#cocktail au cognac

[downbad4yoongi]

Fall from Grace

🤍Pairing: Demon!Jin x Angel!Jimin 🤍WC: 5,058 🤍Genre/warnings: angel and demons au, betrayal, smut, fluff

🤍Rating: R

🤍Summary: The rules for angels and demons are simple and straightforward, and can be summed up as: don’t interact.

A/N: This story is part of BTS Fests' Angels & Demons Fest!

Thank you to my betas: @colormepurplex2 and @moonleeai. Many hugs to @colormepurplex2 for my banner.

 A Flicker in the Twilight

The twilight hums with the city’s heartbeat. Neon gods of advertisement pulse against the fading sky, casting a garish glamor on the throngs below. Lost in the kaleidoscope of chrome and flesh, Jin savors the symphony of human anxieties. They pulse through him, a delectable chaos dancing on his tongue. It is like the finest wine, this mortal cocktail – intoxicating, unpredictable, infinitely more thrilling than the bland ambrosia of his celestial past. 

Leaning against the side of a building, Jin, once a grotesque tapestry of shadow and bone, now shimmers with angelic grace, courtesy of a botched mission and a particularly potent curse. He revels in the dissonance, the whispers of his true nature tickling the edges of his angelic façade. Humans, constantly oblivious to the storm brewing inside him, mistake his charm for benevolence, his mischievous grin for a divine smile. He is a wolf in sheep’s clothing, a predator in a sanctuary of light.

He twirls a strand of hair as he watches the countless hordes of faceless humans stride past him. Humans, like fireflies, flit across the avenues, their souls like flickering flames. Most hold no interest, their predictability a dull ache in his immortal boredom. But then, a glint of pure, celestial light catches his eye. An angel, disguised in the borrowed flesh of a human youth, stands on the corner adjacent to him, radiating an aura as vibrant as a sunrise. He watches on as the angel, resplendent even in the mortal flesh, navigates the human tide with an awkward grace. 

Jimin's name echoes in Jin’s mind, a whisper plucked from the supernatural airwaves. Jin cocks his head, watching the celestial, discerning that he is a novice. Jimin is inexperienced, a wide-eyed fawn in a wolf’s den.

Jimin’s innocence is like virgin snow, pure and untainted, waiting to be imprinted with the dark designs of Jin’s twisted amusement.

The perfect game piece. 

A thrill dances through Jin like a lightning bolt, not the usual hum of predatorial amusement, but something altogether sharper, more intoxicating. A mischievous curl creeps onto Jin’s lips. With a practiced grace, that has been honed from centuries of deception, he weaves through the throng, the city lights glinting off his unseen wings. 

“Lost, little lamb?” Jin’s voice, honeyed and smooth, cuts through the city’s cacophony.

Jimin turns, his cognac eyes widening in surprise. The golden rays emanating from his disguised form cast an ethereal glow across the chaotic street. But it is the darkness, a whisper hidden in the depths of his gaze, that draws Jin in. A flicker of rebellion, a crack in the otherworldly armor. 

Jimin, drawn by a force he can’t comprehend, steps closer. The aura around Jin, a faint hum of darkness, should send him fleeing. Yet, he finds himself drawn deeper, a curiosity eclipsing his fear, curiosity over encountering another being like himself. 

“N-no,” Jimin stammers, adjusting his borrowed human form with self-conscious fiddling. “Just…observing.”

Jin chuckles. “Observing the fascinating creatures of this earth, are we?” Jin offers a hand. “Well, allow me to offer some guidance. I know these streets better than any moonbeam.” This isn’t just amusement anymore. This is a challenge, a dance on the precipice of forbidden desire.

Jimin hesitates, the wings under his human guise rustle like whispered prayers. Then, with a sigh that ruffles the city air, he takes the offered hand, his fingers brushing against Jin’s with a spark that sends shivers down the demon’s spine.

“Thank you,” Jimin breathes, his gaze lingers on Jin for a beat too long, a whisper of starlight battling the celestial fire in his eyes. 

The walk through the bustling city offers a motley of sights and smells for Jimin. Jin, his guide and tormentor in equal measure, navigates the throngs with practiced ease, a picture of casual charm. Jimin, on the other hand, is a clumsy swan in a human pond, his borrowed skin prickling with unease. 

“So, earth delights you?” Jin asks, his voice a silken thread woven through the city’s hum. 

Jimin blushes, his celestial aura flickering like an overeager candle. “It’s…overwhelming,” he admits, his voice barely a whisper. “So much chaos, so much life.”

Jin chuckles a rich, dark sound that resonates in Jimin’s chest. “A chaos that dances to its own rhythm, wouldn’t you say?” He stops abruptly, his eyes glinting with an amusement that sends a tingle down Jimin’s spine. “Does it resonate with you, little angel?”

Jimin’s wings twitch under his borrowed skin. He knows he shouldn’t linger, and he can sense that there is more to Jin than he sees. Yet, Jin’s presence is a maelstrom he can’t seem to resist.

“There’s something…” Jimin begins, his voice barely a sigh. “A spark in this chaos, a warmth that draws me in.” He meets Jin’s gaze, the astral fire in his eyes battling the forbidden embers that flicker there. 

Jin’s smile deepens, a knowing curve that sends a shiver down Jimin’s spine. “Ah, the forbidden fruit, angel. Sweetest when plucked from the branches of danger.” He leans in, his breath a whisper of brimstone against Jimin’s ear. “But remember, little one, even the most tempting fruit can leave a bitter taste.”

Jimin’s heart hammers against his ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a gilded cage. The spark in Jin’s eyes, the warmth of his touch, draws him in like a moth to a flame. 

“I…I don’t care about the consequences,” Jimin whispers, his voice barely a tremor. “I only know that this moment, this feeling, it’s worth the risk.”

Jin’s smile widens, a predatory glint in his eyes. “Foolish angel,” he murmurs, his voice a caress. “Then let us dance, shall we? Let us taste the forbidden fruit and see if its sweetness outweighs the sting.”

He slips his hand around Jimin’s, his touch sending a jolt of forbidden electricity through the angel’s borrowed form. And with that, they step deeper into the city’s twilight.

Eventually, their journey finds them using a fire escape to settle on a rooftop. The city sprawls out beneath them like a glittering tapestry. The wind whispers secrets through the night, carrying the scent of jasmine and asphalt. Jin feels a flicker of something unexpected. Not the sharp thrill of anticipation, but a pang of something akin to regret. 

 Was it the way Jimin’s youthful face pales in the moonlight or the earnest tremor in his voice as he whispers, “This place is beautiful,” that touches a dormant chord within Jin?

For a fleeting moment, Jin sees himself reflected in Jimin's starlit eyes. Not the monstrous entity of shadow and bone, but the young, ethereal creator he once was before the curse, before the fall. An echo of the celestial light he had long extinguished in himself. 

Jin feels a strange vulnerability bloom within himself, a yearning for something he can’t name. Standing back, observing Jimin’s awe, he shakes himself. This is just a game, a predator’s pursuit—no room for hesitation, no space for compassion. 

Yet, as Jimin turns to him, his face alight with wonder, Jin finds himself hesitating. For the first time in centuries, the predator holds back, the wolf unsure of its prey.

The game had just begun, and the rules, it seemed, were about to change.

Jin’s façade trembles under Jimin’s gaze, the carefully crafted mask of charm threatening to crack under the weight of an unwelcome emotion. The devil within him snarls, urging him to pounce, to exploit the celestial’s trust. Yet, the merest whisper against the infernal damnation of his being echoes louder, a flicker of empathy he can’t quite extinguish.

Jin swallows the tightness in his throat, forcing his lips into a familiar, playful smirk. “Beautiful indeed, little lamb. This is just the beginning. There are secrets woven into this city’s very fabric, waiting to be unraveled.”

Jimin tilts his head, the naive curiosity in his eyes still undimmed. “Will you help me find them?”

The question hangs in the air, a challenge and an invitation. Jin stares into the depths of those starlit eyes, searching for a hint of suspicion, a flicker of fear. But there is only trust, a pure and unadulterated yearning for knowledge and adventure. 

In that moment, the predator falters. The game, he realizes, isn’t just about to change. It is about to shatter. He could still twist the knife, manipulate Jimin’s trust for his own amusement, but the thrill feels hollow, poisoned by the unexpected pang of something akin to…responsibility. 

He takes a deep breath, the scent of night air filling his lungs. “Yes,” he says, the word heavy on his tongue. “I’ll help you.”

The decision tastes like ashes in his mouth, a bitter compromise between his monstrous nature and the ghost of his celestial past. He watches the smile blossom on Jimin’s face, a light that could rival the moon. Jin knows this isn’t just a game anymore. It is a dance on the precipice, a perilous tango between darkness and light, with the fate of two celestial souls hanging in the balance. 

His gaze lingers on Jimin, the forbidden yearning gnawing at this resolve. This isn’t part of the plan, this impossible, intoxicating pull. But as Jimin’s eyes meet his, a larger spark of uncertainty ignites within the demon, and the fragile dam around Jin’s desires crumbles. Jin’s breath hitches. He knows the danger, the impossibility of their connection. But in the face of Jimin’s vulnerability, his own desire pulses with a forbidden fire.

Their lips meet in a kiss, a clash of celestial fire and demonic embers. It is a taste of forbidden fruit, sweet and intoxicating. As their lips part, a gasp escapes Jimin's mouth, a flicker of fear battling with the dawning realization of what they were doing. Jin sees it, the internal war raging within the angel. And in that moment, he knows the game has definitely changed. This isn’t just a dance with fate; it is a tightrope walk over the abyss, a gamble with their very souls.

But as the city lights shimmer around them, casting their forbidden tryst in a seductive glow, Jin can’t help but smile. He is a demon in angel's clothing, and he has just found his most tempting sin.

The night stretches before them, a blank canvas waiting to be painted with the colors of their forbidden desire. And as they stand there, bathed in the twilight, the city holds its breath, waiting to see what masterpiece would be born from the ashes of their celestial clash.

Whispers in the Moonlight

The city, a pulsing tapestry of sin and salvation, thrums with the electric tension of their forbidden entanglement. As dawn bleeds into dusk, Jin and Jimin meet in the shadowed corner of a long abandoned courtyard, hearts echoing a forbidden rhythm. Jin, cloaked in starlight, leads Jimin on a waltz through the neon wilderness, every whisper a searing brand against the angel’s soul.

Jimin, wings folded beneath a borrowed human skin, wrestles with the celestial fire simmering within. Duty whispers harsh reprimands, yet defiance roars like a caged beast. Jin, the devil on his shoulder, grins with eyes like bottomless pools, each touch a whispered promise of rebellion.

The city lights shimmer on Jimin’s skin, turning his eyes into molten gold. He trembles, not from fear, but from the intoxicating mix of temptation and longing that Jin ignites inside him. 

Jin leans in close enough for Jimin to feel the warmth of his breath against his cheek. “Do you hear it, angel?” he utters, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down Jimin’s spine. “The city’s heartbeat, pulsing with the rhythm of our forbidden song?”

His words are steeped in temptation. Jimin feels the celestial fire flicker, threatened by the seductive darkness Jin offers. He yearns to know the taste of rebellion, to shed the shackles of angelic rigidity and fly on the wings of his own desires.

Jimin, his heart a frantic drum against ribs, swallows hard. He can hear it, echoing in the symphony of car horns and distant laughter, a primal pulse that mirrors the yearning of his soul. 

“It’s… maddening,” he whispers, his voice barely audible above the city’s din.

Jin chuckles, a sound like tinkling ice against velvet. “Maddeningly beautiful, isn’t it?”

His thumb brushes the crest of Jimin’s cheek, the touch sending a jolt of forbidden electricity through him. Jimin’s eyes melt even further under the neon sky and meet Jin’s, the heat of their gaze a silent conversation—unspoken questions dance in the air between them.

“Jin,” Jimin breathes, his voice hoarse with a mixture of fear and exhilaration. “I… I can’t do this. Not anymore.”

The words hang heavy in the air, a discordant note introduced to their orchestra. Jin’s smile falters for a moment but is quickly masked by his impassive façade. “And what, angel,” he drawls, his voice laced with a dangerous edge, “is it that you can’t do?”

Jimin flinches at the challenge in Jin’s eyes. He knows he is playing with fire. While romantic dalliances with other angels aren’t forbidden, they aren’t looked on kindly, which is enough to deter most. 

But something, some spark of rebellion, ignites deep within him, refusing to be silenced. 

“I can’t deny this,” he says, his voice gaining strength with every word. “This…this fire that burns between us. We may be angels, Jin, but we are also men. And this city, this dark and beautiful chaos…it sings a song that my soul yearns to hear.”

The silence that follows Jimin’s confession is thick with unspoken tension. Jin’s eyes, usually warm and playful, flicker with a hidden storm. He takes a step toward Jimin, his gaze raking over him with an intensity that sends a shiver down the younger angel’s spine.

The city lights, once a backdrop to their clandestine meetings, now throb with a new meaning. The neon signs bleed into their vision, painting the shadows on their faces with a kaleidoscope of emotions. The symphony of car horns and distant laughter becomes a seductive song, urging them closer to the edge of what is and what isn’t permissible.

Jimin, emboldened by the defiance in Jin’s eyes, reaches out, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of Jin’s jaw. The touch is a spark, igniting a wildfire that threatens to consume them both. Jin’s breath hitches, and for a fleeting moment, his celestial façade flickers, revealing the hungry demon beneath.

Jin, feigning reluctance, breathes, “We can’t. The consequences…”

But Jimin, his heart pounding a forbidden drumbeat, cuts him off. “Consequences be damned,” he whispers, his lips brushing against Jin’s ear.

With that, he pulls Jin into a kiss, a desperate, hungry press of lips that speaks volumes of unspoken yearnings. The kiss is a rebellion, a declaration of defiance against the sterile order of their celestial existence. It is a taste of the forbidden fruit, a glimpse of a world where love, not duty, dictates their actions. 

As they break apart, breathless and reeling, the city lights seem to dance in celebration. The air crackles with an electric tension, the very fabric of their world shimmering with the weight of their choice. One of them knows the path they are embarking on is fraught with danger, while the other leads them down this defiant path. In that moment, surrounded by the cacophony of the city, they only see each other, a beacon of light in the darkness.

The moon, a pearl amidst the velvet tapestry of night, bathes the hidden courtyard in an ethereal glow. Jasmine tendrils, heavy with moonlit secrets, cling to the crumbling brick walls, weaving a fragrant canopy above Jimin and Jin. Here, within the shadows, the celestial rules morph and blur, their breaths forming wispy constellations against the obsidian sky. 

Jin, his dark hair a curtain against the lunar silver, cradles Jimin’s face in his hands. “There’s more to existence than humans and harp strings, angel,” he murmurs, his voice a caress against Jimin’s trembling lips. “The world whispers forgotten stories.”

Jimin, his resolve a fluttering moth against Jin’s intoxicating whispers, surrenders. He longs for the taboo secrets Jin offers, each a forbidden fruit bursting with a thousand forbidden flavors. Jin speaks of earthly music that makes the soul quake, of laughter that echoes through cobbled streets, of the bittersweet tang of tears shed for love and loss. He paints the world with his words, worlds where angels dance with mortals, where moonlight sculpts shadows into lovers’ embraces. 

“And you,” Jin murmurs, his lips trailing along Jimin’s jaw, “you, my angel, hold within you the music of a thousand unplayed instruments. Let me hear your orchestra,” he pleads, his voice raw with the hunger for what they both know is improper.

Jimin, his hidden wings trembling like fervent prayers, traces the forbidden map of Jin’s lips. “I… I fear the melody might be discordant,” he breathes, his voice a thread lost in the music of the night. 

Jin chuckles, a sound like wind chimes kissed by the starlight. “Then let me be your maestro, angel,” he whispers, his lips brushing against Jimin’s ear. “Together, we’ll orchestrate a symphony that will defy the heavens themselves.”

And so, under the moon’s silent gaze, they meld into one as their clothes litter the cobblestone around them. Jin’s hands overflow with the ample bounty of Jimin’s ass as he eliminates any molecule of space between them. The air around them resonates with the vibrations of their moans as their thickened shafts slide against each other. 

As their bodies move in harmony, a symphony of passion and desire, the boundaries between heaven and earth blur. Jimin clings to Jin, his nails digging into the smooth expanse of Jin’s back, each thrust of their hips driving them closer to the precipice of ecstasy. The courtyard, once a sheltered sanctuary, now bears witness to their entwined forms, the moonlight casting ethereal shadows upon their skin.

Their rhythm quickens, urgency fueled by the forbidden nature of their love. Jimin’s breath hitches as pleasure courses through him like an electric current. He presses his forehead against Jin’s, their eyes locked in a fierce gaze that speaks of devotion and rebellion. At this moment, they are no longer angels bound by celestial laws; they are simply two souls set on fire, seeking solace in each other’s embrace.

The symphony of car horns and distant laughter fades into the background as their moans fill the air, mingling with the rustle of the jasmine tendrils above. The earthy scent of the cobblestones mixes with the musk of their desire, the ground trembling beneath the force of their passion.

Jin leans in, his lips brushing against Jimin’s neck, his voice a whisper against his skin. “Fear not, my love,” he says. “Our music is perfect, even in its forbidden form.”

Jimin gasps as Jin thrusts harder against him, the sensation sending waves of pleasure coursing through him. He reaches up, his fingers tangling in Jin’s hair, his nails biting into his scalp. “Yes, Jin,” he moans, “make me your muse.”

The two continue their dance of passion, their bodies moving in perfect harmony. The jasmine tendrils above, heavy with blooms, seem to sway in time with their movements, adding a sweet fragrance to the air. Their moans echo through the courtyard, the sound of two souls joining together in a forbidden ensemble. The moon watches over them, its light casting silvery beams upon their entwined forms. As they reach the crescendo, their bodies colliding and surrendering to the forbidden music, the world around them seems to pause in reverence.

Finally, the moment arrives. The tension between them is palpable as they stand on the brink of the abyss. Jin's eyes lock onto Jimin's, his gaze intense and full of desire. In that moment, their connection is tangible. Jimin's fingers tug at Jin's hair, pulling him closer. Jin's lips devour Jimin's in an all-consuming kiss, the taste of forbidden fruit on their tongues. The air around them crackles with electricity, singeing the air surrounding them.

Jin's hips thrust harder against Jimin, their movements syncopated and raw. The heat from their bodies radiates outward, leaving the rest of the world behind. Their existence is limited to this moment, this place, this kiss.

As the last shuddering breath leaves their lips, they collapse against each other, their bodies spent. The moon's gaze fades, and the courtyard returns to its quiet solitude.

In the aftermath, Jin and Jimin lay entangled in each other's arms, their breaths slowing and their hearts beating as one. Jin knew this moment would come, but he had not anticipated the depths of emotions that would ensue. He feels a mix of euphoria and trepidation, his heart pounding in his chest.

Jimin, on the other hand, struggles with the implications of their actions. He had thought to quash his longings, keeping them hidden beneath layers of celestial duty. Now, he finds those same longings have become impossible to ignore. 

The consequences of their tryst linger on the horizon, a faint dissonance in the night’s melody. But for now, they bask in the lingering traces of their forbidden love. Jimin's fingers trace delicate patterns on Jin's bare skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. He looks up into Jin's eyes, the weight of their actions and the uncertainty of the future settling upon him like a heavy cloak.

"What have we done?" Jimin whispers, his voice laced with both regret and longing. "Is this worth defying everything we know?"

Jin's gaze meets Jin's, his eyes filled with a mixture of emotions that Jimin can't fully read. "Perhaps," he replies softly, "love is not meant to be bound by rules and expectations. Maybe it is meant to be wild, untamed, and willing to risk everything."

Jimin's heart swells at Jin's words, his fingers tightening their grip on Jin's body. He knows that the path they have chosen is treacherous and that they will face obstacles unlike any they have encountered before. 

Celestial Fear

Dawn creeps through the cityscape, painting the courtyard in a blush of pink. Jimin stirs, his eyelids fluttering open to the sight of Jin’s sleeping face, the warmth of his breath tickling Jimin’s cheek. The forbidden intimacy of their entwined bodies sends a shiver through him, a delicious echo of their celestial rebellion. 

But as Jimin traces the line of Jin’s jaw with his fingers, a shadow flickers across Jin’s eyes, a darkness deeper than the city’s nocturnal embrace. It was fleeting, gone as soon as it appeared, yet it left a tremor in Jimin’s heart.

“Jin,” he whispers, his voice hesitant, “what was that?”

Jin’s eyes flutter open, the celestial depths replaced by a flicker of embers, a glimpse of something wild and untamed. He sits up, pulling away from Jimin, and for a moment, Jimin feels a chill crawl down his spine.

“Nothing,” Jin says, his voice strained, “just a memory, a whisper from before.”

But Jimin isn’t convinced. The darkness that tinges Jin’s eyes, it isn’t mere nostalgia, it is something colder, something sharper. A doubt, a seed of suspicion, begins to sprout in Jimin’s mind.

“Before?” he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper. “Before…what?”

Jin hesitates, his gaze flickering away. Then, with a sigh that seems to carry the weight of centuries, he turns back to Jimin, his eyes lock on his his with an intensity that makes Jimin’s heart pound.

“Angel,” he says, his voice husky, “before I met you, before all this… I was… different.”

A cold dread washes over Jimin. He knows, instinctively, that the answer he is about to hear will shatter the fragile world they have built in these stolen moments.

“Different how?” Jimin whispers, his voice trembling.

Jin reaches out, his fingers brushing against Jimin’s cheek, a fleeting touch that sends shivers down his spine. “I’m not an angel, Jimin,” he says, his voice barely audible. “I am…” he pauses, his eyes searching Jimin’s face for any sign of rejection, “I am fallen.”

The words hang heavy in the air, the revealed truth shattering the foundation of their forbidden love. Jimin stares at Jin, his mind a whirlwind of confusion and fear. Fallen. The word conjures images of rebellion, of darkness, of everything his angelic existence is supposed to reject. 

But then, another truth dawns on him. The way Jin’s eyes had softened when he spoke of forbidden knowledge, the way his lips had burned against Jimin’s, the way he had whispered promises of defiant symphonies… could it be…?

“Jin,” Jimin breathes, his voice thick with emotion, “does that mean… you…”

Jin cuts him off, his lips crashing against Jimin’s in a kiss that is both desperate and tender. “You became the sun I couldn’t turn away from.”

The world spins around them. The city lights blur into a smear of monochrome. In that kiss, Jimin tastes not defiance but vulnerability, a demon confessing his love for an angel of light. And in that moment, Jimin knows, with a terrifying, exhilarating certainty, that he is falling too.

The consequences of their love looms larger than ever,  a storm brewing on the horizon. But for now, under the fading blush of dawn, two souls, one fallen, one faltering, hold each other close, their defiance a whispered promise in the face of the impossible.

As the days pass, they steal fleeting moments together, each touch and stolen glance an act of rebellion against the heavens. In these stolen moments, they discover truths about themselves and each other that make their love burn even brighter. They learn that love can be both soft and fierce, a gentle caress one moment, an inferno of passion the next. And as their love grows deeper, so does the danger that lurks around them.

Whispers begin to spread through the divine airways like a dark fog descending upon their fragile haven. News of their trysts reaches the ears of the celestial council, a gathering of angelic beings who uphold the laws of the heavens. Their verdict is swift and unforgiving: Jimin and Jin's love is an abomination, a stain on the purity of their existence. 

Perched on the brink of rebellion, the city quakes beneath a moonlit sky. Whispers of divine punishment swirl in the air, a constant reminder of the consequences for defying heaven's orders. Jimin feels his heart tremble as he gazes at his celestial flames, their once radiant white glow now tinged red with fear and doubts. He wants to retreat to the safe, sterile world of angels but cannot suppress the fiery longing that burns within him.

"Turn back, angel," booms a thunderous voice, sending a chill down Jimin's spine. "This path leads only to darkness."

At his side stands Jin, the fallen star, his obsidian eyes ablaze with defiance. His words are a whispered song of chaos tempting Jimin towards rebellion. "Choose, angel," he purrs, his seductive tone pulling him closer to danger. "Embrace the fire within or extinguish it under the rain of heaven."

Caught between duty and desire, Jimin stands at a crossroads with a heavy heart. Will he continue to follow his angelic purpose or surrender to the all-consuming love that threatens to devour him, wings and all? It feels like the city is holding its breath, an audience for the final act of this unlikely love story. Jimin must choose: remain shackled to heaven or fly free in Jin's embrace.

As the weight of his decision hangs in the air, Jimin feels the world around him blur into a hazy backdrop. His thoughts swirl in a tempest of conflicting desires, tearing his celestial essence apart. To choose Jin is to abandon everything he has ever known, forsaking his place among the heavens and casting aside his angelic duties. But to deny himself this love would be to wither away, a flame extinguished before it had a chance to dance and illuminate the darkness.

Jimin turns and gazes into Jin's eyes, and he sees a different kind of light - untamed and exhilarating. It beckons to him, calling him away from the predictable world of angels and towards a life filled with passion and uncertainty.

At that moment, Jimin knows what he must do. With trembling hands, he reaches out to Jin, feeling the electric current that courses between them. The celestial flames flicker their once vibrant glow, reigniting with newfound determination.

"I choose love," Jimin whispers with conviction, his voice carrying through the night sky. The heavens quake in response, thunder rolling across the city as if signifying a shifting balance of power.

As Jimin’s words echo, the air crackles with anticipation. The celestial council, shrouded in a halo of divine light, seems to hesitate, their judgment hanging heavy in the air. Jin, his face alight with a mixture of relief and defiance, grasps Jimin’s hand. Their fingers intertwine, a testament to the love that challenges the very fabric of the heavens. 

The lead celestial, his voice laced with disappointment, speaks, “Your decision defies the sacred laws, angel. Are you truly prepared to face the consequences?”

Jimin, his voice unwavering, meets the celestial’s gaze. “I am,” he declares, his stance resolute. “For love, I am willing to forsake the heavens, to dance with the shadows, to face whatever judgment may come.”

A wave of murmurs sweeps through the council, some laced with disapproval, others with a glimmer of understanding. The lead celestial, his expression unreadable, ponders their response. 

Suddenly, a blinding light erupts from the heavens, engulfing Jimin and Jin. It is a baptism of sorts, a celestial test of their resolve. As the light subsides, they stand there, transformed. Jimin’s angelic wings, once pristine white, now bear streaks of obsidian black.

