on your face is just so bitter. He hates it. Hates that he doesn't know how you got it. "Think I'd like some for my place."

"I have a feeling they'd look a little out of place in a princess tower, sugar."

Your shoulders shake as you laugh quietly, not correcting him. He doesn't need to know that you're a basement dweller, too.

"How's the editing coming along?" You steer the question away from your living situation.

"Nearly there," he grins, brimming with quiet excitement. Something about the way your camerawork looks with his editing technique layered on top just really works. He's always been confident with his final projects, and this one scares him a little bit, but in a good way. It's his best yet. Maybe he did need you after all.

"Can I see?"

"Not yet."

"Kook," you say, and - oh god - you're pouting. Jungkook suddenly begins to feel nervous.

It's that scary feeling again. A fear of the good stuff. Trepidation.

"What?" he grins, walking a little closer to you, letting his hand stroke against your back as he sits down on his bed. His fingers catch yours. It's fleeting, but enough.

You both feel it.

"Such a tease," you say, talking about the project, but there's innuendo in your words, too.

"Some girls like it," he flirts back.

"The girl at the bar last night seemed to like it."

Jungkook rolls his eyes, boyish and charming. It's annoying, you think, how impossible it is to be mad at him. It's not because you're weak, or because you can't resist his charms, but because he has a way of playing things off as if they're no big deal.

The girl at the bar? A nobody, his shrug suggests. She doesn't matter.

And it's so easy to believe, because you're the one in his apartment. You're the one he wanted here, the one that he missed. Or at least, the one that he was thinking of when he decided that he could do with some company.

It might be nothing, just something to pass the time, but it makes you feel wanted. Desired. Needed.

So you accept his hand when he reaches out towards you, pulling you closer, positioning you between his spread legs. You're standing, his eyes level with your chest, unashamed as he looks at your body.

"You look warm," he husks.

Just like he always uses your body temperature as excuse to give you his jacket, he's using it as an excuse now, too. The desired effect is obvious.

His AC switchboard is on the wall behind his bed. You'd clocked it when you were walking around, observing his possessions. Yanmar, the branding reads, the plastic outer frame beige. Once, it would have been crisp white. Age has dulled it. The monochrome monitor has a clock symbol in the corner, an indicator that Jungkook has his AC set on a timer. It suggests a sense of permanence. This is his home.

You haven't set your timer yet. You just flick it on when you get hot. It isn't your home.

He watches you as you move, curious. He's smirking, because he just cant help himself.

And because he knows that you like it whenever he does. Gets you a little bit flustered.

One of your knees hooks over his lap, and then the other follows suit.

He'd have said you were straddling him. You'd have argued that you were simply reaching over to the AC.

And you do exactly that, flicking the switch, watching as it lights up. "There. Much better."

Touche, he thinks. Smiles. Grips your thighs, as if he's scared you'll stand up again. Scared to lose you.

In all honesty, he had been hoping you'd take your shirt off, but he isn't going to complain with you in his lap, instead.

Doesn't matter if you mix the eggs with the milk first, or the flour. You still bake a cake at the end of it all.

Jungkook looks at you in such a way that you find yourself thinking maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't be so horrible to let someone in. His eyes are honest, void of ulterior motives. He's doing this because he wants to. Because he wants you.

Wants that feeling back. The one where his lips are cushioned between yours, his tongue licking into your mouth.

Jungkook wants what he wants. Jungkook gets what he wants.

And, fuck, if it isn't bare minimum - but you know this, and you don't care. Bare minimum tastes pretty fucking good when you're licking it from his lips.

His hands roam, and you let them. He's rough with his movements, but the fleshy pads of his fingertips are soft, like silk against your skin. It's almost like he's afraid, filled with the knowledge that he can bruise, if he really wants to.

But he doesn't want to. He wants to ask about the graze that's sitting pretty where blush should be. Jungkook doesn't wanna hurt. He wants to heal.

"I catch you looking, you know," you tell him before he gets a chance, wanting to see how he responds. "Every now and again..." He hikes you forward in his lap. Places you dead centre over his cock. You can feel it. He can feel you. "...I catch you looking at me." He presses a kiss against the base of your neck, obsessed with the way it vibrates when you speak. "Why are you always looking at me?"

The fact that you're sat in his lap, grinding your hips against a solid bulge, should be indication enough.

Jungkook isn't going to spell it out for you. The eroticism of suggesting he's a fucking voyeur makes him want to laugh - but the way your nipples are tenting the shirt you're wearing distracts him.

His teeth graze your throat, hands creeping round to your tummy. His fingers are long, practically the length of the expanse between your hips and the underneath of your plump tits. Just a little further and he'd be holding them, cupping them, caressing. Just a little further.

"I look at you-" His hands continue their exploration as he leans back, watching the movement beneath your shirt. It somehow feels forbidden - like he can touch, but not look. After all, your question had sounded quite a lot like a telling off. "-because you like me looking at you."

He's fucking with you, trying to get a rise.

"Do I?"

The way that you whimper as he brushes against your nipples has him pulsing his hips. Your eyes close, head tilting back ever so slightly. You like this. The way he does it.

"Uh-huh," he mumbles, lips wet against your neck. His fingers knead into the flesh of your tits, nipples hard in his palm as he relieves his stresses. "Bet you think about it all day, don't you? Think about the way I look at you when no-one else does."

Yes.

"All day?" you smirk between dulcet moans. "You're lucky if I pay you any attention at all."

"I think you're lying," he declares rather boldly, hands all over you. "I think it plays on your mind. I bet you fall asleep thinking about it, don't you?"

Yes.

"Ddaeng."

"I bet you get yourself off thinking about it."

Maybe you do.

Maybe you've whispered his name in the dead of night, imagining how it would feel to have his body weight on top of yours. Maybe you get intrusive thoughts of that kiss every single time you try to draw close. Maybe Jungkook has made you cum without ever laying a single finger on you.

But even if he has, you won't tell him.

And you don't need to, because his phone buzzing on the bedside table behind you cuts the conversation dry. Jungkook glances towards it automatically, then back up to you. His frustration is evident, jaw tense.

"I gotta get this," he mumbles, encouraging you off of his lap. You don't resist, accepting the last five minutes for what they were: a momentary lapse in judgement. He sighs as he stands, adjusting his trousers, swiping his phone and putting it to his ear. He strolls just far enough away that you won't hear what or who is on the other line. "Hobi. Speak to me."

Hobi, you muse. A friend? A colleague? Another girl?

You swallow back the nauseating feeling in your throat, pretending as if the prospect of Jungkook with someone else doesn't chip away at your self-worth a little bit. It wasn't like you thought you had anything special between the pair of you.

But he was right. You did like him looking at you.

More than you had realised until the prospect of him looking at someone else arose.

From the corner of the room, you could hear Jungkook trying to interrupt the person he was talking to. The first syllable would escape, and then he'd hush again, never quite managing to get the words out in full.

"Ho-" His nostrils look quite cute when they flare, lips pursed, a pair of unique dimples becoming evident. They're different to the usual ones you notice. Full of surprises was Jeon Jungkook.

"Hobi, can I-"

He runs his hand through his hair, already dishevelled from your hands.

"Hobi will you let me fucking talk!"

Attaboy.

The pause that follows Jungkook's outburst would suggest that Hobi had said 'no' - and then a few more choice words. If Jungkook rolled his eyes back any further, they'd surely get stuck.

"Look, I'm a bit tied up right now- no! No, not that. Who? No. I don't know a Taehyung, and even if I did- Huh? Ain't got nothin' to do with Holangi. Don't know a single one of 'em."

You try to decipher the conversation, but fail.

"You're a real fuckin' cockblock, yanno?"

You blush.

"Fuck it, fine. But you owe me. I'm not saying yes next time."

He glances over to you, catching your raised brow. Next time?

A smile catches on his lips. You thought this would be a one time thing?

He's barely hit second base. If there's one thing you're yet to find out about Jungkook, it's that he loves to win. He won't be satisfied until he's got a home run.

Any other girl, and he'd have probably been running laps for fun by this point, but you... yeah, you didn't bowl him easy hitters, that was for sure.

Jungkook moves with confidence, like he always does, as he strides over to the sofa, the bulge in his pants considerably softened but still present. "Take a picture," he grins. "It'll last longer."

You roll your eyes, but it doesn't stop you from asking if that's an offer. He laughs - that soft, gentle thrum of his vocal chords that sounds so heavenly in your ears - and tells you to behave.

"I just gotta help a friend out," he says as he reaches over you to grab his rucksack. It's heavier now than it ever is at school, the jingle of crushed tin foil rustling as it briefly catches on your knee. He pretends not to notice the curiosity in your eyes. Pretty eyes, though. He quite likes them, especially when he's towering above you and can see the whites just above your lashline. Yeah, he likes them alot. "I'll only be an hour or so. You can stay here, if you like?"

The way he phrases it is so casual that it's almost like you're old friends.

That, or Jungkook's just used to having women he doesn't know very well stay at his place.

You're unaware of the mental gymnastics he's putting himself through. If he could kick himself without looking like a twat, then he definitely would.

Shrugging, you give him a polite smile. "I don't wanna overstay my welcome."

"Nah, you're fine. I can give you a lift back to yours when I'm home? I'll be an hour. Two, tops."

Finally you agree, watching as he leaves like a lovesick puppy, listening out for the familiar rattle of his exhaust pipe. There's a cough and splutter of petrol spitting onto the sidewalk as his motor roars into action, and then he's gone.

You don't hang around for much longer.

You tell yourself that you will. That it would be nice. That you and Jungkook might not be so ill-suited after all.

But as the clock ticks by on the wall, you find yourself getting antsy. You find yourself asking stupid questions. Who exactly is Hobi? What was in Jungkook's bag? Why is he always down in Daerim? Is that where he's gone now?

The thoughts grow, adapt, intrude. Before you know it, you're considering what you'd find if you opened the top drawer of his bedside cabinet.

Realistically, you know it would probably be a wank sock and a tub of vaseline - it doesn't matter though. Your mind is wondering. You need to scratch the itch.

Just a little peek. He'll never know.

Oh, how you loathe your brain.

What's the worst you could find? A revolver? His ex-girlfriends panties? Love letters? A crack pipe?

Somehow, you'd rather find a pipe than panties.

It's not that you want Jungkook to be a crack addict. It's just the more that you think about it, the more you come to realise that you really, really don't like the idea of someone else feeling how warm his torso is, or how his upper teeth always nip slightly when he starts kissing you, until the pressure of his pecks plump his lips. You've only experienced it a handful of times, and it's stupid to get carried away, but he just makes it so easy.

He didn't ask you to stay, you tell yourself. He asked you if you wanted to.

Moments of instability like this are exactly why girls like you don't spend time with boys like him. It's stupid. Futile. A game for fools.

You leave his apartment as you found it, with not even a note to say thank you. He's had a squeeze on your tits. You deem that thank you enough. If anything, he should be thanking you.

When he returns, just half an hour after your departure, he can still smell your perfume. He tosses his keys down, calls out your name, and is met with silence. It takes him a moment or so to realise that he's alone.

There's a sinking feeling in his chest that he doesn't recognise. Doesn't like. Hates, in fact.

But fine. Fuck it. He didn't want you there anyway. He'd just been doing a good deed. Being kind because - if your face was any indication - obviously someone else had been particularly unkind to you.

Jungkook thinks he knows who, now.

Daerim nights have always been sketchy, but the days are no better.

He's just the lowest rung on a long ladder of criminals who turn a profit when the sun goes down in Seoul.

Hobi had asked him to drop the stash in his rucksack off at a club, some gang-run joint that Jungkook doesn't know much about, so that he could get them back to his boss.

That had been the plan, at least.

He slings his bag down, now empty, and sinks into the sofa, not bothering to get a rag to clean himself up. No point. The dried blood will just wash off in his shower. It's not the first time this has happened. He doubts it will be the last.

Jungkook's nose is currently bleeding, dripping down his chin and hitting the ceramic tiles of his apartment with small slaps. A bruise is forming above his left eye socket, and his knuckles are red.

A punch to the face means very little to Jungkook.

He's young, but he's strong. Fast, too. It could have been a lot worse if he wasn't.

He pushes the back of his hand against his nose, sniffing, before unlocking his phone, and dialing a number he knows now by heart.

The dial tone bleeds out, just like his nose.

And so he hangs up, and calls the only person he knows he can rely on.

"Wassup, kid?"

Jungkook doesn't mean to sob, but he cant help it. He knows Yoongi has finals coming up. He doesn't need his bullshit on his plate, too.

"I got jumped Yoongs."

Fuck.

"You alright? Sound pretty bad? Where?"

"Daerim-"

"The fuck you doing there at this time of day?"

"Hobi wanted me to drop off my stash."

"Kook..." Yoongi speaks slowly, coming to a horrific realisation. A few punches had never bothered Jungkook before. Something bigger was at play. "The stash...?"

Jungkook can hear it in Yoongi's voice: fear.

"Gone."

Yoongi sighs down the line. "Hobi know yet?"

"No."

"Alright, get outta your flat," Yoongi begins, not wasting time. Now is not the time for emotions, and it's clear that Jungkook isn't capable of that just yet. "I need you to go somewhere safe, somewhere you can lie-low for a little bit alright? Let me sort it-"

"Yoong-"

"Let me sort it. I got you into this mess. Don't sweat it."

"Ple-"

"Kook. Seriously. Trust me with this."

Yoongi doesn't let him debate it any further - and it's just as well he doesn't, because as soon as he hangs up the phone, another call comes through. Jungkook wants to answer it. Really, he does.

Jungkook's just very aware of the fact that the guy who jumped him had almost been waiting for him. Right by the entrance of the apartment block which he always picked you up from.

In between blows, he'd warned Jungkook to 'stay the fuck away from the girl'.

The girl who's now returning his call.

"Hey," you say animatedly, having not expected him to call. You thought the pair of you would resume your usual awkward routine of pretending like nothing ever happened. "Sorry, I was in the shower. You good? Sorry I left, I just did-"

"I need a favour," he doesn't bother with formalities.

You want to banter with him, to flirt, but the tone of his voice warns you not to. So instead you tell him that you'll do whatever he needs.

"Can I come over?"

Fuck. Anything except that.

"Please."

YOU DON'T EXPECT to say yes. You don't expect to care more about him than you do about protecting your own dignity. You don't expect Jungkook to traipse down the stairs that lead to your slovenly open door with a glum look on his bloodsoaked face, as you stand there waiting for him.

But he does.

He makes no comment, no remark about the building. Just wraps his arms around your head, cradling you against his chest as you stand in your doorway. You can hear his heartbeat, thud, thud, thud against his ribs.

Go somewhere safe, Yoongi had told him. It was a no brainer.

"I'm sorry," he says, eventually pulling himself away from you. "I didn't know who else to ask."

You tell him it's fine, and you mean it. Keeping up pretences doesn't really matter so much anymore. Perhaps honesty was overdue from the both of you.

"The fuck happened to you?" You ask, tenderly reaching up to stroke away some of the dried blood from his lip. He winces, hisses, body tense, but he lets you continue. "Sorry."

"Could ask you the same, sugar," he speaks kindly, not wanting you to think he's being critical as he nods to the entryway behind you.

You grit your teeth together and let your hand rest on his shoulder. "King kicked the princess out of the castle."

And, suddenly, it doesn't seem embarrassing anymore. In fact, it seems perfectly apt that Jungkook knows. He doesn't pry, don't push for further clarification. Just nods. Accepts your reality.

"Castles are overrated, anyway," he presses a kiss to your head, and gently guides you through the threshold. The corridor is short, opening up to an open plan studio. The layout varies from Jungkook's, but it's similar in size. Small.

"Ignore the wallpaper," you say of the awkwardly granny-ish floral print. It's beige, so not totally offensive, but dear god, you think it looks like vomit.

"No," he grins. "It's... wow. Your landlord really knows how to make a statement, don't they?"

You perch on your bed and cringe. "A statement... a crime against interior design. Whatever you wanna call it."

Jungkook continues to pace around your room with a curious smile. He's partially deflecting from the fact he knows you're probably dying to ask about his face, and why he was so desperate to be with you, but he's also interested in the life you neglected to share with him.

Brown cardboard boxes are piled high in the corners, your possessions not yet unboxed.

This place is just temporary.

You've got three and a half million won sat on your desk. A couple more weeks, just a few, and you'll have enough for a deposit on a decent flat. Then you can get a regular job, something stable, and you won't have to worry. You could work through the summer and then figure out what to do next. Just as long as you keep on moving upwards, you'll be happy.

"So," you begin gingerly, as you head to the kitchenette beside your bed, wetting a cloth beneath your tap. "You gonna tell me what happened to your face?"

He takes your previous position, inviting himself to sit on the end of your bed, anticipating your return. There's light coming in from the thin windows by your ceiling, hitting directly onto your back. He thinks it's apt. Thinks you're the kind of girl who deserves a spotlight. Thinks that Mother Nature agrees.

Jungkook shrugs, in that lazy, boyish way he so often does, as you walk towards him. He spreads his legs, encouraging you between them, letting his hands graze your thighs. You pretend not to notice as you press the damp cloth to his cheek. Tiny crows legs appear at the edges of his eyes, face wincing from the contact. It's painful.

But being alone would be more painful. He chose to be here. To be with you.

And so he tells you what happened, with as much honesty he can muster. There are some things better left unsaid, his occupation being one of them. You listen attentively, dabbing at his wounds, a frown etched into the lines of your face.

"Stay away from the girl, huh?" you muse, avoiding his eyes as you study his face. His nose is still bleeding, but every time you tell him to tilt his head towards the ceiling, it ends up back in its original position. He can't see you as well with his head tilted back. Doesn't like it. Doesn't wanna do it. "Could be any girl."

Jungkook's dimple forms in his cheek. "No. No, it couldn't."

His fingers that have been grazing at your thighs squeeze tenderly, letting you know he means it. More than he thinks you know. More than he knows he should.

There's a chance that any words spoken between the pair of you could be misconstrued. He doesn't know what his feelings for you are, and you don't really understand yours for him - but you understand your body, and the electric current running beneath your lips, dying for a connection. A little spark.

So you do the only thing that makes sense: you kiss him.

And he kisses you back. Slowly, tenderly, deliberately. His lips melt into yours, hand pulling your legs closer. He encourages you onto his lap, as if he needs to be insufferably close to you. Once you're positioned how he wants, just like you were earlier, he grips your waist, keeping you stationed there.

Jungkook knows he should stop.

