#this is a holly only event. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

heartsfromia · 4 months ago

Text

knight in shining armor — j. wonwoo

pairing: non-idol! wonwoo x f!reader

word count: 7,350

genre: fluff, angst, mild crack, college setting

warnings: cheating (not wonwoo tho our boy is sweet, it's reader's shitty ex), curse words, implicit violence (black eyes, cuts on lips mentioned)

author's notes: y'all pray that one day i have the energy to proofread my works ;_____; BRO I STG I WORKED ON THIS FOR OVER THREE MONTHS AND IDK HOW IT GOT SOOO LONG T___________T

“Hey, I’m planning on finishing my paper for International Law in Holly’s, come with me?”

With your hands intertwined with your boyfriend, Hanwoo, the two of you walked towards the parking lot by your university, just having finished a class together. You were hoping to spend some time together since Hanwoo had been preoccupied with the major association he’s a member in, as the collegial organization is holding its elections in the next week and he had been approached to help out as a committee member. Since the two of you have the same classes together, and the paper was due next Monday (it being a Thursday now), you thought you could get, at least the introduction down, while having some quality time in the 24 hour café with your boyfriend of six months.

“We’ll be there all night and you can distract me from my paper and I will do the same to you, and then we can down a ton of caffeine before passing out on the bean bags they have,” you tried to convince him, leaning into his side as you two approached his car. “And then we can go home and talk about how we should’ve finished our paper, plan another night in Holly’s and do it all over again!”

“Although that does sound tempting,” Hanwoo began, releasing your hand to reach for the car keys and unlocked the doors. He leaned down to be eye-level with you, as his hand reached for the door handle of the passenger seat, he uttered, “But, I have a meeting later tonight.” Pressing a quick kiss to your cheek, he pulled your door open and stepped aside enter the car. A pout found its way to your lips, pulling your favorite move to get what you want, but he wasn’t budging and only nodded his head for you to climb in.

“What meeting?” You asked once he climbed into the driver’s seat, pulling the car out of the parking lot and on your way to your house to drop you off.

“The election, since Monday evening will be the debate between president and vice president candidates, so we need to discuss the topics of the debate, all the technical stuff tonight,” he explained, “we’re planning on pushing a lot we need done between today and tomorrow, so we can have the weekends free and do finishing touches on Monday.”

“Ahh, being Event Organizer really isn’t easy… so you’ll be busy today, and tomorrow?” He only nodded, briefly sending a small smile her direction. “Alright, then, I’ll just see if Wonwoo is free tonight.”

Hanwoo threw his head back, asking, “Isn’t Wonwoo a Computer Science major?”

“Yeah, but he’s really good at research so I think he can help.” Hanwoo didn’t bother asking more, turning the music up to let it fill the silence as you arrived by the driveway of your house. “Good luck on your paper, yeah? Don’t drink too much coffee.”

“No promises,” you responded before kissing his cheek and climbing out his car. You waved him off, watching as the car disappeared in the distance before turning to head inside and up to your room just left of the entryway. Tossing your bag on your chair, you flopped on to your bed, too mentally exhausted from the three lectures today to even change your clothes, feeling sleep begin to fog your head. You were on the edge of dreamland when you heard a clink, then a few seconds later another one, and then another one, and it seemed to be never ending before you pulled yourself out of your drowsiness and headed to your window—which just so happened to be adjacent to your next door neighbor, Wonwoo’s window.

“You seriously need to reconsider throwing rocks at my window before you shatter it, Wonwoo.” Your neighbor only chuckled, so you took this as an opportunity. “Hey, can you come with to Holly’s? I’m planning to stay overnight there.”

“What for?”

“I’m holding an executive meeting for us to discuss a ten-step plan to overthrow our government,” you grinned, and he pondered, tapping his chin lightly before shaking his head.

“I can’t overthrow the government yet, I have a quiz tomorrow.”

You rolled your eyes, a soft laugh escaping your lips. You could always count Wonwoo to go along with your poor attempts at sarcasm. “I have a paper to work on and I don’t want to be alone.”

“Where’s your boyfriend? What’s his name? Yohan?”

“So close! It’s Hanwoo,” you retorted with a deadpan as you reminded him of your boyfriend’s name. Wonwoo hasn’t been discreet in his distaste towards your boyfriend—it’s been six months since he asked you out, and it’s been six months of Wonwoo never remembering his name. “He has a meeting today since the upcoming election debate for my major’s organization.”

“Is he running or…?” Wonwoo asked, despite his lack of interest with the topic.

“No, he’s the EO, and will be occupied for the next couple of days.”

“Aah, so I’m a back-up to you? Got it.” You knew he was being sarcastic, it was a running joke between the two of you since splitting when choosing college majors—you had done the same when he asked you to accompany him to watch a movie he really wanted to see, only to find out he came to you because friends from his major were busy.

“Do you want to come with me or not?” You asked again, “you don’t need to if you don’t want to.”

“What time?” Wonwoo asked, not hesitating. “Eomma is making dinner tonight, and asked me to ask you to join in case your parents are working late.”

You turn briefly, listening in to your parent’s room across from yours and can hear the muffle conversation behind the walls. “I think they’re home, but knowing my dad, he won’t be cooking so I think all three of us can head over to your place for dinner?”

“Sure, I’ll tell Eomma,” Wonwoo informed, “so after dinner then, we can go? Did you ask your parents for permission to spend the night working on the assignment.”

Dread immediately washed over you, colour draining from your face and to your feet as you remembered you haven’t asked permission from your parents, especially your dad who isn’t fond of you working long hours for an assignment you could’ve finished from when it was assigned. Force habit, dad, it’s not my fault you raised a chronic procrastinator, you couldn’t help but think. An innocent chuckle left your lips as you pulled your signature puppy-dog eyes to Wonwoo, who—without you having to utter a single word—understood what you were doing.

He heaved a heavy sigh, closing his eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine, I’ll ask them.”

“You are the best! Did you know that you’re the best person I’ve ever met? You’re absolutely awesome, smart and so, so, so kind, Wonwoo!” You blew a kiss in his direction, like how you watched Sunjae in Lovely Runner do so. “Love you!”

He waved your exaggerated gestures off, ignoring the heat forming in his cheeks and spreading to his ears, as he turned away, yelling back at you, “Yeah, yeah, just hurry up, I want to get this over with.”

“When do you think International Humanitarian Law is applicable?” You turned to Wonwoo after reading (re: skimming) a journal regarding the topic for your paper. Despite having only been studying the material for about twenty minutes, you could feel yourself losing it by the second. You didn’t hate International Law, but you always thought that the professor assigned too much reading, and is so strict about the entire paper itself—specifically using APA style, it has to only be footnotes (no in-line citations, despite that being the easiest in your opinion and you always preferred Chicago over any other reference style).

Oh, and the International Law professor is biased and lowkey a bitch.

So, being reluctant to work on an assignment given by your major’s most disliked professor wasn’t a priority even with the deadline closing in.

“During world conflicts?” You and Wonwoo stared at each other briefly, before you nodded, “That is true.” Wonwoo stifled a laugh. Seeing you look so drained and empty every single time you worked on an assignment, never failed to make him laugh. He enjoyed accompanying you, and despite the different majors and study programs you both have, he always tried to make sure he is more help than company. Even though you never really wanted to help you work on the assignment, knowing he has his own to deal with as a Computer Science major, but he’s well aware of your habits that even if the due date is Monday and you are working on it right now, you won’t completely finish it until Sunday, if not with Wonwoo’s aid.

“What’s the paper about?”

“The application of International Humanitarian Law in a specific study case,” you responded, tone flat. The more you talked about it, the more your soul was being sucked into the void. “I chose the Femicides in El Salvador.”

“Alright.” Was all Wonwoo said before he opened Google Scholar and began his own little research.

“Wonwoo, you don’t have to—”

“Y/N?” Cut off mid-sentence, you and Wonwoo turned to find Joy approaching your table, her hair tied and a lanyard around her neck, she must’ve just gotten back from campus.

“Joy? Hi, what are you doing here?” You smiled, internally sighing in relief because you had a reason to not look at the journal you were reading of femicide reports in the past decade.

“I just came back from an internal meeting with the EO’s for the upcoming debate,” Joy responded, noticing Wonwoo and waving at him. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m working on Michelle’s paper,” you answered, exaggerating the slouch in your shoulders and pout in your lips. You then realized, sitting up straight, head cocked to the side with your brows furrowed. “Wait, you’re an EO for the debate?”

Joy pulled a chair to sit across from you, resting her arms on the table and nodded.

“So you were with Hanwoo?”

It was her turn to furrow her brows. “Your boyfriend?” You nodded, and she shook her head. “No I wasn’t.”

“What? But he told me he was having a meeting with the EO’s for the debate, maybe you didn’t see them?”

The crease between your friend’s brow only deepened. “Y/N, the EO’s are only four people, not including the PIC—I’ve also met them all, and Hanwoo isn’t a part of us.”

“That’s weird,” you muttered. Did your boyfriend lie?

“Maybe he got his position switched? Maybe he’s not an EO? You could try asking tomorrow,” Joy tried to reason, and you only nodded. Hanwoo had been telling you that he was an EO for the past couple of weeks, ever since the announcement of election was released for the major association. He explained to you in great detail what the position would entail, and well, frankly speaking, you trusted him. It tugged at your chest at the possibility he might’ve lied to you.

And Wonwoo can see it. The deep glare in your eyes as you stared at the article you were reading, but you weren’t actually reading the reports from representatives of the El Salvadoran government, instead you were reading into the situation with your boyfriend. Gears were turning in your head, making connections, coming up with excuses as to why he had chosen to lie to you about something as trifling as his position in a collegial committee. He could tell that no matter how many paragraphs you read, how many relative research articles you pulled up from the internet, nothing will allow you to progress in your paper until the nagging feeling of your fibbing boyfriend is at ease.