“You have chosen,” the lead celestial booms, his voice echoing. “You have defied the heavens, and now, you shall bear the mark of your rebellion.”

Despite the mark, Jimin doesn’t feel shame but a surge of empowerment. They have chosen each other, defying the celestial order and embracing the unknown. Their path won’t be easy as the council’s judgment isn’t the end. They are now outcasts and will be hunted by celestial forces who see their love as a threat to the established order. 

While their journey will be fraught with danger, heartbreak, and moments of doubt, their love will be their anchor.

[pisspope]

Attack on Titan + Favorite Cocktails

Part 1: Scouts

so I want to make actual cocktails that I feel like represent these characters but it's gonna take some time to craft. so for now here's the regular drinks I think they'd really like + links to the recipes if you want to try them for yourself!

I tried not to include rum in any of the scouts recipes because i don't think that's something they would logically have access to. Connie's recipe includes rum but it can be substituted with vodka quite easily, so i thought it was worth including.

Eren + Feuerzangenbowle

- a mulled wine, but with a sugar cone that u set on fire !!!

- this is one of Connie's favs too but they never let him make it because they don't want him anywhere near an open flame

- eren likes the mulled wine by itself too, when the scouts are in hiding he makes it as a treat on cold nights

- makes it as more of a social event as opposed to just wanting to drink. loves to gather everybody around him while he sets the sugar cones ablaze one by one

- his mulling experience makes him the best punch maker of the scouts too. In a modern!au he's always tasked with making the punch for parties and get togethers. he puts his hair in a little lunch lady style hairnet and gets roasted to shit by Jean.

Mikasa + Kirsch Royale

- red like her scarf 😱😱😱

- very very cherry flavored mixed with champagne

- like mikasa; beautiful, will knock u on ur ass

- historia introduced her to it at her coronation party. everyone's popping cheap champagne and historia Demands that they bring out the good stuff for her friends

- just likes vodka-soaked cherries in general; anything that's spent time submerged in alcohol is her finger food of choice

- if Jean/Mikasa endgame they bond over their love of cherry liqueur idk idk ((also kirsch?? kirschstein?? the flirting opportunities baby))

Armin + Aperol Spritz

- lightweight alert!!!!!

- usually a really light alcohol content, pregame type of drink. just a white wine and some sparkling water really

- armin has two of these when he first drinks and gets absolutely blasted. Someone (probably jean) snuck it from erwins office the night before shiganshina 2 electric boogaloo

- armin drinks it on special occasions. But he also likes to bring a pitcher of it down whenever he talks to Annie

- in the modern day he LOVES Pina coladas, but in universe he has no clue what a pineapple or a coconut is so

- when he goes to marley he also discovers blue caraçao and puts that shit in everything ("it makes whatever you drink look like the ocean!!!")

Jean + French Connection

- called "The Connection" because France doesn't exist

- just cognac with amaretto liqueur

- his dad drinks it; that's it that's the reason

- he thinks it's cool and masc because it's served in a brandy glass and only has two simple ingredients; wants to be seen as an adult and a man's man or w/e

- has a convo post-rumbling talking about how he "wished all alcohol wasn't so bitter tasting". man has had only cognac and a hint of amaretto his whole life. Annie buys him a sweet moscato wine ("her one good deed for the week") and his head explodes

Sasha + Rumplesnuggler

- literally creamy alcoholic hot chocolate (peppermint schnapps and Irish cream being the alcoholic part)

- sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet

- her dad made it for her one christmas and ever since then she's been hooked

- every time she drinks it it takes her back to the cold woods of her youth, of her loving family, and of her moms delicious cooking

- gabi and falco try the non-alcoholic version of this and love it too. instant sugar high

- she also really likes anything with vodka because it's made with potatoes lol

Connie + Green Demon

- midori and lemon juice!!! Toxic waste in a bottle!!

- azumabito brings a bottle of midori as a gesture of goodwill (likely called something else at this point) and Connie just 👀👀 "it's green. Like GREEN green"

- he's putting it in everything, like it's food coloring. Green water, green green tea, green coffee. Menace to society

- he lets niccolo try it and he ponders the taste for a second. "Let me try something". Squeezes a WHOLE LEMON into the glass (he's a chef not a bartender). Tastes it, immediately regrets it. Sooo sour. He's about to throw it out but lets connie try his concoction of the damned first

- Love At First Sip. man never tried that marleyan wine because it's just midori and lemons from here on out

- when he gets married they toast this instead of champagne. heck he might just get married to the bottle

- Connie Springer Midori Melon Man

Levi + Dry Martini

- my first thought was a U-Boot which is just beer with vodka poured in it. this man weighs 100 pounds soaking wet and 50 of those pounds have to be liquor before he feels anything

- instead it's gin and vermouth which is. Not much better tbh

- levi likes to be in control of what he drinks but also what he looks like while he's drinking it. No unsophisticated beer kegs or basic wine glasses. It's martini glass or bust. No martini glass? He'll just drink water.

- same with the olives or lemon peel. No garnish? No drink. he's a little picky

- definitely has a favorite bar that makes it Just Right. probably a bar he went to with Erwin when they were starry-eyed scouts

- in the modern day he also makes a hell of a mixer. Kenny 100% taught him how to make a killer trash can punch

?????????????????????????

Hange + ???

- do NOT engage hange in talks about alcohol do NOT pass go do NOT collect 200 dollars

- their fav drink does not have a name. it is a long island iced tea but made of GARBAGE

- the ingredients change every time but it is invariably disgusting

- attempts at mixing include: pickle juice, barbecue sauce, mayonnaise, seawater, bone marrow, olive oil

- every once in a while a combo will come together that shouldn't work but absolutely does. do not trust this miracle to happen twice

@lemmetreatya @nuri148 @uwubraun u guys said u were interested so!! here it is!! i did it. my opus. im gonna do the warriors next and i already have Ideas

[enginire]

@nightcars // five times kissed.

001. ATTENTION ALL PASSENGERS. EMERGENCY LOCKDOWN IN EFFECT. AS WE PREPARE FOR POSSIBLE DERAILMENT, WE ASK THAT YOU PLEASE REMEMBER YOUR IN-TRANSIT SAFETY DIRECTIVE: BRACE IN PLACE. I REPEAT, BRACE IN PLACE.

a stray bead of sweat tracks its way down the side of her face as the car jolts, quickly, heavily, flinging an overpacked toolbox halfway along the metal grate between two steel carts. (the suit is heavy. unyielding. it's a cocoon and two inches of reinforced woven plastic that keep her fingers from the track and limbs from the cold.)

BRACE IN PLACE. BRACE IN PLACE.

there is a chandelier swinging in the nightcar, and a bitten inner cheek as audrey directs women and children into the warmth, peeling off with heavy blankets and fur coats. don't worry. wiIford will save us. the eternal engineer will save us, is a quiet child's hum under screeching brakes and sparks flicking up into the windows. the eternal engineer will save us is whispered from mother to child, you'll see, you'll see. mr wiIford will save us.

hydraulic fluid stains through breachman gear, slipping between fingers as she drags her body further and further out of the bottom of the car. the wind is rabid, furious, spitting up driftsnow and chipped ice from each edge of the track as she reaches. it's quick. hard. two inches too far. one inch too far. one foot slips from the airlock. fingers press — stretch — shoulder threatens to dislodge —

you got this, meI. you got this. you can do this. she can do this. come on, girl, we can do this — we can — GOT IT.

there's a particularly heavy rock that tumbles down between the slats in the track as her body is hoisted back up, airlock snapped shut, and boki hauls her over to the nearest wall to gain her bearings again. heavy. jesus fucking christ, heavy. (she doesn't know how long it takes for her heart to stop pounding so quickly in her chest, but she twitches each finger to check circulation, and before long, she hears unmistakable taptaptap of heels and an are we going to make it? mumbled almost indistinctly from the corner of the room.)

her helmet's off soon after, a gasped breath hisses from her lips, and when she opens her mouth to talk, it's hushed immediately. two hands on her cheeks, splayed wide and bracing, and a hard line of red lipstick presses into her lower lip.

"thank you, meIanie."

002. ATTENTION ALL TICKETED PASSENGERS. WILFORD INDUSTRIES WOULD LIKE TO REMIND YOU TO PLEASE DIRECT ALL REQUESTS TO YOUR HOSPITALITY REPRESENTATIVE, LOCATED AT THE FRONT OF YOUR CAR.

teal is not her colour. the fabric is starched within an inch of its life and seems to turn her a ghastly shade of pale when the collar presses hard up against her throat. the wants and needs of the train are different beasts — first want cognac, third want better access to medicines, first want tempered ice and cocktail garnish, second want better gym access, third want reproductive rights and ration sanctions lifted —

the bees are the real first tragedy. there's a picked cuticle on her left hand that, when her mind wanders, she scratches at, and colony collapse has unprecedented effects that she's not sure people truly comprehend. no bees, no pollination. no pollination, poor crops. lower crop yields. starvation from the guts of the train and out. the bees are sacred, and yet — fuck, and yet.

first want honey, and that's the last straw. she has spent the past hour arguing with sweet, passive nods and apologies on mr wiIford's behalf about the extinction of the bees, and her head is beginning to pound with robert foIger's unmistakable legalese of a man who still thinks he's in a highrise office block in san francisco. there are no more bees! there just aren't! you can't have any! because! there aren't! any more! bees!

it doesn't come out quite like that, but she leaves with that same gnawing feeling in her gut and marches, red-sole charging from car to car, straight toward the nightcar.

it's not late enough for audrey to have retired to her room, but she tries the door anyway. two knocks, solid, fast, and the door's open. it's hard, when meI all but stumbles through the doorframe and grabs the other woman close. (the kiss is hard — she is all thumbs and all fists, gripping at the back of her corset and tugging her in behind the door with a ferocity that won't stop. she needs this now, fast, hard, in whatever fucking way possible because there's that stone in her stomach and the knot in her chest.)

the door slams shut.

003. ATTENTION ALL PASSENGERS. WE ARE ALL HAUNTED BY OUR CHOICES. MAY WE ALL MOVE FORWARD WITH GREATER AWARENESS OF THE CHOICES THAT WE MAKE. WE ARE ONE TRAIN. TODAY, THAT TRAIN CHOOSES CHANGE. I HEREBY RELINQUISH GOVERNANCE OF SNOWPIERCER TO THE REBEL FORCES. THESE ARE OUR REVOLUTIONS, 994 CARS LONG.

it's not pretty being on the outs. the teals are shifted back into circulation, ripped out from the closet and folded haphazardly into a pile next to the intercom. the change in tide comes slowly, then all at once — from fascist bitch to chief engineer. one hundred and forty seven people have died unnecessarily over the past few weeks, and she's sure Iayton is compiling his own statistics from the tail up; a rebellion is nothing short of a massacre in a tin can, but the more she frequents the nightcar, the more she can see its improvements. rebuilding — scrubbing dried blood from engraved railings, sanding down the W insignias that drive this place fucking crazy. recouping resources, reinstating services, and seeing a greater incline in quality of life — not just for first. it's... hopeful.

the first drink is a solo one, and it lines the back of her throat with an unfamiliar warmth. the second is one shared with the only bartender on the train who doesn't wish her dead. the third takes her into miss audrey's room, and the fourth places a careful kiss to the corner of her mouth.

"what are we doing here?" tired and warm at the end of a bed — what are we doing here? what does the world have to do to put them together? the nightcar's changed, but so has meIanie. peel back the wiIford mask, and there's a woman clinging to the i in survival, and kicking at the a until it keeps her upright.

"living, meI. you should try it."

004. ATTENTION ALL PASSENGERS. THE TIME IS TEN O'CLOCK. WILFORD INDUSTRIES WOULD LIKE TO WISH YOU A GOODNIGHT.

there's a steady hum coming from beneath her fingers, and a bowl of ramen steaming away quietly on the side of the console. javi would have a fit, but as her eyes blur and sting from being open too long, and as the monitor blares back a hazy 03:00, she lifts the phone and dials in straight.

"— 'henry hunter starred as dick sherwood in this 1936 american crime film'. eleven letters." it's become a tradition — or at least a comfort. audrey's voice on the other end of a phone, and four hours left on shift feels a little too saccharine.

"yeIIowstone, meIanie." y-e-I-I— perfect. she slinks back in the chair, resting her head back against its shoulder, and she thinks. pauses. sets the autopilot with a quick tap and breathes a deep sigh down the other side of the phone.

"come up?"

ten minutes later, there's a woman straddling her lap and pressing soft, careful kisses into her collar. (engineering is neat). fingers slowly coax the zip of her suit down, and meI stops her hands for a moment. just for long enough to tip the underside of audrey's chin and press a languid kiss into her mouth.

005. there is no announcement today.

she's fitted with a volt sled and a suit that swallows her entirely. battery packs, ration packs, water packs — everything packed, slotted into each available space away from the doppler and thermal blanket combo. (it's wrapped in there — keep the science safe. trust the science.)

she is not a meteorologist. seven years, and she still doesn't understand how they truly got to this point. they hurt her. boiled her. froze her, then held their hands up to say sorry guys, our bad while the vast majority of the global population froze in their beds and rioted amongst one another. she is not a meteorologist, but she's become quite attuned with the concept of survival. if there's anything out there, they need to know.

the cold lock is empty as she finishes packing everything up — enough supplies for a couple of months, just in case, but the plan is good. sound. the data is more important, and as long as she can make it there, and set up each probe — that's good enough for her. it's been a long time coming, and a long time taking arms and subduing human need. this will be good for everyone.

"you weren't going to go without saying goodbye now, were you?"

the voice comes from the doorway. she may as well have been in mourning dress, for the solemn cut of dark lipstick and the nearly-but-not-quite tears brimming in her eyes. (meI hadn't been avoiding this, but she's never been particularly good at goodbyes. so she straightens, closes the gap between them, and brushes her finger over the back of audrey's hand.)

"it's not a goodbye." it's a ninety five percent chance of being a goodbye. "— keep her safe, please? and keep yourself safe." it runs the risk of becoming more and more like a goodbye the longer they're there.

(ninety six percent)

when audrey catches meI's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze and a sombre nod (yes, of course she'll look after aIex), she plants a final, certain, fervid kiss against her lips.

ninety eight percent.

[tempsdesfetesdixieland2023]

Mercredi 20 décembre 2023

Nous avons débuté la journée par une visite de Garden District, quartier où la bourgeoisie américaine est venue s’établir, en périphérie du quartier français, dans les années 1850-1860. On y trouve un concentré de magnifiques demeures typiques du sud des États-Unis de cette époque (photos 2, 3 et 4). Sur notre parcours, nous avons emprunté la rue Philip, avec son nom gravé sur le trottoir: pendant un bref instant, j’ai eu l’impression de voir mon nom gravé à tout jamais dans le sol, comme à Hollywood (photo 5) ! Pour nous rendre dans Garden District, nous avons emprunté le tramway, non pas nommé Désir, mais St Charles 951 (photo 1).

En après-midi, nous sommes allés au Sazerac House, maison établie depuis le 19ème siècle à la Nouvelle-Orléans, fabriquant tant du rye, du bourbon que du cognac. Nous avons eu droit à un cours d’une heure portant sur le Sazerac (photo 6), le cocktail officiel de la ville, et peut-être le plus ancien dont la recette nous soit parvenue : rye, bitters Peychaud, Herbsaint, sucre, glaçons et zeste de citron (photo 7). C’est un délicieux cocktail, et j’ai eu bien de la difficulté à me retenir, souhaitant profiter au maximum de mon séjour ici : j’ai donc bu 4 Sazerac dans la journée de mercredi… À l’intérieur du Sazerac House, on peut notamment admirer une vitrine des bouteilles de marque Sazerac faisant une hauteur de 3 étages (photo 8) !

En soirée, nous avons pris notre repas chez Muriel’s, resto situé à deux pas de la cathédrale Saint-Louis. J’ai eu droit à une entrée dont je me souviendrai longtemps : ce n’était pas une bouillabaisse, mais une bayoubaisse, soit l’équivalent du plat provençal, mais avec les ingrédients du coin (photo 9). Le bouillon à la cajun était tout simplement sublime : dans le top 5 des meilleurs plats à vie !

Nous avons terminé la journée au Fritzel’s European Jazz Pub, un bar qui était rempli à craquer au moment de notre arrivée, mais où nous avons réussi à nous frayer un chemin jusqu’au premier rang avec un peu de patience. Les musiciens étaient de haut calibre et nous ont offert une performance hors du commun (video en guise de photo 10). C’est un endroit à ne pas manquer lors d’une visite à la Nouvelle-Orléans.

[les-degustations-ugo]

🇫🇷❓❓Hello les amoureux du tire-bouchon. Et vous, Connaissez-vous les whiskies de NOUVELLE-ZÉLANDE 🇫🇷❓❓

🥃Whisky Single Malt Pokeno cuvée Discovery distribué par @whiskiesdumonde 🥃

📌Élaboré intégralement à partir d’orge maltée, cultivée sur l’île sud de la Nouvelle-Zélande

Double distillation lente afin de maximiser le contact avec le cuivre et conférer un maximum de rondeur. Assemblage de whiskies vieillis en fûts de bourbon et en fûts de sherry 📌.

🌡️:

43°

👁️:

Robe de couleur acajou

👃:

Un nez fruité sur des notes de poires, nectarines, cacao en poudre.

💋:

En bouche, on a un whisky avec une belle complexité et une belle richesse gustative. Sur des arômes de fruits à noyau, épices (poivre, cannelle), gâteaux au chocolat noir. Une grande longueur en bouche avec une finale sur des notes de fruits secs (amandes et noisettes torréfiées).

📜 En résumé📜:

Un beau single malt très aromatique avec une longueur en bouche de dingue. Un whisky gourmand qui réchauffe le corps et l'esprit, idéal en cette période. J'ai littéralement craqué sur son profil gustatif. Une belle découverte.

🔞« L'abus d'alcool est dangereux pour la santé, à consommer avec modération »🔞 La plupart des

vins ont été dégustés et recrachés. Dégustation non rémunéré.

#lesdegustationsugo #wine #winelover #vino #winetasting #winetime #winelovers #instawine #redwine #winestagram #winery #beer #wineoclock #vin #sommelier #love #vinho #foodporn #winelife #instagood #whitewine #cocktails #drinks #wein #foodie #wineporn #drink

___________________________________________

🗣️Description de la maison @whiskiesdumonde 🗣️

Basé à Mérignac près de Bordeaux, Whiskies du Monde se présente comme un distributeur de spiritueux partenaire capable de répondre aux enjeux de chaque marque et à ceux du marché. Dotée d’une force de frappe commerciale multi-réseaux de distribution mais aussi d’une équipe dévouée à la construction des marques de spiritueux, Whiskies du Monde commercialise plusieurs catégories de spiritueux dont une large sélection de whiskies écossais, japonais, irlandais, indiens, taïwanais, anglais et français. Ces whiskies viennent également se compléter d’une sélection de rhums japonais, dominicains, panaméens, portoricains, qu’ils soient vieux ou épicés mais aussi d’autres catégories de produits comme le gin, la vodka, le porto, le cognac, le mezcal, la cachaça ou les tonics.

Chaque spiritueux est unique, tout comme chaque client, pour cela une attention très particulière est portée à la sélection des spiritueux pour garantir à la fois la qualité et la complémentarité du portefeuille produits. Un portefeuille réfléchi et ajusté de 50 marques environ permettant de se focaliser sur leur développement commercial ainsi que sur la construction de leur image grâce à un accompagnement sur-mesure.

Whiskies du Monde va au-delà de son rôle de distributeur de spiritueux, ayant à cœur de partager les plus beaux savoir-faire avec ses clients ou tout amateur de spiritueux. Pour cela, l’entreprise met les moyens nécessaires au développement d’outils éducatifs pour mieux comprendre et découvrir l’immensité de l’univers spiritueux.

Pour compléter son expertise métier, Whiskies du Monde est également créateur de spiritueux. En 2019, l’entreprise a lancé sa toute première marque de whiskies single malt français : Évadé. Des whiskies cultivés, distillés et vieillis en France, élaborés de façon naturelle et sans aucun additif. De nouvelles créations de spiritueux seront à venir au fil des années.

___________________________________________

⏬🇫🇷Français dans les commentaires🇫🇷🇮🇹Italiano nei commenti 🇮🇹⏬

🇬🇧❓❓Hello corkscrew lovers. And you, do you know NEW ZEALAND whiskeys 🇬🇧❓❓

🥃Single Malt Whiskey Pokeno vintage Discovery distributed by @whiskiesdumonde 🥃

📌Made entirely from malted barley, grown on the South Island of New Zealand Slow double distillation to maximize contact with the copper and provide maximum roundness. Blend of whiskeys aged in bourbon barrels and sherry barrels 📌.

🌡️:

43°

👁️:

Mahogany color dress

👃:

A fruity nose with notes of pears, nectarines, cocoa powder.

💋:

On the palate, we have a whiskey with beautiful complexity and richness of taste. With aromas of stone fruits, spices (pepper, cinnamon), dark chocolate cakes. Great length on the palate with a finish of notes of dried fruits (almonds and roasted hazelnuts).

📜In summary📜:

A beautiful, very aromatic single malt with a crazy long finish. A gourmet whiskey that warms the body and mind, ideal during this period. I literally fell in love with its taste profile. A great discovery.

🔞“Alcohol abuse is dangerous for your health, consume in moderation”🔞Most wines were tasted and spat out. Unpaid tasting.

#lesdegustationsugo #wine #winelover #vino #winetasting #winetime #winelovers #instawine #redwine #winestagram #winery #beer #wineoclock #vin #sommelier #love #vinho #foodporn #winelife #instagood #whitewine #cocktails #drinks #wein #foodie #wineporn #drink

___________________________________________

🇬🇧🗣️Description of the house @whiskiesdumonde 🇬🇧🗣️

Based in Mérignac near Bordeaux, Whiskeys du Monde presents itself as a partner spirits distributor capable of meeting the challenges of each brand and those of the market. With a multi-distribution network commercial strike force but also a team devoted to the construction of spirits brands, Whiskeys du Monde markets several categories of spirits including a wide selection of Scotch, Japanese, Irish, Indian, Taiwanese, English and French. These whiskeys are also complemented by a selection of Japanese, Dominican, Panamanian, Puerto Rican rums, whether aged or spicy, but also other categories of products such as gin, vodka, port, cognac, mezcal , cachaça or tonics.

Each spirit is unique, just like each customer, for this very particular attention is paid to the selection of spirits to guarantee both the quality and the complementarity of the product portfolio. A thoughtful and adjusted portfolio of around 50 brands allowing them to focus on their commercial development as well as on the construction of their image thanks to tailor-made support.

Whiskeys du Monde goes beyond its role as a spirits distributor, having at heart to share the finest know-how with its customers or any spirits lover. For this, the company puts the necessary means to the development of educational tools to better understand and discover the immensity of the spirits universe.

To complete its business expertise, Whiskeys du Monde is also a creator of spirits. In 2019, the company launched its very first brand of French single malt whiskies: Évadé. Whiskeys grown, distilled and aged in France, produced naturally and without any additives. New creations of spirits will be coming over the years.

___________________________________________

🇮🇹❓❓Ciao amanti dei cavatappi. E tu, conosci i whisky NEOZELANDESI 🇮🇹❓❓

🥃Single Malt Whisky Pokeno vintage Discovery distribuito da @whiskiesdumonde 🥃

📌Prodotto interamente con malto d'orzo, coltivato nell'Isola del Sud della Nuova Zelanda Doppia distillazione lenta per massimizzare il contatto con il rame e fornire la massima rotondità. Miscela di whisky invecchiati in botti di bourbon e botti di sherry 📌.

🌡️:

43°

👁️:

Abito color mogano

👃:

Un naso fruttato con note di pere, nettarine, cacao in polvere.

💋:

Al palato, abbiamo un whisky di bella complessità e ricchezza di gusto. Con aromi di drupacee, spezie (pepe, cannella), dolci al cioccolato fondente. Grande persistenza al palato con un finale di note di frutta secca (mandorle e nocciole tostate).

📜In sintesi📜:

Un bellissimo single malt molto aromatico con un finale pazzesco. Un whisky gourmet che scalda il corpo e la mente, ideale in questo periodo. Mi sono letteralmente innamorato del suo profilo gustativo. Una grande scoperta

🔞“L'abuso di alcol è pericoloso per la salute, consumalo con moderazione”🔞Most i vini venivano degustati e sputati. Degustazione non retribuita.

__________________________________________

🇮🇹🗣️Descrizione della casa @whiskiesdumonde 🇮🇹🗣️

Con sede a Mérignac vicino a Bordeaux, Whiskys du Monde si presenta come un distributore di alcolici partner in grado di affrontare le sfide di ogni marchio e quelle del mercato. Con una forza d'attacco commerciale di rete multi-distributiva ma anche un team dedicato alla costruzione di marchi di alcolici, Whiskys du Monde commercializza diverse categorie di alcolici tra cui un'ampia selezione di scozzesi, giapponesi, irlandesi, indiani, taiwanesi, inglesi e francesi. Questi whisky sono anche accompagnati da una selezione di rum giapponesi, dominicani, panamensi, portoricani, invecchiati o speziati, ma anche altre categorie di prodotti come gin, vodka, porto, cognac, mezcal, cachaça o tonic.

Ogni distillato è unico, proprio come ogni cliente, per questa particolarissima attenzione è riservata alla selezione dei distillati per garantire sia la qualità che la complementarietà del portafoglio prodotti. Un portafoglio ponderato e adeguato di circa 50 marchi che consente loro di concentrarsi sullo sviluppo commerciale e sulla costruzione della propria immagine grazie a un supporto su misura.

Whiskys du Monde va oltre il suo ruolo di distributore di alcolici, avendo a cuore di condividere il miglior know-how con i suoi clienti o qualsiasi amante degli alcolici. Per questo, l'azienda mette i mezzi necessari allo sviluppo di strumenti educativi per comprendere e scoprire meglio l'immensità dell'universo degli spiriti.

Per completare la sua esperienza commerciale, Whiskys du Monde è anche un creatore di alcolici. Nel 2019, l'azienda ha lanciato il suo primo marchio di whisky single malt francesi: Évadé. Whisky coltivati, distillati e invecchiati in Francia, prodotti naturalmente e senza alcun additivo. Nuove creazioni di spirit arriveranno nel corso degli anni.

[strange-messengers]

Au revoir, March. The vieux carre, the famed New Orleans cocktail blended with rye, sweet vermouth, cognac, Benedictine liqueur, and bitters. This drink is from the new Uptown Sports Club in Austin.