He knows he should have paid attention to the pair of fists that warned him off you as his skull hit the pavement earlier that morning, knows he shouldn't let himself get so wrapped up in such a red flag - but he just can't help himself. It's like you're laced in the narcotics he deals, and slowly but surely, you've gotten him addicted.

He's craving. Dying for a hit. Just a little taste of your tongue on his, the scent of your shampoo in his nose.

Red flags, red stop signs, pretty red lips all plump from the kisses he's smothering them in. Red blood, too. His nose is still a little damaged, and the way he's painting your cheek in crimson should repulse you.

Should repulse you.

Like fuck it does, though. You can smell the copper twinge through his plasma, and suddenly it's as if the Cullen's had the right idea all along.

When he pulls back, only for a moment, hands clutching at the side of your face to assess the look in your eyes, he notices it too. Hard not to. You blush all the fucking time, so much so that he knew the shade by heart, and the rouge on your cheek is far too vibrant, too scarlet. It's his fucking blood on you.

It should scare him, he knows. But the way you're looking at him, eyes all wide and glassy, lips swollen and waiting for more, has him unable to think straight. It has him obsessed, the way you don't care. The way he's covered you in blood and you still seem to want more.

But there's a softness to the way in which you're looking at him, mild confusion, as if you've got the same strange warmth running through your veins as he does. It's not a feeling he recognises, pulsing through his bloodstream with every beat of his heart.

Perhaps it's nothing. Jungkook tells himself that it is. Just adrenaline, probably.

You look at his lips, all crimson and blushed, and realise you much prefer the shade of his blood to the plum lipstick that had tainted them the night before. You're delicate as you wipe your thumb along his pouted bottom lip, just like you did in the bar. Except this time, the jealousy that had blossomed in your diaphragm is nowhere to be found. There's still a pinch beneath your ribs, but this time it's in your heart, and it's far more aching. This time, you feel his hurt.

Jungkook reaches down to where you left the damp cloth on your bed. It's wet and heavy in his hand, a little warm, too. He brings it to your face and dabs silently, cleaning you of the mess he's made. Fixing you. Restoring you to your former glory.

Its futile, 'cause his nose is still fucking bleeding, and you don't plan on leaving it more than a moment before you kiss him again. You simply don't care. Want him for all that he is, blood, sweat and tears.

But still, he insists on ridding you of his stain. Doesn't want to tarnish you. He's soft with the way he presses the cloth against you, mirroring how tenderly you were with him earlier. He's learning from you, adapting to you. Wants to be like you. Wants to be 'better'.

You watch as his eyes scan your face, brows twisted like they always do when he's about to say something but stops himself. The vertical groove just above his cupid's bow is red, blood tacky as it dries. If he kisses you now, he'll leave a stamp; a mark that says 'you're mine.'

It's too much. Far too much. You aren't his, and he knows this. He never wanted you to be his, in fact, for the longest time, he had wanted to be anything but yours.

But now he sits beneath you, crestfallen, heart in his throat, blocking him from speaking.

This was never part of the plan. He was never supposed to end up here. He was supposed to escape from the trenches, to get on the path of straight and narrow. Thrive. Succeed.

And it's not your fault, he knows this, but there's a little part of him that wonders what could have happened if he hadn't seen you that night in Daerim, hadn't seen the way your eyes look beneath night market lights, hadn't heard your laugh as he looked at his favourite view of the city.

You whisper his name, your palm resting flat on his chest, and his brows soften.

It doesn't matter what could have happened, anymore.

All that matters is what is happening.

The shortness of his breath, the flutter of his lashes against your cheek, the swelling between his legs. You can feel it, feel him, and he knows it. The way he's pulsing his hips upwards is testament to that.

It's a comfortable position, you sat on his lap on the end of your bed, not one that either of you wishes to break from. Not even as he begins to breathe against your lips, unable to properly control his reactions thanks to the friction beneath his briefs.

"Want you," he mumbles, pressing his lips into yours, the air in his lungs giving itself up to you. "Want you so bad."

You shake your head, brows pinched just a little. "I'm bad news for you."

And maybe that's it. Maybe he just wants you because he knows he shouldn't - but fuck it, if he can't let himself indulge in simple pleasures, then why bother getting himself beaten to a pulp over you?

"I'm bad news for myself, sugar," he husks against your lips, tickling them as he slips his tongue into your mouth. Deeper, deeper. Closer, closer. He wants it.

Wants it all.

Wants you naked.

Wants to know what it feels like to have you gasp in his ear as his hands roam beneath your panties.

Wants to know if you'd still look at him like you're stargazing even when he's railing you.

Wants it. Wants you. Just wants.

And what Jungkook wants, Jungkook gets.

He slips his hand up your shirt and pushes it upwards, before letting it crumple to the floor. You know that you should be more bashful, a little bit ashamed, but it's impossible when he's looking at you like this.

He has a visual now that he didn't have earlier. The glow of your skin beneath his bruised knuckles looks almost sinful, like he's plucking forbidden fruit from its tree. He'll pay the price for this, and he knows it, but he just can't resist.

Jungkook has always been a boob guy, always loved the way he could get girls moaning with just a little pinch, but never had he had a pair quite like yours. So full, so round, he's not sure his hands are big enough, and that doubt makes him throb. Soft and pillowy, he groans as he watches his fingers sink into them, utterly enthralled. His hips adjust, pushing upwards, pressing himself into you. He wants this. Wants it so bad.

You can feel the metal of his rings against your skin, and then you can feel his lips, his tongue, his teeth as they graze against the plush skin of your chest. He licks around your nipple, letting the air cool the wet trail, hardening you for him.

He's utterly obsessed.

His mouth pulls at the sensitive skin, suckles, sucks. His lashes are splayed on the tops of his cheeks, lips pouting around your nipple as he does so, small groans of pleasure vibrating against you. It will be a miracle if he can't already feel you seeping through your panties.

You whimper as his teeth graze your hardened nub, and his eyes flutter open. He doesn't detach himself, but instead, he keeps your gaze as he sucks. The pressure varies, and then it's hard. Really fucking hard. So hard you'll think he'll somehow give your nipple a hickey - but fuck, if you don't love the sensation.

"Christ," you gasp, before biting down into your bottom lip.

"Too hard?" He mumbles against you, peppering you in kisses and soft licks as if to apologise.

"No," you pant. "Was good. Was great. Just - fuck."

You laugh, soft and airy, and Jungkook smiles from the sound.

He likes this. Likes how you react to him.

And while he’s patient and gentle with you in a way that he isn't with other people, Jungkook has only ever known how to have sex in one way. It's ingrained into him, as if he was made to fuck like it; like he doesn't give a shit about the person he's screwing.

Jungkook doesn't do love, and you know this. He trades. Works in transactions. Settles debts. You don't really know this part, but you aren't stupid. You know he's never in Daerim for any good fucking reason.

You don't question it as his hands move south, slipping past your underwear. In fact, you're smug as he curses when he feels how wet you are, fingers slippery in your panties.

He pushes a finger into you, and closely follows it with a second. They curl ever so slightly, and it's at this point that you realise Jungkook is absolutely going to ruin you. Just a few pumps. Just to ease you up.

He's bored of waiting. Wants you now.

The pair of you move fluidly, minimal discussion needed, just occasional checks of 'you good?', or 'this okay?'. The answer is, always, without a doubt, 'yes'.

He gets you on your back, panties pulled off, legs not quite hanging off the edge of your bed, but nearly. He strips himself of his shirt first, and grins as he notices the way you whine.

"What?" he toys.

"Nothing," you flirt. "Just wish you'd hurry up. I'm a busy woman."

"Oh yeah?" The sound of his buckle coming undone is enough to make you fucking leak. "Busy doing what?"

You neglect to tell him. Not because you don't have a witty remark lined up, but because he's fucking naked now.

What a sight to behold he is. Body lean, honey skin flawless, muscles defined. You pretend like you're looking at his body, but your eyes are drawn to his cock. You'd expected length, but not the girth - and he has both in abundance. The tip of his cock is blushed and wet, with Jungkook just as aroused as you are.

Noticing your gaze, he rolls his eyes, and toys with your pussy again, lightly running his fingers up and down your slick entrance. When he pulls back, his fingers are still connected by thick clear fluid. His cock throbs.

"You're gonna get me so dirty," he hums, as he crawls onto the bed above you, before holding his fingers to your mouth. "Clean them."

Part of you wants to say no, but the other part of you can see his darkened gaze and the way his cock is twitching. You can't refuse.

His fingers are on the tip of your tongue, the tip of his cock nudging so close to your entrance that he may as well just do it. You raise your hips, encouraging, but he retracts a little just to tease.

The fingers that were in your mouth come to grip at the soft flesh of your cheeks, his thumb on the other side. "Don't you fucking dare."

There's tepid aggression to his movements, and it makes you feel vulnerable - but you like it. You like the way he's gripping your face, the ways he's looking at you with narrow eyes, just like he used to do across the lecture hall. You like being reminded of when you were nothing to one another, because it makes the satisfaction of feeling his stiff cock jump a little against your pussy as you moan so much more worth it.

He used to hate you, now he can't wait to bury his fat cock in you. Victory is yours, even if he's trying to act like he's the one holding all the cards.

You don't correct him, though. You let him think he has the upper hand. You'll play pillow princess just this once if it means you get to see him a little bit mean again.

"Dare what?" you pout, cheeks still squished between his fingers. He grips a little tighter, your chest rising as you gasp. He pulls your face towards his, sinking down into your lips, until he decided he's done with you.

He stands by the edge of your bed, and yanks your ankles towards him, pulling you close enough to the edge for him to fuck you like this.

The loss of his grip is unwelcome by you, a frown forming. He isn't looking at your face now, eyes down on his cock, which he's rubbing between your soaked pussy lips, but he can almost hear you brace yourself to whine. He smirks, one side of his mouth lifting, head knocking to the side slightly.

"Don't you dare try and set the pace," he finally husks, still not glancing up towards you. He's taking his time, making sure the head of his cock kisses every inch of your exposed mess. "Nearly got my nose fucking broken for this pussy-" he spits, hard and fast, right onto your clit, spreading it with his cock. "- so I'm gonna make sure I get what I'm owed."

He spreads your thighs back, his fingers gripping harshly just how you like it. Perhaps you should pretend to be embarrassed by the fact your cunt is leaking for him, begging for him, but the way he hisses at the sight, chest heaving, prevents it.

Jungkook's thought about this before, about how pretty and pristine you'd be, about the mess he'd hoped you'd make. Thought about it so many times. Fingers wrapped around his shaft in the middle of the night when no one can hear him chant your name as he spills over. Yeah, he's thought about it a lot.

His imagination has never done you justice. One look and he's obsessed. Wants to spend hours touching, caressing, licking you.

"Take it," you whisper. "What you're owed, Jungkook. Take it."

He looks up now, brows threaded together. You don't recognise the contemplation his face is laced in, but he doesn't give you the chance to question it, for you begin to feel that burn. The one your fingers can never give you. It's alien, and yet familiar, inherently natural but intrusive nonetheless.

"Shit," is all you can manage to say, eyes locked on his.

He wants to watch himself sink into you, watch as his fat cock forces your slick wetness out of your pussy, but he can't. Not when you're looking at him like that. Not when your chest is heaving and your eyes are watering beneath tense brows. Not when your mouth is hanging open and just begging to be fucked like your tight little pussy.

And then he starts feeling something a little strange. A little unfamiliar. A little bit like his heart has stalled to beat in time with the contractions of your chest. And though he's not in pain anymore, too busy feeling you, he's aware that it hurts. Aware that he can't fuck you like he wanted to, 'cause his chest needs to be against yours. Needs to feel the beating drum beneath your ribs.

He doesn't even realise that he's paused until you whine a meagre, "please."

"That's more like it," he hums, as he pushes into you, the base of his thick cock plugging the weeping mess that he's made. You know that as soon as he pulls out, you'll be whimpering, begging for the tip of his cock to kiss your walls once more. "See how nice things can be when you just behave yourself, huh?"

His hips push just a little deeper, and he knows that it hurts. Knows that the little gasp isn't entirely from pleasure. He's seen his cock. Doesn't take a genius to work out that it can do damage.

"You can take it," he tells you, and like a pathetic, whimpering mess, you fucking nod. He's still inside of you, still deeper than you thought possible, and then his hand is on your stomach. He grabs your hand and places it beneath his. "You feel that?" He retracts just a little, pushing back in just as deep. Beneath your hands, there's a bulge. External or internal, it doesn’t matter. It's him. He does it again. "You feel me taking what's mine?"

Whatever the fuck you moan is incoherent, but he doesn't give a shit, 'cause he's ploughing now. Bucking his hips into you like pneumatic fucking drill. Shit. He's done this before. Got it mastered to a fine art. Momenta worthy of a museum exhibition.

Your tits are pillowed on your chest, nice and round, wobbling as he takes command of your body. He slaps one of them, just to watch it ripple, before that firm grip of his is on it. "Perfect tits," he growls the compliment, not really meaning for it to come out. "Gonna put my cock between them later," he tells you. "Gonna cum all over them."

He doesn't tell you that he'll also clean them with his hungry tongue, before delivering his cum into your mouth. Figures he'll just let you find out. His brain is working at a mile a minute, trying to reign back thoughts of sharing his cum with you in such a filthy manner. God, he wants to do heinous things to you. With you. For you.

But for now, he needs to focus on his cock. It's rubbing inside of you, nuzzling. He knows he's weeping, and that his precum is getting mixed with your slick juices. Knows he won't last long if you keep whining like that. Mewling. Purring.

He stalls his hips, letting go of your tits as they jiggle back into position. Your cheeks are flushed, imprints of his fingers reddening your skin. Lips pouted and resting ajar, Jungkook thinks they've never looked more fuckable. More kissable. More whisper-sweet-nothings-against-able.

"You ever shut the fuck up?" he teases, but is quick to notice confusion flash in your eyes. He didn't mean it as an insult, but it's easy to read the hurt in your perplexed features, and the way you begin to try and push your legs together. It's futile. His cock is keeping you open.

But you feel embarrassed, as if your natural reactions to him are a turn-off. It's silly, because he's quite literally inside of you, fat and solid, using you to milk himself. Of course, he's not turned off, but you're hyper-aware of how vulnerable you're feeling right now. It had been fun to pretend like you were in control, but as soon as he slipped inside of you, all sense of power had evaporated.

He doesn't realise this though. Doesn't realise that his cock is nudging so deep into you that it's practically knocking against your heart. Knock, knock, knock. Who's there? Your mind taunts, but you daren't answer.

"Hey," he coos, one of his large palms stroking on the inside of your thighs. That uncomfortable, obscure feeling is back again. The one that tells him he needs to be closer to you. This time, he doesn't ignore it. His hips pulse, just the once. A reminder he's still very much into this. Into you.

His hands grip your waist, softly this time, as he manoeuvres himself onto the bed with you, keeping himself snug. Your head is by the pillows, Jungkook's knees on either side of your ass, his chest flat against yours as one of his hands cradles your jaw. He presses a chaste, airy kiss against your lips, and whispers, "I love the way you sound." He kisses you again, hips rocking. You're trying not to, but you whine. "Fuck, sugar. You're my favourite fucking sound."

Your legs hook over his back, and he groans now. The angle change lets him delve deeper, your walls massaging him so well. Jungkook thinks he might have died and gone to heaven. He's slipping in and out of you with minimal force, skin slapping together. He makes sure to let his moans roll off his tongue and into your mouth. You eat them up and give them back. The pair of you aren't kissing anymore, just gasping and humming into one another's mouths. He's stuttering.

There's a pause as he adjusts his grip, digging his fingers into the soft flesh of your thighs. He likes it, the way you seem to melt around him in all capacities. His lips nudge against yours as his steady hips begin to rock into yours again.

You groan as he pushes down on your legs, pushing you as far apart as your bones allow. It's typical of him, seeing how far he can take things. Push them to the limit. Always gets him in trouble. There's a click, as air escapes from the socket where your leg meets your pelvis.

"You good?" He checks and you respond with a kiss. Hands tangled in his hair, you hope it conveys the fact you've never felt better. He laughs a little, soft and serene, into your mouth, the weight of his body keeping you trapped beneath him.

You're morbid in your thoughts, and consider how nice it would be for Jungkook to suffocate you like this; steal you of the air you breathe with his tiny giggles of satisfaction. So, so nice, you think.

And so you tell him. You tell him that you want his hand on your throat. He takes a second to respond - not because he doesn't want to, but more so because he can't believe you actually asked.

He doesn't normally fuck the girls he cares about like this. Then again, he never really cares about the girls he fucks.

"God," you moan as he pushes one of your legs over his shoulder. His body is clammy against yours, skin hot and damp, chest lean but built. He's working hard; not just for his release. For yours too. Rams into you, stuffing your cunt with his cock, dipping his head to lather your clasped throat in wet kisses.

"That's it, sugar," he growls as his teeth graze your neck. "Need to hear how good you feel. Need to hear what my cock does to you. You owe me."

You want to laugh. You're about to laugh. But then his head dips down to your chest, and he latches onto one of your pebbled nipples, sucking so hard that all you can do is tremble. He knows you like this. Knows it makes your pussy all creamy and slippery for him - and like clockwork, he's proven right. The sounds are lewd. He loves it.

"On your back," you husk, punctuating your instruction with a whimper as he suckles even harder. He shakes his head, eyes closed, mouth vibrating and full of your tit. Not a chance, he tries to say, but it just sounds likes he's forgotten how to speak. Too busy. Too close to spilling himself into you. Doesn't wanna get distracted.

So focused, he doesn't realise you're pushing him over until you're on top. He frowns as he detaches from your nipple with a pop, but his hands are running all over your body regardless. Obviously doesn't care that much. Course he doesn't. That ache in his chest has settled.

Until he starts thinking about it, and oh god, it's back and it's fucking unbearable.

"C'mere," he pulls you flush against him, as your hips begin to work against him. His hands cradle your face so he can kiss you as deeply as he likes, tongue slipping into your mouth, as his cock slips up and down your pussy. This, he thinks, is it. This is what fucking should feel like.

"Shit," he whispers. "Shit."

The friction of his surprisingly neat hair that rests at the base of his cock is nice. Real fuckin' nice. You're not even fucking him anymore, just grinding against it. Using it, using him, to get yourself off.

You think you're being slick, like he won't notice - but he does. Of course, he does. He's obsessed with your body.

"God, yeah, baby," his back arches, pressing his chest against yours, eyes closed. "Use me like that. Use me," he bites into your shoulder gently. "Fucking use me."