“Y/N, do you want to head back home, call it a night?” Wonwoo asked, before quickly raising his phone, “My brother just sent me a text, that he needs the car early tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, yeah sure, let me just pay—”

“You pack up, I’ll pay for our food.”

You knew that he knew. Your lips pressed into a tight smile, “Thanks, Won.” He nodded, returning your smile before heading to the counter.

“Should we continue tomorrow night, then?” Joy asked. You nodded. “Sure,” then added, “depends though.”

On whether or not your boyfriend is lying.

“Wonwoo, do you have notes from Beom’s class? Last weeks’?” Seungcheol sat across from Wonwoo in the cafeteria, picking up a fry from Wonwoo’s plate and tossing it into his mouth. Wonwoo merely stared at his friend, unamused by his lack of manners, causing Seungcheol to chuckle.

“You know I do, Cheol, but why should I give it to you?” Wonwoo asked, his baritone voice holding a twinge of sarcasm, still upset by Seungcheol’s unwarranted act of property theft.

“Who says I want them?” Seungcheol turns away, flustered that Wonwoo caught on too quickly to his motive.

Wonwoo shrugs, and continues eating his lunch. “Alright then.”

“Can you email them to me?” An innocent, close-lipped smile etched across Seungcheol’s face, his dimple deepening as he clasped his hands together, pulling the same trick as Y/N usually does to get what they want.

“Stop that, I already get enough of puppy-eyes from Y/N,” grunted Wonwoo, rolling his eyes. “I’ll send them tonight, just send me a reminder.”

“Great, thanks, man.” Wonwoo expected him to leave, allowing for Wonwoo to spend the rest of his lunch alone before he heads to his next class, but Seungcheol stayed put, eyes on his phone. Not feeling like making any conversation, Wonwoo shrugged it off and continued eating. That is, until Seungcheol spoke up again, asking, “Hey, doesn’t Y/N have a boyfriend?”

Wonwoo couldn’t help the heat that rose at the back of his neck. “Yeah, why?”

“Isn’t it that Hanwoo guy?” Wonwoo nodded, but Seungcheol only looked even more perplexed. “They’re still going out?”

“Yeah…” Wonwoo confirmed, but the question only made his curiosity grow. Why did Seungcheol look so surprised? “Why?”

“It’s just… I mean, if you say they’re still together then it might not be- I must’ve made a mistake,” Seungcheol tried to change the subject but Wonwoo wasn’t going to let him do so.

“Tell me what you’re talking about or you won’t get Beom’s notes,” Wonwoo threatened, earning a look of genuine offense from Seungcheol, whom briefly rose a brow, a bit unconvinced. “I’m serious, Cheol.”

“Ass,” he muttered, before shaking his head, “Nah, it’s just… last night I saw a guy pick up my neighbor from across the courtyard, and I thought he looked a lot like Hanwoo.” Wonwoo’s eyebrow rose in suspicion, Seungcheol spotting it. “But if you say they’re still going out, then it must’ve been someone else.”

“What do you mean?”

“Any guy would be stupid to cheat on Y/N, especially since she’s your best friend and all.”

That only made him more confused. “Why would you say that?”

“It’s not like you’d let anyone hurt her, Won,” Seungcheol retorted, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world (it was), “and Hanwoo would be a huge dumbass if he even thought of cheating on her.”

Even though Seungcheol was right, Wonwoo wasn’t convinced—Hanwoo had a meeting last night when they were at Holly’s but Joy confirmed that he wasn’t even a part of the EO committee.

“Are you sure it wasn’t him?” He tried to make sure.

“I mean, it was dark and I wasn’t wearing my glasses so it was a bit blurry—all-in-all I would say 50%, either he was or he wasn’t,” Seungcheol explained, being no help to Wonwoo’s growing suspicion of your boyfriend.

“I’ve gotta go,” Wonwoo uttered, standing and packing his things, tossing his backpack over his shoulder.

“Where are you go- class is that way!” Wonwoo paid no mind to his friend as he continued walking towards the parking lot. However, he could hear Seungcheol as he was almost out of earshot, “Y/N, your knight in shining armor is on his way.”

The corner of Wonwoo’s lips quirked up. “I’m not sending the notes then!”

“Oh, come on, man!”

He couldn’t wait any longer. Suspicions and of course, anger, only grew the more steps he took towards his car, knowing the destination was you. If what Seungcheol said is true and he did, in fact, see Hanwoo with another girl, then that means he’s openly seeing someone else behind your back.

His hand reached for his phone, sparing quick glances between the screen and where he was walking as his fingers swiped for your contact, immediately dialing. Pressing the phone to his ear, he let his other hand pull out his car keys and unlock the door just as the line started ringing.

You picked up after two rings.

“Wonwoo? What’s with the sudden phone call?”

“Where are you?” He waited in the front seat, keys dangling from the ignition. Your answer would decide whether he starts the car or not.

“In the cafeteria near the engineering majors, why?”

“Are you with Hanwoo?” You were taken aback by his question, not because of what he asked, but by the fact that he got your boyfriend’s name right.

“Yeah, I am… Why?”

His shoulders sunk with your confirmation. “Just… just checking, sorry to bother you guys.” You muttered something that he didn’t catch before he hung up, exhaling a heavy sigh. Maybe it was paranoia. He had known you since you both were in middle school, of course he was protective over you, like every friend out there, he never wants you to get hurt.

Little did he know that as you put down your phone, a grimace had taken over your features as you looked at Joy.

“What did Wonwoo ask?”

You wanted to tell her the truth, but even you couldn’t wrap your head around the obvious that was happening. Wonwoo thinks you’re with Hanwoo, but you’re not and Joy’s tip about your boyfriend never having been involved in the election committee—you knew, and if your best friend had asked and even remembered Hanwoo’s name, then that must mean he knows, too.

“If I was with you,” you answered before her suspicion grew. “He wanted to check if I was up for lunch with him, but I’m with you already.”

“Ah… I think it’s good that he isn’t here,” Joy prefaced, pulling her phone out. “Do you remember I use to be a student supervisor for our major’s freshman camp?”

“Yeah, why?”

“So, I follow most of the kids that were in my group, right? And I was scrolling through my Instagram stories when you were buying lunch, and then—“ Joy scrolled through the following list of her account, stopping her explanation as she found who she was looking for. “—I think it’s better if you see for yourself.”

She slid her phone face-up to you, an Instagram story of a junior you didn’t know of was opened. The picture wasn’t revealing much of anything that seemed of significance to you, just a photo of her holding hands with a guy and it was posted in her Close Friends—most likely an attempt at soft-launching her boyfriend.

For a moment you were confused, then you spotted it—the username. It was Hanwoo's Instagram account. Dread grew at the back of your head as your brain couldn't grasp on to this fact, even exiting out of the story and searching for his username, hoping it was one letter off and your suspicions would be wrong, but unfortunately, that wasn’t the case and both the username in the girl’s post and his username were the same.

“I’m sorry, Y/N…” Joy uttered, in hopes to break the silence and tension that was building, but it was to no avail. Your throat tightened, and tears burned in your eyes, but you knew they weren’t from sadness, or heartbreak even, you were furious.

The audacity this piece of shit has to think he can cheat on me? You locked Joy’s phone, sliding it back to her before picking up your things and standing from the table.

“Where are you going?” Her eyes were filled with genuine concern, worried that you were a ticking time bomb, just waiting to blow up at the worse time.

You sent her a reassuring smile, and shrugged. “Where else? To plan my revenge on him, of course.”

Wonwoo thought he was hearing things. As he paused his game, he waited and listened for a moment before shrugging, chalking it off to probably a feature in the game he never noticed.

Clink!

That couldn’t have been a feature in the game, he was breaking wood—a clinking sound against glass doesn’t seem like something you’d hear while hitting a tree repeatedly in Minecraft.

He removed his earphones this time, waiting for the sound again, and when he did, he stood and walked to his window, finding you standing outside his window.

“Finally, oh my God!” you groaned, rolling your eyes. “Do you know how many pebbles I had to look for to throw at your window?”

Wonwoo’s eyebrows bunched together as he stared at you dumbfounded. “Why did you need to throw pebbles, we’re ground level. You could’ve just knocked.”

“That wouldn’t be so romantic, now would it?”

Wonwoo rolled his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as he heaved a heavy sigh. “You’ve got to stop sneaking around like this, though, people are going to think you’re a burglar.”

“Whatever, Won,” you waved him off. “I need your help.”

“With what?”

“I—“ You paused. The fact that Hanwoo is actively cheating on you, probably even at this very moment, felt almost surreal to you, but ever since Joy showed you the picture, you’ve (to some extent) came to terms with it—there were signs after all, signs you chose to ignore or were so subtle, they flew over your head. However, coming to the realization that you’ve been cheated on felt easier than to utter it out loud—it felt more like a confirmation, that once the words were spoken out into the universe, it confirmed you were too blind in love to see the fact that he played you like a violin.

And it felt worse to admit to Wonwoo that his suspicions of your boyfr— ex-boyfriend being a douchebag were right.

“I need your help to trash Hanwoo’s car tonight, he’s at a friend’s house and left his car by his apartment.” Might as well hold off telling the truth until after you’ve released your anger.

Wonwoo could see you were holding something back, and by your proposition, making a guess as to why you did so, was easy.

“I’m not going to ask, but I will need you to explain later.” You subconsciously thanked him for not asking for a reason to your borderline act of vandalism. “Come around to the garage, I think I have a baseball bat from when I played little league.”

Ignoring the last bit of Wonwoo’s childhood anecdote, you watched as he left his room before taking the route to circle towards the front of his house where the garage was. You heard a lock turn and a bar slide before door opened, revealing Wonwoo, nodding his head to follow him.