[rumverliebt]

(Werbung aufgrund von Markennennung) . 🇫🇯🇫🇯🇫🇯 Plantation Rum Isle Of Fiji 40% 0,7L 🇫🇯🇫🇯🇫🇯 . Für den hochwertige Plantation Rum Isle of Fiji wurde Melasse genommen. Destilliert wurde der Rum sowohl in pot still als auch in column still. Nach der Destillation lagerte der Fiji Rum erst zwei bis drei Jahre in amerikanischen Bourbonfässern aus Weisseiche. Danach geht das Destillat auf Reise nach Frankreich, wo er für weitere 12 Monate in gebrauchten Cognacfässern in den kühlen Kellern von Château de Bonbonnet / Cognac nachreift. Die Reifung in zwei unterschiedlichen Fasstypen und die unterschiedlichen Klimazonen haben den Fidschi Rum eine ganz persönliche Note gegeben. Abgefüllt wird der Rum mit einem Alkoholgehalt von 40 % vol. in 0,7-l Flaschen und zusätzlich mit 16g Zucker pro Liter gesüßt und mit dem Farbstoff: E150a nachgefärbt. . Gewinnertyp: Auf dem German Rum Festival 2022 wurde Plantation Rum mit seinem Isle Of Fiji mit einer Gold Medaille belohnt. Wir sagen „Herzlichen Glückwunsch“ und hattet ihr schon den Rum im Glas? Wenn nicht, wird es jetzt höchste Zeit. . Alexandre Gabriel, Master Blender bringt uns mit dem Plantation Rum Isle of Fiji die Geschmacksvielfalt der Insel Fidschi in Form eines gut gemachten Rums näher. Er ist dabei kraftvoll sowie fruchtig und ist gerade für Einsteiger ein bezahlbarer Sipping-Rum der echt Spaß macht. Genießt ihn gerne pur, aber auch in einer Coke gefällt er mir und für leckere Cocktails ist er eine echte preiswerte Alternative zu den teuren Rumsorten 😉👍🥃 . Weitere Informationen zu dem Produkt und eine Bestell-Möglichkeit findet Ihr unter folgenden ℹ️ Link: . https://www.rumverliebt.de/plantation-rum-isle-of-fiji-40-07l.html . ⛔️Verkauf nur an Personen über 18 Jahren⛔️ . #plantationrumisleoffiji #fijianrum #plantationrum #fijirum #rum #rhum #ron #tasting #rumtasting #rumlovers #rumcocktails #drinks #drinkporn #cocktails #cocktail #bar @plantation.rum @ferranddeutschland (hier: Rumverliebt) https://www.instagram.com/p/CnuiPisLIkR/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[sharefrenchdinner]

9 Cocktails au cognac facile et rapide

9 Cocktails au cognac facile et rapide

Siroter un verre de cognac au coin du feu par une froide nuit d’hiver est devenu un symbole du luxe. Boire des cocktails au cognac est tout aussi intéressant, car c’est une boisson polyvalente et riche en arômes. Vous pouvez le diluer avec d’autres boissons comme du soda, de la limonade ou de l’eau pour obtenir un alcool moins fort. Mélangé avec des fruits, le cognac adoptera une large variété de…

[jungkxook]

—sweeter than sugar. (m)

⟶ pairing: jungkook x reader 

⟶ genre: ceo!jungkook / sugar daddy au + fluff / smut 

⟶ words: 22,258 oops

⟶ rating: 18+ 

⟶ summary: when infamous playboy jeon jungkook comes to you with a proposition that you know you should say no to, you can’t. because all you really know is that being spoiled has never felt so sweet before

⟶ warnings: lot’s of brand name dropping bc jungkook stays spoiling you!!, sprinkle of angst, unprotected sex, dry humping, grinding, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, face riding, handjob, standing sex, window sex?, riding, creampie

⟶ note: this is a repost of a fic from my old blog, just in case it looks familiar to anyone!

You have come to find that when rich men and women are drunk enough, they will talk.

Naturally, living in the metropolis that is New York City with its crowded population of millions, you are bound to come across certain interesting people. Yet none have seemingly compared to your experiences with the social elite and upper class businessmen and women of the city. For there, nestled perfectly in the hub of the mayhem and money that is the Financial District of Lower Manhattan in a bar lounge you work at, you learn much about the inner workings and the dramatic gossip of some of the wealthiest people in the city. Stripped down to nothing but self-indulgent humans enjoying their happy hours after a day of work and incredibly drunk off of Cabernet Sauvignon red wine and smooth Louis XIII cognac and martini cocktails, they will talk. They will talk about important business deals, murmur about the hushed world of embezzlers, boast about their latest luxurious purchase, whisper about affairs, and mock fellow friends or business partners.

Of course you listen. You always listen. To you, these people are a whole other species ━ so distant from yourself yet so fascinating. It’s not as if they care about your eavesdropping either, for they do not so much as grace you with a second glance, even when you present them with their drink. Perhaps that’s for the best. After all, you’re certain you’ll never be able to understand them. It’s not as if you like them either. But there is one person in particular who becomes quite the talk of the wealthy entrepreneurs and tycoons that occupy the lounge; the same one person who catches your attention over the many nights of your shifts and you think him to be, perhaps, even more fascinating than his fellow snobby folk.

Jungkook, made of diamonds and gold, is a person you find hard to avoid.

Tabloids and whispers of the eminent young man make him known to you far before you even lay eyes on him and all you know is that he is built upon old money and glory. He is infamous, it appears from the ostentatious words that pluck him from the ordinary and hangs him high above in the endless sky, born into a world where he is lucky enough to be graced with not only the wealth but the handsome features too. You still aren’t quite sure you understand what exactly he does for a living, though you learn over time he’s inherited his father’s company of investment banking at the ripe age of 23 after his father’s retirement. Really, all that seems to pique your interest is the simple fact that he wears clothes that cost the same amount as your college tuition, if not more, whilst you are drowning in obstinate debt. It is a life he will never know, much like his life is one you will never know.

Though many attempt to degrade him as being a spoiled rich kid with a pretty face who doesn’t deserve his father’s company, you can hardly find an inkling of hatred in your bones for the boy. Instead, you find blatant envy laced in every nerve, despite still struggling internally to be thankful for the dismal life you live from a day-to-day basis. It is only on days when the universe itself decides to take it’s annoyance out on you in mundane mishaps that makes you entirely jealous of men and women at the lounge. Of the eminent man that is Jungkook.

As a college student in your final year, the looming fact of paying your tuition debt, amongst other necessities and living expenses, dangles over your head in a foreboding dark cloud. It isn’t the idea that you struggle to barely make ends meet, or yet another heated conversation you have with your landlord only a week prior, begging him to wait until you get paid to give him your rent, or the fact that you work two part-time jobs aside from attending class in an attempt to make enough money to live that makes you break down on one particular Saturday morning. It is when you return from your first job of working an eight hour shift at the café around the corner from where you live, climb the five flights of stairs to your floor after you find that the elevator isn’t working, only to scan through your daily mail of bills and taxes to find an envelope containing a letter with big, bolded words screaming at you EVICTION NOTICE, akin to two middle fingers raised high in the air for you.

That is when the severity of your situation seems to hit you because you suddenly become aware in an entirely pessimistic shame that you have failed. Failed to make ends meet and failed to make your dull routine work of running from one job to the next and attending classes. You skim the contents of the notice rather quickly, your mind stuck somewhere between terror of living on the streets and rushing to get ready for your second shift of the night, but your nervous eyes are able to catch a glimpse of the three week deadline your landlord gives you in order to either return to him the lost rent you are owing to stay or to pack your belongings and leave. You hardly have time to read the rest or devise a plan in order to save your ass as you crumple the paper in anger and toss it on your bed before moving to prepare yourself for work.

The second job you work is at the lounge. It’s popularity amongst the urbanites makes sure that you find little to no time to rest as you are running back and forth from behind the counter to customers serving drinks and other appetizers. It’s a newer job you work, having only been there for six months, but at the four month mark is when he starts showing up, as if the universe further wanted to laugh in your face and taunt that there are people who never have to work hard to simply live.

In the short time span of two months that you see him at the lounge, you never once utter a word to him as your boss makes certain that he personally tends to Jungkook and his friends in an attempt to please the rich boy. However, you admire him from afar anyway, taking note in his appearances and manners. He is always well dressed from head to toe in perfectly tailored and fitting Giorgio Armani suits. His dress shirts are usually either pure cotton or some sort of silky lavish material and a watch and rings are accessories he always seems to wear. He is generous, however, and orders the most expensive drinks for he and his friends and is the one to make sure they find a ride home but you discover he must naturally be a bit of a lush because he is always stumbling out of the lounge well into the night and blissfully inebriated, usually with a girl wrapped around his finger and fawning over him drunkenly. He is, quite obviously, a sybarite, a playboy, but a kind one at that ━ or perhaps that is just a facade.

You do not see him at first when you begin your shift that night, but he seems to make an appearance at the most terrible of times. It is just as you’re finally clocking out for your break and take a step outside next to the building for a breath of air, further off from the other customers of the lounge who like to sit on the patio with a burning cigarette limply dangling from fingertips or the finest of cigars, when you find your boss, Namjoon, joining your side to tell you something you aren’t at all prepared to hear.

“Y/N, I actually wanted to talk to you,” he starts, his tone casual. The night is cool despite being mid-spring, and a breeze ruffles his dark hair and sends a chill down your spine.

“Am I in trouble?” You ask, and though it is supposed to be a joke, you can’t help but fear for a moment about whether you might actually be.

“Oh, no, nothing like that,” he says with a lighthearted chuckle. “No, no. It’s just that━ Well, you see━ You’re most certainly one of our best employees here but, that being said, I think━ Ahem, simply put, with all the new hires we got recently and all their training, we unfortunately are going to have to start pulling your hours.”

His words don’t seem to register in your mind at first and you look at him curiously, dumbfounded. “You what?”

“From now on, we only need you to work ten hours a week here,” he says. “Just for the time being━”

“You’re cutting back on my hours?” You ask abruptly. “Why me?”

“If it makes you feel any better, you aren’t the only one this is happening to,” he replies. “It’s a really shitty thing to do, I know, but we have no other choice.”

Finally, what he says seems to sink in and your eyes widen in disbelief. You push yourself off the wall you are leaning against and round on him instantly. “No, no, you can’t! Please! I need those extra hours and the money━ Look, I just got the news today that I might be kicked out of my apartment in less than a month and I still need to pay back my school tuition. I can’t afford to━”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Namjoon says, entirely in a dismissive manner that has you coming to a complete halt and making you feel absolutely foolish. “But there’s nothing I can do right now━ Ah! If it isn’t the man himself! Jungkook! Glad to see you could make it. Excuse me, doll━”

Your boss moves quickly, parting from you with a final pat on your shoulder as if to poorly console you before shifting his attention over to the newcomer, to Jungkook. You’re seething with absolute rage that boils in the pit of your stomach and the tips of your fingers, your mouth hanging opened in an appalled gap, as you whirl around only to have your eyes settle upon your boss devoting all his attention to Jungkook and the friend by his side who is digging through his pockets for a cigarette atop the patio just behind you. You are left entirely forgotten and bristling with anger that you find hard to keep under control as you gawk at your boss before realizing that Jungkook is staring at you.

His dark chocolate pupils peer at you under the shimmering moonlight, reflecting something soft and pensive, but what exactly he is thinking, you can’t surely make out. It catches you off guard and has you clamping your mouth shut as if to showcase some sort of proper etiquette around the prestige boy, a blush warming your cheeks, because why is he looking at you? He’s never taken the time to so much as glance your way with any sort of interest ━ or so you thought ━ and yet here he is, his intimidating eyes piercing yours and making you shift uncomfortably in your spot. You don’t bother to linger any longer after that.

As soon as his friend is calling for his attention, and Jungkook turns to avert his gaze to the conversation that is happening without him, you round on your heel and briskly walk back into the lounge, your mind in a haze of embarrassed confusion and anger.

Your awkward encounter with Jungkook is quick to slip your mind as soon as you are hurled back into the persistent problems of your life.

The next few days elapse into one another in a useless blur as you try to beg your boss at your first job to allow you more shifts, while simultaneously trying to discover what you will do and who you can live with if you are evicted. Moving back in with your parents seems the most practical but least favourable when they live too far away from your jobs and school. You’re considering asking a close friend if you can live with them for a few weeks when the universe seems to present itself to you one more time, but in a way to redeem itself.

It happens on that Wednesday, only a few days after receiving the eviction notice. You return to your job at the lounge that night for a rather usually dull shift as not many people seem to come out on a night that is in the middle of the week. It’s slow, as you expect, and you try to spend the time by cleaning the bar counter, cleaning the shelves that the bottles of liquor stand on, cleaning glasses, and repeating the process again and again, but even that becomes tedious after a while. The lounge itself isn’t typically a place of gathering for just anybody with it’s all glass panes, dark interior, and lights of hues of purple and blue to help with the ambiance, modern furniture, and smooth jazz music to tie it all perfectly together. It’s nearing 7pm when the door swings open but you hardly pay much attention as you’re uselessly wiping the counter and fretting over the notice. When you hear the sound of someone clearing their throat from behind you, you spin around and come face-to-face with none other than Jungkook.

An involuntary gasp slips past your parted lips before you can swallow it back and your hands quickly abandon the rag you’re holding to nervously smooth down your hair and clothes.

“Hi there,” he smiles and, when he does, it is something daunting and mischievous.

He’s abandoned his usual Armani attire for something a little more casual though even your untrained eye can sense that the clothes he wears still costs much more than what you earn in a day. A Saint Laurent bomber jacket, a Rolex watch, Louis Vuitton dress shoes. His blonde locks are parted ever so slightly off to the side and, as he moves to certain angles under the dim lights of the lounge, you catch sight of the tattoos that cover his arm and are mostly always covered up. Up close, you can see features on his face that you would have otherwise misplaced, like the dainty point of his nose or the piercings on his ears or just how big his eyes truly are, giving him a more youthful appearance even though he is not much older than you as it is. You’re so mesmerized and too busy studying his dazzling attire to notice the fact that he speaks to you that it takes you a moment to respond.

“O━Oh, um, hi,” You force a smile on your face that is visibly so. You gulp back your nerves and straighten up, fighting for your voice. “What can I get you?”

“Just water is fine, actually,” he says and, goodness, why was his voice so smooth and luxurious?

You quirk a brow, the question tumbling from you before you can stop it. “You’re telling me that you came all the way down here for a glass of water that you can easily get at your home?”

Your mouth quickly snaps shut, as you’re suddenly fearful of having said something wrong, but the boy in front of you only chuckles and shrugs sheepishly.

“Ah, well, it’s a Wednesday night and I do have to work tomorrow,” he says.

He’s still smiling as he watches you and the sight has you nervous once more. To avoid his intense stare, you move to gather him a glass of water. It’s silent as you do so, the only sound coming from the other chatter of customers and the music that plays in the foreground. When you slide his drink over to him, his smile widens and he nods.

“Thanks.”

You nod timidly and try to distract yourself by cleaning once more. Not even before you can turn fully away from him, he’s speaking again.

“So, you know of me, huh?” he asks and then stops himself. “Sorry, that sounded very conceited of me. I’m just━ I don’t know. Surprised.”

“You’re quite the talk of the city,” You point out in a matter-of-fact tone and giggle. “It’s hard to not know who you are.”

Jungkook licks his lips and smiles almost bashfully. The sight seems so rare that it has you staring at him in wonder. His eyes flicked up to look at you past his long lashes and then he lifts his chin to properly face you. “Then who do I have the fortune of speaking to tonight?”

“Y/N,” You introduce, holding out a hand for him. “It’s most certainly a pleasure to meet you properly, sir.”

The boy takes your hand in his, his skin smooth and delicate, and then he does something you do not expect at all. He turns your palm over so that the back of your hand is facing him and he presses a small kiss to your knuckles that leaves tingles running down your spine.

“The pleasure’s all mine,” he says.

You must be entirely gawking at him again as he lets go of your hand because he laughs and straightens up in his seat, taking a sip of his water.

“I actually wanted to talk to you,” he says.

“M━Me?” You ask, still stunned. “Did you want to speak with Namjoon? He isn’t in right now but I can leave a note for you, if you want━”

“Oh, no, that won’t be necessary,” he replies, gently turning down your suggestion. “No, you were just the person I was hoping to find tonight.”

“Oh, really?” You question and Jungkook nods. “Then what can I do for you?”

The smile on his face shifts into a smirk and he pauses to take another sip of his water, leaving you in hanging anticipation. He sets his glass down and props his elbows up on the counter, leaning forward.

“I’ve come to offer you a proposition,” he says.

“A proposition?” You echo.

“Mhm, and it’s one I hope you don’t turn down,” he continues. “See, the other night on Saturday, I couldn’t help but overhear you talking to your boss about your shifts, or lack thereof, and━”

“You heard that?” You gasp, dismayed. “You were eavesdropping?”

“Not exactly,” Jungkook says. “I just so happened to stumble outside just as you were complaining.”

You eye him warily, folding your arms over your chest. “Okay, go on.”

“Well,” Jungkook begins, “I’m here to offer you a job but, I must warn you, it’s a very different kind of job.”

His words seem to intrigue you as you absentmindedly take a step closer to him, lowering your head to listen closely. You don’t reply back but, judging by the interested look on your face, Jungkook casually carries on. He locks gazes with you then, a hard unbreakable gaze that has you looking only at him as he utters his next few words.

“There’s no easy way to explain this that won’t make it seem indecent, but I can assure you that my intentions are pure,” he admits. “Have you ever heard of the term sugar baby?”

As soon as you hear the last of his words, you push yourself up and begin shaking your head furiously. “You want me to be your sugar baby?” You ask. The incredulous question has a blush pinching at your cheeks. “Are you nuts? I’m not that kind of girl. I’m not going to sleep with you even if you pay me━”

“Hear me out,” he says calmly and, for some odd reason, you pause. Your eyes narrow into a scrutinizing glare as you stare him down.

“Fine,” You say stiffly. “Keep talking.”

“It’s a crazy idea, I know,” he says. “And, sure, typically sugar babies are used for sex but I would never force myself on you or force you to do anything you wouldn’t want to. That’s a promise I’ll never break. I just figured that we can keep the companionship aspect of the whole thing and that’s it. Nothing more than having a person by my side.”

“I’m sure you can find plenty of girls to take that role,” You muse aloud.

“Sure,” he admits sheepishly, “but I’m asking you because I want you to be the one and because I know you need this money more than anyone else.”

You fall silent as you study him. He pulls out his phone then and begins to scroll through it almost too nonchalantly but you don’t necessarily mind. You are much too busy pondering his offer.

“But you don’t even know me,” You say at last.

“Also true,” he says, glancing up at you. “I guess you could say that’s another part of the reason why I’m asking you because I wouldn’t mind getting to know you. I mean, I see you all the time at this bar. I would have loved to come up and talk to you at any given moment but you always seemed so caught up in your work. Now I know why.”

Another silence ensues and he watches as you bite nervously on your lower lip. You rake a hand through your hair and sigh.

“How about this?” he asks, shifting in his seat to sit up straighter. “We try it out at least once to test the waters for an upcoming event where you’re my date. If you like it and want to keep going, great. If you absolutely hate it and hate me, then you can forget all about me and that I ever asked you this and I’ll leave you alone. Deal?”

“How do I know you’re not planning my murder?”

Jungkook smirks wolfishly. “That would be bad for business, love, and neither me nor my company needs that sort of attention in the press. So… What do you say?”

“I don’t know. It’s just… a lot. I have to think about it.”

Jungkook nods. “That’s understandable. Here━”

He shifts in his seat and pulls his wallet from his jeans. With a flourish, he procures a business card and slides it onto the table. Then, he gestures for a pen and, once you hand him the one you fish out from the apron tied around your waist, he scribbles his own personal number down on the back. He looks up at you with an ever so pretty smile, his eyes twinkling.

“Call me on this number whenever you decide.”

He doesn’t stay much longer after that. When he does leave, he makes sure to leave you a tip. A considerable sum of $500 in the form of a cheque. He’s long gone by the time you register the amount on the slip of paper and your name scribbled down. When the shock is gone, you tell yourself you can’t possibly take the cheque. But he knows that either way, whether you accept the cheque and his offer or try to return the money to him, you’ll call him one way or another. You realize this only on your way home from the lounge and shake your head at his conniving way. If there was one thing you have learnt during your time at the lounge, rich men always get what they want.

You aren’t entirely too sure what makes you cave. Maybe it’s the fact that, when you return home and are greeted to the looming notice papers, you are reminded that you so desperately need the money, or the fact that Jungkook is as charming and attractive as people say. Maybe it is the fact that he is quite obviously devoting his time and attention on solely you. Perhaps once won’t hurt after all. Then, if he stays true to his word and pays you handsomely, just enough for your rent, you never have to see him again. So the next morning, after a great deal of pensive pacing around your apartment, it is with one final hefty sigh that you call Jungkook. He answers on the third ring with a cordial, “Hello?”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this but fine. You have yourself a deal.”

Even without seeing his face, you can hear the smile in his voice, can see the way it must be tugging at his pink lips. “Ah, Y/N! Great!”

“What do you need me to do exactly?”

“Well, first thing’s first,” he says. “We need to set up some ground rules. First, I won’t try anything on you that you won’t like. Second, since this is technically still a job ━ and I know it’s going to sound ridiculous but stay with me ━ we need to be cautious about gaining romantic feelings for one another. It’ll just get in the way of everything, okay?”

“Okay. Whatever you say.”

“Good,” he says. “Then let’s jump right to it: I need you to be my date at this business dinner party that’s coming up. The logistics of the dinner party bore me. I know as much about it as you do, if I’m honest, but everyone ━ mostly my father ━ thinks it’ll be a good idea to bring a proper date. As if that’ll leave a good impression on these people we’re trying to win over. We’ll see about that.”

“When is it?” You ask.

“Three days from now.”

“Where?”

“Paris.”

“As in Paris, France?”

Jungkook hums in agreement a little too calmly for your liking. Your jaw drops open in surprise and you begin to sputter for air, stammering over your words.

“Jungkook,” You say his name sternly, laughing at just how ridiculous this request is. “This whole thing started because I have no money. I’m getting kicked out of my apartment ━ or did you miss that? What makes you think I have the money for a ticket to Paris?”

Now it’s Jungkook’s turn to bursts out into boisterous laughter, and he continues to laugh and laugh as if this is the funniest thing he has heard yet. You are left staring blankly at your wall, completely frazzled and stunned.

“God, you’re cute,” he sighs at long last. “Baby girl, I don’t think you quite understand the concept of this but that’s okay. We can work on it. Here, look. Check your phone━”

As he says this, your phone chimes pleasantly to notify you of a new message. Pulling your phone away from your face, you see a new text from Jungkook’s number: a screenshot of an email of a bank purchase, one that he confirms out loud with his confident words even when you feel your hands shaking in overwhelming anticipation.

“I already bought you a ticket as we were speaking,” he says. “We leave Friday.”

The concept is entirely too hard to wrap your mind around, even after you sleep on it.

It’s like a dream come true, a fairy tale that people can only ever hope for, and it had fallen so perfectly into your very lap in the form of Jungkook. You pack the next night for Paris (which will only be a two day trip, according to Jungkook), the excitement and nerves finally kicking in and making you jittery and grin from ear-to-ear as you rummage around your apartment. He picks you up early the next morning in a chauffeured BMW before you’re both driven to the airport to fly in two first class seats to Paris. The whole thing is ludicrous but you can’t seem to get enough ━ even with the way he seems to act like a total gentleman by holding the car door open for you and holding your hand as he helps you onto the plane. From what you gather, he is kind and gentle and spends the time talking to you on the long flight to Paris in an attempt to help soothe your nerves when he sees you toying anxiously with your hands. You learn about his father and his company and he learns about your family and school life.

When you arrive in Paris, the streets are suddenly dazzling with a magic you have never seen before. From the architecture to the gardens to the grand tower in the distance, everything seems like a whimsical dream and you, the poor undeserving spectator, can’t possibly contain your excitement. In the chauffeured drive to your hotel, Jungkook watches you with amused eyes and chuckles under his breath when you gawk out the window at the passing city. Your accommodations for the getaway have already been paid for and includes a stay at the Four Seasons Hotel. It is simply marvelous, a palace sculpted so divinely out of white stone and marble in the lobby. The people are friendly, both the employees and other occupants, greeting you with warm smiles and generous gestures, but the atmospheric prestige is slightly nerve-wrecking.

Jungkook pays for your room which is the luxurious Royal Suite, a room much larger than you truly need but, god, do you love it. There’s a spacious living room, a foyer, a marble fireplace and a dining table, the master bedroom accompanied by an all marble bathroom, and private terrace with a view of the surrounding city and the Eiffel tower in the near distance, so close it feels as if you can reach out and touch it. Everything is adorned in gold and ivory furnishing, white plush cushions and bedding with teal accents, white flowers and exceptional pieces of decorations. Jungkook is still with you when he guides you into the suite but he doesn’t speak and nor do you. Instead, he watches as you stare in awe at the overwhelmingly large room and the lavish paintings and furniture that are placed perfectly around, and the platter of macaroons and a bottle of Dom Perignon champagne in an ice bucket atop the glass coffee table. He watches even as you throw yourself to the terrace door, beaming outside at the beautiful view.

“Like it?” he asks, his lips curling upward faintly in an amused smile.

“Like it?” You repeat, astonished. You turn to face him and can’t contain the squeal that bubbles at your lips. You fling yourself down onto the plush sofa nearest you and sigh dreamily as you look up at the boy who is suppressing his chuckles. “I’m in love, Jungkook. I definitely don’t deserve this━”

“Don’t say that,” Jungkook frowns, interrupting you quickly. “Of course you deserve this. I’m glad you’re enjoying it so far. That’s what I want to hear.”

You push yourself up to sit on the couch and cross your legs beneath you. You gaze up at Jungkook, gnawing nervously on your lower lip. “I just feel like you could have found a better person to replace me. I mean, I don’t even know where to start with repaying you.”

“There’s no need to repay me,” Jungkook says. “That’s the whole point of this ordeal. All I want from you is to be my side when I need you. You owe no debt to me. Just keep enjoying yourself, yeah?”