He means it. Doesn't give a shit about himself anymore. Just wants to feel you tremble as he holds you close. Wants to press kisses against your lips as your moans become undignified. He needs to be the reason you cum; needs to be responsible for your oxytocin rush.

You sit up a little, and Jungkook holds back a pout from the separation - but how can he complain when you're sat like that, his cock buried inside of you, hair a mess and with eyes like his favourite constellation? He's hypnotised as your boobs begin to bounce, pussy working up his shaft like the true Daerim woman of the night you are. He's forgotten about all of that, now. Can't think about anything except for how to not fucking cum.

He can't and he won't. Not until you do. But you're bouncing, and it's wet, and he can hear it, and it feels so fuckin' good. His toes are curling, torso tensing, eyes half-shut, pretty little pout hanging open. He's fucking whining. "Yeah like that," he encourages. "Gonna milk me so well, baby. Gonna... ah. Fuck. Gonna-"

Jungkook can't fucking speak. He wants to. Wants to tell you how fucking beautiful you look, how he wants this endlessly, how he never wants to let you go. Needs to tell you how right this feels, how good you make him feel, how he doesn't understand his feelings but fuck, just that he is feeling. Feeling so much.

You're not sure at which point he started calling you baby, but you're actually convinced that the name alone could tip you over the edge.

The pace of your hips is slowly, savouring. He doesn't quite get it. You were so close. Why stop?

The stillness of your movements makes way for something new. He feels a throb around his fat cock, which is begging for release. Notices the way your chest is shaking like you've got hiccups, tiny whines of pleasure making themselves known. Your pussy was always warm, but it's hot now, contracting around him.

And then he gets it.

"Oh, shit," he mewls, his hips slowly pumping upwards. "Yeah, that's it, baby. Let yourself cum. All over my dick," he encourages, hedonistic and self-serving. "That's it. Cream for me."

His slow movements as he fucks up into you amplify the sensation, the tip of his cock nudging languidly against your tight walls. Your entire body shudders, the feeling rippling from your chest right down to your toes. You rasp out moans, the sensation all too powerful, a creamy mess pooling at the base of his shaft. There's a jerk as your muscles spasm, your orgasm well and truly delivered. He pulls you down and into his chest, his strong arms wrapped around your back.

Your body rests on his, spent and sensitive, and he can tell you can't hold out for much longer. He pushes back the hair that's sticking to your clammy face, and presses kisses into your temple.

"So big," you hum, voice hazy, eyes shut.

"Just a little more, baby," he promises. " You're doing so well. Just a little..."

You've considered how Jungkook would orgasm on more than one occasion - and you're pleasantly surprised to find that your imagination was wrong. There's no grand declaration, nor large grunt. He's not aggressive, either, like you'd half-hoped he would be.

Instead, Jungkook kisses you as his hips begin to stall. His brows are creased, moans muffled against your lips. His torso shudders, abdomen as tight as his balls. "Baby," he drowsily mewls, and then it's happening. His cock pumps into you, unloading thick creamy spurts with every stroke of your pussy. The first one is so desperate that you're almost positive you can feel it paint your insides. You moan along with him, utterly obsessed with this, him, whatever the fuck just happened.

He doesn't withdraw immediately. Just lays there and kisses your skin, absolutely spent.

You don't move a muscle. You don't want it to be over. Don't wanna lose this. Lose him.

When you tilt your head to look at him, he's smiling. Eyes closed, cheeks appled. Serene. In a state of fucked-out bliss.

You tell him that he's pretty, and he lets out an airy laugh, covering his face with one of his hands. You move his hand and watch him fondly, enthralled with the grin that he's struggling to fight.

He turns to look at you, and the smile he's been boasting amplifies. "God, you're gorgeous."

It's not a new observation; just one he's never voiced before. One that he was able to resist saying. But you're naked now, chest pillowed against his, eyes glowing and nose blushed.

You hum, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. "I'm glad you chose to come here."

Just like that, there's a knot in Jungkook's stomach that seems to anchor that feeling he keeps having.

"Yeah," he nods. "Me too."

IT'S THREE IN the afternoon by the time you wake from your post-fuck snooze. Jungkook's never had one of those before. Hated being sticky after sex with anyone else. Always had to shower - but with you, he wants to stick to you like glue.

"Should have filmed that," he hums, the tips of his fingers stroking up your arms. You aren't sure if he's joking or not. "Would have given us a unique take on the project. Probably wouldn't have gotten us very high grades, mind you, but art is subjective."

"Some would argue that the critique of art is objective," you muse back, still blissfully cum-drunk from the events prior to your nap. Jungkook's nose has stopped bleeding, and the pair of you have almost forgotten the reason he showed up in the first place. "Documentary maker by night, porn star by day," you flirt. "Although it's cute that you think you fuck like a porn star."

"I felt you shaking," he says, knowing there's no possible way that you didn't enjoy it. His nose feels a little cold after all the trauma of the morning, so he buries it into your hair. "Can't fake that."

"That's what I'm saying," you simper, pressing a kiss against his bare torso, just below the meeting of his collarbones. And then another, simply for good measure. "Porn stars never actually look like they're making the woman feel any good." You trail down his chest, tongue licking gently at the darker skin around his nipple. "You... yeah you don't fuck like a porn star." And then you suck a little. He hisses, in the best possible way.

"Don't," he says. "Not ready to go again."

You laugh.

Jungkook thinks he's reached Nirvana. Almost certain, in fact. Never had a girl do that to him before. He loves to give it, but hasn't ever thought to receive it. Wonders what other things you'll do to him that he's never had done before. He can feel his cock fucking twitching again, achy and sore, definitely not recovered yet from how hard he went earlier - but god, he wants it. Wants to bury himself inside you again. Belong to you.

His hands paw at you, one gripping on your chest, the other on your ass, pulling you closer. Your leg hooks over him, and he can feel how wet you still are on the side of his thigh. His balls fucking tighten. He can feel it happening, blood rushing to his crotch.

Yet despite it all, he just kisses you. Softly. Tenderly. Merely his lips languid between yours. Withdraws slowly. Keeps his eyes closed. Bliss.

"The fuck have you done to me, sugar?" he whispers, dark eyes opening to look into yours. His speech is husky, like he trying to steal the answers of a pop-quiz from you. You can't help him. You don't have a clue what the answer is. You're just as stuck as he is. "Got me feeling all fuzzy 'n' shit."

"Just a sugar rush," you smile. "It'll pass."

You're both acutely aware that it won't, but that will be a problem for another day.

"Tell you what," Jungkook muses, though his thoughts are shallow. He's not digging deep. Just talking for the sake of it. "I might not fuck like a porn star, but you don't fuck like a hooker."

He pulls your arm up so that he can study the crease of your elbow. You let him move your body like you're a barbie doll. You'll be his toy, you think, if he wants. No bother.

His fingers press at the thin skin that covers your veins, inspecting.

"Not a scratch," he assesses. "So you're not an addict either."

You laugh, slightly amused. "No? Maybe I just don't inject."

Jungkook gives you a stern look. Hopes you're joking. Tells you that you better fucking be joking. The sweetness of your laughter tells him that you are.

"So?" you press. "I'm not a prostitute and I'm not an addict. It's your lucky day. What of it?"

Jungkook tilts his head down so that his nose is nestled into the crown of your head again. Comforting, he thinks. Smells like laundry. You must have washed your sheets recently.

His next statement takes you off guard.

"Only ever see three kinds of women down in Daerim."

And you know.

You know he knows.

You can feel it in the way he protectively presses his lips into your skull, as if he's Prince Charming trying to rid his Sleeping Beauty of the nightmare she's been living. Wake up.

But Prince Charming rides a white horse, not a petrol-spitting, air-cooled, steel-framed shadow that rips through the city at night.

There are no nightmares, either. You're already wide awake. There's no saving you.

He sighs against your head. Pauses. Resists, and then confronts.

"I know what you do in the dark, sugar."

You don't say anything for a moment, and then you're pulling away from him, reaching for your shirt. He doesn't like this. Misses your warmth, but doesn't stop you. Instead, he follows, sitting on the edge of your bed, the corner of your comforter lazily protecting his modesty. His muscles are relaxed now, a little crease in his stomach from the way that he's slouching, hands in his lap. Those Bambi eyes of his are peaking through his hair, cheeks red and grazed from the morning encounter he'd had in Daerim.

He watches as you pull your shirt over your head, hair just as messy as his, and a graze on your cheek to match. He was pretty certain before that it had been carpet burn, but now that he's seen it up close, softly rubbed his thumb against it during pretty kisses, he's sure of it.

You avert his gaze. Feel shameful. Hate that he knows. You never cared before. It was just a fun little secret, the fact that he didn't know you were no angel.

But you want him to think that you're one, now.

For a moment, you were sure that he had.

Instead, now, it feels like you're falling from grace.

He reaches for your hand, but you pull it back. "Please don't."

And so he doesn't. Just sits for a little while instead. "Do you want me to get dressed?"

You really don't.

But your tongue is lodged in your mouth and it won't budge. You turn away, internally furious with yourself. It's been a while since you've gotten like this; so dreadfully panicked that you can't talk. It's a once in a blue moon kind of thing, the early onset of a panic attack, but you're hoping it won't reach the stage of no return. Praying.

"Babe?"

He sounds worried now, and it's making it worse. Feels like you've just reached the top of Bukhan Mountain without taking a second to catch your breath.

Has your chest always been this tight? Or has someone just been wrapping rubber bands around your torso without you noticing?

It isn't possible, and you know this, but it feels like it and - oh God - you can hear him shuffling, the buckle of his belt clanging. He's leaving, he's leaving, he's leaving, your ribs cackle as they close down on your lungs.

There's a light hum behind you, like a wasp is coming to send you into a state of anaphylactic shock and then it stops. His jeans are tossed to the floor once more.

"Yoongi?" Jungkook speaks quietly behind you into the receiver of his phone. "Wassu- Yeah, yeah, I'm safe. I'm good."

I'm safe.

I'm good.

"Where are- Yoongi stop. Stop it. I'm being deadly fucking serious-"

You don't realise it, but your chest begins to mellow as you listen in to his conversation.

"It's my mess!" He shouts now. "I'll fucking fix it. I don't give a fuck what Hobi says. Where you at? The Zoo? I'll be there- Yes, I will. Don't do anything fucking stupid."

And then he hangs up, chucking his phone into your bed with more aggression than he'd ever wanted to show in your presence. You don't see it, back still turned, but you hear it, the way his phone rebounds against the springs of your mattress.

"Shit," he hisses, and when you turn to face him, you find that his head is in his hands, elbows on his knees.

Crouching by him, your chest expands. You don't give a shit about yourself anymore. Your palms rest just behind his elbows, eyes anchored below his, looking up.

"He's got his fucking final in an hour," is all Jungkook says. "He's gonna miss his fucking final."

He lifts his head, tender lips pouted, eyes bloodshot from the pressure he's been placing on his palms. Looks right at you. Decides he'll never trust another pair of eyes more.

"I know what you do in the dark, sugar," he relays. "But I do worse. So much fucking worse. And I've just gone and fucked it all up."

And while he blames it all on himself, you know it's your fault.

He didn't stay away from the girl. He tempted fate, tugged on the red string, and accidentally snapped it.

Forlorn, he slumps, tongue wetting his bottom lip as he bites down on it. It's only to stop it from trembling. Clouds lurk in his eyes, trying to block his vulnerabilities from you, but it doesn't take a genius to work out that he's scared.

"Take it," you say, lips in a flat line, eyes stern. You nod towards the pile of cash on your desk, and his eyes follow. "Take it. Pay your debts. I can earn it again. I don't have a deadline. You do."

He shakes his head.

"I'm not taking the money you've earned."

"Yes, you are."

"I'm not," he protests and you've got it in your right mind to slap his pretty face silly. "Gonna be totally honest," he adds, "Don't really want your sugar baby money. Kinda resent it a little. Resent the fucker who gave it to you."

Jungkook hates him.

Doesn't know him.

Loathes him.

"So then give him the middle finger and take it," you plead. "He got you fucked up into this mess, he got you jumped, he got your stash stolen. Take his money and get yourself and Yoongi out of it. You don't have time to be fucking arguing with me."

He wants to fight back. You stop him.

"We can argue later," you promise.

And that ever-present effervescent feeling is back in his chest.

"Sugar," he speaks quietly. "Don't do this."

"Kook," you respond, voice much firmer than his. "You gotta do this. Yoongi shouldn't be fixing your mistakes and you know it. We can work it out on an I.O.U. basis. It's okay."

"I.O.U. suggests I'm gonna keep seeing you for a while," Jungkook mumbles. He isn't feeling as confident in himself as he had done earlier.

You stand, offering your hand to him so that you can pull him up with you. Neither of you acknowledge the fact that he's stark bollock naked. It's really not the time. Nothing you haven't seen before, after all.

"Well, yeah," you shrug with a straight face, but there's a glint in your eye. "I'd hope so. Pretty sure you said you were fuck my tits later? Gotta hold up your end of the bargain, sugar."

And despite it all, he laughs, toying with your hands before slipping his finger between yours. "Don't call me that."

"Why not?" You squeeze his hands. "You're technically my sugar baby now."

"That's not how it works."

God, he knows he shouldn't be fucking about, wasting time flirting, but he just can't help himself.

"No?" You question, equally distracted.

"No," he says. "If you're paying me, and I'm fucking you, then that makes me a hooker."

He's not wrong.

"Oh, that's kinda hot," you smile, pulling gently on his hands to encourage him to lean down. He does as he's told, and kisses you like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"You're so fucked up," he whispers against you, knowing that it's exactly why he enjoys you so much.

You don't let the moment linger, though, tossing him his clothes and going to grab the money while he dresses himself. You stack it together, all nice and neat, using the desk to straighten the edges. The wedge is thick in your hands. Yellow 50's are laughing at you. Stupid girl thought we'd fix her problems, they chatter silently to one another.

"Three and half million won," you hold it out to Jungkook. He hesitates, so you force his grip around it and let go. It's his problem, now. Not yours. You smile so warmly that Jungkook can't help but let that feeling in his chest simmer. Your hair is still messy, mascara still smudged. He wants to kiss your cheeks.

Jungkook hasn't disclosed what exactly was in his bag.

But in the same way he knows there are only three types of women in Daerim, you know there are equally only three types of men.

There's only one demographic that he belongs to. Yoongi, too.

You don't say it explicitly, not like he does.

"Holangi are nasty fuckers," you acknowledge. "I know they raise the stakes just for the fun of it. Whatever got stolen, the street value doesn't matter. Take it all. You'll need it."

Take what I owe you.

When he kisses you goodbye, it's just like the first time; all breathy and needy, lips parted and pouting. Again and again, he presses down into your lips. His brows furrow, hands on your cheeks, chest pressed against yours.

The crimson paint that had stained you from his very first kiss returns. You're painted in red for the second time that morning, but this time only you can see it. Only you can feel it.

That's her. That's the girl who let Jeon Jungkook kiss her like he actually meant it.

But it's funny now, because you know that he does mean it.

When he finally leaves, his nose is blushed, his cupids bow too. Eyes glassy. Smile forlorn.

Disappointingly, as you close the door of your apartment when he's no longer in your line of sight, you remember exactly how Jungkook had kissed you for the first time:

Like it was going to be the last.

And it consumes you, because the kiss you just shared felt exactly the same.

Your chest is uncomfortable again, but it's not rubber bands this time.

It's that stupid red string that Jungkook had tugged too tightly on.

The one that he'd snapped right in half.

WATTPAD // AO3 // KO-FI // CARRD

#jungkook #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts fanfic #jungkook imagines #jungkook scenario #jungkook fanfic #jungkook oneshot

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rosebudfics · 5 months

Note

Professor!reader and severus being married but hiding it from the students, bc they dont want the gossip and are just private people in general BUT one day sev forgets to take off his wedding ring and the golden trio go on this whole mission to find out who hes married to; completely freaking out when it turns out hes with reader cause theyre complete opposites while teaching

(Sorry if this is too long or doesnt make sense :^ i had this scenario in my head for some time lol)

Secret Lovers

Severus Snape x Professor! Reader

Warnings: use of the name "git" a lot lol, reader is the astronomy teacher but you can swap it out for any class, Snape smacks Ron and Harry

A/N: I LOVE THIS REQUEST SO MUCH OMG!?!?!?! also this isnt really set in any specific year but its more leaning towards where theyre older since snape you know.. hits ron and harry over the head and harry has the map <3

You and Severus had managed to keep your relationship secret for a couple years now, with the exception of only Minerva and Dumbledore knowing.

Why does anyone else need to know anyway? It was none of their business!

So one regular morning when you and Sev were getting ready for the day in the early hours of the morning, he had somehow forgotten to take his golden band off. You both would usually keep them in a little ring box at home so they were hidden but safe and put them back on at night, but today Severus had just forgotten to take it off.

You would bid your goodbyes at home before you left together, getting one last kiss in before heading back to Hogwarts, then Severus would put his usual cold face back on.

You both headed to your classrooms like normal, Severus still failing to notice the wedding band still on his finger.

When classes started, everything was going how it usually would: he would deduct house points, snapping at kids whenever they would interrupt his teaching, etc. That is until Hermione noticed a particular shine off her teachers hand.

Hermione looked closer before very quietly gasping. "Holy cricket!" She whispered so only Harry and Ron could hear her.

“What?” Ron asked curiously but not very quietly, earning the attention of Severus.

“On Professor Snape’s hand, he was wearing a wedding ring!” She said in a hushed voice.

“You must be crazy Herminone, there's no way that he’s married to someone.” Harry chuckled.

“Yeah, no ones gonna want to let alone be in any relationship with that old git-” Ron was interrupted by getting smacked over the head by Severus, followed up by Harry getting smacked as well.

Hermione just kept quiet, keeping her giggle to herself.

“Would you mind repeating yourself Mr. Weasley?” Severus sneered down at him.

“...no, sorry.” Ron grumbled.

“Mhm. 5 points from Gryffindor, and that's me being generous.”

After class, Ron, Hermione, and Harry all gathered at the library at break. “Are you sure you saw a ring, Hermione? Was it even on his ring finger?” Harry asked as he sat down some books in front of him.

“I'm certain! The real question is though, to who?” Hermione thought for a minute.

“Harry, why can't we just use your cloak to spy on him?” Ron questioned like it was obvious.

“Brilliant!” Harry exclaimed but Hermione smacked him in the arm.