“Do you, like, a Swiss Army knife or something sharp?”

“I think my dad has one his tool box, let me check,” he says, then points to shelf behind the car. “You can check there for the baseball bat.”

“Alright.”

Once the equipments were prepared—consisting of Wonwoo’s baseball ball, his dad’s Swiss Army knife, and your dad’s spray paint from one of his furniture restoration projects—you were all set to get back at Hanwoo. You both tossed them into the back of his car, climbing in and Wonwoo started up for Hanwoo’s apartment.

“And how do you know he left his car?” Wonwoo asked after three minutes of complete silence (AUX cord was broken and nothing that could fit a drive to vandalize your ex’s car was on the radio).

“Because I texted him earlier, asking if he could drive me to the store because there was a book I needed to get, and he explained to me that he was at a friend’s house and left his car,” you explained, your tone flat throughout as you mindlessly played with the zipper of your hoodie.

“And you’re sure he’s with friends?” He asked, his tone cautious, as he watched you freeze briefly.

You weren’t sure. Instead of admitting that, you chuckled, “He wouldn’t be with his girlfriend without a car.”

Despite your efforts at breaking the ice, Wonwoo wasn’t able to laugh at your joke, and only you could muster a dry chuckle before leaning back, turning to face the window.

You seemed to float throughout—as if watching yourself in a third person point of view, almost numb to the fact that you were on your way to ruin your ex’s car. It wasn’t that you were in denial that he is cheating on you, you refused to believe it was happening to you. You always felt that you were doing so much, showing him so much love, prioritizing him when he needed, never doubting that you felt the same way for you.

What did I do wrong? What about me wasn’t enough?

You hated those thoughts that began flooding your head. You hated those doubts. You hated that because of what he did, you’re blaming yourself—making it seem that you were the one that wasn’t doing enough.

“Y/N?” Wonwoo’s baritone voice pulled you out of your self-loathing. “We’re here.”

“Oh, you remembered the way,” you finally took note of him never asking you directions throughout the drive.

“Unfortunately.” You couldn’t help but laugh at his snide comment. Looking out to his side of the window, you see Hanwoo’s white range rover. You knew he cherished it—making sure to get the oil changed routinely, weekly car washes and having it waxed monthly. In retrospect, he probably loved the car more than he did you.

Maybe destroying he loved could make you feel less shitty.

“Let’s go—“ Before you could climb out, Wonwoo grabbed your wrist, stopping you.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Y/N?”

Again, the truth choked you. As you stared at Wonwoo, the concern laced all over his features, it felt the question should’ve triggered a flood gate to open, but alas, you persist. I need to not use poor humor as a coping mechanism. You cocked your head to the side, the corner of your lips lifted. “Why? I honestly thought you’d be the most excited of us to trash his car, Won?”

Of course, being your best friend since middle school, he saw right through your façade.

His hand moved from your wrist to clasp your hands, wrapping his fingers around yours. “Just promise you’ll talk to me, yeah?”

The bile rose, once again, urging you to cough out the truth. Knowing well enough you wouldn’t be able to utter anything without your words breaking, you nodded and sent a stiff smile.

As you stood near Hanwoo’s car, looking through the window of his vehicle, memories of the two of you seated side-by-side there came flooding in. How when you would go to a drive-thru for late night snack runs, the way you reached over the console with a fry and feeding it to him as his eyes focused on the road. When you’d pull over into a parking lot, your legs stretched over to rest over his lap as the two of you talked about everything and nothing at all, or when he would purposely make wrong turns just so you would spend more time with each other when he was supposed to drop you home.

Moments that you held so close to your heart, now worth nothing in a blink of an eye.

You squeezed your eyes shut, urging the tears to fall back and return to their sockets, inhaling a deep breath and pushing it out almost immediately as you flipped the knife to one of its sharpest options and pressing the point to the driver’s door. There’s no backing out now. You let the knife drag itself across the paint, a ragged line following your hand as you made your lap around his car.

Now, there really wasn’t going back now.

Before you could hold yourself back, your arm extended back and punctured one of the tyres—then one became two, and then three. Air spewing out of three of the tyres filled the tension around you, and you found yourself breathless. Breathless because you were angry. Breathless because you were hurt. The tears had escaped, creating warm trails down your cheeks.

“Give me the bat,” you urged, glaring at him with bloodshot eyes and wet cheeks.

“Y/N—“

“Wonwoo,” you pressed, “it’s either you give me the bat, or you go home—I’m going to do this whether you agree with it or not.”

Wonwoo shouldn’t even be against what you’re doing right now. He’s obviously on your side when it comes to this, Hanwoo deserves getting his car destroyed for hurting, manipulating and thinking he could go behind your back this way. However, the more logical and law-abiding side of him is reluctant—especially since you’ve already slashed his tyres and ruined the paintwork, so breaking the windows seemed to cross the line.

“If we get arrested, just tell them I did it, alright?” Wonwoo uttered, handing you the bat and taking the knife with him. You smiled for the first time tonight, a genuine smile that reached your eyes as he said that. He then added, “I’ll get the spray paint—you do your thing.”

And after a bashed in windshield, a very poorly written “FUCKING CHEATER” was spray painted on all sides of the car and on the hood. You and Wonwoo drove away from the scene of the crime, driving to a nearest convenient store where Wonwoo hopped out, buying instant ramen, drinks and snacks, deciding to make a last-minute picnic in his car because in his words: “Vandalism works up an appetite.”

“They didn’t have the carbonara one, so I got you cheese.” Wonwoo returned in less than ten minutes, the noodles already boiled, only needing the seasonings. You smiled at him, mumbling a thanks as you took the cup noodles from him, tearing the seasoning and busying yourself with stirring, and continuously stirring, your eyes dazed off at the curly noodles as they spun in a faint orange mix.

“Y/N, I’m sure your noodles are well stirred,” Wonwoo commented, hoping to divert your attention. The leather beneath him squeaked as he adjusted his position, leaning his back against the door as he folded his knee under him, fully facing you at this point.

He called, “Hey.”

You lifted your head to meet his eyes, and immediately, Wonwoo straightened up, his jaws clenched and shoulders tensed. Tear stricken cheeks, bloodshot eyes and everso present frown evident in between your eyebrows and downturned lips.

“Y/N…” Wonwoo took the noodles from your hands, placing it on the dashboard and pulling you by the wrists, engulfing you into his arms, then there goes the floodgates—the emotions you locked away throughout the evening, released in that very second your face was against his shoulder.

While you were bawling, grieving the relationship that reigned to be good to be true, Wonwoo was hatching up his own revenge plan on the piece of shit.

The incessant ringing of your phone pulled you out of your slumber, and you knew for a fact it wasn’t your alarm, because one; you snoozed that ten times already, and two; it wasn’t your usual Radar tone.

Sliding the screen with one eye open, you placed it by your ear without seeing who it was.

“Hello—“

“WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO MY CAR, Y/N?!”

Well that was one way of waking you up. You sat up, slowly, taking your time with adjusting your position while Hanwoo was screaming on the other line. Once you were sitting up, you glanced at the screen—the name you had changed last night once you got back home displayed as ‘IGNORE’, in hopes that you would do so when he called you. But then again, you thought he’d call you when you were conscious.

“—Y/N FUCKING ANSWER ME!” Rolling your eyes, you heaved a sigh before placing the phone back by your ear.

“And to what do I owe—“

“You were you even fucking listening to me?“ Hanwoo snapped.

“No.” Your answer was simple, honest, and obviously uninterested with whatever he wanted to say. Was the modification that you made to his beloved vehicle not enough of an announcement that you knew what he was up to all this time?

“I was asking what the hell did you to my car?”

“Can’t you tell?” you teased, “I gave it a makeover.”

“You ruined my paint job and popped my tyres, what kind of makeover is this?”

“The kind that fits a cheater like you.” Silence. Complete silence came from the other side and if you listened closely, you could hear the static along with his ragged breathing knowing well enough he was caught. “Cat got your tongue, dude?”

“Y/N…”

“Save the sob story, we’re not dating, I don’t see why you’re fucking calling me other than to cry about your stupid car—“

“How about the fact that your fucker of a dog punched me?” He interjected.

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I mean, Y/N,” he scoffed, “it wasn’t enough to ruin my car, you had to send your dog to ruin my face too.”

It took you a second to realize he was talking about Wonwoo, which means that Wonwoo had punched his face.

Wonwoo punching someone in the face? That wasn’t something you had heard before, nor expected. The image itself was enough to cause you to burst out laughing, your phone falling from your hands, leaving Hanwoo confused and annoyed.

The idea that Wonwoo would go as far as to punch someone was such an unrealistic accusation Hanwoo had made, but nonetheless, had successfully made you laugh after a long night of crying yourself to sleep.

“Are you done?” Hanwoo asked once you placed the phone back to your ear after your laughing fit.

“Wasn’t enough for you to lie about your relationship all this time, now you want to lie and accuse Wonwoo of something he’d never do,” you defended, scoffing at his poor attempt.

“I’m not lying about this, Y/N!”

“So, you admit that you were lying about our relationship?” This time you interjected, wanting to hear him confirm it. It was mostly due to that nagging voice at the back of your head that still doubted what Joy had shown you, that the picture was friendly and not romantic.

It was so pathetic how even after everything, there was a sliver in you that hoped he would deny it.

“Y/N- let me explain—“ In other words: ‘I was, but you haven’t heard my reason’.

“Fuck off, Hanwoo, don’t ever call me again,” you warned, “and if I hear you spread bullshit about Wonwoo like you did just now, it’ll be more than just your car that I ruin. Bye.”

He managed to slip something before you got the chance to hang up. “What about my fucking eye, Y/N?”

“Why don’t you ask Gia to help you with that?” Grateful to have the last word, you hung up immediately, tossing your phone to the side. The phone call wasn’t closure, but it was enough to put those indenial thoughts to rest.