You nod timidly and he smiles. He notices you shift in your seat to stand up once more and he swiftly holds out his hand for you in an ever gentleman-like way. You take it graciously and pull yourself up and then he does it again, lifting your twined hands to his lips to press a tender kiss to your knuckles. He keeps his lips pressed to your skin for a second too long and it has you blushing madly before he finally releases your hand once more.

“It’s late,” he says. “You should get some rest. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow. Set an early alarm, okay? I have something else for you that I want to show you before the dinner party.”

“Sounds like a plan,” You hum almost absentmindedly as your attention is suddenly averted back to the room that you can’t seem to get enough of.

“Sweet dreams, Y/N,” he smiles.

He begins retreating back to the door of the room but stops when he hears you call his name, your voice so distant and faint, soft and gentle and loving, that it makes his heart skip a beat.

“Thank you for everything so far, Jungkook.”

Jungkook notices the irreplaceable smile on your face and it’s so genuine and heartwarming that it has the exact same smile mirroring on his face. He nods once more, understanding, before giving you a sly wink and walking out the door. You don’t stay awake much longer after that, the jitters and excitement eventually soothing into something soft that lulls you to sleep

You aren’t entirely sure what Jungkook has planned for the next morning but you are most definitely not disappointed.

He comes by your room around 10:00 am, a light rap of his knuckles against the door signalling his arrival. He’s dressed casual today and it, for once during the duration of the time that you’ve been with him, doesn’t make you feel bad for wearing just as casual clothing. He takes you to a café just down the street from the hotel for breakfast and then he walks with you through the streets of Paris, past all the people and hectic life. When you finally arrive at your destination, your jaw drops open in complete unregistered shock because you realize he’s taking you shopping ━ and shopping not just anywhere but the Champs-Élysées and down Avenue Montaigne where all the leading couture designers are. He pulls you into a certain shop with designer and brand name formal wear, dresses and suits of all sorts of materials and lengths lining the walls, shelves, and dressing mannequins.

“I figured we could go shopping for something for you to wear tonight,” he says. “It’s your pick. See anything that catches your attention?”

You snort a bit ungracefully, your fingers running over the silky material of a scarlet red Valentino dress decorating a mannequin near you.

“Yeah, all of it,” You say, your fingers plucking the price tag of the dress and gawking at it. “But not for that price. I’d have to take out another loan from the bank if I’d want to buy this and I’m still paying off my tuition fees.”

Jungkook laughs lightly at your dry remarks and places his hand on the small of your back with such ease that it catches you by surprise.

“Baby girl,” he hums, and the small pet name is enough to make your heart flutter, “I’m buying it for you. Go ahead. Run wild in here. We can get a consultant to help you if you want.”

“I’m going to need more than a consultant to deal with all this,” You say. “It’s making my head spin. If I’m dreaming, please don’t pinch me.”

He smirks, giving you a shake of his head. “I can assure you that you aren’t dreaming. Go on. If you see anything you like, don’t be afraid to tell me. Today is all about you.”

And Jungkook doesn’t lie. Though it feels so wrong to be so spoiled and pampered, you find yourself basking in all of it ━ from the way Jungkook follows behind you as you study every piece of clothing and waits patiently as you try on dress after dress, to the way the employees that work there fawn over your body and the way you model the dress “just perfectly,” to the way they serve you bubbling champagne in crystal flute glasses. It’s all about you, and it’s never felt so good.

It doesn’t stop there. Jungkook takes you to shop after shop, boutique after boutique, until you find a dress that you take quite a liking to. It’s a floor length Alberta Ferretti velvet midnight blue, almost black, gown, the seams of which hugging your body and curves in all the right places. It’s a slightly off-the-shoulder dress, with a heart-shaped scoop neckline and a slit on one side of the dress that runs far up the smooth expanse of your leg to end mid-thigh. It’s the dress you pick because it’s the only dress that seems to garner such a unique reaction from Jungkook. It’s one where he forgets his words momentarily, gazing at you as if you were made of pure gold, because, holy shit, he’s never seen anything so beautiful before. He can’t speak whilst you model the dress for him and the consultant, twirling around and around in front of the mirrors to admire your own figure, because he doesn’t want to miss a single thing about just how gorgeous you look in it.

He doesn’t tell you but, when you decide on that dress, he couldn’t have been any happier.

Even after finding the dress, Jungkook still continues to take you shopping, promising to buy you any other article of clothing or piece of jewelry that catches your attention, though you try to tame your desires as you begin to feel a bit too spoiled. Jungkook doesn’t mind, of course. He never seems to mind. Eventually, after he takes you back to the hotel with all black Christian Louboutin ankle strap heels and a glittering Tiffany necklace and earrings for the dress, he leaves you alone to get ready for the dinner. When he meets you once more at your suite, it is later in the evening and the sun outside has just begun to set. He enters your room looking as if he has just walked out from a Renaissance painting or was sculpted by the Grecians himself in marble stone because of just how divine he looks. He’s adorned in yet another Armani suit, a dark charcoal that is almost ebony black, and his hair is combed and parted neatly to the side. There’s no need to even look at him to know he is already handsome, but something about that night makes his features more prominent.

You’re still in the bathroom when he does enter your room, calling out to you with a, “Y/N? You ready? We need to get going soon.”

He hears your voice carry from the bathroom, light and feathery, and though it is muffled, he can make it out to sound like, “Just a sec!”

So, Jungkook waits. He’s suddenly nervous as he does, fiddling with the cuffs of his sleeves and the hem of his suit jacket, when he hears the bathroom door click open. He hears the clinking of your heels as you walk towards him and then time seems to slow down in a sort of entirely cliche way because all he can focus on is you. And, god, you’re beautiful. If Jungkook is to you only a man-made beauty of Renaissance and Ancient Greek art, then you are to him made up of the stars and the moon and sun, carved divinely from the very hands of the universe itself and kissed all over by enchanting Mother Nature. You are radiant, you are natural, genuine, breathtaking, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. He is far too caught up with the way you look to even pay attention to your words, that only hit him in disoriented white noise.

“Jungkook?” You wave a hand in his face. “Can you zip me up?”

“What?” Jungkook seems to snap out of his daze and shakes his head suddenly. “Oh, right! Sorry, of course. Come here.”

You do, closing the distance between him and you with a wobbly flourish on your heels and turn your back to him. Jungkook gulps as he sees the zipper of the dress hanging low on your back. With cold hands, he begins to pull the zipper up, but he doesn’t seem to notice the way goosebumps run down your spine when you feel the ghost of his touch. When he’s done, you turn to face him once more and place your hands on your hips. Your hair and makeup are perfectly done and the glittering jewellery you wear all makes you look like such an elegant star.

“Well?” You ask. “What do you think? Is it too much? I don’t really know, to be honest. Or am I too underdressed? Oh god, I don’t know━”

“You’re beautiful,” Jungkook says abruptly.

Your cheeks are tinted pink at his compliment and you look down bashfully. He reaches out for your hand and you take it carefully only to have him raise your clasped palms above your head.

“Spin for me, love.”

You obediently follow his command, anxious under his watchful eyes. They drift down and up and then back down and up again to take in your full figure and he sighs under his breath. When you’re facing him again, there is a hint of a smile on his face and his pupils are glistening.

“Magnificent,” he breathes. “My goodness, baby girl, all eyes are going to be on you and only you tonight. I think I’m going to need to keep a watchful eye on you and make sure you don’t ditch me for another man before I can even get to know you better.”

You shake your head at him as he softly drops your hand from his. You inattentively reach out to grab at his already perfectly kempt tie, straightening it from beneath his collar.

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” You giggle. “I don’t plan on going anywhere anytime soon, Jungkook.”

And Jungkook smiles.

Another chauffeured ride picks the two of you up at the hotel (this time a sleek black Mercedes) and drives you all the way to the Hotel Plaza Athénée, in which one of Jungkook’s associates have rented out the entire restaurant attached to it simply for the cause of their business dinner. Jungkook is the one who gets out of the car first and holds your door open, taking your hand to help you out and hooking arms with you as he guides you inside to the restaurant that you can only describe as a winter wonderland, made upon white furnishing and a magnificent crystal chandelier that resembles falling stars or snowflakes frozen in time.

The party isn’t nearly as terrible as you had thought. It begins awkwardly and you feel uncomfortable, shifting your weight from one heel to the other, and clinging desperately onto Jungkook, but the partygoers are friendly. They talk to you without a problem, introducing themselves with big smiles and welcoming you into their small lavish circle. The party continues on rather pleasantly, though you thank the glasses of red wine you are constantly consuming to not only help pass the time and soothe your nerves, but to distract the rich men and women around you long enough so you can breathe without feeling scrutinized.

By the time the night is coming to a close, you and Jungkook are equally as drunk off of expensive wine and champagne, and say a reasonable farewell to the other guests before leaving back to the hotel. You don’t leave Jungkook’s side, and perhaps that is because your intoxicated mind is suddenly buzzing with thoughts and your bloodstream is pumping with adrenaline because you are wide awake. You end up back in his room, both of you lounging out on the perfectly made bed, sharing yet another bottle of wine (that Jungkook had ordered from room service) between the two of you, giggling and chatting well into the night.

There is a moment where the late hour of the night and the alcohol seems to finally get to you and Jungkook; where the two of you are simply sprawled out on the bed in a comfortable silence. Your eyes begin to itch with the heavy need for sleep and you find yourself slipping in and out of your stream of consciousness, the fact that you are still confined to the tight dress you wear completely vanishing from your mind. It’s then that it seems to hit you - the whole ordeal with Jungkook and the fact that you are in Paris, wearing clothes that most certainly cost as much as your tuition - and it comes in waves of overwhelming and bursting joy and gratefulness.

“Jungkook,” You hum sleepily, catching the boy’s attention. “I’m serious when I say thank you for everything. It’s just so- so amazing and I want you to know that.”

“I know,” Jungkook says. “I believe you.”

You shift in your spot to stare up at him. He’s reclining beside you, a hand propped behind his head, and he is gazing up at the ceiling before looking over at you. He smiles softly.

“I just don’t want you to think you’re making a mistake by spending all this money on someone like me ━ as if I’m some sort of basket case,” You say. “So if you want to be brutally honest with me and never want to speak to me again after this, please just tell me now so I don’t have to wait to be rejected.”

He quirks a brow, examining your features as if to decipher your words.

“Is that what you think this is all about?” he asks finally. “The rich boy trying to do his moral duty by giving away his money? I’m helping you because I like you and because I don’t want to see someone as sweet and gentle as you being kicked out on the streets. I like you, all of you, and that’s not going to change. I’m not going anywhere.”

He finds you smiling, bright and cheery, your eyes twinkling beautifully. You do not know what compels you to move next ━ possibly the alcohol clouding your mind or the fact that Jungkook is sitting before you, as handsome as ever even at three in the morning ━ but then you are pushing yourself forward, leaning toward him and pressing your mouth against his for a sudden kiss. All you can focus on is the soft plump of his lips, laced with the taste of bittersweet wine and his intoxicating cologne, and it makes you pur with delight.

The action has Jungkook completely shocked but he doesn’t push you away. If anything, he begins to get carried away, but so do you. Suddenly, neither of you seem to be able to get enough of the taste of each other’s lips. You feel his tongue poke against your mouth, grazing your lower lip sensually, practically begging for entrance, and you part your mouth with ease, welcoming all of him. He kisses you slowly, yearning for more, but then the intensity of the kiss heats up. Your tongues dance together in a sloppy wet kiss, teeth clashing together in a desperate and needy fashion, lips smacking roughly against each other’s and igniting flames in every joint of your body. You react without thinking, wiggling around on the bed until you’re lifting yourself up and straddling his hips, sitting back on his thighs.

You’re grasping eagerly at him, tugging at the strands of hair at the nape of his neck, as his own hands come to rest upon your hips, pulling you against him. He parts from your lips then to pepper kisses down to your jawline and neck, where he licks a clean stripe upward. His lips wrap around the delicate skin there and he sucks, something that earns him a moan from yourself. You keen on him in content and jut your hips forward, silently urging him on for more. His breath hitches in his throat but, when you roll your hips against his once more, he moans into your neck.

“Baby girl,” he grunts. “If you keep doing that, I won’t be able to hold myself back.”

You smirk as you nip at his neck, making him growl. “Don’t hold back. I don’t want you to.”

Tingles run down his spine at the way your lips brush against his skin and he tugs you closer to him. He is so absorbed in the wholeness that is you that he can hardly grasp onto a reasonable thought. Especially not when you’re moaning against his neck with a slight whine of, “Fuck, Jungkook, I need you so bad.”

It takes all that he can in him to not cave at your touch and he shifts beneath your weight, gnawing on his lower lip. You can feel the bulge in his pants begin to brush against your inner thigh and the sensation against your throbbing core suddenly excites you. You roll your hips once more against him as you smash your mouth against his for a passionate kiss. It’s messy and eager and hot and you don’t plan on stopping. You think Jungkook has the same intentions with the way he is stifling his moans into the form of grunts and groans, his fingers digging tightly into your skin enough to make you gasp, but then his hold becomes ironclad and he stops your movements with ease.

“No, baby girl, we can’t,” he whispers against your lips.

You lean back on his lap and look at him curiously, admiring the way his lips are bruised red and the way his neck is suddenly marked raw. “Why not?”

Jungkook finds it hard to focus as you run your hands up his chest and back down, your fingertips dancing on the top of his belt. He grabs your hand then, twining your fingers together as he usually does and shaking his head gently.

“Not now,” he says. “I said I wouldn’t force you to do anything you don’t want.”

“But I do want this,” You insist. You lean forward to kiss him once more, moaning in pleasure. “God, I want this so much.”

Jungkook smiles weakly. His hand comes up to grasp gingerly at your cheek and he makes you look at him with delicate gestures.

“You’re drunk. I’m drunk,” he says. “Sometimes people make the wrong decisions when they’re drunk. I don’t want you to regret this when you wake up in the morning, even if you insist right now that you won’t. Okay?”

You sit back on his lap once more, dumbfounded and, albeit, slightly let down, but there’s a part of you that is thankful for Jungkook’s sudden decision. You relent at once, somehow letting a reasonable thought in your mind tell you that Jungkook is right, and you nod.

“Sorry,” You sigh and then yawn. “You’re right. I’m just━ just tired.”

Jungkook nods understandingly, and pecks your forehead gently, a gesture that is enough to leave your head spinning. You push yourself off of him and plop onto the bed with a heavy exhale of air as soon as your head hits the pillow. Once it does, you find it incredibly hard to keep your eyes open and Jungkook smiles lightly. It’s the candid genuinity that makes Jungkook’s heart swell.

“Why don’t you sleep here?” he suggests. “I’ll sleep in your room for the night if you want, or on the couch━”

He’s already standing to his feet when you stop him.

“Wait, Jungkook,” You mumble. When you speak next, your voice is an involuntary drunk whine, “This dress is so uncomfortable━ I just━”

He sees you struggling to reach the zipper of the dress and chuckles under his breath.

“Let me help you, baby,” he hums, his hands brushing against yours as he thwarts your attempts. “Just rest.”

You begin to argue, sounding very similar to a needy child, but Jungkook simply hushes you. In your drunken tired state, you don’t seem nearly as flustered as Jungkook is as he unzips your dress very slowly and the feeling is so foreign that it has Jungkook’s nerves mingling with fear. He’s undressed a girl plenty of times and never once has he been this timid. He finds it hard to focus his eyes elsewhere when he has you shimmying out of the dress because, Jesus, did you have to wear black lace panties with a matching strapless bra? You’re nearly stripped bare before him and he gulps as his eyes flicker down fleetingly over your body and your feminine curves. Before he can linger any longer, he is grabbing one of his plain t-shirts that is hanging off the back of a nearby armchair and slips it over your head and body with such soothing motions and all Jungkook can focus on now is just how cute you look in his shirt, your lips parted slightly, and your hair a hectic mess.

By the time your head hits the pillow once more, Jungkook can hear your tiny snores, and he can’t bring himself to shake you awake to help you into a pair of his sweatpants. Instead, he reaches for the blankets below you and tosses it over your figure and you shift, pushing yourself onto your side and nuzzling your head further into the pillow. As he is straightening up and exhaling a breath of air, he feels a small tug at his hand. He looks down then only to see your hand grasping at his fingertips and hears you mumble, through slurring words and a curtain of hair that crowds your mouth, “Stay.”

Jungkook knows it’s a terrible idea. He knows, deep down, just how badly this is affecting him with all these strange nerves coming to light and with just how easily he seems to give in to your demand. He smiles tenderly once more and nods, despite sighing under his breath.

“Of course, baby,” he whispers. “I’ll stay right here. Go back to sleep, okay?”

You don’t reply, but he doesn’t necessarily need you to. The serenity that is your slumbering face is enough for him and so he changes into a comfortable shirt and sweatpants before slipping under the sheets with you where he falls asleep without trouble. When he wakes in the morning, he finds that your limbs are tangled messily with his and you are pressed closed to his chest, his own arm slung over your waist, and he decides, in that moment, that he made the right choice after all.

You return from Paris feeling refreshed, strangely, and your heart yearning for another magical getaway to a foreign city.

As if buying you the items he did in Paris wasn’t enough, Jungkook gives you yet another check of money for your time and it is surely enough to make your heart stop altogether. You aren’t quite sure how he knows, but he gives you just the right money to pay for your rent, and then some. It doesn’t just surprise you, but your landlord is at a loss for words when he sees you hand him a sealed envelope with the money you still owe him that very Tuesday, though he doesn’t question it.

Your encounters with Jungkook don’t stop there.

For some reason, you convince yourself to stay with the deal a little longer (perhaps a little selfishly, though you do admit you enjoy the company of Jungkook), but you have also convinced yourself that he’ll disappear, vanish without a trace, after returning from Paris. Fortunately, he doesn’t disappear, and he doesn’t act as if your relationship with him is simply just a job. You find him opening up to you, talking to you as a friend would, and you, in turn, find yourself falling more and more under his charm. Sometimes, he needs you for important business dinners or weddings or polo matches and other gatherings he’s invited to and, each time you go, he pays you fully in return. He always tells you such social events make these businessmen who they are, as if it were all one elaborate game. Other times, he invites you to do the simplest of tasks with him. When it first happens, only a week or two after Paris, you’re lounging in a relaxing bath late one Friday evening and you receive a text from the boy that simply says something along the lines of, “Are you busy? I could really use you right now. Come over if you can.”

Then, shortly after, he sends you another message that asks you, simply, to bring a swimsuit if you have one. The ambiguity and peculiarity of his message, as well as the fear of making sure you don’t disappoint him (but also, quite possibly, the chance to just see him), makes you scurry out of your bath and rush to get changed before chasing out the door. You hadn’t been to his home before then but he texts you his address after you reply that you are on your way and it doesn’t come as a surprise when you see he lives in one of the fancier parts of downtown. The address he gives you leads you straight to a high-rise complex in Midtown Manhattan. The subtly grand lobby is still overwhelming and the doorman and concierge greet you formally as you walk by. Jungkook’s abode, naturally, is the luxury penthouse located at the very top of the building and, walking past the other employees and residents to reach the elevator, makes you feel ashamed of the tight yoga pants and oversized shirt you wear (though no one is actually looking).

You wait anxiously in the elevator and walk the short distance to his entrance as soon as the elevator doors slide open to his floor. Earlier he had sent you a text that instructed you to just simply walk in and so you cautiously press open the front door of the penthouse. It swings wide open and your jaw drops at the stunning view before you. From what you can see, there are two floors to the penthouse, and the main floor has the very outer wall made of ceiling-to-floor glass window panes that look down onto the bustling city below. It is spacious and lavishly furnished and all you know is that your tiny apartment pales in comparison to this. You take a step inside and let the door shut behind you and, as soon as it clicks into place, a chirp of a bark makes you jump. Dashing straight out of a room and charging straight for you is a small white dog, yapping along the way at the newcomer that is you. Your face instantly lights up at the sight and, as the dog begins jumping and barking by your feet, you bend over to scoop him up in your arms, scratching just behind his ears.

“And who are you, cutie?” You coo. “How could Jungkook keep someone like you a secret from me?”

The dog twists in your hold and begins licking at your chin, earning an eruption of giggles from you as you try and gently push him away.

“I see you’ve met Gureum.”

Your head snaps up at the sound of Jungkook’s voice.  He’s standing near a corner he had just turned, leaning casually against the wall. The grin on his face is undeniably strong as he watches you cradle his dog in your arms. He pushes himself off the wall and takes leisurely strides towards you.

“He’s been by my side ever since I was a teen,” he says. “He’s a pretty loyal dog, y’know, and he and I have this special bond going on so I just needed to make sure you were worthy enough to be introduced to him, otherwise I would have told you sooner.”

You burst out into laughter and shake your head. “Well, I’m glad I passed the test and was worthy enough to meet him. Gureum, hm?” You pause and glance back down at the dog. “It means cloud, right? A cute name for a cute pup. I think we’ll get along just fine.”

You plant a kiss on Gureum’s face and then place him down on the ground where he immediately darts off to grab a toy before tottering back. You straighten up to look at Jungkook and gesture around his home.

“Nice place you got here,” You say. “Need a roommate?”

“You want to live together already?” he teases. “You have to at least let me take you out on a few more dates before we get that serious.”

You chuckle lightly and the sound is so silvery and sweet that it makes Jungkook’s heart sing. He is watching you with admiration as you kick off your shoes and begin walking further into his apartment.

“So, what did you want from me tonight?” You asked. “Your text seemed a little urgent.”

“Oh, right,” Jungkook says. He begins following after you and shrugs. “Well, I was going to ask you if you could be my date for an upcoming event. It’s a charity gala ball that my parents and the company will be endorsing in a few months time. It’s fairly a big deal and my father thinks it’ll be good for publicity, again, if I have a proper date by my side since I’ll be hosting the night of the gala and saying a speech.”

“Of course I’ll come with you,” You say. “But did you really have to tell me to come all the way here just to say that?”

Jungkook bursts out into laughter. “I know I could have done that over the phone but, truthfully, I really just wanted to spend a little more time with you. Now that our business talk is out of the way, how does a pizza and movie night sound to you?”

He flings himself down onto the couch nearby and lounges out on it, staring up at you with a look of anticipation. You can’t help but quirk a brow, biting your lower lip to hide the smile that threatens to paint your face.

“You just wanted to spend time with me?” You echo. “So you called me over for pizza and a movie?”

Jungkook nods, beaming up at you. “What do you say?”

“I’ll stay only if you let me have first pick of the movie.”

He pushes himself up to sit (at which point, Gureum takes the liberty of jumping up to sit in his owner’s lap and Jungkook casually threads his fingers through the dog’s fur) and grins, “You can pick every movie we watch.”

“Well, then, if that’s the case━” You plop down next to him on the couch and wiggle around until you’re comfortably positioned. “A pizza and movie night sounds absolutely divine.”

“Good,” he says. “Because I already ordered the pizza while you were on your way here.”

You throw your head back and moan a bit too excessively but it only makes Jungkook laugh. “You spoil me rotten, you know that?”

He shrugs sheepishly and shoots you a wink that has your heart leaping in your chest. He leans in close with a wicked smirk on his face and hums, “Only the best for my baby girl. And, of course while you’re here, we can take a dip in the pool.”

“So that’s what you meant by the cryptic swimsuit text,” You giggle. “I’d love to go for a swim. This apartment’s pool must be amazing.”

“Oh, yes, that one is quite spectacular but I was thinking we could stay within the comfort of my home.”

He says this so simply that you almost don’t register his words. Then it seems to dawn on you the meaning behind his words and you are gawking in pure amazement. “Are you telling me you have a pool in your penthouse?”

Jungkook smirks humorously. “Is it too much?”

You can’t help but shake your head at the cocky tone that twines with his words. A small, bemused thought pops into your head that begs the question just what have you gotten yourself into? A month ago, you would have never been able to imagine living such a life and yet here you are, as Jungkook so graciously had invited you into his own personal world.

Soon enough, you’re standing by the edge of the pool in Jungkook’s home ━ and, yes, he really does have his own personal pool. Tucked away on the second floor of his penthouse, high above the city of New York, like his own perfect little oasis. When you see it, when you’re dressed in nothing but a red bikini standing on the edge of the pool, it feels like a dream. The buildings of Manhattan tower around the penthouse, dazzling with lit windows that shine their soft glow onto the rippling surface of the pool. Somewhere far below you can hear the sound of the city breathing, living; of a distant wailing siren and the squeal of a tire and a blaring horn. And, when you look above, it feels as if you’re so close to the sky that you could reach out and touch the hiding stars.

Jungkook, who is behind you and watching the look of awe paint your face, will smile to himself and then he will give you one playful nudge that pushes you into the pool with a gratifying splash and a yelp of startle on your part that you know will fade into nothing to the people far down below when you’re up this high. He’ll join you in the pool and you’ll sit with him in the serene space, sipping on a bottle of wine and enjoying the pizza he had ordered.

Up there, so high above Manhattan, it feels as if you have the whole world in the palm of your hand and you tell yourself that if this really is a dream, you never want to wake up from it.

After that night, it isn’t uncommon for Jungkook to text or call you with equally vague messages, asking you to come over to this apartment only to embark on the utmost mundane things. Once, he calls you asking for your help and, when you rush to his apartment, he is debating which flavour ice cream he should bring out for yet another movie night you spend together. Another time, he calls you to accompany him on his walk with Gureum, or to help him buy groceries, or be his extra food critic when he decides to order takeout from a new restaurant.

Each time he calls or texts you, each time he asks you to rush over only for something minor, he ends up paying you in cheques and still spoils you with “little” gifts every now and then, like a watch one night, a pair of diamond earrings another, a shirt you had been eyeing at the store one day when he and you had passed by a boutique while walking Gureum. Though the money and gifts are, by no means, any less valuable or less cherished than they already are by you, your sudden time alone with Jungkook becomes something much more than just material pleasure. When it’s just you and him, curled up next to one another on his couch as you watch the flickering images of the movie play out before you, whether basking in the silence or laughing together until you cry, those moments become precious and sacred and you find yourself enjoying his company much more than his money or gifts.

Your relationship with him carries on like this for weeks upon weeks, until three months seem to pass, though it certainly doesn’t feel like it at all (especially when you are consumed with finishing school). The money he gives you, as well as the money you earn from both jobs you still work, is enough for you to keep paying your rent and your loans off, long after you’ve graduated from school (another celebration that Jungkook so graciously attends and earns strange looks from your friends and family when they see just how close the two of you are). As a gift for your graduation, Jungkook calls you late one evening when you are relaxing in a warm bubble bath. When you answer the call, cradling your phone between your ear and shoulder, he greets you with, “How do you feel about Italy?”