“That's invading his privacy! It's terribly rude.” She scoffed.

Ron then mocked her, earning a smack. After a while of begs and pleas, she finally caved.

“Alright, alright!” She sighed.

They then all made their way back to the dorm to get everything they needed. Harry also grabbed the Marauders Map so it would be easier to find Snape. And then off they went on their little adventure to hunt down his wife.

They had to do some weaving and dodging to not bump into anyone (they bumped into Neville at some point, terrifying him) until they made it to the staff room. Harry looked down at his map to find Snape and you, they're astronomy teacher, alone.

“What are Professor Snape and Professor y/n doing together?” Ron asked in a confused voice.

Harry hushed him and then looked into the keyhole to find Snape and you talking to eachother.

“Are you sure no one saw the ring?” you asked again.

“Yes, dear, I am sure of it.” Snape said in a somewhat annoyed tone. “If someone did see it, I would be getting hounded with questions!”

“Yeah well not if all the students are terrified of you!” you sighed. “Look I'm not mad, I don't want you to think that, it's just we've gone this long keeping it secret it feels weird to just slip up like this”

Severus stepped towards you and grabbed your face in his hands. “Listen love, no one will know. Maybe in the future we can be more open about it.” He then bent down and kissed her gently, and you wrapped your arms around his neck pulling him closer.

Harry gasped quietly and backed up. He was about to say something before he heard footsteps walking towards the door. “We gotta get outta here!”

They all then scurried off down the hall back to the dormitory.

“Harry, what did you see? What were they doing in there?” Ron asked.

“Its professor y/n, that's who he's married to!” Harry was slightly out of breath from running.

“Professor y/n?? But they're so.. so different!” Hermione was shocked.

“You must be seeing things mate, there's NO way Proffesor y/n is married to the old git.” Ron scoffed.

“I'm telling you! They were talking about how he had forgotten to take his ring off or something and then they kissed!” Harry gushed.

They then talked about why you would ever want to marry Snape for the rest of break. Interestingly enough they next class was with you!

Since you were an extremely nice and open teacher, they felt more comfortable talking to you about it.

"So professor y/n, have you been seeing anyone lately?" Ron asked before class actually started.

You were caught off guard to say the least. "Well... I dont really see how my romantic life concerns any of you," you laugh whole heartedly.

Ron then smirked. "You never denied it. Perhaps another Proffesor that teaches here!" Hermione pinched his side as a warning to shut up.

"I don't know what your getting at, Ron" you chuckle becoming a little worried.

"Well the man I'm thinking of is a mean, old, cranky git that likes potions-"

"Thats enough! You don't ever talk about another Proffesor like that!" You scolded him.

"Alright, sorry proffesor... but im right, aren't i?" Ron smirked.

Harry and Hermione perked up to listen.

You sighed, before making sure that no other student or teacher was around, nd then said "You must not tell anyone."

#severus snape x reader #pro snape #professor snape #severus snape #snape #snape fandom #snapedom #snape x you #snape x reader #snape x y/n #severus x you #severus x reader #severus x y/n

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savannahsdeath · 10 months

Text

TEACHER!ELLIE WILLIAMS X STUDENT!READER

PART 1ONE

part 2two

mdni please<3

summary: you stay with your teacher - ellie because youre sure she didnt grade your exam correctly. she turns out to be easy to spend time with, even though youre her student

warnings: 18+ please!!

writers note: calling ellie 'miss williams' kinda cringes me but ig thats how it is.. before yall attack me or smthn reader is not a minor so its all legal also i imagine this is like the last grade of highschool?? i dont know what age it is in usa since im polish and yeah it would be legal for us but maybe not in america so idk😭😭

Ellie Williams was a teacher in your college, most students' favourite. She wasn't boring or too strict although she was serious about her lessons and she always made sure everyone listens. The point is, everyone wanted to listen.

You loved how passionate she is about her job. You could tell sharing her knowledge with next generations makes her proud. The rest of the students mostly liked her for her looks. She was attractive, even for you, especially when she was looking at you from under her glasses. Oh, god, her glasses... And the way she adjusts them with her slim fingers... Yes, she was definitely attractive. And pretty young, as for a teacher. But the way all of those stupid frat boys made clearly sexual comments about her was making you want to throw up.

You never missed her lessons and you were her best student. You could tell she appreciates the way you look honestly interested in her lessons. That's why you were surprised when you suddenly got a D from an assignment.

You stayed after class to talk with her about it. Something was off. You stayed the whole night to do it, with blood, sweat and tears.

You found her in her office, reading some papers. After saying simple 'good afternoon' you sat in a chair in front of her desk. She dropped the papers that turned out to be your assignment.

"I was just about to talk to you." She sternly said, not looking in your direction. "Why are you helping him?"

You had no idea what she's talking about, so you stayed quiet, letting her talk.

"You've always been so responsible - straight A's, making the presentations in time. Did he pay you? Be honest, I won't report it anywhere. Luke wouldn't do that himself."

You frowned. "I'm sorry, I don't understand. What does Luke has to do with this?"

Luke was your talking stage. You weren't interested in him but he was in you and that's it. Your opinion didn't matter. He was popular and you wanted to have good reputation so you allowed him to do... whatever.

Miss Williams showed you two papers. One was yours, the other... based on the handwriting - Luke's.

"Look at the signatures." She ordered. "How did it happen? No bullshit."

They were swapped. Luke's work, graded for a D, had your name on it.

"That's an interesting word to use for a teacher. Umm... Yeah, I don't..." You started stuttering, not knowing what to say. You often helped him out but not this time.

"Just admit you helped him and I'll give you your A. Easy as that." She finally looked up at you. Her glasses reflected the light in a way that made it hard to look her in the eyes, so you wasn't able to tell what she's thinking. Was she judging you or are you just paranoid?

"I told him to give you my assignment since he was staying in your class longer, I swear, I didn't-" You sighed. "He had to... How could he..." You continued mumbling.

"Sh, shh... I can tell it's your handwriting. I just thought you did it on purpose." She said in a reassuring voice.

"Will he have any problems? It's not a big deal, so if we could just..." You looked at her with your doe eyes, nervously biting your bottom lip. The way she was looking at you made you understand why were the other students all over her. You took a deep breath, trying to gather your mind, embarrased you even thought about her in a... romantic... way.

"Okay, my dear. Here's your well earned A." She showed you a new copy of the assignment with an A grade written at the top. You also notice her fingers slightly grazing your hand as she does so. the same fingers you used to imagine touching you in such an intimate way "Now, if it's not a big secret, why are you even worried about Luke? For him, a better grade is more important than you. But if you really like him, I may group you both together in the next presentation."

"No, I don't, it's not that..." You quickly explained. "It's just... I don't even know. He's just everywhere I go."

You could tell something was off when Miss Williams mentioned Luke. She never did speak poorly about any of your classmates, not even once - it's simply unprofessional. But, this time, she seemed irritated, perhaps even annoyed.

"I'm glad to hear that, he's no good for you. He obviously wants more than an assignment swap." She put all of the papers back into her file. Suddenly, she leaned in towards you. Not too close, but way closer than she was before. "You look nervous."

"I am." You admitted quietly. Your heart starts beating fast. She's never been this close before. You both met after classes before and she was friendly, sure, but never this... interested. She made it to the point you didn't saw her as a professor anymore, just a woman, maybe even potential... girlfriend.

"I can help you with that stress if you'd like." She says, her voice barely above a whisper.

You couldn't resist her. She leans in closer, until your faces are so close together that your breaths become one and if it wasn't for the desk, your bodies would be pressed together. The moment she touches your cheek, you can't resist anymore and kiss her back. She takes your hands and presses them against the back of her head, pulling you closer as she deepen the kiss.

You never felt this way before. This doesn't feel wrong, it's... exciting. She's exciting.

You hear a faint sound from outside. Someone trying to open the door.

Miss Williams quickly straightens up: she straightens her clothes, fixes her hair, and picks up her papers. Then, with a deep breath, she answers the knock.

"Hello... Can I help you?" She opens the door.

It's Luke, standing there with a wide smile on his face.

"Luke? What are you doing here?" Your eyes flicked from Luke to the teacher and back again, not understanding what's happening.

"I just realized I forgot my bag at class today, so I dropped by to pick it up. But I see you have company." He looks at you and gives you a subtle wink.

"Oh, don't worry. I was just giving her assignment back an A. The A she deserves." She says with a nervous laugh.

"Yeah, exactly, Luke. I know you swapped our assignments." Your eyes lingered at him for longer this time, as you saw he knows something so you tried changing the topic to more formal one.

"I... uhh... no, I didn't do that." He replies nervously, his tone and body language giving him away.

Miss Williams looks at you with an expression that conveys "I can't believe this is happening."

You continue; "Look, Miss Williams found our assignments mixed up. Mine... with your D grade on it... and yours, with my A on it."

Luke shifts uncomfortably, realizing he's been found out. "Oh... well... I guess I'll just be on my way then." He says awkwardly.

"Just take your bag and go before I change my mind and not be so nice." Your teacher said, making eye contact with you instead of him.

Luke quickly grabs his bag and scurries away.

Miss Williams sighs and closes the door. "What a little... trouble maker." She says with a smile. She walks towards you and stands in front of you, facing you directly. "I hope he didn't bother you too much." She says softly, her tone carrying a slight flirty vibe.

You smile and shake your head, even though the truth is he did.

"You should go now, I don't want your parents worrying. Visit me here from time to time though, 'kay?" She smirks, stroking your hair.

"Yes, ma'am." You reply, trying to be playful but failing in your nervousness. "I will... umm... see you at class tomorrow."

"I'll be looking forward to it." She replies, a grin on her face as she stares deep into your eyes.

As you leave, you try to remain composed, but you're melting inside.

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turtlesandfrogs · 1 year

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I made this Pre-pandemic for a "Starting plants from the grocery store" class I was teaching, here it is edited down for anyone interested.

For saving seeds, the fruit should be fully mature for the seeds to be fully mature. Therefore, you can use seeds from a winter squash but not a baby zucchini, and the likelihood that the seeds of a tomato (or red bell pepper) will grow are much higher than for a green bell pepper. Unfortunately, many are either going to be poorly suited for your conditions, or hybrid, which we'll touch on later.

Stem cuttings are a great way to start many common culinary herbs! Especially basil!

Some tubers to consider starting from are sweet potatoes and actual potatoes.

And then of course, the bulbs! Green onions and garlic are your best bets!

These are outdoor plants and thus are Somewhat Fussy if you're going to grow indoors. Do not overwater them (eg, letting them sit in a tray of water for days) nor let them dry out completely. Try to keep them evenly moist, with thorough waterings that then pour out the bottom of the pot unimpeded.

Given that they are outdoor plants, a south-facing window (assuming you’re in the northern hemisphere) or grow lights are your best bet. If they don’t get enough light, they will turn pale and stretch towards their light source. They won’t grow as quickly or as healthfully as they would with sufficient light.

Examples:

Tomatoes & peppers! Tomatoes are the one that actually inspired me to make this because I saw this clip on starting plants from kitchen scraps, and they buried the whole dang half of a tomato! Don’t do that! What a waste of a tomato half! EAT your tomato! Take the seeds out!

If you’re intending to grow these outdoors, start them about 6 weeks before your last frost. If you have not grown plants from seed before, here’s some information from another class I taught: https://tinyurl.com/seedstarting2020

If you’re intending to grow them indoors the whole time, you will likely need grow lights for both tomatoes and peppers, and they like it if you keep your house on the warm side. I would suggest growing them outdoors and buying seeds for a dwarf tomato if you really want to grow indoors.

The down side is that most are hybrid, so when you grow out the seed, it's not necessarily going to grow well, be productive, or taste good. Even if it is open pollinated, it's probably been bred to thrive in conditions unlike those you can provide. If you need a successful crop, I highly suggest buying seed, or swapping with a reputable source. Although if you like and can find yellow pear tomatoes, those are an exception to this entire paragraph.

Basil! Basil is a great one to do stem cuttings of, get it started indoors, and then plant out once night time temperatures stay above 50f (10c). I prefer to start them straight into soil, and seem to have a higher success rate this way. To do this, remove all leaves except the top bud, and bury the stem in soil up to just beneath that bud and firm gently. Keep the soil moist and the pot above 60f, and you should have a good success rate. This method works for mint, lemon balm, rosemary, sage, etc, as well.

Green onions- really easy, put the bottom inch or so in soil and they’ll grow very well for you. I prefer soil over water because a) the water gets stinky, and b) they grow better and stronger in soil.

AND MORE:

Sage, rosemary, and thyme (also any stemmed herb): just like basil

Lettuce, carrots, beets: you get the tops, but usually they’ll try to bolt. Easier just to buy seeds. If you want, I usually start in shallow water and then plant as soon as I see roots growing. Again, keep the soil moist, and for these ones, keep them in a cooler part of your house. But really, they almost always bolt in my experience.

Sweet potatoes: Get them in the fall, it takes months for them to start growing (unless you're somewhere warm apparently? ). They will sprout, grow roots, take slips to plant outdoors once night time temperatures study above 50f (10c)

Garlic, just grab a clove and plant in the fall. Boom. GARLIC.

Squash- you don’t know what you’ll get, because they might be cross pollinated with another variety or hybrids. If you do grow it out and it’s bitter, don’t eat it, it’s poisonous. If you want to know more, search “toxic squash syndrome”

Ginger: Plant the rhizome in summer, harvest before frost, or overwinter indoors with a lot of light.

Pineapple: Doable, but it takes three years to get a harvest. Plant in well draining soil, and give it as much heat and light as you can.

Just for fun: (Unless you’re in the tropics or have a lot of patience.)

Mango, avocado, citrus. Take years, and a different climate than I have to fruit. If you’re in the tropics, go for it, but know that avocado pollination can apparently be tricky. I am not in the tropics, so I do not have direct experience with this. Citrus I think I've read also don't come true from seed.

Apples, pears: take years, and don’t come true to type. You do not know what you’ll get, and you’ll probably get something that is not worth eating (but would work for cider). These do need a cold dormancy period in the winter to do well. Of course, you could plant them and then top graft if it does turn out they don’t taste good.

Plums, peaches, apricots: take years, often do come true from seed, but peaches and nectarines are very susceptible to peach leaf curl, so may just die depending on where you are.

#gardening #vegetable gardening #yes that post made me remember but i did already have it written up #regrowing vegetables #pirating vegetables

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topguncortez · 9 months

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Take It | Jake Seresin x Female!Reader

Jake Seresin Masterlist | Main Masterlist

smut prompts!

Synopsis: Jake can usually handle a bit of teasing, but as long as he gets what he wants out of it. Inspired by the scene where Hangman says his infamous "stop" line

word count: 2.0k

warnings: teasing, age gap, oral sex (m receiving), public sex, head pushing, dirty talk, a dash of brat tamer jake, name calling, spit swapping, hair pulling, cursing, tears.

You were being a brat, and you knew it. And so did Jake, who had shot you probably the thirtieth warning glare of the night your way. He was trying to keep his calm, but with the way you were acting, he was ready to throw you over his shoulder and walk out of the bar.

He was wearing his khaki uniform, and so were most of the aviators that stood around the pool table. After a day of work, working on flight plans, and going over training events, the Dagger Squad wanted a relaxing night at the Hard Deck. Jake had stopped by home to grab you, knowing that you had a hard day with classes of your own. You were studying nursing and in your final year. Jake was proud of you, knowing that you had been working hard all week for this exam, and had aced it. He wanted to celebrate.

You and Jake were roughly ten years apart, him being thirty-three and you being twenty-three. You seemed mature for your age when you met, but Jake quickly saw through that front. But he loved it. He loved how you were dependent on him to show you the world outside of the little collegiate bubble you lived in. You weren’t as innocent as some girls your age, but you weren’t as outgoing either. Jake felt protective of you when the two of you went out to local bars, knowing what the college-age male thought when he saw you. Jake was sometimes no better than them. Like right now.

The shorts you wore was barely covering your ass, and with one wrong move, you were flashing the whole bar. He wondered if you were wearing that all day, knowing you, it was highly likely. He loved that you had a fashion sense, your clothes and shoes slowly starting to take up his closet, despite having your own. He could also see the black lace bra you were wearing under your white tank top. You looked as if you could give Cindy Crawford a run for her money. Jake felt his cock stir as you once again bent down to take a shot at the game of pool you were playing.

“Oh no!” You pouted, “I missed.”

“Here, let me help you,” Jake said, pushing up from his barstool. You smirked as he walked over, and put you in front of him. He leaned you over slightly, guiding you to line up the shot. You grind your ass against his semi that was straining in his pants. Jake grunted as he helped you make the shot, “There ya go.” Jake said, and stepped away from you, causing a small whine to leave your lips. He gave you yet another warning glare, but that didn’t deter you at all.

He wanted to see how long you’d keep up the act. You usually give up the act rather quickly if Jake wasn’t giving you wanted. But so far it had been going on for nearly an hour, and he knew that the black panties you were wearing had to be absolutely soaked. You were a glutton for punishment, and he knew it. He knew how much you loved looking at your bruised ass in the mirror the next morning. He had caught you one too many times taking pictures and saving them to a private photo album. Jake slowly takes a sip of his beer as he watches you bite your lip and look down at the pool table.

When Bob shot the final ball into the pocket, you clapped your hands and kissed his cheek. Jake’s grip tightened on the bottle he was holding, and it was a miracle that he somehow didn’t break it. Bob just blushed and patted your back as you skipped away from him, over to the bar where Rooster was standing. Part of the whole act was that you had money on the line, a bet made with Jake’s once enemy. Jake liked to tell everyone that he wasn’t the jealous type, but again, that was another front that everyone could see right through.

“How’s it goin’, sugar,” Rooster said as he looked down at you.

“Good, Roo,” You smiled, “He’s totally looking over here so if I were you, I would do something like put your arm around me,” Rooster smirked and did exactly what you said, his hand settling low on your back.

“This alright?” He asked and you nodded, feeling holes being burned into the back of your head from a certain green-eyed man, “You really want that fifty bucks, don’t ya, sugar?”

“Uh, of course,” You said like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “That’s almost enough for me to get my nails redone next week.”

“Well then,” Rooster said and picked up the beer that was placed in front of him, “Let’s go over there and get you that fifty bucks.”

You smirked as Rooster took your hand and guided you back over to the group of aviators. You perched yourself between Rooster’s legs, sitting on his left thigh. He held you securely in your spot, as you draped one of your arms around his neck, your other hand coming up to rest on his chest. If looks could kill, Jake would easily have two more confirmed shots under his belt.