Wonwoo punched him? The thought wouldn’t leave your head as you got ready for the day. Trying to imagine Wonwoo walking up to Hanwoo and giving him a black eye wasn’t something you could see him doing. Besides that, when did Wonwoo get the time to punch Hanwoo if he did? He ended up driving you home around three in the morning, and it was past six now, meaning he had a three hour window.

Unless…

No, that would mean after dropping you off, he had stormed straight to wherever Hanwoo was just to punch him.

You had to make sure, even if it was hard to believe, you had to make sure Wonwoo was okay. As long as you’ve been friends, you’ve never seen him get into any physical altercations with anyone, and if it did happen, it might be possible that Hanwoo wouldn’t have let him walk away unscathed.

Your legs carried you to his house, to his front door and after greeting his parents, to his bedroom door. You knocked, listening in to hear rummaging noises, as if he was panicking.

“Wait, Eomma, I just finished showering—“ He called out from the other side, which you found odd because you knew him, he wouldn’t even be awake at this hour.

“Wonwoo, it’s me.”

The noise on the other side of the door paused for a moment, before Wonwoo called out. “Y/N?”

“Yes, can you open the door?” You asked, waiting for it to swing open but it didn’t.

“No, I’m- uh, I’m watching something, you don’t need to see it,” Wonwoo tried to think of an excuse but cursed at himself because why the hell did that come out instead? You, on the other hand, found his obvious panic hilarious, his excuse eliciting a chuckle.

“I know you met with Hanwoo,” you informed him, making sure to keep your voice down so his parents wouldn’t hear. “So, can you please open the door and let me check the damage?”

You waited a few minutes, hearing him toss a few things away, the noise causing your brows to furrow. The lock turned and the door swung enough for you to squeeze yourself in, knowing well enough that Wonwoo wasn’t about to reveal himself in fear his parents would see (they wouldn’t have, they were on the other side of the house, he was just paranoid). Once you were in, he pushed the door closed, his back against it and you could see what damage Hanwoo had done to your next door neighbour.

It wasn’t bad, admittedly you thought it’d be worse considering his lack of experience.

It was a scratch and bruising surrounding his left cheek, that was most caused by a ring Hanwoo was wearing, but other than that, and a tear in his lip, that was all he took.

“I honestly thought you’d look worse,” you thought out loud, Wonwoo’s brows furrowing at the comment.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You shook your head, lightly laughing. “Nothing, do you have anything I can use to clean that?”

“Uh… I do, actually.” He dips to look on his bedside table. “Stopped by a drugstore after because I saw the blood.”

“And when did you get the time to pull it all off?”

“Well, after I dropped you off, I asked Seungcheol since he knows—“ Wonwoo stopped, realizing that this information wasn’t ever supposed to reach you. “Uhm… How did you know I was hurt?”

“Because a psychopath told me,” you informed, and his eyes darkened for a moment, rolling in annoyance.

“I told him to never bother you again,” he groaned, before his gaze softened as he turned to you. “Did he hurt you? Are you okay?”

“He just called my phone, I’m alright,” you reassured him. Taking a step towards him, your fingers gently touched the wound on his cheek, inspecting it. You could see that he didn’t tend to it once it started bleeding, evidence of dried blood surrounding the wound and there wasn’t any antiseptic used either to ensure an infection didn’t happen.

While you were playing nurse, Wonwoo became very aware of the lack of space between your face and his, and he had to hold his breath. It only worsened when your eyes darted to his, the two of you holding eye contact for what he thought was an eternity.

“Let me clean it up for you, Won,” you uttered, breaking the silence and eventually the tension as you turned to walk into his ensuite bathroom. He followed after trying to calm his heartbeat, finding you on top of his sink, soaking a cotton pad with antiseptic and tearing a bandaid from its package.

“Come here,” you urged. Wonwoo stood between your thighs, not wanting to meet your eyes, but you didn’t mind—almost finding him being flustered cute.

“Ow,” he winced when the antiseptic touched the wound after you had wiped it clean of the dried blood.

“It’s a small sting, stop being a baby,” you teased, earning a glare from him. “How come you only came out with this?”

“Got me at the last minute,” he answered.

“And how was he?” Your question was responded with an eyebrow raise instead, causing you to roll your eyes. “I don’t care about him, Won, I just want to know if it was worth it—if you, at least, are satisfied with this decision.”

The corner of his lips turned up, a smug look etched across his face as he answered, “It was. I hurt him enough to send the message and keep it with him for the next couple of weeks.”

“I never knew you could fight,” you said honestly.

“There’s a lot you still don’t know about me, Y/N,” he mumbled, but because of your close proximity, you heard it loud and clear. Before you ask further, he spoke up, “Have you had breakfast yet?”

“No, not yet.”

“After this we can have breakfast, I think my mom made doenjang jjigae,” he informed. You smiled, nodding, “Sure.” You finished tending to his wound by plastering on the Kuromi bandaid, teasing him about it, to which he used the ‘there wasn’t anything else’ excuse.

He grabbed your elbow as you hopped off his sink, the action caused you to stumble out of balance instead of helping, made you bump closer to him, his free arm automatically holding your waist.

Cue the eye contact and pink-tinted cheeks, the move could’ve made you laugh as if it was straight out of a cheesy rom-com, but you were too occupied with trying to think that you couldn’t do so. I’m heartbroken, I’m vulnerable and haven’t been feeling loved for the past week, this is just a fluke, you tried to rationalize the thoughts and your racing heart, knowing well what could work to get out of this.

You tapped his chest, gently pushing him. “Go shower, Wonwoo, you reek.”

“Shut up, I do not,” he protested, laughing to cover his shaky voice. He then added, “Thanks, Y/N, although you didn’t have to do all this.”

“And let you get an infection?” You retorted.

Wonwoo rolled his eyes, and without thinking he uttered, “A kiss would’ve sufficed.” It was too late for him to take back his words, noting your wide eyes and mouth slightly agape, his cheeks flushed when he realized what he had said. “Y/N, I wasn’t thinking—“

You pressed a kiss against cheek, beneath his bandage, shutting him completely. “Take it as a thank you for all you’ve done for me.”

It took him a second to compose himself, grinning, “I am your knight in shining armor, after all.”

You threw your head back in laughter. “Are you riding a horse, my knight?”

“Yes, a pink horse,” he answered, smiling endearingly down at you.

You frowned at his choice of color, “But you hate pink?”

“And you love pink.”

“Gosh, Wonwoo,” you flushed red, taking a step away from him, finding his comment both cringey and touching at the same time—it was shocking you could feel those two simultaneously. “When did you get so cheesy?”

He merely shrugged, a faint smirk on his lips. “I told you there was a lot you don’t know about me.”

#seventeen fluff #seventeen imagines #seventeen #seventeen scenarios #seventeen x reader #seventeen x y/n #seventeen x you #jeon wonwoo #wonwoo #wonwoo svt #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo x you #wonwoo x y/n #wonwoo fluff #wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo imagines #heartsfromia writes

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alphabetboyluvr · 1 year ago

Text

NIGHT CRAWLERS - JJK

title credit: night crawlers - kids in glass houses

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

synopsis:

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

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

wordcount: 26K

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

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

minors dni // cross posted to wattpad

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

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

That, and 'rather be dead than cool.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At least they barely crossed. Past tense.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Again, the rogue look isn't a front.

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

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

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

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

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

"Mhmm?"

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

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

Partners?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A control freak, you note. Nice.

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

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

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

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

"I'm very much capable of editing-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When they were still talking to you, that was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn't reply.

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

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

Well, no.

That's not quite right.

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

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

Given your rejection, he was pleased with his choice.

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

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

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

"Like?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he's also determined.

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

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

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

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

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

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

That's the big dream at least.

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

It's his fault, and he knows it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The lack of a camera proves otherwise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hold on."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jesus, you think. Who pissed in his cornflakes?

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

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

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

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

"You could have fucking killed me!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Never said I wasn't."

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

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

"Where are we?"

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

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

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

That's a lie.

He doesn't think they're stupid.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Look I-"

"So-"

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

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

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

"At two in the morning?"

You nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Tomorrow?"

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

"Oh right. Yeah. See you tomorrow."

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

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

"Thanks, again."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perhaps that should be your project piece.

Secrets of Seoul: The Seedy Underbelly of The City.

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

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

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

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

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

Who the fuck are you?

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

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

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

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

"Once in a blue moon. Gotcha."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook wants what he wants.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook wants what he wants.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Curious.

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

"No can do, sugar."

"Oh my god, stop calling me that."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he's right. It is worth it.

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

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

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

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

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

"It's good," he promises.

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

"Are you broken?"

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

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

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

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

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

And neither of you really care.

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

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

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

He knows you read them.

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

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

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

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

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

You have been thinking about him.

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

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

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

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

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

You don't ask him to expand.

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

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

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

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

And so you return, every week.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Per hour?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You've gotten good at playing pretend.

Jungkook only jokes about you being a sugar baby.

He doesn't fathom that you actually are one.

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

The way you hold onto his waist is different tonight.

Physically, it's the same.

But it feels different.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod appreciatively. "You sure?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Kook?"

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

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

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

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

"Like what?"

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

"I don't."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As if he fears the consequences of his claim.

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

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

But you don't.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unlike Jimin, apparently.

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

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

"You're being dramatic."

"You're being boring."

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

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

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

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

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

A few months ago, he was a fucking idiot.

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

And you ignore it.

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

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

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

It's all a bit nauseating.

Maybe a party would actually be a good distraction.

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

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

And you were nowhere to be seen on Tuesday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No good ever comes from being nice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you are annoyed.

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

You barely know him. Not really.

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

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

It seems like you found your answer.

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

And he's right.

He's not the city.