You quirk a brow. “It’s beautiful. I’ve always wanted to go there. Why are you asking?”

“Well, yes, it is quite beautiful,” he says. “But how do you feel about going to Italy? Say, tomorrow morning?”

You nearly drop your phone into the bath when you register his question. You sit up rather quickly, as if that will help steady you against the tremendous question. “Is it for a business thing?”

“Just an us thing,” he says. “To celebrate your graduation.”

He already knows your answer, as do you. Yet you still sputter over your words and then, with a sheepishly large smile plastered on your face, exclaim your approval of the spontaneous trip.

In the morning, Jungkook will come to pick you up in yet another chauffeured drive, much like it had been for the trip to Paris. This time he decides to take you to the Amalfi Coast, a coastal town in southern Italy. You land in Naples and rent a car from the airport (a Lamborghini, to be exact) which Jungkook and you take turns driving with the roof down, the wind in your hair. The narrow winding roads on the sides of the coastal cliff seem to be no match for the exhilarating speed of the car and much of the drive is spent soaking up the rays of the warm sun. The quaint town of the Amalfi Coast is built upon the sides of the steep cliff with small alleyways, cobblestoned streets, blossoming lemon trees, and colourful buildings that spiral down, down, down, to the rocky shores of the beach and the sparkling cerulean waters of the sea. The villa Jungkook rents has a luxurious view of the sea. It’s all shimmering white and ivory and cobalt blue detailings, all culminating in one magnificently breathtaking oasis.

The first day in the town is spent on the beach, and the evening is spent wandering about the streets with you in a sheer white and floral Zimmermann sundress courtesy of Jungkook, sipping on limoncello and eating dinner at an outdoor restaurant as the bright sky fades to night. The streets are just as lively as ever with tourists and distant music, the town glowing softly with its burning lights and candles against the starry sky, and everything is simply perfect. Whimsical. The next day is spent with Jungkook’s friends. You’ve seen them before in passing at other social events you have accompanied with Jungkook and, unbeknownst to you at the time, at the lounge when Jungkook and his friend had stumbled upon your talk with your manager. You come to learn that this same friend is Park Jimin, a wealthy man not much older than Jungkook himself, who is built upon old money and whose family owns a chain of successful global hotels and resorts. Jimin invites the pair of you to a day on his yacht out at sea with a few of his other closest friends.

The yacht itself is quite a spectacle, with three floors to it and a personal pool located on the deck, as well as a bar and a lounge area. You spend most of your time sipping on piña coladas and sunbathing in the glittering sun atop the deck, adorned in a Proenza Schouler black swimsuit and a wide-brimmed sun hat. Jungkook’s friends, you come to find, aren’t as insouciant as Jungkook himself but also aren’t as arrogant as the customers you have encountered at your work at the lounge back in Manhattan. Whatever the case, they are nice enough to invite you into their group and make certain you feel as welcome as you can. When Jimin decides to take the cabin cruiser for a spin around the sea, you stand at the bow of the deck, your hands clasped tightly on the back of your hat so as to keep it from flying away, and laugh spritely as Jimin speeds around in wide circles with the sea’s mist dusting across your face.

At some point, the cabin cruiser comes to a halt, softly rocking against the gentle current of the sea. Jimin is the first one to jump into the water, followed by yourself, and a few other of their friends. When Jungkook joins you in the shimmering ethereal blue waters, the smile on your face is irreplaceable and one that makes a similar grin form on his face. The cool water is a relief against your skin which had, up until that point, been warm with the sticky heat of the day. Jungkook is by your side in an instant, just a short distance away from the cruiser and his other friends. By the time he joins you, you’re positively beaming, bursting with joy, and entirely overwhelmed with appreciation for the kindness of Jungkook and the beauty of Italy.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asks humorously. Of course he doesn’t need an answer ━ not when you are so clearly content and at peace.

“Jungkook,” You sigh his name dreamily. “I’ve never been happier.”

He smiles gingerly. “I believe you.”

“I still don’t want you to think you’re making a mistake by spending all this money on someone like me,” You say.

He quirks a brow, examining your features as if to decipher your words, and squints past the sun.

“That’s still what you think?” he asks finally. “That I regret all the time we’ve been spending together? Because you’d be wrong. When I first asked you about all of this, I did it because I wanted to help you, because I like you. And all our time spent together since then… It’s been incredible.”

“You really mean that?” You ask timidly.

“Of course I do,” he says. “Look, when I’m with you, things feel different.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Good. Definitely good.”

You catch his gaze on you and, despite all the money and glory he has to his name, he looks at you unlike he has looked to anything else before. As if you’re worth far more than all the gold jewelry and diamonds and pretty coastal towns and designer clothes he has ever seen. As if you’re the whole world and more, right in front of him, under the glittering Italian sun. His eyes then flicker from yours, down to your lips, and you certainly don’t miss it. There’s a tiny voice in the back of your mind that begs you desperately to kiss him. Maybe he’s feeling the same way because, slowly, your faces inch towards one another.

He comes so close, in fact, that you can feel his breath fanning against your neck, can smell the sea’s salt on his skin and the faded scent of his cologne. You come so close to one another that it, perhaps, becomes a little too dangerous. Before anything can happen, Jimin is calling out to the two of you and you both instantly freeze. Jungkook laughs almost sheepishly and you can’t help but join in. Still, even as the day unfolds and you become distracted with every other beautiful detail of the Amalfi Coast, you can’t help but wonder what would have happened had you and Jungkook not been interrupted by Jimin.

And, by the end of the night when you’ve both tucked in for the night in the villa, the realization dawns on you that you, quite possibly, are falling in love with Jungkook.

Just when you believe things are going impeccably well, the bitterness of reality finally seems to settle in.

A few weeks after your stay in Italy, Jimin invites both Jungkook and you to a party he is hosting at his family hotel in Seoul. Most of the night unfurls smoothly, with you adorned magnificently in a cream-coloured Alexander Wang slip dress and Jungkook in a Saint Laurent dress shirt, lounging by the bar near the lobby of the hotel and sipping on martinis. Jimin’s hotel is full of a type of grandeur that resembles a palace with its elegant ornate decorations and ebony wood carvings. Seoul itself is as spectacular as ever, the metropolis towering around you and all illuminated by the city’s lights. Yet all of this and Jungkook still focuses only on you, his voice low and charming over the soft thump of music, and his eyes twinkling mischievously.

Some time during the night, Jimin begins chatting to you and Jungkook disappears. At first he is chatting to an old confidant but, when you turn to look at him the next time, you find him with another girl at the bar, seemingly flirting with her. Whatever the case, they appear to be rather cozy with one another, and though you know you have no warrant to be jealous, it still creeps upon you without warning and sabotages your night. You try to avert your attention, try to chat with Jungkook’s friends, and flirt with other rich entrepreneurs but nothing seems to distract you long enough ━ not until Jimin mentions something that grabs your attention.

“You know,” he muses pensively. He pauses to take a sip of his cognac and then says, “I’ll admit: I’m surprised you and Jungkook have lasted so long.”

“What do you mean?” You ask.

“Well, it’s not like you two are dating, right?” When you continue to stare up at Jimin with a dumbfounded expression, he continues. “The only reason Jungkook confronted you in the first place was because his parents were pissed at him. Something about him tarnishing their name by his ‘free’ lifestyle, if you will. They got mad at him and his rampaging bachelor ways, having flings with random strangers every other weekend in a foreign city. His parents are really stuck in their old-school mentality; they just don’t want Jungkook to drag the wrong kind of people into the family money and business. They would have even gone so far as to kick him from being CEO of their company.”

“They what?”

“Oh, yeah,” Jimin says. “Didn’t he tell you? That’s partly what the charity gala is for. His father doesn’t think Jungkook will be able to settle down anytime soon. He’s been under a lot of scrutiny. Jungkook was considerably worried there for a moment; I’ve never seen him like that before. I suggested he fall from the limelight for a bit but he thought he could fix all of this. I guess that’s where you came in. I didn’t think Jungkook would last long constantly being tied down but he’s certainly proved me wrong.”

He chuckles then, as if this whole thing was quite amusing to him. Though you aren’t quite sure how to react. You knew Jungkook wanted you to be his date at important social events for good publicity, but it never dawned on you that he could only be using you for his own sake. Maybe it didn’t mean anything. Maybe Jungkook had simply forgotten to tell you, but that just felt as if you are uselessly grasping at excuses. Either way, it slowly begins to dawn on you the whole ordeal of your relationship with Jungkook and, suddenly, you feel used.

You tell yourself Jimin’s words shouldn’t have meant anything anyway because it’s not as if you and Jungkook are dating but you can’t deny the fact that they leave a lasting impression on you. But that’s how it had all started, hadn’t it? Or maybe not. Jungkook had approached you on the basis of needing your company, but he had made it sound so simple ━ as if it was you who needed the help. And you can’t deny the hope you had felt building within you. Had everything Jungkook said to you been a lie? Every pretty word, telling you how great he had claimed it felt to be with you? Jimin’s words all culminate in one prominent thought which is that maybe Jungkook only really needed you long enough for the charity ball, simply so he could earn back his father’s trust and secure his spot in the company.

Whether it was one too many martinis or strawberry daiquiris or the lavish designer dress that suddenly feels too constricting on your body or the way Jungkook was so carelessly flirting with another girl, much like he had done before in Paris and even in Italy, you need to escape. Everything just seems so suffocating and ridiculous. But moreover, you are reminded by the sobering fact that this lifestyle you have suddenly surrounded yourself with is one you have mocked before. It’s one you have claimed you would never have the privilege of understanding, one that you never really yearned to be a part of if it was anything like the wealthy folk who inhabited the bar lounge you work at.

So, you decide to leave.

You aren’t quite certain your abrupt decision will do any good but suddenly all you crave is the comfort of your own home, however much it may pale in comparison to villas in Italy and luxurious hotels in Seoul. You don’t bother telling Jungkook. Instead, you send him a single text that warns him of your departure and inform Jimin who, in his drunken bliss, may or may not remember to tell Jungkook.

And somehow, after you are able to secure a flight back to New York within a few hours and are seated aboard the plane, you’re able to convince yourself that maybe Jungkook wouldn’t miss you anyway.

Out of your own stubborn will, you begin to ignore Jungkook.

The day after you return to New York, you are greeted by a voicemail from Jungkook who asks curiously why you left. Then, when you don’t respond to that, he decides to send you various texts throughout the week that continue to ask if anything happened, if you’re doing okay, if you’re mad at him. At some point he sends you a text asking if you can come to his place and you decide to respond with a short and cold text simply saying you’re too busy. You don’t know exactly what you expect from pushing Jungkook away. Maybe you had imagined he would forget you altogether and you could casually slip back into the real world that you had lived before meeting Jungkook. Of course that isn’t the case. Jungkook knows something is wrong; he knows that you’re angry but he has no means of knowing why you’re mad at him. Yet he refuses to stop trying to contact you.

It starts with a grand bouquet of saffron crocuses surrounded by Casablanca lilies and gardenias. It first appears at the bar lounge, a massive and beautiful arrangement of flowers encased in a crystal clear vase taking up most of the space of the bar counter which doesn’t exactly please Namjoon. A single card is tucked amongst the petals of the flowers, your name printed in pretty script. It doesn’t say who it’s from but you don’t need to know the name to understand. You decide to leave it at the bar, much to Namjoon’s dismay. The next week, you answer a knock at your door and are greeted to a personal delivery of a small neatly wrapped package that is revealed to be a rose gold Cartier bracelet encrusted with diamonds. You tell the delivery man at the door to return it. The week after that, you answer the front door once more and come face to face with delivery men placing a dozen bouquets of red roses around your apartment. This time you are forced to keep them, and stare at them distantly as they overwhelm your small kitchen in a wild secret garden.

The same week of the gift of the plethora of roses is also the same week of Jungkook’s charity gala. You try to convince yourself to stay home but you can’t not go. Even if Jungkook was possibly using you to his own benefit, it would be a shame if your missing self was indirectly one of the factors that caused Jungkook’s father to change his mind. Besides, it is the least you can do for the man after he had showered you with attention and materialistic pleasure, even if none of it really mattered to him. Your invitation to the gala still stands, that much you know, and the dress Jungkook had bought for you weeks ago is still hanging on the back of your bedroom door. It is a long, A-line Zuhair Murad gown with a plunging neckline, and the tulle and fabric of which is made of a light blush colour. It’s encrusted with sparkling swarovskis where they cluster mostly at the bodice and then trail along the rest of the skirt like falling stars. It’s a breathtaking, elegant piece, and you tell yourself that it is the sole reason why you ultimately decide to go to the gala because it really would be a shame to never wear the dress out.

When you finally do arrive at the gala, it is at Pier 15 in Lower Manhattan. The party itself is on a grand luxury yacht and the duration of the gala is meant to take place sailing around the harbor once night has fallen. As it rests docked by the pier, the yacht is already crowded with various elites and socialites and certain celebrities as the stragglers still trickle in. The party is well on its way, with the guests mingling with one another, enjoying hor d’oeuvres and champagne out of crystal flute glasses, as a live band, somewhere, plays smooth jazz music. You spot Jungkook before he notices you, looking handsome in another Armani suit, standing at the front of the bow of the deck and greeting newcomers. Beside him stands an older woman and man dressed impeccably, both of whom share a striking resemblance to Jungkook. Though you have never met them before, you assume they are his parents. You approach them shyly, with your back straight and your head held high. Jungkook notices you first and his eyes widen in surprise, his jaw unhinging open (partly because it feels as if he hasn’t seen you in months, but mostly because of how divine you look).

“Y/N!” Your name slips past Jungkook’s mouth in an exclamation before he can bite it back. He moves forward as if preparing to walk up to you but he has to hold himself back. He doesn’t miss the way you desperately try to avoid his stare, or the way you stand rigidly beside him.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” You apologize, though you say it mostly for the act you are putting on for his parents. “I got caught up at work and the traffic was horrid.”

“Oh, that’s certainly alright,” The woman says brightly. “You must be Y/N.”

“We’ve heard plenty about you from our son,” The man chuckles to himself. “I was wondering when we would have the pleasure of meeting you.”

Jungkook, who is still in a state of shock, opens and clamps his mouth shut repeatedly, frantically trying to grasp onto a proper train of thought. Eventually, he snaps from his daze and nods towards you. For the sake of the act, he places his hand on your back between your shoulder blades rather than the small of your back he had grown quite acquainted with.

“Mom, dad, meet Y/N,” he introduces. “Y/N, meet my parents.”

You shake their hands in a firm grip and nod politely, tight-lipped, when they introduce their names to you. Soon after, when the sun has dipped below the horizon, the boat takes off on its slow journey around the harbor and the party begins. While Jungkook mingles with his guests, you saunter off to the bar where you concede you will be spending most of your night. A few of Jungkook’s friends are there whom you remember from Italy and so you chat with them if only to pass the time. Fortunately Jungkook is much too busy to find a moment to come up to you. In fact, the only time you are around Jungkook is when he begins his speech to the partygoers at the gala on the deck of the ship. A handful of hours later, the boat docks by the pier once more and, while the party continues to unfurl within the yacht, you decide to venture home.

You have only made it off the yacht and onto the pier when you are forced to come to an abrupt halt. Because there, rushing off the ramp connected to the deck, and hopping down onto the pier in a hurry to catch you with a call of your name, is Jungkook. Truthfully, you had been hoping to escape the party without him noticing; meanwhile, Jungkook, who had been subject to a dull conversation about stocks with an old business partner of his father’s, was hoping he would find you once he managed to break free from the party. Yet now that he has you within his grasps, his words fall short. He stares at you curiously, perhaps a little confused as his brows knit together at the sight of you. There’s a dozen things he wants to ask you, and a dozen more things he wants to tell you, but he can’t.

Instead, he asks, “Where are you going?”

“Home,” You reply. Behind Jungkook, the ensuing party can be heard ━ an amass of sound ranging from regal laughter to soft music. Behind you, and out towards the city, you can hear the sound of passing citizens and tourists, the whizzing of cars and the wailing of a siren. “You don’t need me anymore. Your parents are gone. They looked pleased. You can clearly go have fun now. Maybe go back to that girl who was eyeing you at the bar.”

Jungkook, staring at you with a dumbfounded expression, asks the first thing that pops into his mind that seems the most logical. “Have you been drinking?”

You simply shake your head, though Jungkook has an unnerving feeling that it is more of an act of scrutiny towards him and not an answer to his question. It’s Jungkook’s fault anyway; he wants to talk to you, but he can’t seem to formulate his thoughts into words.

“Just go back to the party, Jungkook,” You sigh.

“I don’t want to,” he says with a frown. He takes a step towards you and pauses. “I want to stay with you.”

When you don’t respond, he pushes himself forward once more. He doesn’t stop until he is standing right before you, where he so very carefully takes your right hand in his. It’s a small action but it’s enough to make your heart swoon. He glances up, makes sure he catches your wandering stare with his.

“Come home with me,” he says. “Whatever’s happening… We can talk it out. Don’t you want to?”

You do. You want to tell him the truth but your stubborn mind warns you to be wary and the small fact that you feel as if you can’t trust Jungkook anymore is enough to make you wince. Perhaps he can sense your hesitation, or notices the way you flinch because he squeezes your hand just enough. And maybe it’s the way his deep carob eyes pour deeply into yours, or the proximity between your two beating hearts, or the way he holds your hand that makes you cave. You tell yourself, much like you had at the start of all this, that just once more wouldn’t hurt. That maybe he’ll finally answer all your questions or that maybe you’ll learn to forget everything you had heard and let Jungkook spoil you with riches.

So, when you nod your confirmation to Jungkook, you not only startle him, but yourself too. He abandons his dwindling party on the fancy yacht for you. He calls for a chauffeur and drives with you in a tense silence back to his home. The perverse silence follows you even as you clamber out of the car, into the apartment’s lobby, and during the elevator ride to the penthouse. When you finally make it to his home, you are disappointed to feel nothing. You don’t know how long you’re in his apartment for, though it really isn’t for that long.

You’ve kicked off your heels and have wandered over to the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room just as he’s shed his suit jacket and tossed it somewhere on one of the couches. He asks if you want something to drink ━ such a mundane question for your relationship with Jungkook, but what else could he ask you at a time like this? He just wants to know what has been plaguing your mind long enough to drive yourself away from him ━ but you only shake your head. Your arms are wound protectively over your chest and, as you eye the illuminated city down below, you are overcome with the feeling of shame and embarrassment. And all because of one sole thought that reminds you: you don’t belong here. Here in this luxurious dress, here in this luxurious penthouse, here with such a luxurious man.

As if that is the cataclystic thought you need, you turn around on one pointed heel and shake your head. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come here tonight. This was a mistake.”

You’re halfway to the door when Jungkook stops you by speaking up.

“Do you mean coming here tonight was a mistake?” he asks. “Or are you really trying to tell me that you think we’re a mistake?”

“There isn’t even a we,” You retort. When you turn to face him, his brows are pinched together in a scowl.

“What has been up with you lately?” he asks. Though his words may sound hostile, his voice is a gentle plea. “You’re mad, aren’t you? Well, what did I do?”

When you don’t respond, he decides to continue on.

“Didn’t you get my gifts?” he asks. “They were the only way I could reach you to apologize. Did you not like them? Because if that’s the case, just say the word, and I’ll buy you anything you want. Just━”

“That’s not it, Jungkook.”

“Then what is it?” His words are a little more vexed than usual. When he realizes this, he pauses and takes a deep breath. Then, running a hand through his perfectly parted hair, he continues on. “I can’t know what the problem is when you won’t tell me what’s bothering you ━ when you keep pushing me away. But I’m trying my hardest to please you. I just need you to talk to me.”

“So you thought the gifts would work?” You ask. When your eyes settle on him, they’re narrowed into a glare. “Did you━ what? Think you could just buy my attention back? Or buy my love? I’m sorry if it came across that way but I’m not another one of your cheap fucks. I’m not going to come crawling back to you just for your money. I just━ I’ve had enough of all of this! It’s so stupid! I feel so ridiculous.”

You raise your hands in the air in a sign of defeat, though really you are bitterly gesturing to the pretty dress adorning your curves and sigh. Cautiously, Jungkook takes another step towards you. “Y/N, please just tell me what’s wrong.”

“Did you even really care about me?”

The question is so abrupt that it catches him off guard. He takes a moment to respond, noting the way you wrap your arms protectively over your chest.

“What are you talking about?” he asks wearily.

“This whole deal between us,” You say. “You just needed a perfect cover so you could impress your parents, right? Secure your spot as CEO so you wouldn’t lose all your money? And might as well get some bonus points for deciding to ‘settle’ down with a poor girl while you’re at it, right? Was that all that I was to you? A cover and the charity case?”

You assume by the way his eyes widen with apprehension and the way his lips are pulled in a thin line that you must be right. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it, his words stammering in his mind.

“How did you know?” he asks.

“So it’s true?” You ask sourly.

“No. I mean, yes. It’s half true,” he says. Then he shakes his head sullenly. “It was Jimin who told you, wasn’t it?”

“What does it matter?” You retort. “The point is, I’m right. You were just using me the whole time. I bet, on all these fancy excursions you took me on, you and your friends would laugh about it and me. You know, I knew you were rich but I didn’t take you for an asshole too.”

“No!” he exhales sharply, as if he has just felt a horrendous pang of pain in his chest. “I mean, you’re right about my parents and about the CEO position, but everything else is wrong.”

Clearly, you don’t look amused. Your patience is wearing thin, and the way you stare up at him as if he is some stranger altogether makes his chest and throat swell.

“I made a mistake. I’m sorry, okay? I should have told you from the beginning,” he sighs. “They were mad at me ━ my parents. They thought I wasn’t taking the position as CEO seriously enough and they would have taken it away from me. But it wasn’t the fear of losing the money that made me feel ashamed of it all. It was the fact that I had disappointed my parents, and I wanted to make things right. I wanted to show them I was responsible enough to take on the company. I wanted them to trust me.”

“So you had to use me?”

“No!” he shakes his head furiously. “Look… All the business dinners and social events I took you to over these past few months ━ I’d have gone to them all even if you weren’t by my side. The first dinner in Paris I took you to ━ I told you I needed a date to impress those associates and it worked. My parents heard about how well it went and they kept praising you, even though they hadn’t met you. For once they didn’t look so disappointed with me. Having you by my side was just a plus. I wasn’t really using you; you just came at the right time so we could both benefit from this deal between us. But when I first approached you at the lounge, it wasn’t about all of this. It was about you. Because I had seen you there before and because I overheard how you were scared you would get kicked out of your apartment. I wanted to help you because I like you, not because I thought you were a charity case or whatever you think it was. It was because I genuinely wanted to get closer to you. And what I said to you in Italy? I meant it. I meant everything.”

You’re gnawing on your lower lip anxiously, watching him carefully. You haven’t realized that he has slowly been inching closer to you until then. You ask quietly, maybe a little tiredly, “But what do I really mean to you, Jungkook? Pretty words mean one thing but… It’s just been months since this whole thing started and nothing’s ever happened between us and I always see you with pretty girls but I can’t be the only one feeling different. I mean, even in Italy ━ you can’t tell me we weren’t going to kiss but then you turned away and━”

You’re cut off abruptly with a kiss on your mouth, his mouth silencing your own mouth with an unbreakable seam of your lips. It catches you completely off guard but it reminds you so suddenly of all your harbored feelings towards him. The kiss is hard, fast, feverish and it happens all at once that you barely have time to register anything else before you’re parting from with him a loud pop! of your lips. You’re gawking up at him with wide eyes and an ajar mouth, lips swollen red, and breathing fast when a sudden realization dawns on you. All the magic you had felt in Paris and Italy, the dreamlike state of mind you had endured these past few months ━ most of it had been because of Jungkook. Because when you’re around Jungkook, no matter the lavish place or foreign city or pretty beach, everything feels, simply, like magic. Jungkook’s reaction is similar to yours but then it softens into something more cordial. His eyes sweep over your face softly and his hand comes up to rest gingerly upon your cheek.

“You mean the world to me,” he whispers. “And I mean that. I haven’t felt this different in such a long time. These past few months that we’ve spent together, whether it being at boring dinner parties or walking Gureum or having a movie night, it’s meant so much to me. You mean so much to me. No one else matters. No one else compares to you. Fancy cars and Italy and Paris can’t even compare to you. And I’ve never felt so━ so me and so comfortable than when I’m around you. I’m just so thankful you even gave me a chance in the first place━”

This time it is you who silences him again with another short kiss, his words exciting you all too suddenly that you think you aren’t possibly able to contain it. You part from him moments later only to mumble against his lips, “Keep kissing me, please.”

It earns a soft chuckle against your lips but Jungkook doesn’t relent. How can he ever deny such an idea when the taste of your lips is so heavenly? The soft flesh of your upper lip wedged so perfectly between his teeth, the way you sigh with delight against his mouth as the kiss progresses, the way the touch and feel of your lips ignites something so foreign, so lovely, in the very core of his heart, in his bones, exploding with each passing second behind his shut eyelids and at the tips of his fingers. He enjoys it too much to find any reason to stop and, instantaneously, his insatiable hunger for you is coming to light. His eager lips part from yours to nip and suck at your jawline and neck and it earns a beautiful gasp from you, your hands flying out to grasp onto his biceps.

“Let me take care of you tonight, baby girl,” he hums. “It’ll be all about you. I’ll show you just how much you mean to me.”

It’s the way he is whispering his words, deep and husky, that sends shivers down your spine. You curl into his chest instinctively and crane your neck, as if silently begging him for more. You can feel his lips ghost along your jugular as you try to speak next and it is enough to make you flustered and, thus, makes you give up on any attempt to communicate verbally without sounding like a fool. Instead, as if to show him your interest, you catch his lips with yours once more and kiss him eagerly. It makes Jungkook smile and suppress his chuckles as he sees just how desperate you are and, fuck, he finds it incredibly hot. In the next moment, you’re burrowing your face into his neck, your tongue laving circles at his jugular.

“Just as long as you get me out of this stupid dress,” You mumble against his throat.

“Gladly.”

He laughs lightly and you can’t help the giggle that bubbles at your lips. He grabs onto your waist then and pushes you around until he has your back pressed up against the nearest wall. He leans in against you and replaces your efforts by littering love bites along your neck and down to your collarbone. Your breath hitches in your throat and your hand immediately comes up to allow your fingers to thread in his hair and grasp at something, anything. You’re bristling with excitement as you hold your head higher, lips curling into a smirk. He hums into your neck and then he’s greedily reaching for the zipper of your dress, tugging it down.