Jake let the act go on for a while longer, watching as your fingers went to play with the gold chain around Rooster’s neck. Jake hated to admit it, but the two of you looked good together. Maybe it was the way that both of your skin tones were perfectly kissed by the sun. Or maybe it was how the two of you fit so naturally together, his hand resting naturally on your hip. Or maybe it was the fleeting glances the two of you would share. If Jake was a fool, he’d think that you had a thing for Rooster. But Jake had what other men wish they could have, he had your heart.

“Oh god, Rooster, you’re just so big,” Your voice is what snapped Jake out of his repertoire and had him looking at you from across the table. You were standing in front of Rooster now, both arms draped around his neck while you leaned in to press a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. Jake saw red as Rooster rested a hand right above your ass. Jake was up out of his chair before he could even think and made his way over to the two of you. You were moving your hand down Rooster’s abs when Jake grabbed your wrist.

“Stop,” You raised an eyebrow at Jake and looked back at Rooster, “We’re leaving.”

“But-”

“No,” Jake cut you off, “You’re not going to sit here and act like a brat. Get up, let’s go.”

You had that glint in your eye, that tiny bit of mischief as you stood up from Rooster’s lap and followed Jake wordlessly through the bar. You tried your best to suppress the giggle in your throat as he led you to the bathroom of the Hard Deck. The moment the two of you were inside, Jake spun you around and shoved you up against the door. You could feel the outline of his hard cock against your ass, making warmth flood through you.

“You gonna explain what you were doing out there with Rooster?” Jake’s voice was gruff as he whispered in your ear, “Or am I gonna have to fuck the answer out of you?”

“I was being nice,” You pouted, “You said I should-”

Jake turned your body around, so you were facing him, “I said don’t be a brat. You were being a slut.”

You bit your lip, trying to keep up the pouty persona, but if there was one thing about Jake, he knew all the right buttons to push to get you to break. He took a step back from you, looking you up and down, before undoing his belt. You didn’t even need to be told to get on your knees, as you dropped before him, mouth already drooling at the thought of having him in your mouth.

“Now you want to be a good girl,” Jake tsked as he walked towards you. With a hand tangled in your hair, he pulled your head back so you were looking up at him, “Always a good girl when you want daddy’s cock.”

“Mhm,” You nodded, licking your lips.

“Then be a good girl, and suck daddy’s off.”

You nodded, pushing down Jake’s boxers and freeing his thick cock from the confines of his boxers. His tip was red and angry, a drop of precum already leaking from it. You licked the tip gently, moaning at the salty taste of him. If there was one thing you knew about Jake, it was that he loved messy blowjobs. You grabbed his cock with both hands, spitting on the tip of it. Jake grunted, watching you through hooded eyes as you rubbed your spit up and down his shaft.

“Hold your tongue out,” He commanded, and you obliged. Jake fisted himself in his hand, tapping his dick on your tongue several times, “You love when daddy’s cock is in your mouth.” You moaned as he rubbed the tip over your lips, mixing saliva and pre-cum over you, “Messy girl,” He chuckled, “Go on, suck me off like the slut you are.”

You nodded eagerly, removing Jake’s hand at the base of his cock. You started slow, licking the tip again and moving down his shaft, making eye contact with him the whole time. Jake sucked in a breath as you wrapped your lips around him and started to suck him off.

“Fuck, there you go,” Jake moaned, keeping a hand in your hair, gently guiding your movements, “C’mon, go deeper,” He encouraged pushing your head down until your nose was flush with the thin patch of pubic hair he had. You felt tears in your eyes, as Jake kept your head down, thrusting his hips into you ever so slowly. You looked up at him with large doe eyes, unshed tears threatening to spill.

“Fuck!” Jake groaned, not letting up as he fucks your face. You close your eyes as you gag around him, squeezing your fists tightly, “Take it. You wanna act like a brat, take it.” You blink twice for yes, feeling his hips start to stutter, knowing that he was close, “Fuck. Fuck, sweetheart. Gonna cum in that pretty mouth of yours.”

You blink twice again, as Jake lets out a loud groan and his hips stop. You moan at the feeling of his cum filling your mouth. He pulls out of you, a thin layer of sweat on his brow.

“Open,” You do as he commands and show him the mouth full of cum, “So good,” He praises, wiping a stray tear from your face, “Swallow for me.” You keep your eyes locked on his green ones as you swallow the cum in your mouth. He tucks himself back into his boxers and dress pants, fixing his belt. Jake then helps you stand from the floor and pulls you into a kiss. He could still taste the saltiness of his cum on your tongue, “What do you say we get out of here and I return the favor.”

You smirk at him, “I have a better idea,” Jake tilts his head to the side, “Can we invite-”

“Nope,” Jake says, “You are mine and all mine. I don’t share.”

taglist: @shanimallina87 @phoenix1388 @desert-fern @mygyn @cherrycola27 @yanna-banana @seitmai @topgun-imagines @bradleybeachbabe @na-ta-sh-aa @startrekfangirl2233 @xoxabs88xox @atarmychick007 @lunamoonbby @sophiaslastbraincell @bradswolfe @fandom-princess-forevermore @thedroneranger @angelbabyange @dempy @lovelywiseprincess @krismdavis @eternallyvenus @dakotakazansky @pono-pura-vida @starberryhorse @daggersquadphantom @gspenc @poppyalice2001 @els-marvelvsp @nyx2021 @t0kyoreveng3rs @frazie99 @spencvrr @kmc1989 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @toobouquet @malindacath @badasspizzalover @justenoughmadness

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moonclade · 10 months

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Hello! I was wondering if I could request a Percy Jackson x (gn) reader x Annabeth Chase, basically Percabeth x reader, where reader is an absolute insomniac and hardly goes to sleep at night? Maybe Percabeth trying to keep reader company/going on a night adventure/doing something until they all collapse on a couch and fall asleep or just reader staying until Percabeth falls asleep and trying to get away but getting pulled into bed by them too? Hope it's not too complicated, thank you!

note ー i don't know if you want them to be in a poly relationship, so i will make being in a relationship or not up to the reader! i also was trying something new with this writing style so this may sound different.

not proofread || lowercase intended

1.9k words

you were a zombie, wallowing in your own serene melancholy.

wandering every night around your cabin, your soft footsteps mixing in with the sighs and snores of your half-sisters and brothers.

you envied the way they were able to dream so peacefully, their bodies enveloped and cozy in their rumpled sheets.

yours were different, devouring you whole and seeming like a cobra the way the blanket would slither around you and leave you uncomfortable and unable to spend more than a few minutes lying in bed. a cage in the form of white linen.

eventually, you'd start sweating, the droplets running down your back and head, soaking your shirt and leaving you in desperation to put yourself to sleep.

this then led to you pacing back and forth, attempting to tire yourself out enough to slump over and finally meet the sweet embrace of sleep. it was a clockwork cycle.

the gods seem to be taking pleasure in your struggle, because your silent pleas kept going unanswered. you cursed them out internally, especially your parent.

a sharp knock at the window piqued your interest. two figures were there, illuminated from behind by the moon, causing their features to be unnoticeable.

you walked over in apprehension, before noticing annabeth's telltale ponytail and calming down.

percy points towards the door, locked after the ares cabin managed to sneak in and give everyone a "surprise". it took you days to get the terrible marker drawings off your face.

you hurriedly rush outside, not wanting to be alone in your misery anymore.

"what are you guys doing here?" you hissed, eyes darting around to make sure no one was outside as well to notice the three of you.

percy and annabeth exchanged a glance.

"well, we're worried about you," annabeth fiddled with the garnet coral on her necklace. not in a nervous way, but on instinct.

"worried about what?" you chuckled nervously. it felt like you were in an intervention session, the way they kept communicating silently.

"you haven't been sleeping in days." percy holds a finger up when you attempt to argue. "we can tell."

your head dropped, not bothering to dispute his claim. it was quite obvious, with the way you weren't able to keep up in training as well as you used to, your movements lethargic and reaction time slow enough that a snail could probably manage to slay you down.

in fact, even chiron came up to you asking what the problem was. you brushed him off, saying it was just you not being able to sleep at night and downplaying the whole situation. he tried pressing on, but you had cut him off by saying you had an arts and crafts class to help the apollo campers teach, bolting away from the scene. you slightly regret it, knowing that he most likely had a solution.

you would've thought that at least annabeth would've abstained from the idea of sneaking out to your cabin, but here she was. a sheepish shrug was all you earned when you raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"we care for you," annabeth reasoned. "we came to check up on you, it has to be boring in there all night."

you nodded, letting out a sigh. "thanks for coming, but what are we even going to do? it's not like we can stand here all night."

the duo swapped looks once again as if they didn't think that far ahead, which was surprising on annabeth's part.

"it was kind of a spur of the moment decision, y'know." percy began, until his eyes lit up. you didn't like what that implied.

"the lake!" he dragged the two of you by the wrists before you could begin to form a thought about the myriad of things that could possibly go wrong. you shook off any apprehension, and followed as best you could.

he was literally the sea embodied, and she was wisdom defined. you didn't know why they bothered with you in the first place, but you loved them. maybe the gods really were on your side.

a smile grew on your face as the three of you rushed side-by-side through the veil of darkness. at the pace you went at, canoe lake soon came into view.

the moon was lucent, reflecting off the still surface of the pitch-black water. you decided to stay on the boardwalk, not trusting your arms not to give out as soon as you hit the water. of course, percy was always there to help out, but you didn't want to bother taking that risk. plus, you didn't want to get back into your bed soaking and smelling of wet grass.

the son of poseidon was having the most fun, splashing around, sporadically throwing buckets of water your way. whenever he did, you would grumble and slip your hand into the water, retaliating. not that it did much, considering he was already in the lake.

annabeth stayed near you, casually watching percy act like a kid and sometimes poking fun at him with you. after a bit, she strayed away to play mermaids with him.

the sight of them diving underwater and resurfacing, every time with giggles following them. you pouted in jealousy, wanting to play mermaids as well.

in a split second, without ruminating over it any longer, the icy liquid encircling you and nipping at you as you manage to break the surface of the water. the once tranquil water was now choppy and loud, the current the only thing you could hear.

you felt as free as the river that led into the lake. unstoppable and unyielding. all your doubts had been washed away with the water, and the drowsiness that had been a heavy weight on your shoulders had been lifted, even if it were for those few moments.

percy and annabeth swam over to you, not wanting you to waste the last bit of energy you had left.

"weren't you just complaining about how you didn't want to get wet?" percy lifted an eyebrow in question.

"nothing will ever make me pass a game of mermaids," you toothily beamed.

or so you thought.

after nearly ten minutes of splashing and cackling in the water, you were worn out and the excitement had drained out of you. the two demigods noticed, due to the fact you began to make your way slowly back to shore alone. you didn't want to ruin their fun with your problems, so you had left unannounced.

percy quickly came over to help, annabeth trailing behind. wrapping a toned arm around you, he managed to singlehandedly get you back on solid ground. once you made it, you immediately laid down, staring up at the duo.

"you know, we could always play mermaids some other time. you didn't have to come in the lake," annabeth sighed, her cloudy eyes shining in concern and brows furrowing.

even when she was drenched, she managed to look effortlessly beautiful. aphrodite surely blessed her.

"you're staring," percy teased once he noticed your watchful gaze on her as she wrung water out of her hair and clothes.

your face heated in embarrassment, and you averted your eyes to the forest in the distance as if something interesting was going to appear. "i spaced out."

he gave a lopsided grin in knowing. "whatever you say."

a cold breeze caressed your skin, sending shivers up your spine. this didn't go overlooked, as annabeth acted and offered you a spare gray jacket she had brought along.

"it's your jacket, you're going to be cold," you refused her offering.

"i won't." she went against your wishes and draped the jacket over you. "we'll just go inside for a bit, and i'll warm up."

you grunted, but still kept the jacket on, slipping your arms through the sleeves. it was warm and smelled like lemons, a welcome change from percy's bitter seawater smell.

as the three of you made your way back to the cabins, you opted to stare at the glimmering stars in the sky. you'd stared at the bright dots every time you couldn't sleep, memorizing each constellation as a way to make the time pass faster. you hoped that eventually, you wouldn't have to study the sky for hours on end.

"you gonna keep walking?" percy called out to you, and you realized you had walked right past annabeth and percy. dashing back towards them, you realized that they were waiting right in front of percy's cabin.

"well, i guess i'll get going then," you awkwardly pointed behind you, believing that this was the end of the night.

"no, no. you're coming inside," annabeth gestured at the open door.

once again you were in a dilemma of what to do, but again decided that the punishment was not going to be worse than the reward. besides, all you were going to do when you got back to the cabin is mope around until the sun peaks over the horizon.

walking in, a briny scent slaps your face. you didn't hate the smell, but rather found it comforting every time you walk in.

"you can lay down, you looked really tired a while ago," he nodded towards his bed. not objecting, you throw your heavy and exhausted self onto the mattress.

"why is your bed more comfy than mine?" you grumble into the pillow.

"maybe i just deserve it more," percy replied, earning him a middle finger from you. he chuckled.

it went silent for a bit, the two no doubt doing their secret language made up of different stares and hand movements. you didn't bother turning around to check, until a weight pressed down on the bed on either side. you flip yourself over, and see percy and annabeth climbing into bed with you.

"wha- there's not enough space for all of us." you muttered. no one paid mind to your statement, and still sandwiched you in the middle.

"oh really?" percy smugly said, happy to prove you wrong. you simply rolled your eyes.

somehow they had managed to fit on the small bed, and that's when you decided that you should be going back to your own bed. you sat up, and began to slide the sheets off your body, before percy stopped you.

"where are you going?" his arm caged your torso down to the bed, and you fell back in instantaneous acceptance that you were not escaping. you were close enough to hear his heartbeat, the steady cadence keeping you relaxed.

"everyone's going to wonder where i went." you pointed out. usually everyone woke up to you sitting up in bed with the most restless but also, ironically, drained expression on.

"we can deal with that tomorrow," annabeth began playing with your strands of hair, ruffling them. she remembered that you loved the feeling of fingers running through your hair, and that it reminded you of you parent.

"fine." that was the last word spoken that night.

you listened as annabeth's breaths turned slow and shallow, soon followed by percy. her hands went limp in your hair, a little crown around your forehead.

normally, the heat of being in between two people as well as a blanket would drive you mad, throwing you out of the bed and looking back up to the endless canvas of night. but this was different. hedged right between the two people you love right after a night of doing something other than feeling pity for yourself changed the game.

slowly your eyes shut, their warm embrace slowly lulling you to the blissful reward of peaceful dreams.

#[🌙clade]#guess who hates this lmfao 😝#percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #pjo #hoo #hoo x reader #annabeth chase #annabeth pjo #annabeth chase x reader #annabeth x reader #percabeth #percabeth x reader #x reader #booklr #percy jackson and the olympians #percy pjo #demigods

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ketterdamskaelishprince · 28 days

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ada the mirrorball/chameleon, a very vague and weird conversation on her character (ep 37-40)

going to off the bat make this abundantly clear that I JUST LIKE TO TALK!! if you think anything is outrageously wrong that's ok :)

anyways, this stems from me rereading nevermore and just, with hindsight, feeling a bit silly for my first opinions on ada. when i first read nevermore, i felt this overwhelming annoyance for her, and at times definitely hated her. especially at the beginning. she was a nuisance. but, i think like many others, as i continued, i just began to feel bad for her. and on my reread, i think that's just more prominent than ever.

i'm going to just be talking about general stuff from episodes 37-40, because if i talked about anything else i could probably talk until my jaw fell off. especially about her spectre, but let know if you want any rambles about that or not!

for this, i'm very much just going to ramble and then show you little pictures of where i picked this up!

so in episode 37, which as a quick summary is when ada is talking to lenore in the bathroom which can be summarised by this webtoon comment:

anyways, so as covered they have a big conversation in the bathroom where ada basically says to lenore that maybe she misjudged her and maybe they should team up/be tentative friends. it's part genuine from what i can tell and also part manipulative. but what's interesting about the conversation in the bathroom is what ada does.

take this for example:

i have absolutely no idea why that was the first thought that poked out to me, but here we are! the more i looked at it, the more i thought it was odd.

at first, i thought of it like a teen girl desperate to make friends, the same urge you get to sit beside your friend and just paint each others nails and the yearn for the closeness of a friendship where you swap clothes and stuff. girlhood and sisterhood. you know, that stuff.

but then i thought about it a bit more (and you know, could be reading a bit too much into this so excuse me if i am) and i thought about what we know about ada. obviously, this doesn't come in these episodes, but later in the series we're shown (i think) that ada fell in love with a rich man basically, and was murdered by him (i think!! correct me if i am wrong !!!) and we know she wasn't of the same class as him, something we become even more aware of in the next few episodes.

anyways, i thought about it, and then i thought about lenore and then i was like "oh is this something to do with class" and after reading too much into it i can conclude IT DOES HAVE SOMETHING TO DO WITH CLASS!

i think, if we look into it, ada's conversation could also suggest that ada wants to be lenore– not in the emo sad lesbian who's divorced sense but more she wants to have the life lenore has and wants the attention. i think ada sees lenore and maybe thinks subconsciously about the way she speaks and walks and assumes she's of high social standing. and since we're aware she isn't (especially with the way she says certain fancy words wrong) i think ada latches onto this and in the act of asking for trading blazers, i think she essentially is saying she wants the respect and status lenore has.

because what's one thing we definitely know about ada? she wants to be loved, she basically admits this to lenore as well in this episode.

and we already see lenore and annabel's little back and forth and the fact that people "flock" to lenore. so, i dunno guys, maybe this is ada saying she wants that? she wants that respect and she wants to be adored, loved and seen. but as herself, she doesn't get it.

again, me looking too closely into it.

but i dunno, there's something to be said about this whole scene in itself and the things ada does.

like here she's curling her hair with her fingers, something annabel literally does all the time. in that way, she tries to use people the same way annabel does, or what we see annabel do later. she curls her hair, tries to act all coy and tries to act like what she knows lenore is susceptible to. she does it i think not totally out of malice, but a place of insecurity because she wants to gain validation from her own little group. but it's funny because, even in this act, ada still fails to embody annabel. a wolf in sheep's clothing is still a wolf, and ada is still ada even if she desperately tries to act like somebody else.

then there's also the dinner scene in episode 38. we know that each of their meals is based on what they would've wanted as their last meal. and what's ada's?

beluga caviar and champagne. both items that are absolutely rooted in the upper class. beluga caviar, fun fact, is also the most expensive type of caviar! ada's whole meal is a need and a want to be like the upper class and the obscenely large bowl of caviar just shows it. also, this whole scene (i think) is our first hint that ada isn't as, i dunno, posh (?) as she claims she is. of course, that's if you ignore when she doesn't pronounce things right.

then, if you look to episode 39, you kind of see more of ada's character and how she acts.

here you see ada only pipes in when she's gotten confirmation that there's something behind it. ada is the type to stand behind anything so long as she has support– something so deeply rooted in her insecurities. take this and then take the fact girl barks like a dog in ep 40 into account, and you see something so overwhelmingly sad about her character. rereading this just made me pity ada even more.

i think, as a side note, i see a lot of people in webtoon comments and then some on tumblr make connections to morella and ada being similar, almost like two sides of the coin. and to an extent i agree with that. i think the different lies how in how they react to montresor in this episode.

you see here that morella practically pleads with montresor to stop, but ada just blindly listens. she becomes, almost, a bit pathetic here. and also, sidenote, i cannot reread this episode with having to put my phone down and take a lap because this baffles me every single time. but i read it because wow yummy artstyle. ANYWAY.

you see ada truly desperate here. desperate to be loved, desperate to be accepted, desperate to be finally seen as somebody who has worth and value and desperate to be adored by them all and most of all: to be seen by annabel as a worthy friend or pawn, whichever she can get.

i think this is truly heartbreaking when you read it, because ada just wants to be loved and she'll do anything for it. i think in that way, morella and her differ. because morella is completely different to ada in the fact that even if she wants to make friends and to please people, she has a level of respect for herself and an overwhelming sense of empathy which trumps any insecurity. ada is the complete opposite in that aspect. her need to be loved and her insecurities trump her morals and her decision making skills.

and idk, i think there's something so sad about humiliating yourself and knowing you are humiliating yourself just so you can get somebody to notice you. i think it's just so fucking sad, and i can't look at ada and think she deserves to be hated anymore.

she might be a brat, but guys she's a brat with trauma and crippling insecurities and i think in some twisted way i love her.

anyways yeah, that's the end of my ramble!