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

He's not the goddamn city.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Really, Kook?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey."

"Uh, hey."

"You good?"

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

Ah. You cringe.

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

"Hmm?"

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

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

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

"Good night?"

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

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

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

You don't know what to say either.

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

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

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

"Oh?"

"Yeah..."

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

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

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

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

Oh.

Not a coward. Just cautious.

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

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

"Can you come over?"

THE WAY YOU keep Jungkook hanging on tenterhooks is deliberate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except you do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Can I see?"

"Not yet."

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

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

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

You both feel it.

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

"Some girls like it," he flirts back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You look warm," he husks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do I?"

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

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

Yes.

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

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

Yes.

"Ddaeng."

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

Maybe you do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hobi, can I-"

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

"Hobi will you let me fucking talk!"

Attaboy.

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

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

You try to decipher the conversation, but fail.

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

You blush.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don't hang around for much longer.

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

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

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

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

Just a little peek. He'll never know.

Oh, how you loathe your brain.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook thinks he knows who, now.

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

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

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

That had been the plan, at least.

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

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

A punch to the face means very little to Jungkook.

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

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

The dial tone bleeds out, just like his nose.

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

"Wassup, kid?"

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

"I got jumped Yoongs."

Fuck.

"You alright? Sound pretty bad? Where?"

"Daerim-"

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

"Hobi wanted me to drop off my stash."

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

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

"Gone."

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

"No."

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

"Yoong-"

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

"Ple-"

"Kook. Seriously. Trust me with this."

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

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

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

The girl who's now returning his call.

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

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

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

"Can I come over?"

Fuck. Anything except that.

"Please."

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

But he does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This place is just temporary.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook knows he should stop.

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

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

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

Should repulse you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All that matters is what is happening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wants it all.

Wants you naked.

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

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

Wants it. Wants you. Just wants.

And what Jungkook wants, Jungkook gets.

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

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

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

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

He's utterly obsessed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He likes this. Likes how you react to him.

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

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

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

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

He's bored of waiting. Wants you now.

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

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

"What?" he toys.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Shit," he whispers. "Shit."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he gets it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You laugh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His next statement takes you off guard.

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

And you know.

You know he knows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For a moment, you were sure that he had.

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

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

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

You really don't.

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

"Babe?"

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

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

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

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

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

I'm safe.

I'm good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shakes his head.

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

"Yes, you are."

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

Jungkook hates him.

Doesn't know him.

Loathes him.

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

He wants to fight back. You stop him.

"We can argue later," you promise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That's not how it works."

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

"No?" You question, equally distracted.

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

He's not wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Take what I owe you.

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

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

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

But it's funny now, because you know that he does mean it.

When he finally leaves, his nose is blushed, his cupids bow too. Eyes glassy. Smile forlorn.

Disappointingly, as you close the door of your apartment when he's no longer in your line of sight, you remember exactly how Jungkook had kissed you for the first time:

Like it was going to be the last.

And it consumes you, because the kiss you just shared felt exactly the same.

Your chest is uncomfortable again, but it's not rubber bands this time.

It's that stupid red string that Jungkook had tugged too tightly on.

The one that he'd snapped right in half.

WATTPAD // AO3 // KO-FI // CARRD

#jungkook #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts fanfic #jungkook imagines #jungkook scenario #jungkook fanfic #jungkook oneshot

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sirhamburrger · 25 days ago

Text

havin' deep and uncomfortable conversations around the christmas tree (rin itoshi x gn!reader)

(a continuation of this more ryusae-centric drabble) being unexpectedly vulnerable with you wasn't really on rin itoshi's christmas wishlist. but he does want to ask you something else, and it would really make his christmas if you said yes. you will get a sentimental feelin' when you hear voices singin', "let's be jolly, deck the halls with boughs of holly" || wc: 861 || tags/cw: hurt/comfort, background ryusae, itoshi brother drama (but they're working on it), rin is bad at telling people how he feels (he's working on that too) series m.list

you watch the video ryusei just sent you. it’s... of him slapping sae’s ass really hard, but after months of being stuck with them as your roommates, your humor is broken. you whip your head around, giggling, ready to show it to rin, but your smile fades when you see the crease between his eyebrows. that only happens when he realises he's forgotten to buy groceries, or…

or when sae texts him.

you set down the box of baubles tucked under your arm and take his hands in yours, brushing his hair out of his eyes so you can look at him properly. even so, he doesn't look you in the eye.

“everything okay?” you ask softly.

he blinks. you feel his hands clench into fists within yours.

“yeah. everything's fine.”

“what did he say?”

"he wants to have lunch with me tomorrow.”

you furrow your brows slightly. “well, then you should go. i know we have plans, but we could always go another day.”

he nods, but he's got his brooding face on, still. there's something he's not telling you, and you're determined to get it out of him on this not-very-eventful saturday afternoon.

so you flop onto the ground by the christmas tree - the christmas tree the two of you are in the midst of decorating. wiggling your way into the shade of the lower leaves, you tug on his pant leg.

“well? join me!”

looking slightly bemused, he lays down on the floor and positions himself opposite you. admiring his beautiful eyelashes up close, you twirl a lock of his hair around your finger. he smiles at this, his breath fanning over your face.

you ask him point-blank, then, when he might least expect it.

“what are you afraid of?”

“nothing.”

“liar.”

you stare at him as seriously as you can, and he stares back with double the intensity. you’re locked in, you could say - it’s a shared tradition of yours that whenever you have a staring contest, winner takes all. the last cookie. choice of date location. or something you want to know.

seconds creep by. thirty. forty-five. a minute. a minute and fifteen. tears start to pool in your dehydrated eyes.

rin's gaze softens some.

"are we about to kiss?" you mutter weakly.

"give up, darling," he advises gently.

a tear runs down your cheek. "no."

he makes a tsking noise at your stubbornness, and slowly - very, very slowly - he closes his eyes.

"i'm scared that sae is going to treat me differently now that we're both grown up and he knows we can't ever go back to what we were before."

you blink.

damn, that's...

he opens his eyes. "happy?"

it’s like a punch to the gut when he says it like that.

"of course not," you mumble. "i'm sorry. i shouldn't have pressured you to say anything at all."

rin sighs heavily. "i think a part of me kind of wanted to tell you anyway, so."

"do you want to tell me more?"

he nods.

"when we were kids, it was all so easy. i looked up to him - i still do. we were together 24/7. we did everything together. and then he left for spain. came back a changed person. and okay, i get that he wants to reconcile and all, but it's just weird. he's really trying his best, and i am too. but we'll never be how we were in the past. it's too late for that."

"oh, honey..."

you want to reach over and hug him until he can't breathe, but then you remember you're lying on the floor. you scoot over to lie by his side.

"the important thing is that you're both trying really hard. you're talking to him more often, meeting him for meals - and sae really does want to make things right. i literally live with the man! he lets ryusei check his spelling in the texts he sends you."

"really?"

"yes, really. so you don't have to be worried. not at all."

“okay.”

you see the crease between his eyebrows has disappeared, and peck him on the nose. his lips twitch, and you see him open his mouth –

“move in with me.”

what?

“i want you in my life,” rin murmurs, abrupt, blunt, but that's how he does things, after all. “because i love you, and i want to be with you all the time.”

you're temporarily frozen in place, utterly surprised. but that quickly gives way to a rush of affection for your boyfriend, and you pepper his face with little kisses as he chuckles.

“i'll take that as a yes, then,” he says dryly, and you give him another kiss for his troubles.

you think of sae and ryusei, and pout. “i'm going to miss having them as roommates, though.”

“but would they make you breakfast pancakes every day?”

you pretend to collapse in his arms. “i’m going to wife you up one day, itoshi.”

he reaches for the switch on the christmas lights strung along the tree branches, and you look up, and your vision is filled with sparks of colour.

and in your little world, all is perfect.

this is what's happening btw (it probably wasn't very clear)

a/n: i never thought i would write for rin because for some weird reason i didn't like him when i watched his anime debut but like?? is he not so much like todoroki? (if todoroki was more edgy ig) but yeah i was prepared to write him as a sweetheart in this one

taglist: @anglefish3008, @standcom (closed, event completed)

bllk masterlist || general masterlist

#blue lock #bllk #bllk x reader #bllk drabble #rin itoshi #rin itoshi bllk #rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #rin x you #rin itoshi drabble #kai writes #miniseries: jingle bell lock

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fuckyeahgoodomens · 2 years ago

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The Season 2 Poster Details

From top to bottom :)

This is a Buddy Holly song Everyday which was originally supposed to be the Good Omens theme :)

Neil talks about it in the Introduction to the Script Book: “In the scripts, Buddy Holly’s song ‘Every Day’ runs through the whole like a thread. It was something that Terry had suggested in 1991, and it was there in the edit. Our composer, David Arnold, created several different versions of ‘Every Day’ to run over the end credits. And then he sent us his Good Omens theme, and it was the Good Omens theme. Then Peter Anderson made the most remarkable animated opening credits to the Good Omens theme, and we realised that ‘Every Day’ didn’t really make any sense any longer, and, reluctantly, let it go. It’s here, though. You can hum it.”

And there is also the Buddy Holly Everyday record! :)

Book The Crow Road by Iain Banks. The novel describes Prentice McHoan's preoccupation with death, sex, his relationship with his father, unrequited love, sibling rivalry, a missing uncle, cars, alcohol and other intoxicants, and God, against the background of the Scottish landscape

Book Lord Jim by Joseph Conrad. An early and primary event in the story is the abandonment of a passenger ship in distress by its crew, including a young British seaman named Jim. He is publicly censured for this action and the novel follows his later attempts at coming to terms with himself and his past and seeking redemption and acceptance.

Important themes in Lord Jim include the consequences of a single, poor decision, the indifference of the universe, and the inability to know oneself or others.