As soon as he has the dress unzipped, he watches as you begin to shimmy your way out of the material, tugging it down your torso and then legs and Jungkook makes sure he doesn’t miss one single second of it or the white lace underwear you wear, the perfect perk of your breasts bare. It’s then that Jungkook realizes this isn’t all an elaborate dream in his head; that this is real life, and that you’re opening yourself up completely to him. As soon as you’re stepping out of the dress, Jungkook can’t help but reach out to grab onto your hips and yank you toward him, sighing into your hair, “Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

Jungkook doesn’t seem to notice the way your own hands snake up his chest to pop open the first few buttons of his dress shirt. Instead, he is much too busy on peppering kisses along your neck and shoulders, down to your collarbones, and back up again, marking you red and purple. It’s then that he starts pulling you with him as he takes quick yet careful strides backwards to the flight of stairs. It’s messy and frantic and results in a lot of time spent pressed up against walls and the railing of the stairs along the way to the second floor, greedy hands and lips unwilling to part from one another. By the time you’ve made it to his bedroom, you’ve somehow managed to unbutton his entire shirt which now hangs open against his chest and your hands selfishly run up and down his exposed skin. Once in his bedroom, he shoves you up against one of the ceiling-to-floor windows that line the wall facing his bed, his lips still attached to your neck, and one of your legs thrown haphazardly around his hips, pressing him into you.

You can feel the bulge in his pants and his restrained member poking against your inner thigh and it is what pushes you to give an experimental roll of your hips against his. A rather loud moan falls from your lips at the abrupt contact against your throbbing core and suddenly you need more. You catch his lips on yours and he decides to take the liberty of grinding against you in such agonizing slow circles that it has both of you going absolutely insane but you want to take the time to enjoy every single second of this. His hands grasp at your hips, pushing you further and further up against the window. When he parts from you in the next moment, it is with a fleeting sweep of his hungry gaze down the front of your body, his fingertips dancing faintly along your arms and sides.

He presses one last lingering kiss to your lips and then leaves a trail down your throat, between the valley of your breasts (which he gluttonously grasps at, his thumb swiping over one of your perked bugs), and to your navel. He’s on his knees by the time he’s hovering over your hips, and the leg that had been carelessly wound around his waist now rests upon his shoulder. He plants a kiss on the skin just between your hip bones, just above your panties, and surely he understands your need. His seemingly unencumbered expression is maddening. His fingers dig into your hips and hours seem to pass as you wait for him to touch the one place he neglects. A needy whimper falls from your parted lips that sounds akin to a desperate beg of, “Please, Jungkook. I need you.”

“Shh, baby girl, have patience,” he rasps. “I’m going to treat you just right.”

His promise rouses you and makes you stifle your childlike whines, though your patience is beginning to wear thin. His fingers hook around the lace material of your panties and he slowly drags them down your legs, enjoying the way you bite down on your lower lip in anticipation and watch him with hooded eyes. His eyes take in your soft glistening cunt and he sighs in admiration. Then his tongue makes contact with your clit and a small squeak rips from your throat, your hips immediately bucking forward. He doesn’t seem to mind, though, and if anything moans in delight at the taste of your cum on his tongue. He runs the wet muscle down your folds and back up, swirling slow circles against your bundle of nerves, feeling just how wet you are for him, tasting just how wet you are, and the new sensation hits you all at once, leaving your jaw hanging open. He smirks at your reaction, his tongue continuing its ministration as you’re certain he can feel your arousal grow.

“Jungkook,” You sigh, your hands twisting in his hair. “Ah, th━that feels so good━ Oh!”

The sudden gasp that tears from your throat is a result of his finger pressing against your folds. He runs his digit along your skin, coaxing it perfectly in your sticky succulence that sends a sudden shock of euphoria spiralling all over your body. As he busies himself with swirling his tongue around your sensitive clit, his lips suction perfectly around the skin and he sucks, hard, and his finger slides past your slick folds, earning a cry of delight from you. His finger curls within you and begins pumping in and out of you at a gradual pace but it, mixed with his tongue pressed against your clit, is enough to send you whirling out of control. Your legs are suddenly shaking and, had your leg not been supported by his shoulder, you fear that your knees may have buckled under the pressure

“Ah, Jungkook!” You gasp in a trembling breath. “F━Fuck, nghn━”

The sound is simply divine and Jungkook selfishly wants to hear more. He basks in the way you clench around him, the way you whimper and writhe. Soon he is picking up pace, pumping his finger in you with a reckless abandon and sucking hard at your clit, and it’s almost shameless how fast your sweet release hits you. You’re tumbling over the edge soon after, hips bucking back and forth into his mouth as you chase after your high. Jungkook joins his tongue with his fingers and starts lapping at your walls like he’s eating a full course meal and the new sensation suddenly has you howling.

“Jungkook!” You cry. “Jungkook, I’m━”

You hear him, feel him, hum against your core before it turns into a beautiful moan. He burrows deeper into you, his nose brushing against your clit, eager to carry you to your high, and he does so with ease. As soon as you feel your high rapidly approaching, you let go of all sense of control and welcome it with wide open arms. You’re hit with waves of intense pleasure as you release onto Jungkook’s tongue and finger and, fuck, the sight is even hotter than he could have imagined. He hurries to help you ride out your high, gasps and moans ripping from your throat in a messy cacophony, your hips writhing beneath him. He relents at once when you start to whimper at the oversensitivity and pulls apart, glancing up at you with a glistening mouth, his lips and chin coated with you. He licks at every inch of his face that is shimmering and moans in content.

“Fuck, you taste amazing,” he gasps, his eyes flickering up your dishevelled appearance.

You’re breathing hard, chest rising and falling, and your teeth have bitten down so hard on your lower lip that the flesh is almost swollen. He leans down once more to kiss the inside of your thigh gently and looks up at you through his long lashes. You’re still gasping for air when your hands start tugging at him, trying desperately to pull him back up to you, and he allows you to. When his face is hovering right above yours, you smash your lips hungrily against his for a messy and heated kiss. He grins against your mouth, seemingly enjoying the way you’re biting at his lips, tasting your own cum on the tip of his tongue.

“Tell me what you need from me,” he whispers between your kisses. “What do you want?”

“You,” You gasp. “All of you, fuck. I need you so bad. I’m so wet for you right now; I need you to fuck me.”

His grin shifts into a sly smirk as he hears your pleading whines and he kisses you harder. “Anything for you, baby girl.”

He lets you tackle his neck with harsh kisses and lets your digits trace down his torso to the belt on his pants. You’ve only so much as pushed his pants and boxers down his thighs when both of you grow impatient. His cock pulses, tip angry and red and leaking with milky pre-cum, and you lick your lips at the sight, unable to contain yourself. Your hands reach for his length instantly, fingers brushing against his tip before wrapping firmly around his base. His breath hitches in his throat as you start pumping him, gliding your hand slowly up and down his length, your eyes fixated only on him.

“Fuck,” he grunts abruptly. “Baby girl━”

He pauses and hisses through clenched teeth as you continue. He doesn’t at all expect you to start pleasuring him but he doesn’t mind. In fact, he is carried away as you continue to work your hands against him, jerking him off in just the right pace that he isn’t able to hold himself back. He would have been fine coming right in your perfect hands but he needs more first before he is able to let himself fully go. He struggles to find his words as you begin to quicken your pace, sputtering for air helplessly. He squeezes his eyes shut, gulping hard and trying to focus his attention away from the exaltation he’s receiving.

“Ah, s━slow down, angel,” he breathes. It nearly pains him to pry your hands off of him and when you look at him with those innocent puppy dog eyes, he has to refrain from letting go right then and there.

“What’s wrong?” You ask. “I thought you were enjoying that.”

“No━ I mean, fuck, yes, I was,” he stammers. “But I’m trying not to come undone before I’m filling you up. Fuck, I just need to be in you right now.”

“Then fuck me,” You say boldly. “I’m all yours.”

The words seem to spark a glint in his eyes that entices him to move next. One hand grips at your thigh and lifts it onto his waist, while his other hand pumps himself slowly. Your mewls of euphoria hit his ears in a ringing melody and he waits, patiently, watching as you quiver beneath him, moaning once more. Your teeth sink into your lower lip as you’re held in suspense, waiting for the heavenly contact. When it happens, when you finally feel the tip of his cock push past your folds, your jaw drops open in a silent gap. He pauses then, grunting and hissing as he adjusts to your warmth, before he’s pushing himself into you once more, slowly. He’s perfectly thick, fitting snugly in your core, letting you feel him stretch you open inch by glorious inch. It’s too much for you to handle now, and you can’t help the moan that escapes you.

“Fuck,” You whimper, head lolling back against the windowpane. “Fuck━ I━ I━”

“You’re so wet,” Jungkook grunts. “Shit, you feel amazing.”

You whimper in response and he pushes himself into you the rest of the way until he’s finally buried hilt deep within you. He pauses again, letting you both adjust to the newfound sensation.  He almost collapses against you as he pushes himself deeper into you, grinding against you in slow motions that have your head spinning. He pulls back after a while in one languid stride until only his tip is left buried in your folds before thrusting back into you with enough force to send you tottering forward. He adapts a leisurely pace of thrusting in and out of you so that you can feel him stretch you open all the way until it feels like he’s in the very back of your throat before pulling out and it drives you mad. As your arms wrap around his neck, one of his hands digs into your hips, and the other dances up the front of your chest. It first grasps at one of your breasts, his warm palm wrapping so perfectly around it, before his fingers stretch out amongst your neck.

Favouring a more suitable position, Jungkook comes to one stimulating halt when he thrusts up into you one final time. Momentarily you’re taken from your reverie when he pulls his dripping cock from your folds. Instead, he turns you around and you so easily oblige. He yanks your hips towards him, your ass pressing up firmly against his hips, and then he pushes himself into you once more. Your hands brace yourself as you plant them firmly on the window before you. From this angle, you can see the dazzling lights of the city, and though you know it isn’t possible from this high up, you wonder if any passersby far down below on the streets can see you and Jungkook in such a lewd setting. This time, his pace is fast and precise, his hips angling just right to thrust his cock into you in just the right spot.

“Fuck, baby girl,” he rasps. “Moan for me. Let me hear you.”

There is an internal battle to find your voice, being condemned silent due to the ecstasy that clouds your mind and blocks you from thinking or saying anything reasonable. You swallow hard, all senses focused on the way he’s thrusting into you, picking up speed, the sound of skin against skin and vulgar wet slaps each time he sinks deeper into you. The only way you can describe it is akin to feeling your head being set ablaze and sending it’s flickering flames all over your body and make the dazzling lights of the city blur in with the stars. When he thrusts into you the next time, he is suddenly hitting an angle that has something erupting in you and has you plummeting forward, jaw ripping open. You cry out as you flail forward, your hands slipping from their hold against the window.

“A━Ah, f━fuck,” You hiss. “Jungkook! J━Jungkook━ I’m━”

Your voice is drowned out by another loud moan and the sound is so angelic, so clear, that Jungkook yearns to hear more. He pulls your waist closer to him because there is no way you can find the strength to prop yourself up any longer when it just feels so amazing. His movements become more erratic, messy as he fumbles for your high and his. His warm fingers continue to tug at your ass, your waist, anything to hold you closer to him. But soon even he can’t hold himself together. With the way you clench so tightly around him, he begins sputtering for air. Soon, he has you pressed shamelessly all the way against the window, your cheek laying flat against the cool glass, and his own chest lays taut against your back. His self-indulgent hands snake around your front and push apart your thighs so that he can rub the heel of his palm against your clit. That, mixed with his teeth sinking absentmindedly into your shoulder, and the feeling of his twitching cock buried deep within your core is enough to have you a moaning and whimpering mess.

When he pulls out of you this time, it is to pull you back towards the king-sized bed. In the process, you help him kick off the stubborn remaining material of his pants. He’s only managed to make it as far being seated at the edge of the bed, with you straddling his hips and sitting prettily in his lap, when you eagerly reach down to run his length along your folds. Jungkook is too caught up in the pleasure to even bother to stop you, watching as you grip his shoulders tightly, and ride him in his lap with a reckless abandon. Your actions are desperate, eager. He wraps his arms around your waist, holding you tightly against him, and all you can hear is the vulgar wet sound of his length slipping in and out. It’s disorganized, frantic, desperate, hot, as both of you chase your highs. It hits you first after already being spent from your first orgasm, as if you had just ran straight into a brick wall, and has you completely unprepared. It starts at your core and sparks outward, like electricity flowing through your veins and bones. Your stomach unravels at the feeling, your core tightening around his length and the tight confinement has Jungkook moaning and wheezing for air.

“Jungkook!” You cry. “Fuck!”

You reach your high moments later, coming around his length and coating every inch of him in your sweet release as it leaks out of you, chanting his name over and over again in a beautiful mantra that he finds himself indulging in. The way your high overwhelms your senses has you seeing stars, your head spinning, as your body writhes in his ironclad hold. Jungkook nearly collapses against you at the feeling of your kegel muscles flexing around him, his hands pawing at your back in an attempt to keep a hold on reality. It’s the way your orgasm seems to hit you that has your core pulsating around him, even as you try to come down from your high only to feel the pleasurable ache that is his hard cock buried deep within you. He pulls out then, far too quickly for your liking, but he fumbles to gingerly push you over and you follow suit until you’re laying on your back. He takes no time to position himself back over his entrance, kneeling between your legs, and pushes himself into you once more with a wet squelch. You’re met with a feeling of oversensitivity, but you buck your hips forward, probing him to his release.

“Ah, Jungkook,” You whimper. “Mmm, come for me, baby.”

Your indigent hands tug at his arms, his torso, anything in your reach to have him closer to you and he happily obliges, propping himself up with his elbows. He combs your hair away from your face and kisses your lips tenderly. He pulls his length out of you only to slam his hips back in and rattling you to the bone. You squeak involuntarily, your mouth peppering his jawline and neck with love bites. His thrusts are still quick, desperate almost, as he lusts for his release. The tenderness in your core met with his hard pumps have you sinking your teeth down into his shoulder and he hisses. His hand finds your chin then and he delicately pulls you apart from him before making you face him.

“Keep looking at me, baby girl, okay?” he rasps before cursing under his breath.

You nod meekly, finding solace in gnawing on your lower lip as your eyes make contact with his. The sight has Jungkook nearly coming then and there and how can he not when your hooded eyes are fixated on him, sleepy and innocent, completely fucked out, and you’re sucking hard on your lip. Jungkook has a similar look of exhaustion painted on his face, his eyebrows scrunched together in hard concentration and his lips parting ever so slightly for you to see his gritting teeth. Beads of sweat form on his forehead and yours and suddenly the room is stifling hot, warming your face and body completely. Soon, the oversensitivity you feel soothes into something softer, more pleasurable, and it doesn’t affect you nearly as much. You jut your hips forward then, urging him on and he moans.

“Y/N━ Oh, shit━”

A whimper falls from Jungkook’s lips and it’s so surprising, so hot, that you nearly come again. He’s picking up his pace, snapping his hips messily into yours. He comes only moments later, finally reaching his perfect bliss, and it has him plummeting his hips once more into yours before he’s releasing his hot sticky seed into you. The room is filled with both of your moans, mixed with his breathy groans of your name. His weight gives out beneath him and he falls on top of you though he rocks his hips into yours tiredly to ride out his high until he is finally at peace, boneless from within you. Once he has calmed down from his high, he slumps fully against your chest, his face buried in your collarbone, and the room finally goes silent.

All that fills the air is the sound of both of your wheezing pants and your shrilly beating heart that you are certain even Jungkook can hear. The room is warm, the smell of sex stale in the air, but there is a sheen of pure white elatedness that has you sighing in content. Your fingers rake through Jungkook’s sweaty hair and the silence, with the added warmth of his body laying over yours, almost lulls you to sleep. You’re drifting in and out of consciousness when Jungkook presses his lips to your collarbone and then lifts his head to kiss your own lips. Your eyes flicker open then and you find him smiling down at you and the sight is so radiating, so ardent, that you can’t help but mirror it tiredly. He pulls out of you then and you hiss at the sudden emptiness and the way his milky cum leaks out of you and down your thighs. He stands to his feet, tossing on his underwear, before leaning down to whisper, “I’ll be right back, baby girl, don’t worry.”

He disappears out the room but you don’t know where until he returns a minute later with a damp cloth in hand. He climbs the bed next to you and then he begins to gently wipe at your core with the cloth, making you hum in satisfaction. He finds you smiling at him when he finally looks back up at you and quirks a brow, tilting his head to the side.

“What?” he asks.

“Oh, nothing,” You chuckle lightly, though you’re certain he knows his gentle gestures have your heart bursting with joy. “Come here.”

He does as you say, reclining back on the bed and opening his arms to invite you in. You wiggle closer to his body until you’re pressed up against his side, your head nuzzling into his chest; his own arm wraps around your waist and his other hand lets his fingers run up and down your spine in comforting circles. That, and the sound of his gently thudding heart, is what carries you to sleep that night.

When you awake in the morning, it is to the coarse and wet tongue of Gureum lapping at your cheek. The shimmering sunlight drifts in through Jungkook’s shut blinds and dusts your body in a golden light and heat. It, and Gureum, rouses you back to reality and has you giggling sleepily as you see the small white dog perched up next to you on the bed. Your reach for him to scratch behind his ears as your eyes focus on Jungkook laying just beyond the dog. He’s already awake, gazing up at you with dreary eyes and a soft smile.

“Good morning,” You yawn.

“Morning,” he replies.

He kisses your forehead and you smile once more, folding into him as you hug Gureum close to you. It’s silent again after that and it feels so strange to have everything feel so normal. To be cuddling with Jungkook and his dog in his bed with him after a night of making love, and it is almost as if you were supposed to be there from the very beginning. It was comfortable, it was simple, it was easy ━ and you loved every single second of it. His hand finds yours and your fingers lace together flawlessly and you’re so content with falling back asleep that you nearly miss Jungkook when he speaks next.

“Do you remember what I said to you at the lounge when I first brought up this whole thing?” he asks.

It takes you a moment to think back to that day which seems so far away. His gaze is fixated on your clasped hands but you’re already staring at him.

“The rules?”

He nods slowly. “Do you remember how I said we shouldn’t fall in love?”

You can already sense where the conversation is going and it has your throat swelling, your heart pounding in your chest. “Yes.”

Jungkook finally looks at you, his dark chocolate eyes locking with your own pupils. “Well,” he trails off. “I’m pretty sure I broke that rule because I’m falling in love with you.”

His confession startles you completely, hitting you all at once. You gasp in response, eyes widening in surprise, and you can only hope he isn’t able to hear the frantic beating of your heart.

“When did you break it?”

That is all you can muster, but it doesn’t seem to disappoint Jungkook. He smiles sheepishly, his eyes flickering up to the ceiling.

“Would you call me insane if I said that very night at the lounge?” he asks.

“No,” You reply, catching his attention once more. “Because I’m fairly certain that’s when I started falling for you, too.”

Jungkook’s face begins to light up and it is the first time you have seen him as happily genuine as he is there. His smile radiates the same warmth and glory of the sun and he watches you in a shimmering lovelight as you look away, face flushing, and fingers tracing patterns on his bare chest.

“Can we make another deal?” You ask faintly.

“Of course, anything,” he says.

“Can we━ Can we give us a try?” You inquire.

Jungkook laughs. “You didn’t have to ask. I thought it was already a given that we would give us a try after we said we both have feelings for each other.”

You smile again and look up at him. “But there’s more.”

“What is it, baby girl?”

“I just━” You pause and then push yourself over onto your stomach from beneath the soft sheets. Gureum skips over to the edge of the bed and sits at the very end of your feet. “I want to give us a try without your money getting in the way. I mean, I don’t need you ━ or want you ━ to pay for me to be by your side. I want this to be real and genuine.”

“Of course,” he complies. “This is just you and me now. But, that being said, I’m still obligated to spoil my baby girl rotten every now and then with gifts and there’s nothing you can do to stop me. You still deserve to be treated like a princess.”

You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head at him. You kiss him once more, short and quick, and mumble against his lips a very faint, “Deal. But, on one condition.”

“Go on,” he hums.

“You let me take you out on a coffee date today and let me pay for the both of us this time with my own money,” You say.

Jungkook grins wide and nods enthusiastically. “That sounds perfect. Anything you want, I’ll do.”

You find it hard to look away from Jungkook after that, and you’re certain you find yourself falling even more in love with him then. His golden tan illuminates under the glittering sunlight and you want nothing more than to be in that moment forever where it is just you and Jungkook, Jungkook and you.

“First thing’s first, though,” Jungkook says at long last. “How about we start the morning off right with a round two from last night in the shower right now. What do you say?”

His proposition has you laughing so suddenly that it startles Gureum at the edge of the bed. You lean down again to kiss Jungkook’s irresistible lips. When you part, you catch his mischievous stare and his broad grin and mirror it.

“Well,” You say, “I have always said you like to spoil me rotten.”

“Well,” Jungkook echoes with a chuckle. He shrugs innocently as he speaks next, pressing a chilling kiss to your neck. “Only the best for my baby girl.”

⟶ All rights reserved to © jungkxook. I do not allow reposting, translating, or any sort of modifying and reuploading of my work. 

⟶ Feedback is always appreciated! 

[daretosnoop]

What you should eat based on game vibes

Don’t know if someone has already done this but here we go:

SCK/SCK Remastered: PBJ sandwich, grilled cheeses sandwich, deli sandwich, soda in a can by day and glass bottle at night, chips, pigs in a blanket, cheeseits, an apple, milk in those paper cartons, crinkle fries with ketchup mustard mixed

STFD: fruit platters, coffee in a white mug ndwith a 90s logo, sautéed asparagus, stuffed mushrooms, NY pizza ordered late, gyro, sparkling water, strawberry shortcake, NY cheesecake

MHM: meat with a sweet glaze with mashed potato and boiled veggies, Chinese takeout ordered late, apple cider, pecan pie, pumpkin pie, ginger beer, stewed tomatoes

TRT: fondue stand, smoked ham, cebu lechon, pumpernickel bread with brier cheese , jam, jam cookies,hot cocoa, apple cinnamon tea, apple pie, toasted nuts, glazed carrots

FIN: popcorn, taffy, chalk candy, boiled peanuts, roasted corn, red liquorice, unbranded soda, peanut brittle

SSH: fruit platters, fruit drinks in watermelon and papaya, salsa, green salsa, avocados, grilled fish, lemon chicken, rotisserie, tortillas, lemonade, bean soup, barley and chicken in bell peppers, green tomatoes (in any form)

DOG: whiskey, stacked sandwiches (scooby doo style), pickles, banana peppers, fried fish, hot dogs, peach cobbler, blueberry juice, unidentifiable meat in a can stewed slowly over a fire, bread and butter with coffee in the morning

CAR: roasted corn, grilled seafood on a stick, boiled peanuts, cotton candy, ice cream, seafood medley, butter lobster, peach cobbler, aspirin, poutine, fish and chips, vinegar onions, korean corn dogs

DDI: clam chowder, seafood pasta, lemon butter pasta with lobster, steamed clams, rice porridge, blueberry muffins, sherbet, mint tea, coffee in a thermos

SHA: kidney beans stew, steak and potatoes, those tarts your get at bakeries, eggs and bacon with bread to sop up the yolk, hamburger steak with egg, hash browns, diner coffee, pancakes, grits with cheese

CUR: English breakfast, tea, vegetables with no seasoning, stewed chicken,mushy peas, cold cheese deli meats on bread, lamb chops, a ceramic jar of cookies kept just out of reach, hot milk before bed with a chocolate, ale

TRN: ratatouille, glazed veggies, pasta with a rue sauce, béchamel, fruit cocktail, gin and tonic, roasted potatoes, garlic bread, cherries, peach cobbler, smoked meats, fried chicken

CLK: peaches and cream, coffee with biscotti, illegal champagne, ribs, fried eggplant with marinara sauce, biscuits in gravy, rye bread, cherry tomatoes, crisp lettuce, grilled zucchini, stewed tomatoes, soft pretzels, apple pie with vanilla ice cream, iced tea

CRE: fish baked over a fire wrapped in banana leaves, pineapple salsa, grilled veggies on sticks, shrimp, any type of rice dish (jallop, pulao, spanish rice, fried rice etc.), citrus soda/lemonade, upside down pineapple cake, poke bowls

DAN: hot croissant with jam on one side and butter on the other, crème brûlée, mint tea, lavender cake, champagne, onion soup, charcuterie board, coq au vin, spinach soufflé, lobster bisque

ICE: honey cake, pancakes with maple syrup, grilled salmon with a maple syrup glaze served with wild rice and green beans, dijon mustard on bread, cranberry sauce, roast turkey, sweet potatoes

CRY: grilled seafood with cajun seasoning, beignets, doberge cake, couche couche with hotsauce, oysters, gin fizz, cognac, sherry, cafe au lait, dulce de leche, trout, seafood pie, crawfish, jambalaya, gumbo, red velvet cake

VEN: cappuccino, pasta with garlic and parmigiana, Neapolitan pizza, olives and capers, anchovies over bread, fried eggplants (no batter) in olive oil, rosemary and thyme infused oil with bread,

HAU: potatoes in every which way but especially roasted and mashed with butter, shepherds pie, mint tea, boiled peas, lamb chops, bread dipped in fresh buttermilk, Irish stew, sweet bread, Irish breakfast tea

RAN: cut fruit and grilled fish in a hallow pineapple, wild rice, ham or poultry with pineapple glaze, crackers, flatbread with grilled shrimp curry, coconut based curries, rotisserie style poultry, chutneys, apricot jam, jelly

WAV: croissants with orange marmalade and butter, mutton curry with jasmine rice, saffron rice with creamy chicken stew, sushi, seafood pasta, fruit bowls, overnight oatmeals, loaded potatoes, late night peanut butter snacking

TOT: Wisconsin cheese, vinegar pie, pecan pie, pumpkin pie, (all the pies from the Waitress), scrambled eggs with coffee, buttermilk soaked fried chicken, steak and potatoes, cornbread, chocolate chip cookies, chocolate dipped orange flavoured ice cream, steak and kidney pie

SAW: green tea, soba noodles, clear soups, pickled veggies, salmon on wheat crackers, roasted chestnuts, coffee spiced with oranges and cinnamon, sesame crackers (sweet and salty both), and yes, ramen

CAP: deli meats, assorted bread, honey mustard, butter, romadeur, dumplings, hollandaise sauce, fried potatoes (different styles), sausages, drumstick, cheese sticks, blanched vegetables, green apple sauce, custard, black forest cake

ASH: confetti cake, angel cake, BLT sandwiches, Caesar salad, lemon pasta, dill pickles, potato salad, quesadillas, steak, BBQ, deep dish pizza, carrots in ranch, chips, banana split

TMB: shawarma, falafel, cucumber salad, tahini, humus, garlic pita, grilled veggies, rice and spices baked in an earthen pot, kabob, grilled seafood, saffron rice, baklava, pistachio ice cream, date milkshake, beer

DED: vinegar chips, ice cold water, coffee from a dispenser in a styrofoam cup, stale snacks from a vending machine, peanut butter crackers, cheese crackers, baked goods in the morning, pad thai, fast food pizza, salad bar, trail mix

GTH: pecan pie, peach cobler, ground nuts, fried chicken, cheesy garlic bread, pimento cheese, chewy meat, BBQ, lemonade, sherry, gin, crawfish, pulled pork, rolls, soul food

SPY: haggis, mutton chops, Danish pastries, salmon with dill, pheasant, dundee cake, clam chowder, shortbread, coffee, Lincoln logs, smoked meats, clotted cheese, crackers, oatmeal with raisins, ale, whisky

MED: sushi, lemon grass tea, wheat grass shots, roasted sweet potato and yams with spices, pumpkin and squash stews, broiled veggies, rutabaga mash, rhubarb pie, steamed clams and mussels, truffle pasta

LIE: feta on bread with honey drizzle, greek yogurts with fresh cut fruit, fresh mozzarella over chicken salad, gyro, lamb rotisserie, shawarma, collared greens, pan fried seafood, steamed fish with lemon, carrot salad, pickled veggies, kefir, rice pudding

SEA: seafood buffet cooked every which way, skyr, salmon and haddock boiled with potatoes, dried seafood on bread, mutton soup, rice pudding, clear broth, veggie stew, mashed potatoes

[thero0ks]

Can you do a request from Mike? In a modern au? One shot, Drable,hcs, your choice where mike feels possessive over reader

853 words, I’d call it a long drabble. I hope you enjoyed it!