#nevermore webtoon #morella nevermore #ada nevermore #i never said it here but #morella x ada #nevermore webcomic #ada nevermore analysis #nevermore analysis #character analysis #guys ada is just a brat with a big sad heart and she's so me with her inseucrities #i love her so much even if i also hate her #we have a difficult relationship

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kylecrusoe-captions · 1 year

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If you’re doing requests, might I humbly ask a story of a boomer dad getting annoyed at how lazy his college age son is and the son gets irritated back and decides to mess with his dad by swapping their bodies, leaving dad as the one having to deal with his son’s life and taking orders?

"My god son, what are you doing?" Greg groaned at his son who was reclining on their couch playing a video game.

Tim rolled his eyes as he paused the game. He'd just barely sat down to relax after class, homework, and before his night shift at a retail job. "Playing a game, Dad," he responded in an annoyed tone.

"I let you live here rent free to make college easier, not so you can just sit around playing your games!" Greg said walking over to the console, and hitting the power button. "Go mow the lawn or something!"

Tim felt anger rise in his throat. "I wish you knew how hard I worked!"

"And I wish you knew what it was like to have a son that behaves like you do!" his dad retorted.

Something must have been listening to them that night, because in a blinding flash, father and son found their perspectives reversed.

"Wh-what?!" said Greg in Tim's body, now sitting on the couch.

Tim looked around, realizing what had happened as he saw his reflection in the mirror. A devious grin spread on his face. "Well, 'Tim', best listen to your father and go get the lawn mowed before work," he said.

"What are you talking about? I'm your dad!" He protested. "And your body feels so fatigued!"

"Well as far as the world's concerned, this body fathered that body. Who knows how long we'll be like this? If you don't do as I say I can do whatever I want to your reputation." Tim threatened.

"OK ok fine. I'll mow the stupid lawn." Greg said, standing up. He stopped in the mud room right before going out and felt compelled to take a picture of his new self.

"Ugh, he dresses so ridiculously. This dumb hoodie but also shorts? I don't understand him." Not wanting to waste time, however, he slipped on his son's sneakers and went out to get the lawn taken care of.

Meanwhile, Tim in his dad's body went up to the master bedroom of the house. He grinned as he realized he had the whole evening to relax and do as he pleases. He slipped out of his father's buttoned up shirt and nice pants. "Why does he wear such uncomfortable clothes for so long?" he muttered to himself.

He caught sight of the mirror and couldn't help but run a hand in his new body. "Damn dad, you keep yourself so smooth! It does show off your killer body though."

Tim felt this body's dick stir as he rubbed his huge round muscles. Apparently his dad's body really responded to getting worshiped. "Think I know a few guys who'd love to give dads body what it's craving," Tim chuckled. He lay down in his father's bed and snapped the first photo he planned to add to a new grindr account.

#body swap #dad/son #daddy

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max1461 · 5 months

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Ok, I have a lot of people who read my blog and are (rightly) very skeptical of generative syntax. For my linguistics mutuals this is usually for somewhat subtler reasons, but for my non-ling-readers the reasoning is generally something like "well, it seems like a bunch of bullshit".

This is a very good instinct! I personally think that most of what gets published in generative syntax is a bunch of bullshit. There are very deep problems in the field, which basically everyone who is not a Chomskyan is in agreement on. But I do think people should understand, if they want to critique generative syntax well, what motivated the whole thing, what Chomsky was trying to explain, and why it's a genuine puzzle. Without that I think you're swinging blind.

I'm assume that anyone reading this will have at least some passing familiarity with the basic concepts of linguistics, but I'll try not to assume too much.

Right, so, one of the basic goals of linguistics, the thing you have to do before positing any deeper theory of the mind or linguistic cognition, is to be able to write down descriptions of existing natural languages. This descriptive task is where modern linguistics got its start. You want to look at a language, collect a bunch of data from speakers, and answer structural questions like "how can the words in this language be ordered? How can the sounds in an individual word be ordered? How do smaller pieces of words (morphemes) combine to make bigger words? Etc.". That first question, "how can the words in this language be ordered?" is the domain of descriptive syntax. Theoretical syntax (which really starts with Chomsky) attempts to find broader principles which govern the order of words in all languages, syntactic universals. Furthermore, the hope is generally that finding such principles will tell us something about the way language is generated and processed in the brain.

The first thing I want to talk about is, basically, what was already understood when Chomsky came onto the scene. I'll use modern terminology and notion (and bring a modern, computational lens to the question), but I'll describe the basic state of understanding at the very beginning of the generative project.

Let's get back to that original question, "how can the words in this language be ordered?". For the specific language we are trying to describe, let's take English. We know that some orderings of words produce valid English sentences: "the dog went to the store and bought a meteorite". We know that other orderings of words do not produce valid English sentences: "him the went dog store meteorite have bought". We would like to write down some rules or principles that characterize which sentences will be valid and which will not.

The first thing we can do is abstract away from individual words and start thinking about syntactic categories. We notice that certain words seem to be able to be swapped out for each other without affecting the validity of a sentence: if I can say "the dog went to the store", I can also say "they man went to the store". If I can say "I saw the dog", then I can say "I saw the man". Of course these sentences don't mean the same thing, but the point is that if one of these sentences with "dog" is valid, the corresponding sentence with "man" is also valid. We say that "man" and "dog" have the same syntactic distribution in English. The set of all words with a given syntactic distribution is called a syntactic category. In this case, "man" and "dog" are both nouns.

In school grammar, you might have learned that a noun is a "person, place, or thing". But in syntax, we want to understand a noun as a class of words with a particular syntactic distribution.

In fact, simple categories like "noun" and "verb" are too broad; in order to describe English grammar we need more precise categories than this. But we will keep running with these for now. If we want to be precise, we can think of "noun" and "verb" as classes of categories having similar-but-not-identical distributions. We're already at an important empirical observation—every language appears to have noun-like categories and verb-like categories, and this is interesting. But we won't dwell on this.

So we can view a sentence as a sequence of categories. "The dog went to the store" might as well be "D N V P D N" for all the syntactician cares. Here I'm using standard abbreviations for these categories: D is "determiner", N is "noun", P is "preposition", and V is "verb". I'll also use A for "adjective" later. But at this point we can abstract again. Look, there are two pieces of the above sentence that have the same shape: "the dog" and "the store" are both D N. Hmm. Let's look at another sentence. "The red dog goes to the store". Now here, the sentence starts with something shaped D A N, in place of that first D N. What about this: "the big red dog goes to the store". Now it starts D A A N. And we could have said "the dog goes to the big red store", D N V P D A A N. So it starts to look like anywhere a D N can go, a D A N can go, or a D A A N, or D [any number of As] N. These are sequences of words that have the same syntactic distribution as each other, and thus can be freely swapped out for one another. If we can describe the internal structure they have, and the positions they're allowed to go in, we can describe the syntax of the whole language.

Thus, the idea of describing syntax with trees. Sentences consist of parts nested inside other parts. These parts are called constituents or phrases. Each phrase has a particular syntactic distribution, just like individual words do. We can test what the constituents of a sentence are by trying to swap them out for one another (and for other things, like pronouns) and seeing if it works. Then we can diagram a sentence in terms of the way the constituents bracket: [[the dog] [went [to [the store]]]]. And we can represent that as a syntax tree, like this

I won't explain the concept of "headedness" right now, but the basic idea is that in some constituents, certain words play a special role, and these words are called "heads". A constituent whose head is a noun is called a noun phrase (NP), one whose head is a verb is called a verb phrase (VP), and so on. That's what the labels in the tree mean. The labels on the leaves of the tree refer to syntactic categories of individual words, and the ones up inside the tree are phrase types. The important thing is that each phrase is a subtree, and each phrase type has a specific syntactic distribution. Additionally, any individual word can be seen as a one-word phrase.

What we are building right now is called a phrase-structure grammar. If we want to describe the sentences of a language this way, we specify some abstract symbols for phrase types (NP, VP, N, V, etc.), and some rules that say what shape these phrase types can have. We know from the examples above that a DP can have shape D N (as in "the dog"), D A N (as in "the big dog"), etc. We could write this rule as DP -> D A* N. The "*" after A means "any number of As". Actually, that notation is not quite what a linguist would use, but I'm using "*" because I think it will be familiar to a lot of people already from computer science.

A phrase-structure grammar is a list of syntactic rules like this, that describe the valid shapes of different phrases. Once you do that, you need only specify what the different vocabulary items of the language are and what syntactic categories they're part of, and you've fully described the syntax.

But, wait... does that actually work? Can this system actually describe all of natural language syntax?

No!

Enter Chomsky. The term "phrase-structure grammar" was not around at the time, but diagramming sentences as trees in roughly the way shown above was not new. Chomsky wondered "is this sufficient"? In trying to answer that question, he came up with the Chomsky hierarchy. The Chomsky hierarchy is a hierarchy of different types of "formal language" (sets of sequences of symbols, like our sequences D N V P D N etc.). The hierarchy is ordered by what kind of computation apparatus you need in order to describe the given language type. Phrase-structure grammars like we constructed above are, mathematically, only able to describe languages at the "context-free" level in the Chomsky hierarchy. Are natural languages context-free languages, under Chomsky's definition? They are not.

Consider, for instance, English question words: who, what, when, where, how. Words of this type are known as wh-words, because most of them start with "wh" in English. Yes, that is as Anglocentric as it sounds. Anyway, where can they go?

Well, they usually go at the beginning of a sentence. "What did you see?", "How are you doing". Notice that in these sentences, there is something that looks like a constituent with a gap. We know already that English transitive verb phrases (VPs) have the shape V DP, where V is a verb and DP is a determiner phrase, described above. So verb phrases will be things like "saw the man" or "ate the rice". But in "what did you see", the transitive verb see doesn't have a DP after it. In fact, if you try to put the usual DP after it, then the sentence with what becomes ungrammatical: *"what did you see the dog".

(By the way, putting a "*" before a sentence is what linguists use to indicate that speakers judge it ungrammatical. Another helpful bit of notation: "?" before a sentence means speakers aren't sure if it's grammatical or disagree, the sentence is of dubious grammaticality.)

So, ok, you can put a DP after a transitive verb, unless the sentence starts with what, then you can't. Is that it? Well, not quite, but let's run with that for now. Check this out: the above rule still works no matter how far away the wh-word is from the DP gap:

"What did you see?"

*"What did you see the dog?"

"What did you tell me the man saw?"

*"What did you tell me the man saw the dog?"

"What did you tell me the man told you he saw?"

*"What did you tell me the man told you he saw the dog?"

This situation is called a long distance dependency, and it is impossible to describe them with the kind of context-free phrase-structure grammar we came up with above. Thus, context-free phrase-structure grammars are insufficient for describing natural language syntax.

So what do we do about it? Well, it's certainly the case that phrase-structure-grammar gets close to describing what we want. Lots of sentences can be diagrammed as context-free syntax trees just fine. And thinking about language in terms of constituency is very useful in a bunch of other contexts that I haven't mentioned here; phrases are the bread-and-butter of linguistic description. Chomsky's solution was to take a good old context-free phrase-structure grammar and augment it with a mechanism called movement, turning it into a context-sensitive grammar (a higher position on the Chomsky hierarchy, capable of describing long distance dependencies like that above).

There are a lot of different forms of movement, and proposals for what its limits should be, but the basic idea is that movement allows you to take something from one node in the tree and move it to another node, under some set of conditions. Generally the node it moves to should be empty; you sort of have to imagine trees like the one I drew above as having valid nodes at every possible location specified by the phrase-structure grammar, even if most of them don't have words in them. The ones without words are the empty nodes. Every syntactic theory with movement is based on some phrase-structure grammar, which determines what trees exist in the language. Movement is then allowed to apply to this set of trees generated by the PSG, shifting constituents from one node to another. In most theories, movement is only allowed to be upward (that is, things can only move to strictly higher positions in the tree). Other limitations may be put in place as well: heads may only move to other head positions, complements may only move to spec positions, movement cannot progress across certain barriers in the tree, etc. It all gets very technical.

The ideal generative theory is a PSG and a set of conditions on movement that allow linguists to describe all and only the possible syntactic structures of natural human language. This is where the term "generative" comes from: a grammar (of a specific language, in a specific theory) generates possible sentences, and a theory generates possible grammars. A bad grammar either overgenerates (predicts ungrammatical sentences) or undergenerates (fails to predict grammatical sentences). This makes it an insufficient description of the language. On a meta-level, a bad syntactic theory either overgenerates (predicts impossible grammars) or undergenerates (fails to predict possible grammars).

Anyway, back to movement. Why is it an appealing mechanism? Well, it unites a bunch of related phenomena under one description. First of all, let's notice something else about those long distance dependencies in English. There are a bunch of them: "what did he see", "where did he go", "how does he feel", etc. In all of them, the syntactic category of the gap corresponds to the question word you use.

"What did he see?" ↔︎ "He saw the dog" (DP)

"Where did he go?" ↔︎ "He went to the park" (PP)

"How did he feel?" ↔︎ "He felt good" (AP)

We might like to say that certain types of phrase are allowed in the highlighted positions in the sentences on the right, and this includes the corresponding wh-words. Then, the wh-word moves out of that position and up to the front of the sentence. This allows us to describe what sorts of wh-words pair with what sorts of constituents without having to "say the same thing twice" in the grammar. Many natural generalizations present themselves by simply specifying what is allowed to go in the position where movement starts, and then specifying where things can move to.

Here's another compelling reason to posit movement: sometimes, things don't move. Above, I said that it was a simplification to say that wh-word always show up at the front of the sentence. For example, when multiple interrogatives are present in a single sentence, only one of them can be fronted. If I say "Stacy went to the store and bought apples", and later you forget what I told you and want to ask about the details, you might say:

"Tell me again, who went to the store and bought what?"

Here, who has is in its fronted position but what is not (linguists call this wh-in-situ). Where does the in situ wh-word appear? It appears in exactly the position of the gap that must be present when it is fronted! This makes it very tempting to say that it "started there" and moved. This even provides a natural explanation for why it fails to move in the above sentence: if we suppose that words can only move to empty positions, then the position it would like to move to is blocked by the other wh-word who, and so it must stay were it is. This is fairly parsimonious.

Positing other limits on movement explains other phenomena. There are certain syntactic positions out of which wh-words can't move. Such positions are called islands. In English, wh-words are not just used for questions but also for introducing certain subordinate clauses, for instance "I know what the man saw". What if you try to move a wh-word out of a subordinate clause itself introduced with a wh-word? For example, suppose someone says "I know what Jim saw", and you later forget they were talking about Jim. You might like to ask who they were talking about. But you cannot say:

*"Who do you know what saw?"

This is an island. The most standard analysis of such islands follows from positing that movement must be local: items must always move to the closest valid syntactic landing site before they can move anywhere else. Our wh-word who would like to make it to the very front of the sentence. But that position is structurally identical to the one in the subordinate clause in which what already sits. This follows from the basic phrase-structure grammar: subordinate clauses are merely sentences-within-sentences. So, locally, the "front of the sentence" for who is the front of that subordinate clause. But what is already there! So it can't move, it can't get out.

Locality conditions and movement blocking explain a fair number of really weird, really arcane phenomena in natural language syntax, which is enough to make movement seem to me at the very least a compelling idea.

There are a bunch of other island effects that are difficult to even really talk about without the vocabulary introduced by generative syntax, at least, like subject islands:

"That John went home is likely"

*"Who is that went home likely?"

And left-branch islands:

"Susan likes Fred's hat"

*"Whose does Susan like hat?"

Which appear to be constraints on movement out of subtrees of specific shapes.

I don't consider these to be evidence for movement, but they are easy to phrase using movement, and they are essentially impossible to phrase without reference to tree structure and long distance dependency.

So, this is what the Chomskyans are seeing. There is a lot to be understood about natural language that you cannot even start asking about without looking in a pretty fine-toothed way at trees, natural language sentences, and the kind of rulesets that can generate them. I don't think there is a way to address these concerns without at least meeting generativism where it's at on some level, unless you are entirely disinterested in describing this aspect of natural language.

Where do I think generativism has failed? Well, I said that all these phenomena make movement a compelling idea, but that's a far cry from the generativists having a good scientific theory. And, in fact, I think that they don't. I think formal syntax research is marred by a thousand problems big and small that make it difficult to progress on turning their compelling ideas into good scientific theories, and I think Chomsky's personal approach to the research program has had a large hand in making things the way they are. But that's all a topic for another time. What I wanted to convey here is just... why, why are we talking about this? Why are these ideas important to think about to begin with? And I hope, even to the generativism-skeptical, that I've demonstrated that somewhat.