There is book The Body Snatcher by Robert Louis Stevenson. Its characters were based on criminals in the employ of real-life surgeon Robert Knox (1791–1862) around the time of the notorious Burke and Hare murders (1828). Neil said: Oddly enough, episode 3 will take us to a little stint of body snatching in the era.

There is Catch-22 book by Joseph Heller that coined the term Catch-22: situation from which an individual cannot escape because of contradictory rules or limitations.

Is there only one hand or are there two? :) EIther 6 ;), or 6:30 :).

Through the window we can see the coffeeshop Give Me Coffe or Give Me Death where Nina works! :)

Azi is wearing his nifty glasses :).

Crowley is wearing his new glasses, they are RIGARDS X UMA WANG - THE STONE ECLIPSE (VINTAGE BLACK/BLACK STONES) - $435

There is the Holy Bible Aziraphale used in Season 1 :)

There seems to be a broken phone :).

The cakes behind Aziraphale are Eccles cakes :).

Azi is reading A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens published in 1859, set in London and Paris before and during the French Revolution. The novel tells the story of the French Doctor Manette, his 18-year-long imprisonment in the Bastille in Paris, and his release to live in London with his daughter Lucie whom he had never met. The story is set against the conditions that led up to the French Revolution and the Reign of Terror.

Another book there is Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen - Neil said said that we will learn a lot about Jane Austin we didn’t know before.

And finally the Treasure Island book by - again :) - Robert Louis Stevenson, an adventure novel with pirates.

There are three geckos cuties. Who are they? Pets? Is Ligur haunting the bookshop? Who knows :).

A mysterious pamphlet, 'The Resurrectionists’ leaflet. (unofficial spoiler :)).

Also there is an old camera... mmm 🤔 Did Azi made some photos (of what? Him and Crowley, ducks? :)) Will we see them? :)

Their positions is an homage to the book covers! :)(x)

Will update this as fandom discovers new things! :)❤

#good omens #gos2 #season 2 #posters #s2 poster details #fun fact #robert louis stevenson #jane austen #joseph heller #charles dickens #can't waiiiit #wahoo!

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best-overplayed-song · 2 years ago

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fun facts

American Pie is about evolution of rock & roll through the sixties, following the 1959 plane crash that led to the death of Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, and The Big Bopper. He also references many of the major events during the sixties

Producer Stock Aitken Waterman worked on You Spin Me Round for 36 hours straight (fueled by cocaine). Dead or Alive frontman Pete Burns said: "It was the sound of the underground. It was a sound that was fundamentally only accessible at gay clubs, and he’d taken it out of gay clubs and put it onto mainstream radio, which was a triumph"

#best overplayed song bracket #tumblr bracket #tournament poll #polls #don mclean #dead or alive

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lazyjellyfish300 · 19 days ago

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merriment shrine 🎄⛩️

synopsis: you're the newest concubine in Lord Sukuna's household and the object of his unrelenting ruminations (or is it desire?). When Uraume tasks you with being in charge of the Christmas festivities while Sukuna is away, you can only hope you'll deliver. What could go wrong? 🎄 largely inspired by this fic by @/sttoru 💕 words: 7.5k

cw: minors dni, x FEM!READER(Yuri), concubines, smut(p in v, double penetration(not too detailed), monster sex? I guess bc true form!Sukuna sex is not normal sex, oral f and m receiving, titty fucking, degradation, creampie(not too detailed), cum eating), violence, blood, Sukuna is a warning on his own, true form!Sukuna, SUKUNA HAS BEEF WITH BABY JESUS. MOCKING OF RELIGION/BLASPHEMY (PLS DONT READ IF THAT BOTHERS YOU. IT'S SUKUNA FFS) decapitation, bullying, heian era but it's all over the place historically and NOT accurate. angst, fluff, crack

a/n: For the secret Santa fic exchange event by @nanamiscocksleeve written for @heian-era-housewife ! I deeply apologize for the late entry! I was very intimidated writing for him for the first time but I hope you like it. 😩🎅🏽🎄💕 Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!✨

my holiday smut masterlist 🎄

dividers by @/saradika-graphics. pics from pinterest

You mused peacefully as you took in the gentle dance of snowflakes outside your chamber windows, thinking if you squinted hard enough you could make out the intricate shape of each one before they landed silently on the thin dusty layer of those that fell before on the undisturbed gardens.

You hugged your kimono a little tighter around you as you sipped your tea you had laced with some ginger and cinnamon, much to the confusion of the cooks in the kitchen. The distant glare of the fireplace bestowed a soothing warmth that kept you locked in place.

Since you arrived, it quickly became no secret that you, the newest concubine to join the harem under the formidable king of curses, brought with you a peculiarity. Certain quirks that endeared you to the servants and annoyed the other concubines.

You emitted a humble air about you like the shades of aqua and seafoam green you gravitated towards. You often opted for untouched corners of the garden next to the pond and the library where you could read and write in solitude that became mistaken for arrogance by the others.

And for whatever reason or another, you insisted on this...holiday business or whatever the hell you called it, gently humming those insufferable tunes under your breath that carried though the marble hallways and adorning your room in makeshift tinsel and boughs of holly you strung together from stray pieces of greenery you found by the koi pond.

It was a very frustrating type of conundrum Sukuna didn't appreciate that was causing ripples in his vast household, especially now, as he studies you from his neighboring window on the opposite side of the estate, stroking his chin, eyes narrowed.

"My Lord." Uraume bows as their smaller frame appears in his doorway.

"Speak." Sukuna responds, not tearing those eyes of a deep rose away from where you were perched in your window, a pointed black claw gently scratching the sharp ridge of his jaw in deep thought.

"I need to know of your plans for the winter feast preparations."

"What of it?" Sukuna answers coldly.

Uraume doesn't flinch, being all too familiar with Sukuna's temperament. They knew he would rather fork out his eyeballs than waste time with frivolous matters like festive planning. Too reminiscent of the folly those disgusting humans preoccupied themselves with.

But, Uraume also knew the blind fury that would await them should they make arrangements for anything impacting the routine functions of Sukuna's household without his knowledge.

"A proposal, my lord." Uraume continues calmly. "Since we are not expecting your grace's presence until the 24th, perhaps we leave the bulk of the planning to someone else?"

Sukuna scoffed. "And who would that be?"

"One of the concubines."

"Who? He asks, slight incredulity now mixed in his sternness. "Her?"

"She...brings a new set of traditions."

"I am aware, I was not born yesterday."

"...I thought his majesty would appreciate-"

"Appreciate? Uraume, do not speak foolishly." Sukuna scolded, now fully turned to face them, his two upper muscular arms folded across his body.

Uraume merely stayed where they were, silent, undemonstrative of any reaction which they knew Sukuna preferred while he strode about the room, beginning to pace.

Finally, Sukuna came to a stop. "So be it. As long as I am not to be trifled with such matters again until my return, I do not care what the little brat does."

He paused, his expression unmoving as he addresses them one more time. "I have the most trust in your judgement, Uraume. Do not disappoint me."

"Yes, my Lord." Uraume bows again as Sukuna takes his leave, but not before eyeing you one more lingering glance before he departs, a shred of annoyance when he realizes despite the distance, he wouldn't be rid of you from his thoughts anytime soon.

-----

"My lady." Uraume addresses you from your doorway and you stand abruptly, bowing in acknowledgement.

"Uraume, good to see you."

"Thank you." Uraume answers pleasantly, a slight inflection in their tone carrying a fondness at your usual kindness towards them.

Although you were aloof, odd, and provided more than an earful that Uraume had to bear witness to from the other concubines, at least you treated them respectfully, unlike them.

"Lord Sukuna has departed on business with no plans to return until the 24th."

You stood up slowly, quirking a curious brow at the unexpected news.

"It is tradition that his grace hosts a feast for the winter solstice." Uraume explains. "To usher in the cold season and provide festivities. But, due to his absence, we are in need of someone to make arrangements..." Uraume clears their throat, clearly a little nervous at what your response will be, since the success of it was mostly riding on your willingness to participate.

"Would you be willing to lead the preparations, my lady?"

Silence hangs in mid air before you speak. "Me?"

"Of course." Uraume hums. "I don't doubt you'll be more than capable. I, along with many others, have noticed you celebrating this-Christmas? You call it?"

"Yes, that's right." You straighten up a little. "I mean, I'd love throw a celebration for Lord Sukuna. But, why me?"

"Well, my lady. As I said before, you are very capable. I noticed you seem to have an eye for these kinds of details between your drawings, writings, and your.." Their fuschia eyes flicker briefly to the parchment ornaments adorning a potted plant in the corner. "...creations." Their lip curls upward in a meek grin.

"Between you and I, I have never cared much for the traditions, either. Too overwhelming. But, I am curious about yours. You've caused quite a stir among the ladies of the house and, if I may speak openly..." Uraume gulps and looks at the walls nervously as if they had eyes into the conversation before lowering their voice.

"You are the first in a long while whom I have been able to tolerate, and who has treated me kindly unlike so many before you."

You give Uraume a sympathetic glance, now determined to deliver on your promise of a celebration worth waiting for.

"We'll start tomorrow."

----

The shrine slowly transformed day by day. The halls became lined with pine needles accented by soft candles that emitted a heavenly glow. As the snow piled up, you recruited the help of the servants, smiling at their bewildered expressions that turned to pure joy as they touched snow for the first time, constructing an army of snowmen with various hats, scarves, and other accessories they could find around the estate, complete with carrot noses provided by the kitchen.

You, Uraume, and a team of gardeners from the palace ventured into the woods and hand selected multiple spruce trees, and, with their help, chopped them down, strapping them with ropes and dragging them back so the shrine could have its own assortment of Christmas trees, complete with what seemed to be nearly hundreds of crochet and parchment snowflake ornaments.