Possessive Mike/Miche 

Giggles escaped from her lips, and the smirk his boss wore was infuriating. Rocks clinked against crystalline glass as Erwin Smith tilted his drink back. Piercing blue eyes locked on her frame, taking in the slip of thigh the high slit exposed. Hunger sparked in his eyes, and Mike knew the blond man liked what he saw. 

Straightening to his full height, he gripped the stem of the champagne glass as he made his way over to his girlfriend. Light danced in her eyes when she saw him. Beaming at him she took the glass. A small smile spread across his lips. Standing next to a man that could be compared to a Greek god, and she only had eyes for him. 

Emerald eyes slid over to challenging sea blue eyes. Erwin knew a divine creature when he saw one, and the woman Mike brought was ethereal. Swallowing at the sight of her pressing the glass to her lips, Erwin watched the muscled of her neck flex as she swallowed the sparkling alcohol.

Hands rested on her hips, and lips found her neck. Soft laughs like bells fell from her lips at the sensation of whiskers on her neck. Possessive eyes flickered up at his boss, and he was met with a cold stare. Oblivious to the exchange his angel remained content in his arms sipping away at the champagne, as curious eyes flickered across the room. Mike kept one hand on her the rest of the evening. Trailing his fingers across her body in a way to show who she belonged to. 

Mike watched her flitter off to speak with Nanaba and Petra. Turning, he saw sapphire eyes locked on her retreating form. “You have found a rare treasure Mike,” Erwin commented. 

Nodding, he threw the last bit of his cognac back. “I’m aware of what I have to lose,” Mike stated. 

A small huff escaped his boss, as the corner of his mouth quirked up. Cunning didn’t even begin to describe the shorter blond. Erwin appreciated Mike’s bluntness. “How did you find her?” 

Exchanging the empty glass, for another off a silver tray from a cocktail waitress Erwin barely gave her a glance as his eyes flickered over to Mike’s date who was laughing at something Nanaba had said. Eyes bore through him, and he didn’t need to turn to know Mike was staring at him with a hostile expression. 

“My friend Gelgar set us up,” Mike bit out. He was used to her drawing looks wherever they went. Always oblivious to the stares she solicited, it rarely bothered him. They were always kept at a distance, and they never tried anything more.

Erwin Smith wasn’t like most men. Bold, but not brash, powerful, but kind, he was the complete package. A man most women dreamed of, and Mike knew his girlfriend had taken notice by the small blush that dusted her cheeks in the presence of his boss. The blush only painted her in a more innocent light, something he knew would drive Erwin crazy. Respectfully, she kept her distance, and tried to keep eye contact to a minimum. 

It was an impossible request to ask her to not find other men attractive. He still saw other women he thought were beautiful. Fleeting emotions like that were only human, but he’d never witnessed another man take immediate notice of the fleeting emotion she experienced. 

Erwin Smith was observant, so it shouldn’t have come as a shock that he would take notice of the subtle change in her behavior. “Gelgar didn’t want to hold onto her?”

“He’s married,” Mike deadpanned. 

“I bet he regrets that,” Erwin commented, tipping his glass back. 

Mike knew Erwin was trying to get under his skin. Push him to snap, and see how serious he was about her. Deep down Mike knew Erwin couldn’t take her away from him, but something primal in him wanted to protect. Settling on taking a deep breath through his nose he decided to ignore the statement, and not engage. 

Studious eyes took in the taller man. Baiting him hadn’t worked, but he was still tense. Erwin knew it was a losing battle, but he had to see if there was an opening he could get. Mike knew exactly what he had to lose, and so did she. “You’re perfect for each other.”

Surprise, caused his brows to arch. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me Zacharius, but if you ever forget what you have there is a line of men waiting to take your place, and trust me when I say I’ll be at the front of the line.”

With that, Erwin disappeared to mingle with the employees he rarely spoke to. Mike was still stunned when he felt a small hand on his arm, causing him to jump. “You ready to go?” 

Mike turned slightly to her, kissing her deeply. The action caught her off guard for a moment, before she eagerly returned the kiss. When they separated a fine brow arched. “What was that for?” 

“I just love you,” Mike said simply, with a small shrug of his large shoulders. 

[fichtfrank]

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[marastonirappresentanze]

COGNAC COUPRIE

COGNAC V.S.O.P.

Cognac Grande Champagne 1er Cru de Cognac

The Conquest of Innovation in Quality Drinking

DEGRE: 40% vol

CEPAGE: Ugni blanc

CONDITIONNEMENT: Bouteille type Paillarde avec cachet cire 70cl, caisse de 6 /12 bouteilles, avec ou sans étui. Disponible également en bouteille Ariane 50cl avec étui et Magnum 150cl.

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[agapaic]

[fic] nothing’s gonna hurt you, baby [2/6]

he tian x mo guan shan

tags/notes: 1920′s au, new york au, reference to drugs and alcohol, gang violence.

links: read on ao3 | part one

this fic was commissioned by @teanshan

part 2: righteousness

‘Are you slow?’ He Tian said, flicking out the fingers of his left hand towards Guan Shan. ‘Or mute?’

His table of companions was looking at him, a collective cocktail of embarrassment and ridicule written on their faces, and Guan Shan shook his head. He held the half-empty bottle of champagne to his chest like a shield.

‘I’m new, sir,’ he said, realising in the ashen silence in his head that he didn’t know what to do.

It was never meant to be like this, exposed and overtly public. Guan Shan may as well have been standing where the jazz band played, whispering into a microphone, spotlights blistering his skin like sunburn. Throwing out accusations now would pull him into the restaurant’s back alley with his throat slit and intestines hanging out between his ribs. He Tian’s dark, watchful eyes promised he’d have no trouble exacting the punishment.

In the onset of quiet, of rapt attention like a Colosseum audience, Guan Shan acknowledged that he had no particular plan for handling this. Everything had lead up to this moment, but not the moment itself. And whatever it would have been, this wasn’t it. Too easy, too close. He Tian sat right before him, the subject of his father’s demise—the uncompromising cause of it, one man against another.

Did He Tian recognise Guan Shan? Did he see the resemblance in their jawlines where He Tian might once have landed a fist? Was there the same fired agony curling smoke through their eyes?

This was supposed to be covert and hidden, some darkened room where Guan Shan had the freedom to find the truth he knew he wouldn’t get tonight, one-on-one. Some position of power that Guan Shan had so naively thought he’d had when he strode down the stairwell and held the bottle of Clicquot aloft at He Tian’s table.

The dangerous men are those with nothing to lose.

He hadn’t been dangerous; he’d been foolish.

‘This isn’t right,’ he whispered. Aloud.

Fuck.

‘Will you all excuse me,’ He Tian said, and then echoed the same in English. He stood without support from his cane, buttoned the suit jacket at the joining of his waistcoat, and stubbed his half-finished cigarette fastidiously into the ashtray on the table.

‘Need help, boss?’

He Tian waved off the man who had stood, the motion enough to get him to sit back down with a thump.

Even beneath the tar-like cloud of smoke that clung to the room, the musk of He Tian’s pomade was cutting as he took an iron grip on Guan Shan’s bicep and tugged him towards the bar, and beside it, a door.

The music didn’t stop; the drinks continued flowing; the conversation and bawdy laughter never ceased. Guan Shan wasn’t a spectacle of the evening—he was an inconvenience to be swiftly dealt with. He Tian’s grip on his arm promised that he would be.

‘Sir—’ Guan Shan started, entirely ineffective. He Tian moved like a freight train towards the door, unstoppable and uninterrupted, and Guan Shan had no strength to derail him.

Door open, Guan Shan was roughly shoved inside, and He Tian locked it with a practiced motion behind him while Guan Shan heaved breath into his lungs, bracing himself.

They stared at each other.

‘Take a seat,’ said He Tian, voice floating darkly into the office. It carried the same aesthetic as the bar, all dark woods and studded leather seating, a huge lacquered desk facing the door that must have been imported from China. Light trickled in from the bar outside, and an old oil lamp sat glowing in the corner beside a glass cabinet. Guan Shan could see his own reflection in it; pale and wide-eyed and caged.

There were no windows, no more doors. The office was serenely private, and Guan Shan had nowhere to run. He stumbled across the room, his pulse pounding like a drum in his ears, stomach rolling, his shaking threatening to tear his chest apart. He Tian’s own heels clicking on the floor in tandem at Guan Shan’s back like a soldier’s march—or a death knell.

Guan Shan slowly lowered himself into one of the two chairs facing the desk, feet planted on the hardwood floor, fingers curled like talons around the arms of the chair until the edges of the wood ached into his palms. He thought that the practiced firing of a revolver probably wouldn’t be heard beyond the confines of the office.

He Tian leant his cane on the desk beside Guan Shan, and extracted a bottle of cognac and two glasses from the cabinet. Bottle unscrewed, Guan Shan watched as amber liquid spilled freely, the silence painful, conscious of every movement He Tian made. His lungs ached with the effort of breathing so slowly, barely letting his chest rise.

‘It’s an 1883 bottle,’ He Tian informed Guan Shan, handing him a glass, like they were friends. ‘Drink up.’

‘No,’ said Guan Shan, instinct trapping his words, and then, ‘Sir. But thank you.’ He put the glass on the desk.

He Tian looked at the glass for a moment, weighing something internally, then shrugged in a harmless suit yourself kind of way. He wandered around to the other side of the desk, and reached down to pull open a drawer.

Guan Shan froze.

‘Do you smoke?’ said He Tian, and placed a humidor on the desk from the drawer. A neat row of fatly rolled cigars stared up at Guan Shan. In his hand, He Tian held a guillotine cutter, large enough to just fit the cap of a cigar through—or a finger.

Guan Shan tightened his fingers on the chair arms, resisted the temptation to sit on his hands.

‘I don’t,’ he said.

The humidor lid slammed down.

‘That’s a shame,’ said He Tian, seating himself in the desk chair and lighting up a cigarette, face alight with the orange glow of a flame for a handful of seconds, guillotine thrown against the desk with a dull clatter, Guan Shan’s eyes on him as a constant. ‘It’s important for me to give guests something they want when they’re in my company. It makes everything so much easier.’ He motioned towards Guan Shan with a hand; his smile was polite and excruciating. ‘That’s what you are, isn’t it? A guest? Because—’ At this, he chuckled and shook his head, a strand of slicked back hair falling into his face, an oil spill on his skin. ‘—you’re certainly not someone in my employ, are you?’

Guan Shan swallowed the knife digging its way around his throat, and felt the slow, burning drag of it down the middle of him, copper and acid welling at his core until he choked on it.

Guan Shan spoke through his teeth. ‘I don’t know what you’re—’

‘There’s no need for lies,’ He Tian interrupted. Smoke crept around him like cold breath in winter, curling and hard to breathe through. ‘Not with me. I know every name and every face in this city, but not yours. I know every name and every face in my employ, but not yours.’ He drummed his fingers on his desk, a steady metronome, and Guan Shan was almost grateful for the motion. He thought stillness would have given way to the panicked pulsing of his own heart. He Tian said, ‘Why is it that I don’t know you?’

Guan Shan said, ‘I dyed my hair.’

The drumming stopped.

He Tian stared at him, cigarette burning down to ash that was ready to break over his fingers. His thoughts were loud, and they built the silence around them both.

Was Guan Shan stupid? Did he think someone like He Tian was stupid?

It was a silence that told Guan Shan he was going to be lucky to get out of this room, let alone find out anything about his father. A silence of sharp edges and dull realisations, like a memory played on repeat before sleep, the regret of words said and the fear of words unsaid, happening in hazy recollection.

Guan Shan closed his eyes. ‘I just wanted to work for you.’

Without inflection, ‘Why.’

‘I heard you were good to work for and—’

‘Who did you hear this from?’

‘What—’

‘That I was good to work for. Who…’ He Tian ran his tongue over his teeth. Something seemed amusing to him. ‘Who rolled my name off their tongue so willingly?’

Guan Shan’s mouth went desert-dry. Sand grains settled in the crooks of his elbows, the bend of his knees, skin sun-blistered and gasping, a dust storm snatching words from his head in its wake.

‘Zhan Zhengxi.’

Betrayal soaked Guan Shan’s mouth like gasoline. The desert roared purple light and glass showers instead of rain, and Guan Shan waited for them to start shredding his skin to bloodied ribbons.

He Tian was leaning back in his chair, eyes flicked up as if he could see through the ceiling to Zhengxi’s office. ‘Really,’ he said flatly. And then, getting to his feet, collecting his cane, ‘Wait here.’

‘No, wait,’ Guan Shan blurted, torso twisting in his chair. ‘I lied. Zhengxi told me nothing. It wasn’t him. It was street talk. My mother’s sick.’

He Tian stayed standing. ‘Your mother’s sick,’ he echoed.

‘I heard you paid the best in the city. I have experience in catering. I need this or I’m dead and my mother’s dead too.’

He Tian looked down at him, the towering, benevolent god robed in black. The man who might’ve put the end of his cane in Guan Shan’s father’s back.

‘I’m not sure I see how any of this is my problem.’

He didn’t know how it happened, where the motion occurred—was it thought or action with afterthought? The aftershock of hardwood flooring on his knees buried him in realisation, followed swiftly by the bruising and and almost-fracturing, and his breath was momentarily stolen from him. He dragged it in with pained gasps, hid it against the floor as he bowed his back, nearly vomiting with the degradation weighing on his spine.

‘Please,’ he pushed out, not raising his eyes enough to stare at the glossed reflection of himself in He Tian’s shoes. ‘I have experience. I can be useful to you. Do whatever you need. Whatever you want. I need this.’

Guan Shan didn’t dare to look up in the silence that followed. He could feel He Tian’s eyes boring down onto him, heard the creek of leather, a smashed glass outside in the bar, his own heartbeat pounding in his head.

‘Get up,’ He Tian muttered, gaze averted. ‘Don’t debase yourself like that. It means nothing to me.’

Uncertain, Guan Shan gathered himself to his feet. He met He Tian’s eyes, black as coal pits, and felt his fingernails bite crescents into his palm. This close, Guan Shan realised how much taller he was—noticed, too, the sharp nicks on the underside of the man’s jaw like razor cuts, the raised white line of a scar sneaking down his shirt collar, the ruby hilted dagger used as a tie pin, the sleek impression of a revolver in his jacket pocket.

There were many ways to kill a man, and He Tian carried more.

‘Do you have papers?’ He Tian asked.

Uncertain, Guan Shan said, ‘I got into the city yesterday.’

He Tian looked at him, the colour of Guan Shan’s hair, the severe lines of his jaw. ‘One day in and already causing trouble.’

‘Sir?’

He Tian said, ‘Here’s the deal. If you fuck up, you’re out. Do you understand?’

Guan Shan understood. He’d understood that the moment he crept down the stairwell.

‘I don’t do something like this often. But I like you.’ He Tian raised his hand, and Guan Shan forced himself not to flinch at the smack he was waiting for. Instead, he felt the steady trail of a fingertip running along his jawline, calloused and rough on Guan Shan’s skin. He Tian’s breath washed over him, rich tobacco and stinging cognac.

‘There’s a fire in you,’ He Tian told him quietly.

His grip tightened, crushing, Guan Shan’s jaw trapped in He Tian’s hold until it ached. Head forcibly tilted up, the cigarette held between He Tian’s fingers snaked smoke into Guan Shan’s eyes until they stung and watered.

‘But know that if you burn me,’ He Tian murmured, ‘which I’m expecting you will, I will pour gasoline over you and gladly watch you burn.’

Seconds ticked by, the world outside continuing obliviously as Guan Shan was rendered immobile, breathing in smoke and feeling like his jaw was about to break, He Tian’s hold bruising—and then he was released.

He staggered back, lungs empty.

‘Yes, sir,’ he said on an inhale.

He Tian’s flat expression soured. ‘You can stop calling me that. It doesn’t suit you when there’s something else sitting behind it.’

‘I don’t know what you—’

‘You do. But you’ve been caught out, so you’ll keep up the facade because you can’t afford anything else. I told you, Guan Shan. Don’t lie to me.’

Guan Shan felt the blood leak from his face. His pulse hammered. ‘Thought you didn’t know my name.’

‘You’re right. I didn’t.’ He Tian drew in smoke. ‘Until Jian Yi came and told me he had a new resident on Mott Street this morning. He was excited. He couldn’t understand why I was so curious about someone who wouldn’t reach out to the societies. It’s almost like you didn’t want to be known.’

Regret washed over Guan Shan in muted waves. He should never have mentioned He Tian’s name last night. He squared himself, resolute. ‘I could say the same for you.’

Surprise, at first, some mild shock that He Tian hadn’t dug his claws into well enough. And then something darker, like He Tian was considering how long it would take to suck a bruise to the surface of Guan Shan’s neck. A smile worked at the curling edges of He Tian’s mouth.

‘You could,’ He Tian said. ‘But anyone who knows me knows me. I can’t say the same for you.’

‘Jian Yi said he’d never heard your name before.’

He Tian tapped ash into the tray and angled his cigarette in Guan Shan’s direction. ‘You should learn from him.’

Guan Shan didn’t ask why Jian Yi had lied. It was blatantly obvious what Jian Yi had been protecting—Zhengxi, a shred of integrity, and himself. The bar was a hub of high-profile sinners whose faces would do well printed in mugshot sepia for the next morning’s newspaper scandal. Their integrity relied on Jian Yi staying hush about who visited the basement of his restaurant to share a certain man’s company.

‘Tell me what you want me to do for you,’ Guan Shan said. ‘If you want me to be a waiter, I’ll wait. If you want me to be your bodyguard, I’ll shield you. Just tell me what I can do.’

‘So eager to serve.’

Eager to be close to you, Guan Shan thought. Eager to find any opportunity he could to find out what happened to his father without asking. Eager to get a knife to He Tian’s throat if the time came. If he asked—if He Tian had been the one to sign a contract for heroin smuggled into the Americas and Guan Shan admitted knowledge of it, how much longer before Guan Shan’s bloated body would float up onto the banks of the Hudson, nameless and paperless and dumped into an anonymous grave?

But Guan Shan had realised something in being here, in standing before He Tian and catching the attention of a man like him.

He wasn’t going to get out of this alive. He wasn’t going to get to leave when he had enough, knew enough. If he got back to China, it would be on He Tian’s orders, and he didn’t doubt that He Tian would have the power to drag him back if he went too far.

You’re overestimating your worth.

‘I’ll have my accountant come to Jian Yi’s place tomorrow. You’ll negotiate a salary and draw up the terms of your contract.’

‘D’you have contracts with all your employees?’ Guan Shan asked shrewdly.

He Tian rubbed a thumb at the corner of his mouth while he eyed Guan Shan. He pulled one final burn from his cigarette before stubbing it out with the others and said, ‘Only the ones I want to keep tabs on.’

‘Why bother with a contract?’ Guan Shan asked. ‘You’ll kill me anyway if I void the terms. You’ve made that really fucking clear.’

‘The contract isn’t for you, Guan Shan. You might not have papers, but I’m not going to spit in the eye of my aides.’

‘You mean your dirty cop friends?’

He Tian smiled. ‘Everyone’s dirty in this city, Guan Shan. And now, so are you.’

Neon bile splattered on the brick wall in front of him, barely evading his shoes. Acid ripped through his throat, eyes streaming, and Guan Shan felt the earthquake start in himself, shifting foundations and broken plates that made his thighs buckle beneath him.

He grabbed onto the wall, knuckles blistering against brick and mortar, fingertips struggling for purchase in an effort to stay standing. Vomit trickled out the side of his mouth and down his chin, and he heaved out labour breaths that shuddered through him.

‘Fuck,’ he whispered, blinking through tears.

Autumn rolled a chilled wind through the streets of Chinatown, but Guan Shan’s skin was fever-hot and sweat-soaked from running so many blocks from the restaurant, the top button of his shirt broken off somewhere into the gutter to expose his throat, pulse threatening to break through his skin.

It was the adrenaline come-down, the end of his bold-faced lies and virgin attempts at deception, a poison persona that shoved a hand down his throat and brought up the empty contents of his stomach.

He Tian was beyond him, some entity of a world Guan Shan had never bordered or entered and had never wanted to. There was a seeping dishonesty to him, a septic wound of cordite and stolen whisky kisses and tobacco in his fingerprints. He was a sickness, and Guan Shan would never be immune.

‘Hey! Don’t be throwing up in my alleyway! You’ll scare off the customers.’

Guan Shan looked over his shoulder to the man at the end of the alley, shadowed by towered buildings and overhead wires and the bleeding light of a weak moon.

Fuck off, he thought, groaning mentally.

‘Your alleyway?’ Guan Shan called out instead, breathing through his mouth, lips wet with spit and throat sore with vomit that was searing his gums. ‘Thought this was public property.’

‘Oh good, you can listen,’ the man said. ‘Guess that means you’re not drunk.’

‘I wish,’ Guan Shan muttered, pushing himself away from the wall. His staggering begged to differ, limbs weak and trembling; his body felt vacant.

‘Well, you look like you could do with one.’

Guan Shan grimaced as he stumbled towards the street, wiping his mouth in his shirt sleeve. ‘Got no money,’ he told the man. ‘Especially not for bootleg liquor.’

The man shrugged. ‘I’ll give you one on me.’

Up close, Guan Shan could see the tired face, thirty-ish, a grease-stained shirt that had long lost its colour, the limpish smile shaping thin lips. A bruise bloomed violently across his right eye, and Guan Shan noted the wince as the guy threw half a dozen trash bags into a dumpster with an aborted swing.

‘Look like you could do with one too,’ Guan Shan remarked.

The guy waved a hand in a dismissive downwards gesture. ‘Work with something enough and it’ll steal the pleasure.’ He said, ‘Come on, brother. It’s on the house.’

Guan Shan needed sleep, to pilfer Jian Yi’s half-empty pantry and make use of his expendable hot water and crawl beneath sheets he probably wouldn’t be granted much longer. But he followed the man out of the alleyway and onto the street, throat dry and body enduring that particular emptiness that was singular to purging one’s innards out into a dirtied backstreet.

‘Welcome to the local watering hole,’ the man said, pushing the door of a corner building open with his shoulder.

The ‘watering hole’ was a dim-lit hallway disguised as a café, metal tables cluttered on one side and a cracked slab of wood serving for a bar on the other. A huddle of old men sat in bar stools at the counter, drinking coffee-coloured huanjiu from chipped ceramic mugs and burning their way through the tobacco in their long-stemmed pipes, while a gramophone warbled shidaiqu music in the far corner of the bar. Burnt sesame oil and rice wine vinegar leaked its way out of a back kitchen, and Guan Shan’s stomach churned at the combination of cooking oils and tobacco smoke that hit him as the door shut behind him.

‘American drinker or local drinker?’ the alleyway guy asked him, situating himself behind the bar.

A mirror stretched across the wall behind the counter, scratched and worn at the edges, photos of Guan Shan’s home growing faded and curled in the same fashion as the bar—men in farming gear and soft family portraits and a young girl with her arms elbow-deep in starched rice water.

Guan Shan drew his eyes away from his reflection, pale skin stretched tight over his bones, a startled look like a camera bulb had flashed and blown his pupils too wide, whites showing around the edges.

‘Neither,’ Guan Shan said.

The barman gave Guan Shan the weighted look of someone who’d just seen him puking his guts up behind the bar. He extracted a clear bottle from beneath the counter and tipped it upwards into a shot glass. ‘Russian it is, then,’ he said, and slid it forward. ‘Drink up, Moonshine.’

Guan Shan eyed the glass set before him with the look of someone who’d just puked his guts up behind a bar and wasn’t sure he could stomach anything else.

He lifted it to his lips with noticeably shaking fingers, and tipped it back.

The burn was immediate and gratuitous, and the answering fire in his belly made his fingernails dig into the wood of the bar until they were close enough to crack.

‘That bad, huh?’ the barman asked. He poured another, and Guan Shan praised himself that he didn’t reach for it immediately.

‘Something like that,’ Guan Shan muttered.

The guy shook his head, throwing a towel over his shoulder. ‘Take a seat. Stay a while ‘til you’ve got your head screwed on straight. Can’t have you stumbling around Mott Street while they’re patrolling.’

‘Patrolling? Again, Xui Ying?’