#linguistics

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scarletsaphire · 1 month

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Danny missed last gym class through no fault of his own, which is normally fine. It’s just that now they’re putting the self defense moves to work, and Danny’s been paired with Valerie. Great; guess he’ll be getting his ass kicked by her twice in one day.

@phicphight fic 3! This one is for @tourettesdog and @lovelyunknown! Prompts used are at the end.

"Mrs. Tetslaff. Mrs. Tetslaff please you don't have to do this," Danny begged.

"Shut it, Fenton," she said, not even sparing him a glance. "Partners are final, no swaps. Besides, being with Gray will do you some good. Maybe if she tosses you around enough, you'll put some effort forward in my class." She chuckled, before turning back to the rest of the class and bringing the whistle to her lips.

Danny made his way back to Sam and Tucker's side as she finished announcing the rest of the pairings. "As if I don't already get my ass handed to me by Val enough. Now I get to experience it in class too."

"If it makes you feel any better," Tucker replied. "I'm also going to get absolutely destroyed."

"Damn right you are," Sam nodded. The two of them had been made partners, probably because Mrs. Tetslaff knew that she wouldn't hold back. Tucker knew it too.

"That does make me feel a bit better," Danny admitted. "At least I won't be suffering alone."

"Okay everybody!" Mrs. Tetslaff's voice cut through their conversation. "Gather with your partners; I'll be coming around to monitor you all, but other than that, its a free for all. Use whatever moves you remember from our self defense class yesterday."

Danny nodded along with the rest of the class before making his way over to where Valerie was standing on the side of the gym. He held up his hand in a not quite wave as he approached, which Valerie returned.

"Hi."

This conversation was going just as well as he thought it would.

"Do you want to start on the offensive?" Valerie asked.

"Uh, yeah. Sure. I can do that. Unless you want to go first?" Danny asked.

"I've been taking karate since I was five. I don't need the practice. You do," Valerie replied. "Besides, even if you do manage to land a good hit, I can probably handle it a lot better than you can, and I don't want you using a bruise to try and get out of this."

Danny hesitated. He could handle this just fine; he'd tussled with plenty of bigger threats before, even without his ghost powers. Hell, he tussled with Val every night, albeit with the aforementioned ghost powers, when the red-gray of her suit blended in with the regular gray clouds and night sky. He wasn't worried about getting hurt.

What he was worried about was the fact that he didn't remember a single thing from his last gym class. Dash had locked him in the locker right before, and then Johnny and Shadow showed up, and they were always time consuming to deal with. Even if dealing with them this time looked a whole lot more like buying them a milkshake.

Either way, by the time he'd managed to make it back to the school, the class had been almost completely over, and the only thing he managed to see was Sam suplexing Tucker onto the mat, which, according to Tucker, hadn't even been a move they were supposed to be practicing. This meant that Danny was yet again stuck in the predicament he was in every single time he had to do anything in this Ancient's forsaken class: how much could he actually, realistically do?

The answer was always a resounding not much. He could normally fake it pretty well, but when he didn't know what he was supposed to know? It became a whole hell of a lot harder.

"Actually..." Danny started slowly.

"You forgot, didn't you?"

Danny rubbed at the back of his neck.

Valerie rolled her eyes, and the faintest hint of a smile played across her face. "I guess that means I'm going first."

"I guess so."

"Okay, I'm going to do this slowly, so try and pay attention." Valerie made her way directly in front of him. "Hold your hands up like this." Danny copied Valerie's pose, one very different than he'd seen her take during the night. Probably because she didn't have any guns. "You ready?"

Danny gave one nod. He’d barely finished moving his head before Valerie was lunging towards him, fists flying towards his face. It was a conscious effort to not turn intangible, which meant that he didn’t have the brainwidth to try and clock the hit, or dodge out of the way, or do anything that didn’t result in a fist to the face.

It was good to know Valerie hit hard , even without her suit.

Danny stumbled backwards, blinking stars out of his vision, hand coming up to his nose that he knew was bleeding. It wasn't broken, at least.

"Oh shit," he heard Valerie say, and in an instant she was by his side. "I did not mean to hit you that hard I swear."

Danny waved her off with his free hand. "Yeah, well, I'm the one who stood there like an idiot." He removed his hand from his face, looking down at it. Yeah, he was definitely bleeding. "I'll be fine."

He looked to her when Valerie didn't give an answer, and was surprised to see her staring down at his hand in shock. "Valerie?" he asked tentatively. Still no answer. "It was an accident, you didn't mean to-"

He was cut off by Valerie grabbing his wrist and dragging him towards the doors of the gym. "Wh- Val! What the hell?" he asked.

"We need to have a talk. Now." Her voice was steely, a tone he couldn't remember her ever using with him. At least, not with human him. It was enough to shut up any future protests, and he allowed himself to be dragged along obediently.

They kept going even after they were out in the hallway, down a few doors until they got to a storage closet that Danny knew was mostly empty. Valerie pulled the door open and shoved him inside, slamming the door behind her.

Danny had absolutely no idea what was happening.

"I think you have some explaining to do," Valerie said with her arms crossed and her foot tapping a hasty rhythm on the tiled floors.

"I'd love to, I really would, but I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about," Danny asked, raising his hands in mock surrender.

"Oh? Then how are you gonna explain that?" She titled her head towards Danny's bloody hand.

"You punched me in the face!" Danny answered. "Nose bleeds happen when people get punched in the face!"

By her sharp inhale, it was clear that wasn't the answer Valerie was looking for. "It's green Danny."

"Oh." Danny brought his hand back around in front of him, squinting at the now dried blood stain. It looked more like a red-gray than a green-gray to him, but then again, there wasn't much difference between shades of gray. "I didn't know that."

"How do you not know that your blood is green?"

"Frankly, I didn't know my blood was red until I was like. Eight years old. So this isn't the first time this has happened!"

Valerie took a deep breath and brought her hand up to pinch the bridge of her nose. Uh-oh. Danny's natural defense was getting on her nerves. That never ended well. "Ok, your idiocy aside, why the hell is your blood green?"

"That. Is a very good question!"

Danny ran through every possible excuse he could think of. Some of them might've worked if it was literally anybody else who had figured this out, but Valerie wasn't just some random student who would believe "Fenton Weirdness" as a catch all excuse. She had experience with ghosts, and ectoplasm, and more importantly, was also exposed to the same technology Danny would normally blame this on.

"Would you believe me if I said I snorted ectoplasm before class?"

"Not when you say it like that."

"Well, crap."

TourettesDog - Danny is red-green colorblind. This never caused him much trouble before the accident, but now, well… It would have been nice to know beforehand that his blood was the wrong color. LovelyUnknown - Danny's identity is found out in the funniest way possible.

#danny phantom #danny phantom fanfiction #danny fenton #valerie gray #phic phight #identity reveal #team human #phic phight team human

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existslikepristin · 8 months

Text

Little later than expected because I feel like shiiit. And, I know. "What's new?" But at the moment I mean physically. Regardless, here's ya dang story:

Tags: NSFW, S.M.U.T., genie, poor game design

(Story Index)

Figure the app out

“Well,” you say with a sigh, “I can’t read any ancient languages, so can you just help me out here?”

“Oh duh. Sorry about that, master. Old habits die hard, even if said habits are a few millennia old. We’re currently speaking… ah, yes! English! Easy peezy squeezy my buttcheeks. There you go.”

You look at your phone again. The mass of text bubbles all over the screen are now written in English. It’s still… a lot of nonsense.

“Just point me to the important parts?”

“Of course! Let’s just make you a little more comfortable.”

By the time she finishes the sentence, you’re in your room, sitting on the edge of your bed with Joy pressing her chest into your back. She reaches over your shoulders and speaks softly into your ear as she taps your phone.

“So here we have your Harem Hub, which is where you’ll be spending a decent amount of time swapping back and forth between screens. Where you’ll be spending most of your time…”

Joy touches an image of a tower with gold coins spilling out of it.

“… is here, in your Inventory—it’s called that because you own the people in your harem like they’re inanimate possessions—, where you can organize, sort, search, and summon the members of your harem as desired. As you can see, it’s currently empty, so let’s go back to the Harem Hub.”

While Joy pokes around with one hand, the other is softly rubbing your shoulder. It’s quite relaxing. Come to think of it, you are a little tired.

“Right in the center of the Harem Hub is the Summoning Portal, which summons anime girls to your Inventory, not into the real world, which is a different kind of summoning. Let’s give it a try now and see who you get!”

Before you can do anything yourself, Joy taps the portal and the app begins a series of over the top animations of overlapping summoning circles and colorful overlays. About fifteen seconds later, a naked anime girl with a pitch black hime haircut, nearly black eyes, and rather small breasts flashes on screen. She looks like pretty much every other anime character being drawn these days.

Joy gasps very dramatically, “Oh my gosh, master! You got Anecha on your first try! But she… she’s a Super Rare! You only had a zero point three percent chance of that happening! She’s from the mythical land of Sorgania, and she’s a hybrid of all three class archetypes, able to spec into any skill tree you want! She’s one of—if not the—most versatile girls you can get!”

“That’s cool,” you mutter, “Can we summon her and get fucking?”

“Oh master, you’re so funny. You can’t summon a character naked.”

“But, the whole point is to have sex with her…”

“Well yeah, but when you’re not having sex with her, she’s going to be questing! We’ll get to that in a minute. First, check it out. She was just the rarest of your summons for this pull,” Joy wraps her legs around you, fully bear hugging you from behind while she yammers on, “You also got Heyri, Emi, Bonnie, and Magz. That will make for a pretty balanced party, though you can expect Anecha to handle basically everything on her own until you get to World 4, at least. Obviously though, we need to go back to tow—I mean the Harem Hub to purchase some basic equipment. No, not that shop. That’s the cash shop where you can get more summoning shards. Right here, at the Blacksmith. You’ll want to equip Anecha first to make the first few quests as easy as possible, and you’ve got all these coins ready to go, so… Oh, fantastic! Tim has lava katanas in stock, so we absolutely have to take advantage of that in the next two minutes. We better make sure some of your other girls can benefit from those stats though, so if we check the party status screen you can see their preferred stats are highlighted in gold. It looks like Emi prefers Gumption, so a lava katana is—”

Joy’s words fade into the ether and your eyes drift shut. She’s so warm, holding you like this…

“… and that’s why you always save up your electrum ingots. You don’t want to be willy-nilly turning those into…”

“… obviously, but don’t forget that any skill cooldown can be refreshed by…”

“… back from the arena! We should go congratulate her for defeating the sand kraken, because that will bump up the congratulatory meter. Sometimes you want to hold back though, since doing it too often will give diminishing returns…”

You’re woken up by the sound of squawking birds outside and sunlight blasting your eyes through the window. You’re on your back, legs hanging off the bed. Looking to the side, you see Joy, still naked and hunched over, tapping your phone. “I know it’s labeled as a PVP mode, but since the magic is actually built into you and not the app, that’s not actually a thing. The other players’ names and teams are just randomly generated but slightly optimized versions of your own builds so that you get an idea for what’s actually possible when you spend your gems properly.”

With a yawn, you sit up, make note of your own nudity, and flinch back as you nearly headbutt a new stranger standing at the foot of your bed. “What the fu—who are you?!”

It’s a woman, wearing a skimpy purple bikini with silver trim and blue ribbons hanging off of it. Her hair and fairly large eyes are dark, midnight black. Despite the fact that she’s holding what definitely appears to be a katana made out of lava, she looks a little bit nervous. “S-sorry, master. She,” she points at Joy, who is paying you no mind, ”um, she told me to stand here and wait after summoning me…”

You look her up and down. She’s… taller than you thought she’d be, and her face is a little rounder than it had looked in the image. That picture didn’t do her pouty lower lip or her flared out hip any amount of justice. “Anecha?”

“Sorry, master. It’s pronounced ‘AH-neck-ah,’ but… No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t correct you. Sorry.”

Options:

Um, it’s the morning now. You need to go to work already. You’re probably late.

Responsibilities can wait because they’re for losers. Get a blowjob from Anecha.

Take that sword from her and mess around (safely). It’s so awesome!

Joy called Anecha "the most versatile." Fuck her while you jerk off her futa cock all over Joy’s face.

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linkspooky · 1 year

Text

To add to my previous post, I think a lot of the current debates raging in the My Hero Academia fandom on whether My Hero Academia has failed because at the end of the story there probably won’t be major changes to the society it takes place in are kind of silly. You see to remove any political message MHA is trying to send out of the equation. I think the big problem with MHA is much simpler than anyone wants to admit.

The biggest problem is that... it’s boring.

It’s boring the same way Marvel Movies are boring. It’s swapped out what are potentially interesting and layered hero characters, for what are essentially characters with costumes and superhero powers and not much else going on for them. Enji and Hawks are the only heroes that have character flaws, and they are largely stagnant characters, Aizawa is introduced to us as a ruthless pragmatist and trickster mentor and he’s now just a generic “I love all my kids” mentor and the only thing he really has done in a hundred chapters is use his power. I don’t think this is a controversial opinion either, a lot of people didn’t like the deku alone arc, a lot of people think the current war arc is less satisfying to read than the previous one and it’s not well paced and it drags.

You could say the kid heroes are interesting characters with potential for growth, but have you noticed the kid heroes have been consistently sidelined for the adult heroes who are shallower, just because they have stronger more flashy powers. Heck, Enji gets more screentime in the Todoroki family arc than Shoto does and Shoto is supposed to be a main character. I think the hero kids just not getting plot importance they used to get and being sidelined because they’re not as powerful as the adults is not even an MHA exclusive problem, it’s the reason I don’t like the Young Justie Cartoon, it’s a pretty common flaw in adolescent superhero stories. Because why focus on the kids when the adults get all the cool fights against the bigger bads?

I think the reason people sympathize with the villains so much is not because they find them to have better politics, that’s probably a ex-posto facto applied reasoning (though I think that’s part of it). (Also if people are invested in the story in MHA because of the political issues it expressed, and they are disappointed because we’re not focusing on that, that’s a valid response too because Horikoshi is the one who set these ideas up as themes and then failed t follow through). (Or even if someone wants to critcize the way Hori dragged race as a metaphor into the story, they’re free to be displeased with how HOri handled it but also can still be invested in the story as a whole.) I don’t think the villains are sympathetic because they’re societal reformers, I think they’re just interesting because they have severe personality flaws and character arcs. Enji is the same character from the pro-hero work onward, the exact same character, he even does the exact same action his only true action to atone is to just defeat a big bad in AFO the same way he roasted the Noumu alive. You can’t say Shigaraki is the same character he was at the beginning of his arc, nor Himiko Toga, nor Dabi, nor Spinner, not even Twice and he has a tragic arc. Negative character development is still development, a stagnant character is dull a dynamic character is interesting. Maybe everyone is excited that Toga, and Dabi are at extreme low points in their character arcs, because it’s a change, and it’s compelling to see the extreme emotions they represent. Like, there’s so much discourse today on whether or not the League of Villains is a healthy friend group for one another, and like they’re not, they’re codependent and heavily flawed but that’s what makes them interesting dude.

Compare that to Class 1-A which is a much bigger group of kids where they are all unconditionally supportive of each other, and a healthy influence on one another, and because there’s very little conflict in that group bond there’s also little development. The only reason Class 1-A is in fact something people are emotoinally invested in is because of the conflict they had earlier in their arcs, Bakugo and Deku is a long running conflict based on an unhealthy friendship and fixation they have on one another, it takes a long time for Bakugo and Todoroki to interact regularly as friends, Deku had to literally beat up Todoroki to get him to accept help or even admit he needed it, Iida would have straight up killed a man without Todoroki and Deku’s interference, and even early on Uraraka felt inferior and more selfish to her friends, and Iida also drew a line that Deku shouldn’t expect unconditional support and teamwork from Iida during the tournament because they are compettitors competing for number one.

Conflict creates depth which creates audience engagement.

The Teen Titans are my favorite superhero team ever, and they are a heavily dysfunctional found family. In fact Cyborg even jokes at one point that their life is a soap opera. They are constantly breaking up and getting back together, and sometimes the group’s decision to collectively either neglect or enable someone has a bad influence on their personality (the second return of trigon arc comes about because no one was paying attention to Raven, heck, Raven is kidnapped by a cult and just left there for months because Donna was a poor leader). These character conflicts are also what makes them interesting as a group dynamic, I don’t think you should break the group apart because they’re not healthy, because there’s a better story to be told in them working through their dysfunction into a healthier group bond.

I’ve said this a thousand times but I don’t think the hero kids are bad characters, I don’t even dislike them, I want to see more of them. Literally all I talk about on this blog are the villains, but the only fanfic about MHA I’ve ever written and managed to finish, is about Bakugo, Todoroki, Momo and Uraraka and in particular the great potential I see in those characters to be interesting,

You could write a story where society does not change as a whole, but still circumstances get better for people because the kids are deciding to help people and be kind. Bleach is all about the fact you can’t really change the whole world or save everyone. Ichigo is just trying to protect his hometown and it’s my favorite shonen manga. I also think those stories matter just as much as like revolutionary fiction, because oftentimes people can’t change the world as an individual, and yet the action of helping people still matters, and I think also for a lot of normal people they tend to be paralyzed into not taking any action to help people at all because they believe that it won’t make a difference in the grand scheme of things.

At the most basic level we haven’t even gotten that yet. We used to have it! I really liked the Overhaul arc, and that entire arc isn’t about societal reform, it was about several people striving to save a young girl because heroes are supposed to save people. We are thoroughly in shonen battle manga punch em ups and fisticuffs. And as a shonen battle manga it’s not even that interesting because the fights suck, they’re not well choreographed, we don’t know what’s happening most of the time, they’re incredibly crowded, there’s no tension because the heroes despite supposedly being outnumbered way outpower the bad guys. We are given the promise that might happen in the future, there is set up for the fact that these kids are going to as their final act in the story save the villains and sympathize them but all we’ve gotten between then and now is a whole bunch of fighting. And once again it doesn’t come from a hatred of the kids but a genuine desire to see more of them, I want to see Shoto’s thoughts and feelings about his brother, I want to see Uraraka try to be a rescue hero and grapple with the fact villains are suffering, I want to see Deku think about what saving Shigaraki actually means. What I don’t want to see is new super powers, kids trying out their super moves, or kids helping the adults in fight.