You had fashioned them with Uraume and some of the other ladies in waiting during craft hours in the evenings. Presents wrapped in scarlet ribbons and offerings to Sukuna began to encircle the bottom of the largest tree in the grand hall.

Across the way, however, the group of other concubines avoided the spreading merriment with disdain and scowls on their faces, not even touching or wandering in the vicinity of the Christmas trappings as though it contained a plague.

You began hosting caroling rehearsals and only you, Uraume, and a few other members of the kitchens staff had joined while your bitter cohorts tried their best to drown out the noise on the far side of the shrine, the leader of the group shooting a fiery glare at one of her minions when she began to blindly hum the catchy tune.

As Christmas Eve drew closer, the warm baked goodies become more innumerable as they popped out of the kitchen and the bakers perfected their abilities to whip up treats worthy of the season. The shrine had adopted a permanent scent of gingerbread, cinnamon, pine and peppermint that followed and clung to your robes.

----

On the 23rd, the day before Christmas Eve, you and Uraume were baking and laughing with flour stained faces,

"To think, we did all this in just a few weeks' time." Uraume mused as they squished the gingerbread dough between their fingers. "Lord Sukuna will be pleased. Yes, very pleased with you indeed."

The sentiment left you with a very healthy dose of fluster as you grinned at the thought of his majesty marveling at all the work you did just for him, possibly rewarding you with something much better than you could imagine as those eyes of deep rose bestowed you subtle admiration that had not graced anyone else.

Unknown to you, an eavesdropping ear belonging to one of the concubines catches wind of this statement and skitters away quickly to spread her message to the others.

----

"Spit it out already!" The cruel eyed leader of the concubines hisses to the messenger.

"I overheard that Lord Sukuna chose her specifically to lead this Christmas tradition and intends to reward her and place her higher above the rest of us, earning his grace's favor so that we might be cast out into the streets!"

Shock, fury, outrage, and blind jealousy erupted among the other concubines.

"What shall we do?" "That goddamn slut, I knew she was no good." "She needs to go!"

"Silence!!" The leader screeched over the others. "She will be dealt with. We must take matters into our own hands so Lord Sukuna is displeased and has no option but to execute her. Listen to me, I have a plan..."

And the other concubines huddled around her eagerly as they plotted your downfall.

----

Everything was ready for the elaborate Christmas Eve homecoming feast for Lord Sukuna.

The finest beast was being roasted on a spit over fiery coals under careful supervision by Uraume. In the kitchen, the chefs were hard at work chopping vegetables they had culled from the winter harvest. Puddings and treats were being whipped up and presented beautifully in festive arrangements on fine platters.

The smell of Christmas cooking overwhelmed you as you stood in the great hall, clad in a new royal jade kimono with golden ornate leaves woven in your hair that never made you appear more elegant than on this Christmas Eve of festivities.

You thought of Sukuna and what he might think when his powerful presence graced these halls again. An odd mixture of fear and admiration you harbored for him that inspired you to want to please him. Feelings about him you couldn't quite place ever since he selected you to live in his shrine even though your head had not yet graced the silk of his bedsheets.

Lord Sukuna's carnal appetites were of no mystery to you. You had heard plenty of rumors about how rough and relentless he could be. His preferences seemed to be both selective, yet apathetic if that even made sense.

You had heard the screams and loud noises of primality from behind his sealed oak doors that echoed into late hours. Though all of his concubines would walk away with their own satisfaction eventually, his copulation apparently came with scars and rough treatment.

Seldom, if ever would his fucking deviate into lovemaking territory, much less tenderness and intimacy. That is where his selectiveness came in. The gentle sighs, gasps of mind melting pleasure, soul binding thrusts, consuming kisses dotted lovingly all along your nape, breasts, and inner thighs while being brought to the pedestals of pleasure you craved to know one day from the touch of a man you were deeply in love with, seemed to be reserved for someone of an unattainable caliber to Sukuna.

Until he met someone worthy, his concubines were nothing more than warm vessels of temporary satisfaction until his thirst returned.

But, here you were daydreaming that you could be the recipient of such love from him despite all odds.

----

"Whore, we're trying to speak to you!"

An indignant voice rips you out of your thoughts and you turn around, jarred at the sight of the head concubine with her supporters close by. You were outnumbered one to many. A piece of meat left to the wolves. Subtle panic slithered in and wrapped around your throat when Uraume was nowhere to be found.

The leader's scowl melted from her face into a honeyed grin, her long nails outstretching and wrapping around a delicate glass reindeer from a gorgeous wintery scene Sukuna's craftspeople had spent countless hours on.

"P-please be careful-" You raise a shaky hand.

The leader hisses at you, stealing the reindeer out of reach, her icy stare renders you speechless again. Her expression then morphs back into a sugary tone, a snake's venomous fangs concealed behind her pretty face.

"Tell me, darling. Does Lord Sukuna know you've been defiling his shrine this entire time he's been gone?" She asks as she turns the reindeer in between her graceful fingers.

"Defiling...?" You choke out, perplexed.

"Yes, defiling. With these, disgusting-"

You jump in alarm as she abruptly hurls the glass deer to the ground, watching it explode into shards as soon as it meets the unforgiving marble.

"filthy-" she reaches this time for a wreath of holly, casting it onto one of the glowing candles, setting it ablaze.

"pathetic-" the others have now joined in, breaking and trashing all your beloved Christmas decorations, hours of hard work and care being ripped, torn, shredded, and cast into the fire one after another.

"Stop, stop, please!!!" You cry and shriek, voice drowned in anguish but when you raise your hand to stop her, she turns on you immediately, the others coming to her aid, ripping and tearing at your gorgeous kimono.

"You think Lord Sukuna gives a shit about you and your stupid little Christmas traditions?" She snarls as her and the others claw the golden leaves out of your hair and they clutter on the floor, your robes now nearly in tatters. "You're just another slut. A weak, useless, ugly-"

You cower and brace for the worst, but your insides turn when you hear a warm squelch as blood splattered against the walls. A shudder runs through you at the unmistakable sound of dismantle and cleave; the King of Curses had returned.

You look up and you see him first, averting your gaze immediately and kneeling for fear of losing your head next. You're not sure how many of the concubines or servants within the vicinity were slain, but you're guessing a lot, if not all, based on the sea of blood on either side of where you were crouched.

"We'll have no more of that." Sukuna tsk'd. Those stern eyes raked over the scene, seething in annoyance at the mess in front of him. His eyes land on you and he squints as he draws closer, sensing the tremble of your frame as you didn't dare move from your spot.

"Breathe, for gods' sakes, human." He commands. "Stand up, now. Don't keep me waiting."

You rise on shaky knees, keeping your gaze downwards until you straighten up completely, looking into the formidable face of your lord and unexpected savior.

"My Lord."

"Tch." Sukuna clicks his teeth, looking over you. "This is what you call a celebration for the King of Curses?"

"I-..." You shake your head, the lump in your throat obstructing both the oxygen and words in your brain. "I can explain..."

"I do not require an answer." He growled, and you shut your lips, gaze averted downward once again in fearful shame. "You are a mess." His eyes appraise you in scrutinizing pity.

He had seen enough to know this fiasco wasn't entirely your fault. But still, the irritation he felt towards you prior for sticking out so prominently in his brain was rearing its ugly head. It was unlike Sukuna to ruminate, to toil in his mind for hours, especially over a human like you, no less.

He will deal with that later. For now, he still expects a proper feast and celebration after his lengthy travels.

"Uraume." His voice reverberates off the stony walls and Uraume is immediately at his side, their pupils dilating slightly at you in alarm at the devastating state of the grand hall that was beautifully adorned and decorated less than an hour before.

"Clean her up immediately and bring her to my chambers. In the meantime, have any available servants scrub up this mess."

"Right away, my Lord."

----

A while later, you walk slowly towards Sukuna who's standing by his window. You're dressed in fresh robes chosen by him specifically of a bleeding garnet like his eyes. You take in the grand sight of him, the way the darkened shadows would bend at his back and wrap around whatever he was facing, nearly suffocating them with his presence that commanded reverence, humility, but most of all, fear. His broad shoulders, back, and booming voice with a majesty likened to the powerful mountain range that surrounded his shrine.

Even now, as he turns to face you with his monstrous appearance in his full glory with those four eyes, his harshness he exudes stirs a suppressed part of you that never desired to be removed from him. A forbidden kind of beauty not obvious to many that brimmed underneath that thick shell you were only barely skimming the surface.

"Better." Sukuna remarks, seemingly pleased with this new ensemble. "Now..."

He took a step towards you and you held your breath, preparing for the moment where you would inevitably be forced to give yourself to him and be at his non-existent mercy for whatever plans he had next. However, he surprises you.

"Are you just going to stand there, or will you join me for dinner?"

"Dinner?"

"I do not intend for my winter feast to go to waste." Sukuna frowns. "Seeing as my entire harem is now dead except for you, I have no choice but to rely on you to remedy this."

You look at him, dumbfounded. That wide gleam in your eyes that was brought out by the light hitting your irises whenever you had to crane your head to look at him(which was every time) almost pulls at him, for a moment. Almost.

"My Lord?"

"You may start from the beginning." Sukuna instructs, the top pair of arms folding seriously across his chest with the second pair on either side of his thick, muscular waist.

"Use this opportunity to prove yourself worthy and show me these ridiculous Christmas traditions you insisted on imposing on me before I change my mind, brat. "

----

"These are called snowmen, my Lord." Your teeth chatter slightly as you two come to a stop in front of the wall of snowmen you, Uraume, and the servants had constructed over several weeks in the courtyard.

Sukuna stares boredly, a rush of annoyance bubbling inside him as he lays eyes on their pebble smiles, goofy hats, and multi colored scarves.