Guan Shan slid into a vacant bar stool and glanced down to the end of the bar. One of the old guys had pulled the stem of a pipe from his mouth and had it pointed in Xui Ying’s direction, an unruly grey eyebrow raised.

Xui Ying spread his hands. ‘Don’t look at me, Pa. Can’t tell the cops what to do around here anymore. Three murders in a week doesn’t do us many favours.’

His father grumbled, the other men shifting in their seats around him, aged and grey. ‘Like it’s any different to the past fifty years. The tongs’ve been at each other’s throat since they left China. And over what? Gambling? Prostitution? Opium?’

‘It’s more than that, Pa,’ Xui Ying said, head shaking as he wiped over the bar surface.

‘A dead woman,’ another of the men cut in, head shaved, a scar cleaving his skull in two down the middle like he’d been struck by an axe. ‘A murdered laundryman. Whatever happened to the righteousness of protecting each other from outsiders when we start needing to protect each other from ourselves?’

‘It’s pride, gentlemen,’ Xui Ying interjected. He pointed a finger at the men. ‘And it’s hard to win that in a war.’

‘That’s not it,’ said another of the men bitterly. ‘It’s hard to keep throwing money at Tammany Hall and expecting more than they can give.’

Guan Shan leaned over to Xui Ying. ‘What’s Tammany Hall?’ he murmured.

Xui Ying filled Guan Shan’s glass and propped an elbow on the bar. ‘It’s the political machine of New York politics,’ he told him quietly. ‘Patroned half the Irish immigrants that came here. Get a politician in your pocket from Tammany and you’ll have New York in there too.’

Guan Shan swallowed this with the rest of his vodka. He winced and bowed his head.

The men were still talking.

‘At least it’s not as bad as the Gold Coast.’

Xui Ying snorted and wandered over with a bottle of huanjiu. ‘Like you’d all be here if there were any gold left,’ he said, refilling glasses dutifully. He raised the bottle to his father. ‘Like you would have brought me here if San Francisco weren’t as much of a blood bath, Pa.’

‘Sun Xui Ying—’

‘He’s right, Sun Zhi,’ said the man with the scar. ‘You think a man like He Tian would have turned up on Pell Street if San Fran was safe for him to be in?’

A hush draped itself over the bar like a death sheet, and Guan Shan went still. The music lost its rhythm, base sound blaring out, too loud without the talk, or the sound of mugs and glasses smacking down on the bar. Guan Shan was grateful for the drink in his hand, for Xui Ying’s heavy-handedness. What was the penalty for that openness, for He Tian’s name to be thrown out, he wondered. What was the consequence for speaking freely when it came to someone who traded in blood and bullet wounds?

‘He Tian’s a young upstart,’ Sun Zhi said. ‘Bloody and cunning, he might be. But he’s young. He wasn’t afraid of the tongs on the west coast. The east coast—New York—is about expansion. He’s here because there’s opportunity. Because the Hip Sings and On Leongs are at war and he’s ready when the power vacuum forms itself.’

‘In the midst of chaos,’ said Xui Ying wryly, ‘there is also opportunity.’

Sun Zhi waved a hand towards his son, who was lighting up a cigarette behind the bar, hip propped up against the counter.

‘I present my son, Sun Tzu.’

Laughter bubbled slowly from the men, an air of uncertainty still lingering like cigarette smoke, cloying and staining their clothes, soaking up wool fibres and saturating wood.

But the humour didn’t last long. It was the scarred man again, hunched over and whirling liquor in his cup while he spoke.

‘Times are gonna change around here for the white folk,’ he said lowly. ‘And when they do, we’re gonna be hit the worst. I’d rather be with the tongs than against them when that happens.’

Xui Ying made a frustrated sound. ‘Don’t scare away my customers, Wang Jun,’ he complained.

Sun Zhi snorted, waving a hand around the place. ‘Customers? Your old man’s drinking pals and some kid on opium?’

Some kid on opium. Guan Shan kept his head down. If that’s what they thought he was—who they thought he was—then he’d take the insult. Pale skin and blown pupils and an open throat to pour spirits down. Maybe opium was the better alternative than admitting it was only a man that had him shaken and uprooted from his foundations like a tree torn apart by lightning, He Tian a storm cloud collapsed inside a tailored suit.

‘Come on, Wang Jun,’ Xui Ying implored. ‘I’m trying to make a business here.’

The tension lifted, petty banter thrown between Xui Ying and his father’s friends in an attempt to dissolve it. Guan Shan ran a hand over his face. His head was starting to swim, and he was threatening himself with the act of standing up and not falling back onto his knees.

The memory burgeoned again, unasked for: prostration of himself in front of He Tian like a worshipper before a god, bloody and cunning. Guan Shan didn’t need the old men’s commentary to understand what sort of man He Tian was, but it was surface knowledge built on preconceptions and gossip from old men, and Guan Shan was lacking anything concrete.

In the midst of chaos, there is opportunity, Xui Ying had said, but Guan Shan remembered another line from Sun Tzu’s Art of War.

If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle.

Guan Shan barely knew his enemy—not well enough. Not yet. Drunk, exhausted, holed up in some decrepit watering hole in the middle of New York’s Chinatown, Guan Shan wasn’t sure he knew who he was himself at all.

‘Got your liquid courage back?’

Guan Shan blinked up at Xui Ying, vision hazy. He could feel himself swaying to the music, a synth mix of jazz and traditional folk that Guan Shan was torn by—the allure of the western voice and the plucky music of his home. He resisted shutting one eye so he could focus on the man in front of him. Resisted closing both so he could pretend he was there, sitting in the kitchen while his mother hummed along to the strings of a zither.

‘Somethin’ like that,’ he told Xui Ying.

His words slurred slightly, and he breathed out through his mouth as Xui Ying chuckled, reaching for Guan Shan’s glass again.

‘No,’ Guan Shan said, putting a hand over it. ‘No more.’

Xui Ying shrugged, stepping backwards. ‘Your call, brother,’ he said, screwing the cap back on the bottle. ‘Whatever you want.’

‘I want to go back.’

‘You need a cab?’

Guan Shan shook his head, cottony and thick. Thinking was suddenly impossible. ‘No money.’

‘You’re good, brother. I’ve got you.’

Xui Ying was suddenly there, at his side, a hand around his shoulders and pulling him up from the barstool. Guan Shan went willingly, stumbling, as Xui Ying led him towards the door.

A ruby-red automobile was purring on the street in front of Sun Xui Ying’s bar, headlights spilling low onto the damp sidewalk, the passenger door already open, a uniformed driver letting his arm rest on the rolled-down window.

‘Of course the fucker sends a Model A,’ Xui Ying sighed, pausing momentarily to admire the car, still reeking of factory paint and engine grease and new leather. He helped Guan Shan step gently into the backseat before shutting the door.

A murmured conversation passed between Xui Ying and the driver, too low for Guan Shan to hear. His head lolled back, a headache pricking him like a fallen stalactite between the eyes.

He’d never been in a car before.

‘This guy’ll get you home, brother.’

Guan Shan rolled his head to look through the window. ‘Xui Ying, you don’t even know—’

‘It’s taken care of.’ Xui Ying smiled, crouching down, elbows resting on the window. ‘Trust me.’

Guan Shan rubbed at his eyes, nausea rolling over him in waves. ‘The bill—the drinks—’

‘Don’t worry about it. The bill’s settled.’ He leaned in one last time, close enough for Guan Shan to hear him whisper over the building rumble of the car’s engine: ��Mr He sends his regards.’

Jian Yi was at the house when Guan Shan returned, lights turned low, jazz music drifting from a record player in one of the rooms. A bouquet of fresh carnations sat on the side table in the hallway, sweetly fragrant and barely disguising the smell of wood polish and paint sitting underneath it. Guan Shan heard the quiet thudding of footsteps on the floorboards above him as he shut the door, pulling his shoes off. He slumped against it.

New York’s chaos didn’t end at night, which meant Guan Shan had enough time to angle his face towards the open panels of the automobile and suck in night air while the driver made his way to Jian Yi’s brownstone on Mott Street. Lights and music and obnoxious voices swarmed past him, Guan Shan an unsteady observer inside the confines of a machine. He’d had enough of being a participant that night; his resolve had left him.

The drive meant he had enough time, too, to replay the last few hours in his head on blurred repeat, memories of action and conversation soaked in foreign liquor, emotions bolstered by it.

Mr He sends his regards.

So quickly had He Tian had gotten word spread to his contacts. So quickly had he handled things, like Guan Shan was something to be passed over and moved and taken care of. Even with the vodka soaking up his rationality, Guan Shan felt fear trickle through him, a ridged knife in his stomach that kept twisting the more he thought about it. What kind of power did He Tian have over this city and its people that Guan Shan had yet to see?

The irony of the night struck him: he’d refused He Tian’s cognac, and drank his bootleg liquor four blocks away. He Tian wouldn’t have poured it down his throat to loosen his resolve; Guan Shan would willingly, unknowingly, pour it down himself. He Tian was everywhere.

‘Guan Shan! You’re home!’

Guan Shan pushed himself away from the door as Jian Yi appeared at the top of the stairs, bounding down the steps two at a time. He was still in a suit, jacket abandoned somewhere and his waistcoat fully unbuttoned. His hair hung loosely around his face, strands shaped back in a way that was singular to the harried gesture of a hand dragged through again and again. His skin gleamed, eyes bright, but he was frayed at the edges. Guan Shan thought he looked tired.

‘Yeah, I’m back,’ he said. He couldn’t say home. Home was a strange concept that lay flat on his tongue; throwing it around like Jian Yi did was impossible.

Jian Yi hesitated in front of Guan Shan, as if he were waiting for something. Warm greetings weren’t easily at Guan Shan’s disposal. Now now—not after the whole night. Not with the vodka dissipating and the dryness in his mouth becoming more apparent.

Jian Yi cleared his throat. ‘Did you… have a good shift?’

He was skirting around the question he wanted to ask: Why are you back so late? Why do you smell like damp and moonshine and bile?

‘It was fine,’ Guan Shan said, hands in his pockets.

‘Good!’ Jian Yi said brightly. ‘That’s good.’ He chuckled, nervous energy like a live wire. ‘Zhengxi really shouldn’t have kept you working so late.’

Guan Shan shook his head. His temples throbbed, and he regretted the movement. ‘It wasn’t him. I went to a bar with one of the other guys. Grey.’

‘You’re making friends?’ Jian Yi asked, his disposition twisting Guan Shan’s lies. Guan Shan couldn’t decide between guilt and irritation. He hadn’t agreed to daily interviews as payment for staying here.

‘You could say that.’ Guan Shan drew a hand over his face. ‘Look, Jian Yi, I—’

‘I know, I’m sorry. You look exhausted. Go get some sleep. I know you haven’t rested properly since you got here.’

Guan Shan eyed Jian Yi. He was too eager—too awake, an anticipation singing in his words, questioned unasked and unanswered, but Guan Shan’s headache was quickly catching up with him.

He nodded at Jian Yi, side-stepping him to move towards the staircase. ‘See you tomorrow,’ he said.

Jian Yi let him pass, but Guan Shan didn’t hear the sound of following footsteps. He didn’t hear anything. He reached the first step, right hand on the glossed wooden handrail, and paused.

Jian Yi grabbed the opportunity, rope running through his hands and threatening to strip his skin. ‘Was that a car outside? Dropping you here?’

‘You haven’t seen one before?’ Guan Shan said wryly, glancing over his shoulder.

‘I meant—did Zhengxi pay you already? For a cab?’

Guan Shan looked at Jian Yi. The same impression hit him as yesterday at the laundry, a youth that shouldn’t have been wrapped up in the suit he wore, or the huge house he lived in. Jian Yi looked small, standing in his own doorway with uncertainty, like stepping further into his own home was an act of trespassing.

‘Why don’t you ask what you really want to, Jian Yi?’

Jian Yi said, ‘I spoke with He Tian.’

‘He told me.’

Jian Yi had the decency to look vaguely embarrassed. ‘I meant after this evening.’

Guan Shan faltered. He swallowed, throat clicking dryly. ‘News travels really fucking fast around here, huh?’

‘When he’s concerned? Yeah.’

Guan Shan sighed. He turned and lowered himself onto the third step of the staircase, wood digging into his back, head put fleetingly in his hands.

‘You need to be careful, Guan Shan,’ said Jian Yi, voice suddenly quieter. He didn’t move from where he was standing, face moulded from shadows and tungsten lamps and the lights of Mott Street, seeping through the door’s stained glass like a kaleidoscope. He wasn’t the same person as he’d been a moment ago, and the shift was jarring.

‘I know.’ And then, ‘Why did you lie to me?’

Jian Yi looked at his feet. ‘I didn’t want you getting involved in that.’

‘So you got me a job that sits right on top of where he operates?’

Jian Yi winces. ‘I know how it sounds,’ he said. ‘But I’d be able to keep an eye on you there, with Zhengxi. At least you’d be safe.’

‘Safe from what?’

‘The tongs,’ Jian Yi said quietly. ‘You’re angry, right? They snatch up people like that in a heartbeat. And they don’t try and get rid of it. They just keep fuelling it. Throw more dry wood and more gasoline over it. They want you to be angry until you burn with it, and you burn their enemies with you too.’

There’s a fire in you.

The voice echoing in Guan Shan’s head made him shudder, He Tian filling up every vacant space. His words on Jian Yi’s tongue was pervasive and painful; had he given the same line to Jian Yi once? Was that how he caught people? A compliment twinned with a threat.

‘That’s real fucking poetic,’ Guan Shan grumbled.

But he wondered—how openly did he carry it? Could Jian Yi feel the heat of it as he brushed past Guan Shan? Was it his hair, communist-red, and the way his words cut on every syllable like sipping on a cut glass and swallowing water in a blood-filled mouth?

Guan Shan picked at a splinter of wood on the banister. ‘You don’t know why I’m angry,’ he said.

‘I don’t,’ Jian Yi admitted. ‘Are you going to tell me?’

‘No.’

A resigned smile appeared on Jian Yi’s face. ‘Secrets are money around here. Watch that someone doesn’t come and steal it.’

‘I know what I’m doing,’ he lied. ‘And I’ve got nothin’ left to lose.’

‘Why don’t I believe either of those statements?’

Guan Shan shrugged. ‘That’s on you. You’re giving me a place to stay and—I appreciate that. But that’s it. We don’t know each other. You don’t know me. You don’t owe me anything and you said I didn’t owe you.’

‘None of this is about that,’ Jian Yi said, fingering the pocket watch hanging from his waistcoat. ‘It’s about righteousness. About protecting each other from outsiders. While you’re under my roof, I’ve got that duty.’

‘That’s how you have the house, right?’ Guan Shan guessed, distaste seeping through his words. ‘You deal in favours. No one ever has to pay you back, but they know they should. So you get them to a position where they can.’

Jian Yi put his hands in his pockets, rocked back on his heels. ‘If… that’s how you want to see it.’

Guan Shan rolled his eyes. ‘Please,’ he muttered under his breath.

‘Guan Shan—’ Jian Yi started, but he was cut off by a knock at the door, a rap of knuckles on the glass panel.

They both stilled, exchanged glances. It was well past midnight, fast approaching dawn. No one should’ve been at Jian Yi’s door this late—this early. The jazz music playing on the record filled the silence.

Dutifully, Jian Yi straightened himself, and fastened the middle button of his waistcoat. He dragged a hand through his wheat-blond hair, yellowish in the light of the hallway, and opened the door.

‘Hui Chen,’ Jian Yi said, coloured with surprise, shoulders collapsing from their stiff posture.

‘Message from Mr He, Mr Jian,’ came a high-pitched voice, small shadow spilling over the doorway.

Guan Shan rested his head against the banister, and past Jian Yi’s lean frame he caught sight of the same child who had appeared at Guo Wei’s laundry the day before, bedraggled and smudged with dirt.

Jian Yi took the offered note, palmed the boy a few dimes, and locked the door behind him.

Silence settled, dust motes swimming, Jian Yi rendered into static unreality.

‘So?’ Guan Shan prompted.

‘It’s for you,’ Jian Yi said, walking towards Guan Shan with the note extended between index and middle finger.

Cautiously, Guan Shan took it. Jian Yi lingered, but didn’t ask. His eyes were shadowed.

Guan Shan unfolded the note, ignored how his name looked on the front of it. The paper was a rich cream vellum, faintly redolent of tobacco leaves and amber liquor, the writing scrawled in the blank ink of a fountain pen, sharp points and severe lines.

‘So?’ Jian Yi said, a wavering, teasing echo.

Guan Shan balled the paper up between his fist. The record player seemed louder, a woman’s sultry voice taunting.

‘My first job,’ he said, craning his neck back, staring up at the ceiling, dizzy. ‘He wants me to be his secretary.’

If you liked my work, please reblog this post so others can find it, consider donating to me via Ko-Fi for a drabble, or commissioning me for a fic!

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[les-degustations-ugo]

🇫🇷❓❓Hello les amoureux du tire-bouchon. Et vous, Connaissez-vous les whiskies Français 🇫🇷❓❓

🥃Whisky Évadé Single Malt Red Wine Cask Finish créé et distribué par @whiskiesdumonde 🥃

📌Entièrement cultivé, distillé et vieilli en France, Doublement distillé en alambics pot still.

Vieilli entre 3 et 4 ans en fûts de bourbon (premier et second remplissage) et fûts de chêne neuf américain.

Vieillissement additionnel de 6 à 8 mois en fûts de Grand Cru rouge bordelais

Non filtré à froid 📌.

🌡️:

43°

👁️:

Robe de couleur acajou

👃:

Un nez très fruité sur des notes pomme sorties du four, pêche

💋:

En bouche, on a un whisky avec une belle rondeur, un toucher de bouche soyeuse. Sur des arômes de pêches rôti, nectarines, abricot. Une bonne longueur en bouche avec une finale veineuse et acidulée.

📜 En résumé📜:

Un gros coup de cœur pour ce beau whisky Français. J'ai pris beaucoup de plaisir à le déguster. L'élevage apporte son lot d'originalité très plaisant. Je le recommande à tout gourmand de whisky.

🔞« L'abus d'alcool est dangereux pour la santé, à consommer avec modération »🔞 La plupart des

vins ont été dégustés et recrachés. Dégustation non rémunéré.

#lesdegustationsugo #wine #winelover #vino #winetasting #winetime #winelovers #instawine #redwine #winestagram #winery #beer #wineoclock #vin #sommelier #love #vinho #foodporn #winelife #instagood #whitewine #cocktails #drinks #wein #foodie #wineporn #drink

___________________________________________

🗣️Description de la maison @whiskiesdumonde 🗣️

Basé à Mérignac près de Bordeaux, Whiskies du Monde se présente comme un distributeur de spiritueux partenaire capable de répondre aux enjeux de chaque marque et à ceux du marché. Dotée d’une force de frappe commerciale multi-réseaux de distribution mais aussi d’une équipe dévouée à la construction des marques de spiritueux, Whiskies du Monde commercialise plusieurs catégories de spiritueux dont une large sélection de whiskies écossais, japonais, irlandais, indiens, taïwanais, anglais et français. Ces whiskies viennent également se compléter d’une sélection de rhums japonais, dominicains, panaméens, portoricains, qu’ils soient vieux ou épicés mais aussi d’autres catégories de produits comme le gin, la vodka, le porto, le cognac, le mezcal, la cachaça ou les tonics.

Chaque spiritueux est unique, tout comme chaque client, pour cela une attention très particulière est portée à la sélection des spiritueux pour garantir à la fois la qualité et la complémentarité du portefeuille produits. Un portefeuille réfléchi et ajusté de 50 marques environ permettant de se focaliser sur leur développement commercial ainsi que sur la construction de leur image grâce à un accompagnement sur-mesure.

Whiskies du Monde va au-delà de son rôle de distributeur de spiritueux, ayant à cœur de partager les plus beaux savoir-faire avec ses clients ou tout amateur de spiritueux. Pour cela, l’entreprise met les moyens nécessaires au développement d’outils éducatifs pour mieux comprendre et découvrir l’immensité de l’univers spiritueux.

Pour compléter son expertise métier, Whiskies du Monde est également créateur de spiritueux. En 2019, l’entreprise a lancé sa toute première marque de whiskies single malt français : Évadé. Des whiskies cultivés, distillés et vieillis en France, élaborés de façon naturelle et sans aucun additif. De nouvelles créations de spiritueux seront à venir au fil des années.

___________________________________________

⏬🇫🇷Français dans les commentaires🇫🇷🇮🇹Italiano nei commenti 🇮🇹⏬

🇬🇧❓❓Hello corkscrew lovers. And you, do you know French whiskeys ❓❓🇬🇧

🥃Whisky Évadé Single Malt Red Wine Cask Finish created and distributed by @whiskiesdumonde 🥃

📌Entirely grown, distilled and aged in France, Double distilled in pot stills.

Aged for 3 to 4 years in bourbon barrels (first and second filling) and new American oak barrels.

Additional aging for 6 to 8 months in Bordeaux red Grand Cru barrels

Not cold filtered 📌.

🌡️:

43°

👁️:

Mahogany color dress

👃:

A very fruity nose with notes of baked apple and peach.

💋:

In the mouth, we have a whiskey with a beautiful roundness, a silky mouthfeel. With aromas of roasted peaches, nectarines, apricot. Good length in the mouth with a veiny and tangy finish.

📜In summary📜:

A big crush on this beautiful French whisky. I really enjoyed tasting it. Breeding brings its share of very pleasant originality. I recommend it to any whiskey lover.

🔞“Alcohol abuse is dangerous for your health, consume in moderation”🔞Most wines were tasted and spat out. Unpaid tasting.

#lesdegustationsugo #wine #winelover #vino #winetasting #winetime #winelovers #instawine #redwine #winestagram #winery #beer #wineoclock #vin #sommelier #love #vinho #foodporn #winelife #instagood #whitewine #cocktails #drinks #wein #foodie #wineporn #drink

___________________________________________

🇬🇧🗣️Description of the house @whiskiesdumonde 🇬🇧🗣️

Based in Mérignac near Bordeaux, Whiskeys du Monde presents itself as a partner spirits distributor capable of meeting the challenges of each brand and those of the market. With a multi-distribution network commercial strike force but also a team devoted to the construction of spirits brands, Whiskeys du Monde markets several categories of spirits including a wide selection of Scotch, Japanese, Irish, Indian, Taiwanese, English and French. These whiskeys are also complemented by a selection of Japanese, Dominican, Panamanian, Puerto Rican rums, whether aged or spicy, but also other categories of products such as gin, vodka, port, cognac, mezcal , cachaça or tonics.

Each spirit is unique, just like each customer, for this very particular attention is paid to the selection of spirits to guarantee both the quality and the complementarity of the product portfolio. A thoughtful and adjusted portfolio of around 50 brands allowing them to focus on their commercial development as well as on the construction of their image thanks to tailor-made support.

Whiskeys du Monde goes beyond its role as a spirits distributor, having at heart to share the finest know-how with its customers or any spirits lover. For this, the company puts the necessary means to the development of educational tools to better understand and discover the immensity of the spirits universe.

To complete its business expertise, Whiskeys du Monde is also a creator of spirits. In 2019, the company launched its very first brand of French single malt whiskies: Évadé. Whiskeys grown, distilled and aged in France, produced naturally and without any additives. New creations of spirits will be coming over the years.

___________________________________________

🇮🇹❓❓Ciao amanti dei cavatappi. E tu, conosci i whisky francesi ❓❓🇮🇹

🥃Whisky Évadé Single Malt Red Wine Cask Finish creato e distribuito da @whiskiesdumonde 🥃

📌Interamente coltivato, distillato e invecchiato in Francia, doppia distillazione in alambicco discontinuo.

Invecchiato per 3-4 anni in botti di bourbon (primo e secondo riempimento) e botti nuove di rovere americano.

Ulteriore affinamento da 6 a 8 mesi in botti Grand Cru rosse bordolesi

Non filtrato a freddo 📌.

🌡️:

43°

👁️:

Abito color mogano

👃:

Un naso molto fruttato con note di mela cotta e pesca.

💋:

In bocca abbiamo un whisky di bella morbidezza, sensazione setosa. Con aromi di pesche tostate, nettarine, albicocca. Buona persistenza in bocca con finale venato e sapido.

📜In sintesi📜:

Una grande cotta per questo bellissimo whisky francese. Mi è davvero piaciuto assaggiarlo. L'allevamento porta la sua parte di piacevolissima originalità. Lo consiglio a tutti gli amanti del whisky.

🔞“L'abuso di alcol è pericoloso per la salute, consumalo con moderazione”🔞Most i vini venivano degustati e sputati. Degustazione non retribuita.

__________________________________________

🇮🇹🗣️Descrizione della casa @whiskiesdumonde 🇮🇹🗣️

Con sede a Mérignac vicino a Bordeaux, Whiskys du Monde si presenta come un distributore di alcolici partner in grado di affrontare le sfide di ogni marchio e quelle del mercato. Con una forza d'attacco commerciale di rete multi-distributiva ma anche un team dedicato alla costruzione di marchi di alcolici, Whiskys du Monde commercializza diverse categorie di alcolici tra cui un'ampia selezione di scozzesi, giapponesi, irlandesi, indiani, taiwanesi, inglesi e francesi. Questi whisky sono anche accompagnati da una selezione di rum giapponesi, dominicani, panamensi, portoricani, invecchiati o speziati, ma anche altre categorie di prodotti come gin, vodka, porto, cognac, mezcal, cachaça o tonic.

Ogni distillato è unico, proprio come ogni cliente, per questa particolarissima attenzione è riservata alla selezione dei distillati per garantire sia la qualità che la complementarietà del portafoglio prodotti. Un portafoglio ponderato e adeguato di circa 50 marchi che consente loro di concentrarsi sullo sviluppo commerciale e sulla costruzione della propria immagine grazie a un supporto su misura.

Whiskys du Monde va oltre il suo ruolo di distributore di alcolici, avendo a cuore di condividere il miglior know-how con i suoi clienti o qualsiasi amante degli alcolici. Per questo, l'azienda mette i mezzi necessari allo sviluppo di strumenti educativi per comprendere e scoprire meglio l'immensità dell'universo degli spiriti.

Per completare la sua esperienza commerciale, Whiskys du Monde è anche un creatore di alcolici. Nel 2019, l'azienda ha lanciato il suo primo marchio di whisky single malt francesi: Évadé. Whisky coltivati, distillati e invecchiati in Francia, prodotti naturalmente e senza alcun additivo. Nuove creazioni di spirit arriveranno nel corso degli anni.