And once again this isn’t to criticize people who enjoy MHA or are still emotoinally invested in it. Like I’m sure I’m going to get replies to this post “Why are you even reading MHA if you’re bored by it?”

Like... because you can engage critically with something even if you’re not entertained by it? There’s more purpose to literature and media then just whether or not ti’s personally enjoyable? I think there’s still a fascinating conversation to be had, in what works in MHA, and what does not work. I like superhero comics, and MHA is a shonen mangaka’s commentary on how they perceive western comics to be.

But yeah, I think the biggest most fundamental failing of MHA right now is that it’s a real snooze fest. As a comic book story, it doesn’t work because the heroes aren’t fun, it doesn’t seem to have much to say about the heroes besides very generic statements of heroes good. Heroes help people. Deku good. Deku saves. Deku punches. Deku wins.

So like can everyone collectively agree to just stop yelling at people who are emotionally invested in the villains, or even want to see them win? And like I think people should be allowed to post salt on their own blogs privately or even try to like comment on why they think certain fandom opinions are wrong, but gosh some of these posts guys they’re just like acting like a vast majority of readers are stupid. PEOPLE AREN”T STUPID! In fact I think most people are actually really good at interpreting stories because we are exposed to stories from a young age, and we think and feel in narrative, it’s just a lot of people don’t have the tools to either analyze stories or express what they find engaging. In fact if you think someone is wrong, or even think they have a vastly different take then you’re own, I think you should ask them why they think that way if you’re really interested in a conversation with them. Heck Thy and I usually agree about a lot of things, but sometimes I’ll make a pretty extreme statement, and they go “Oh, I don’t think that, or that’s wrong.” And then I just walk it back and try to explain my reasoning and then even if they’re not convinced to agree with me we just both move on.

People root for the villains because they’re underdogs. They’re sympathetic and flawed. They are also not stagnant as characters and we spend more time in their head. People aren’t stupid for being emotionally invested in them or reading the story wrong necessarily, so much as MHA has kind of failed to properly establish stakes and tension and make things difficult for the heroes like it should be, that’s just how engagement in a story works. There’s a reason that everyone hates the Yankees, but Cubs fans can stay fans for like a hundred years without a world series victory. I’m not even trying to directly insult anyone, or say that My Hero Academia is bad fiction, or not worth reading, I just wish people would chill a little bit and stop jumping on villain stans for liking the unhealthier or darker aspects of the characters.

Everyone’s like “I love my murderous meow meows covered in blood” and then you actually say the reason you like Shigaraki is because he’s heavily flawed, and at times a vengeful, hateful little shit and suddenly it’s a problem. Spinner’s a codependent enabler, yeah it’s called having a personality with flaws. He wouldn’t even have a character arc if he wasn’t those things, he’d just be a lizard. The thing that is deliberately written by a flaw, called out in the plot, and he gets punished for. God has punished him for his sins. Right now he’s just lying on the floor nearly brain dead. Also sometimes characters don’t have like, big, operatic flaws. Like as murderous and nasty as Dabi is there’s like a catharsis and power in the way he calls out his abusers. Sometimes people are annoying and needy. I feel like more ficitonal characters should be annoying and needy! Sometimes the most interesting characters, are characters you like would hate to be friends with in real life because they’d just be too high maintennance and put-upon.

I mean on top of that there are also stories where characters get worse, and only experience negative character development, and there are people who become engaged in those stories because of the dark turns it takes.

You could say that the fandom downplays the darker aspects of these characters, but like that’s what every fandom does. Heck, don’t Bakugo and Deku have an extremely unhealthy friendship for a long time, that fandom likes to downplay because they want to see them in a much healthier version of their relationship?

It’s also pretty much harmless. Beyond being frustrated with seeing an out of character version of a character being popularized, it doesn’t really harm people in any way that matters, you don’t have to yell at people for being wrong or even go out of your way to correct them. In fact, I think people having extremely different takes from the story that you do should be celebrated more. Isn’t it interesting two people can read the exact same events and interpret them in wildly different ways? Isn’t it weird, that we all have this collective agreed upon version of like “in character” and “Out of character” and yet people tend to either deviate or stay inside that framework. People also, tend to enjoy different aspects of the story. I don’t think the heroes are interesting at all, but if someone is a diehard hero stan and they like the heroes I’m glad they are having a fun time.

Fandom is supposed to be a conversation, and like, you shouldn’t go out of your way to correct the people you’re talking with, because it’s a much more fun conversation to ask why people think the way they do and try to understand that then to just tell them they’re wrong and end the conversation there. The reason I have this blog is not because I think I’m right and other people are wrong, I just like to talk to people about my thoughts on the comic books I’m reading, and then other people ask me why I think the things I do and I try to explain it.

Oh and by the way I’m not talking about people who disagree with me specifically. Like, Class1akids wrote a response to one of my posts. I think they have every right to disagree with me and they were pretty professional about the way they expressed their opinion, I follow them and like their takes because they’re good at stating the reasons behind what they think. I just didn’t interact with it because I was feeling lazy that day and didn’t want to type up a big response. I’m just in general asking people to chill and be nice and have fun.

#spooky speaks #this is highly critical of mha #but i honestly don't want to pick a fight with anyone #i just want to like #try to explain why i think the things i think?#like consider this a conversation rather than a debate #this is critically what i think is making the audience less engaged with MHa #This is why I think the League of Villains fans get so rabid and opinionated #mha critical #fandom critical

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stomach-bugg09 · 1 year

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omg thank you for doing my request!!! i absolutely adored it, dw im from the east coast myself (new york specifically). if it’s okay, i’d like to request more modern day sullys and fali? i just love your take on them.

a/n: ahh !! thank you so much. ( east coast gang rising up !! ) anyway , yes i actually think the modern au is just so simple but so cute and fun to write , which is also why i'm publishing this request before some of the older ones. i want to be able to keep feeding you all while i develop ideas and fics for the other ones. hope you enjoy !! reblogs + feedback is always appreciated !!

tags: @liyahsocorro @bonnibuckets @wxnderingthoughts @pinkhotdogsfr

modern au headcanons for the sullys + fali

general

one of the most chaotic families out there

trust me when i say this

when any of the kids have friends over, the guests are always shocked to find out that they ever manage to get anything done

there's always someone being a problem ( lo'ak )

tuk is the "do it all" child

like soccer, lacrosse, dance, school plays + musicals

she totally ate as an oompa loompa in charlie and the chocolate factory jr.

the older siblings all took a picture with her while she was in costume

[y/n] has an epic 0.5x picture of her from that night and is saving it for her graduation

[y/n] has the most baby pictures and "baby's first christmas" ornaments / type stuff just because she was the first child

neteyam has a good bit, so does kiri, but lo'ak and tuk have barely any

you can tell that they gave up on parenting tuk because she's such a menace

the whole entire family is banned from pizza hut

they refuse to speak on the topic

after neteyam and lo'ak played jv basketball together, kiri and [y/n] worked together to rewatch all the film and make a compilation of all their funny moments

tbt to when lo'ak completely missed the basket during a free throw

to present it, they gathered the entire family into the living room and pretended it was serious

but as soon as the video started, the two girls could not hold up the act and ended up on the ground in tears as they laughed at the entire thing

lo'ak and neteyam were not amused

jake was totally losing his mind

he loves making fun of his kids ( affectionately )

you can always tell neytiri's mood based on what she's listening to when she cooks dinner

a podcast means she's feeling good, feeling productive - sad music means she's, well... sad - classical music means you must stay far away from her

kiri, [y/n], and neytiri have their periods sinked up

it's complete hell for everyone else

once jake came home from work late and saw them sobbing on the couch to an episode of how i met your mother

sometimes the siblings will all sit down and have tuk paint their nails as she just talks the most amount of shit about every kid in her class

it's literally the funniest thing

she has some serious issues

kiri and [y/n] both like reading but the difference between the two is that kiri actually reads and [y/n] has five different books sitting on her bedside table

when she does have a random burst of energy to read, they always swap books

the head boys lacrosse coach is the biology teacher and he loves the sully family

he also teaches forensic science

not only is [y/n] dating his star player, but she manages the team

plus neteyam is on his team

sometimes, during their lunch period, fali and [y/n] just roll up to his class ( the same period that lo'ak and tsireya have bio )

ao'nung also plays basketball, so him and lo'ak were literally always beefing until they randomly just became friends

and then it was chill!

[y/n] and fali also drive tsireya and ao'nung around quite a bit, but they don't mind

everybody trusts fali and [y/n]

they're the type of people that you call if you need anything ever

kiri and neteyam have definitely called their sister or fali during a party after realizing they needed to get home

once neteyam's old friends left him there with no ride and he was... not all that sober

fali was at the same party because lacrosse team!

this boy did not hesitate to leave with neteyam and bring him back to his house

neteyam called his parents and pretended he was sleeping over with ao'nung ( who helped cover for him ) and ended up sleeping in fali's guest bedroom

every day kiri collects random ideas for her future speech as [y/n]'s maid of honor at her and fali's wedding

[y/n] still doesn't know

neteyam has an entire shoebox full of memories with his big sister that he plans to give her before she moves out

panic ensues the household when they reach june / graduating month

they do not want to think about their first baby leaving the nest!

neytiri is such a sad frantic mama

just wants everything to be perfect for her baby

jake ensures her that it will be

moving on to more happy stuff!

neytiri is totally a swiftie

like a very serious very loyal swift or that knows every single song and every single album and every single word

owns her ugly merch but it's okay because it makes her happy

tsireya's favorite candy would be watermelon jolly ranchers and she always has them in her backpack and stuff

lo'ak started to also keep watermelon flavored things in his backpack when he first started crushing on her

he would give her some during bio

her smile was always worth it

[y/n] and fali have the cheesiest and cutest way of reminding each other that they love each other

and that would be by giving each other their last piece of something

like they would give each other their last oreo, their last piece of gum, their last hershey kiss, his last name

it's just a silent exchange of their infatuation for each other

everybody else watches as they contemplate leaving because of how lonely they make them feel

kiri makes the silliest birthday posts

like she absolutely exposes every single one of her siblings by posting their ugly pictures on her instagram story

and she isn't even nice enough to keep it on close friends

lo'ak and [y/n] have a super long streak on snap chat of like 600+ days

and they are constantly scared of losing it

tuk takeover happens on a rare occasion in which, every few months, one of her older siblings allows her to do their streaks

she usually manages to post something stupid on their stories or something, but all of their friends have learned to look forward to it

fali and [y/n] were friends for a year before dating, but half of that year was spent with them absolutely crushing on each other

their first kiss story is so embarrassing and they refuse to tell anyone about it

fali wears bracelets that [y/n] makes for him

he always wears the bracelets that tuk makes for him and they're the cutest things because it's just a random assortment of beads

fali probably has a like single piercing on one of his ears after losing a bet with his friends

but he's grown to love it

he always has to take it out for lacrosse because the helmet is a pain

[y/n] buys him cute little earrings that he refuses to wear because they're always silly

like, "no, [y/n] i'm not wearing a singular waffle earring."

the only earring from her that he wears is the earring that matches the ring he gave her on their one year anniversary

she gave him that earring for his birthday

he almost cried

#avatar 2 #avatar the way of water #loak sully #neteyam sully #sully family x reader #sully family x y/n #tuk sully #tuktirey #sully family #kiri sully #lo'ak #lo'ak sully #loak #lo'ak x oldersister!reader #sully!reader #fali x reader

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shartmybeloved · 4 months

Text

Astarion's Clothes

I've been thinking about Astarion's clothes. As a writer, you learn that clothes are important subtext and I wanted to analyze it here. (Continued under the cut, it's kinda a long one.)

Okay, so Astarion has been a slave to good old Cazador for the last 200 years. And I think he's had the same clothes for a *long* time. I've always seen it as him preserving a scrap of who he used to be. His camp clothes (Astarion's Eccentric Clothes) have a description about how they were once fine, but they've been through many repairs.

This brings to mind Astarion's "fall from grace." A magistrate to a lowly spawn. Once upper class, now prowling the shadows. But he's still trying to retain pieces of himself. Dignity, vanity, etc...

Astarion is wearing this when you first meet him. And it's very him. At a glance, it's flamboyant, maybe a little strange. It's a statement, much in the way his overall attitude is. You also see bits of Cazador bleeding through. I see it most in the gold embellishments and choice of red tunic underneath. The whole "vibe" his outfit has at this point is a blend of Cazador and Astarion—which ties into his story arc. Does he learn to be Astarion or does he become Cazador?

The embroidery is also unraveling. I see this in two ways.

Cazador's hold slipping. I mentioned above that I connected the embellishments to Cazador, who Astarion is now (almost) free of. He's starting to shed Cazador.

An example of Astarion's tumultuous state of mind. He's putting on a show—he's fancy, suave, confident, refined... but it's a rouse. He's falling apart of you bother to look closer.

This is Cazador's outfit, relevant to the points above and the next one I'll make.

These are the clothes ascended Astarion wears in the epilogue.

Look at him.

This outfit emulates Cazador, almost as much as his changed attitude does.

Those fleeting scraps of who he was are gone. He's not charmingly eccentric. He swaps his eclectic, labor-of-love patchwork clothes for soulless refinery. His outfit is emulating Cazador as I said above—and I find this tragic. In my opinion, he chooses to dress that way because he believes that's what power looks like. Cazador was the epitome of power for nearly his entire life. And so through Astarion's eyes, power looks like Cazador.

Ascended Astarion will never be free of Cazador.

Alternatively...

Astarion is a scruffy bum murderhobo with a nack for tailoring. Also refuses to buy clothes unless he does black magic.

Also I'm delulu so take it all with a grain of salt (P.S. I made edits to this post—largely explaining on my points and tuning it up)

#astarion #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #bg3 cazador #im overthinking

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nonotnolan · 4 months

Text

No Not Nolan's Year in Review

Apparently this is a tradition now, so-- here are the stories of 2023, ranked by the number of likes. It also helps keep me a bit grounded-- it feels rough when recent stories don't pick up stream, but the year as a whole has still gone quite well. It's also nice to see where all of my work falls, note-wise. And if you're feeling very nostalgic (or horny?) here is a link to 2021, and here is a link to 2022.

I'm leaving the eBook announcement posts out of my year end review, but I'm calling it out for myself so when I revisit this in December 2024, future-me will remember to grab those. I'm not planning to abandon this account anytime soon-- and I'm certainly not shifting to Patreon or PayPal or what have you. I'm not prolific or popular enough for any of that. The vast majority of my work will continue to remain free and open. I just wanted to prove to myself that I'm good enough of a writer to publish something that I can be proud of-- I have, and I am.

Do authors love notes and reblogs? Yes. But they often enjoy hearing direct feedback even more-- I know I sure do. Consider "messaging authors directly" as a New Year's Resolution. (Please note that begging for someone to write you a story is not feedback. Don't be that guy.)

12) Green Grass - 122 notes - December 2023 Two guys learn first hand that not everyone values the same things. Concise and straightforward. 11) Soul Stones: Long Distance - 192 notes - April 2023 A romantic story of two men using the power of body swapping to close the gap on a long distance relationship. Cell phones have nothing on being there in person. 10) Colony Freedom - 197 notes - September 2023 A slime alien attempts to rebuild its colony from the ground up after its overseers have completely vanished. Can it manage to find enough hosts for its family, or will its cover be ruined? 9) Cuerpo Inc: After Hours Perk - 249 notes - July 2023 Ethan tries to pretend to be Jake for the weekend, but he wasn't counting on Jake's nosy neighbor getting But if he can't be Jake, at least he can still have fun in Jake's body. 8) Summer Break Dullahans - 252 notes - June 2023 Eric was not expecting to find Ben's detached head in the dorms. I'm a big fan of detachable limb stories, so I decided to be a part of the change I want to see. (I'm also very rusty at GIMP / photoshop, but it gets the job done.) 7) The Great Gym Shift - 275 notes - August 2023 A version of The Great Shift, but with a limited radius. A gym instructor is stuck babysitting a bunch of grown men who suddenly find themselves in very muscular bodies. 6) Just Another Sunday - 279 notes - October 2023 A Chronovac story with unaware recipients and a retroactive reality shift that ripples through reality. I'm really happy with this one, though I will freely admit that I lucked out on the photos for this one. 5) An Excellent Choice - 291 notes - February 2023 My Valentine's Day story, dedicated to my boyfriend. As such, the emphasis is on a merging transformation sequence. Two men take advantage of new technology to become a new sum of themselves. 4) Group Project - 331 notes - November 2023 Another work set in the Swapper universe, where college students take advantage of body swapping technology for success or pleasure. This piece features Aiden, who has to hire a nerd to take over his body if he wants to pass his classes. 3) Cursing Fate - 337 notes - January 2023 It's an alien possession story with a dark twist. If you're going to align yourself with an extraterrestrial force, make sure you have something valuable to offer them. 2) Soul Stones: The Easy Life - 412 notes - March 2023 Alfie finds himself in the body of Jordan, one of the most popular athletes on the football team-- but he's not the one who plotted for the body swap to happen. It's one of my favorites for the year, and it's a series I could see myself returning to if the inspiration is right. 1) Rookie Mistake - 482 notes - May 2023 A novice magic user tries out an Astral Projection spell without reading all of the instructions. Things do not play out in his favor.

Special Mentions-

Travis Cordin - 382 notes - February 2023 by @mergeman My boyfriend's Valentine's Day story that he dedicated to me. A raw and electric story about a magic user who gives the resident nerd too much magical power.

Stories I Love (Part 1) and Stories I Love (Part 2) I was not expecting so many people to react to these lists, but these have been getting reblogged like crazy. More importantly, a lot of authors have been reaching out to show thanks and start conversations, which I appreciate even more. Like I said-- I'm not always the best at participating in the community, so I really enjoy hearing from people.

Top 5 All Time-

5) Revenge, Reversed - 517 notes - August 2020 4) Overbearing - 538 notes - May 2022 3) Finals Week - 552 notes - May 2021 2) Gym Merchandise - 610 notes - September 2022 1) Soulmate Swap - 659 notes - August 2022

It's always fascinating to see which stories get a second life through reblogs and new discoveries. Soulmate Swap is one of my heavy hitters, but both Gym Merchandise and Overbearing have gained a lot of momentum this year. Finals Week is starting to slip, though I'm still quite fond of it. I'm quite surprised to see Revenge, Reversed on this list given its age, but it's another one of my personal favorites.

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