But, his eyes widen ever so slightly when he takes notice of the biggest snowman that stood out towards the back. This one towered over the others with four sticks for arms instead of two, meeting Sukuna directly at his eye level. It had four sets of pebble eyes on its face with carefully carved markings, eerily similar to someone he knew...

"What is this?"

You gulp. "It is you, my Lord."

Sukuna stares, silent. "What is the purpose of this?"

"For visual display." You answer, slowly. "Personal enjoyment. Sculpting them and playing in the snow is half the fun."

"I care little for that." Sukuna waved his hand. He studied his snowman some more. "I suppose I will allow my likeness to be erected into snow. This is supposed to represent myself and my subjects?" His eyebrow raises slightly as his pair of undereyes flicker back to look at the dozens of other, smaller snowmen in front.

You nod, slightly encouraged by this reaction that wasn't all good, but wasn't all bad either. "Yes my Lord, it is."

"Hmph." Sukuna shoots air out of his nostrils in disapproval. Then, without warning he raises his arm. You duck quickly, and simultaneously each head of each snowman besides his own is sliced off and goes flying, shooting in the air and then landing and exploding like mashed pumpkins back onto the ground.

Sukuna looks with pride at his handiwork, his glorious snowman standing tall over his now decapitated army of snowy subjects.

"Now, it is perfect."

He joins his hands behind his back and walks off with a hum back towards the shrine, leaving you both endeared and confounded.

-----

Next tradition.

"Alright, my Lord." You wring your clammy hands nervously as you stand in front of Sukuna, who's opted to take a seat at the head of his banquet table.

He was stuffing his face with the roast beast that was at least spared by Uraume, his stomach mouth's comical tongue wagging in anticipation with drool before he tossed a couple bones for it to gnaw on obnoxiously like a crazed animal.

"I wish to share with you the legend known as Santa Claus. Otherwise known as Father Christmas, Saint Nicholas, Kris Kringle, among others."

Luckily, the feast seemed to make Sukuna more receptive, if that was even possible. Perhaps some of the restlessness (since he couldn't exactly experience hangry-ness that was exclusive to humans) was resolved by the smoked meat, giving his stomach mouth something to preoccupy him besides nagging Sukuna relentlessly.

"If you must." Sukuna rolls his eyes at you and then at the dopey expression his second mouth gives him while it's utterly high off the fresh bones it was chomping on.

"Well, this Christmas Eve night, he is said to fly and deliver presents around the world to all good children, spreading cheer and climbing into chimneys to leave presents under Christmas trees."

Sukuna's eyes narrow. "I will slaughter anyone who dares enter my household without permission." His stomach mouth gave a little belch. "I do not care for this Santa Claus you speak of."

This was true Sukuna fashion. Normally, you'd be mortified at his dramatics but by now, you had to do your best to stifle a giggle. "My Lord, it's merely a legend."

"That does not matter. If this Santa Claus you speak of attempts to enter my home, he will lose his head." Sukuna vows as he takes a hefty sip of wine before turning his glass to his stomach mouth. "Tell me about something else besides this ridiculous Santa Claus legend."

"Well..." You think for a moment then snap your fingers. "His grace might appreciate the legend of Krampus instead?"

Sukuna raises an eyebrow, corners of his mouth still turned downward in displeasure.

You clear your throat, "Krampus is a legend, like Santa Claus except he is a half goat, half demon monster who punishes naughty children. As opposed to Saint Nick whom delivers gifts, Krampus will appear and punish children who misbehave with bundles of branches, or by eating them or taking them to hell... Erm, oh! He looks like this!" You grab a piece of parchment and ink brush, pausing for a moment to make a quick sketch of Krampus.

Sukuna leans back, folding his arms, as he watches you, patiently, expectantly for this new Christmas tradition you spoke of to be better than the dreaded Santa Claus. When you're done painting Krampus, you turn your makeshift masterpiece in Sukuna's direction.

To your delight, a rare, smug expression of satisfaction tugs at the corners of his mouth when he lays eyes on Krampus for the first time.

"This is much better. I will absorb all of this Krampus's cursed energy when he appears tonight. He would be very useful to me, indeed."

You don't have the heart, or bravery to remind Sukuna that Krampus also is just a myth. Sukuna folds his arms, signalling he's done with his dinner.

"This Krampus can stay. Now, on to the rest of your silly traditions, brat."

-----

As the night continues on, you demonstrate more traditions for Sukuna, slowly bringing him into your world of decked out halls and yuletide merriment, albeit with his own, Sukuna-esque spin on things.

Needless to say, he loathed most of them.

"These are what are known as Christmas trees, my Lord." You gestured to the dozens of pines you and Uraume and the servants spent so much time decorating, shortly before Sukuna lit them all on fire.

Your jaw fell open and he stood there proud as the orange flames engulfed the trees in a mini forest fire within the shrine as the glow did a dance in his pupils. Sukuna inhaled, savoring the smoky wood against the releasing smell of the burning spruce.

"A much better way to enjoy the trees." He insisted.

---

Slowly, the Christmas you thought was nearly ruined was salvaged little by little as you entertained the King of Curses.

He spat out all of the overly sweet Christmas goodies immediately. However, his stomach mouth couldn't seem to get enough. Sukuna rolled his eyes as the pair of chompers devoured cookie after cookie that he fed it steadily with his lower pair of hands while his free hands rubbed his temples in defeat.

"I suppose these will do."

---

He liked the Christmas presents and offerings, but not because of the origin story behind it.

"So you see, my Lord, the tradition of gift giving on Christmas came from the nativity story, of the three wise men who delivered presents to the infant Jesus, who was believed to be the son of God."

"Hmph." Sukuna sneered. "How boring. An infant? I would smite him with ease." He looked at the pile of presents. "Tch, we will continue the gift giving tradition, but only for the King of Curses, for I am the most powerful being in this realm, not a newborn baby."

You smile and bow. "Yes, my lord."

----

And when it came to the Christmas carols, he quickly nipped those in the bud.

"Enough!" He groaned, covering his ears when you and Uraume didn't even make it through the first verse of O Holy Night.

"Who is this Savior you speak of in the lyrics?" He glared as he glanced over the sheet music. "Is this about that damn infant again? How pitiful. Change it. I can barely tolerate these insufferable ballads."

Sukuna seemed to come around, but only slightly when the lyrics were more modified to his tastes:

"O holy night! the stars are brightly shining;

It is the night of the mighty Lord Sukuna's return.

Long lay the world in sin and error pining,

Till he appeared and the soul felt its worth.

A thrill of hope- the weary world rejoices,

For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn!

Fall on your knees! O hear the angel voices!

O night divine, O night when Lord Sukuna returns!

O night, O holy night, O night divine!"

"An improvement." Sukuna frowns again, scratching his jaw. "But I cannot stand either one of your voices."

In short, Christmas carols didn't make the cut.

----

Many of the servants had retired for the night at Sukuna's request to give you and him some space alone. The fires were nearly extinguished, lingering smoke and pine permeated the air with the faint brush of cinnamon and gingerbread. The embers of the fire are boiling in a low cackle as you stand in front of your king who now sits atop his throne slightly above you.

"This last tradition is called mistletoe..." You tried to disguise your shyness as you reached in the pocket of your robes and showed him the small bundle, wrapped up in a red bow. "The leaves and white berries are actually considered poisonous." You explain, which catches Sukuna's interest immediately.

"And? What is the significance?"

"In a Norse legend, the goddess of love, Frigg, promised to kiss anyone who passed underneath it.

The tradition of kissing under the mistletoe was born shortly after in an ancient festival in Greece."

A faint glint of mischief dances in Sukuna's eyes as he leans forward with a smirk.

"That so?"

His gaze roams over you, this realization of several hours that have passed between you and the mystique surrounding his lack of physical contact with you fuels his intrigue that was beginning to simmer alongside the exhausted flames.

"And what else happens after you humans kiss one another under this tradition?" His voice now drips with honey, a contrast you were not expecting from him.

"Well, I suppose that is up to the participants. Surely, things can become a bit, intimate, I suppose."

"Hm." Sukuna outstretched a large veiny hand, taking the mistletoe from you and hanging it from the ceiling above where he was perched on his throne. He leans a hand on his chin, while one of his lower arms comes to cup you around your waist.

"Demonstrate."

He waits, and your eyes spread slightly in alarm as you were brought closer to him than you have been in the entire time you've known him.

Your lips part hesitantly, laced wetly by your wine ladden tongue. Sukuna does not budge, however his hand pressed against your back a little more urgently, his black nails lightly puncturing the garnet threads of your kimono as though he were requesting not to be kept waiting a moment longer.

Your eyes glance upwards at the arrangement of mistletoe dangling perfectly over your heads, then directly at his supple lips that part in seething wait, before leaning in and pressing yours against them without another word.

Sukuna's mouth is warm and rough, just like every last inch of him you discover shortly after when both of his lower arms bring you in between his enormous thighs, so that you are directly up against pure muscle.

His skin is heated, and practically hot to the touch between all of the formidable strength that lay encased in his looming form. Sukuna wastes no time deepening the kiss. As his mouth opens against yours, you feel as though you are being swallowed directly by rays of sun on a sweltering day, the very opposite of the present chilly night bogged with snow that now covered every inch of the land surrounding the quiet shrine.

The delicious and precise slither of his tongue in between your lips causes you to release the most beautiful gasp into his mouth. Sukuna exhales deeply,

"More."

And his lips move feverishly, low grunts escaping the opening space between them as his tongue slides against yours. Aroused, scorched by this ethereal being as he kissed you as though he were the kindling catching alight and you were the flame instead.

Your hands bravely slide up both sides of his expansive neck, your nails entangling themselves in the unruly locks of orchid. The King of Curses shudders, seemingly offput by a mortal touching him so boldly, but every passionate grind of you against him allows him to ignore it for now, as that insatiable thirst bubbles deep in his belly and begs to be relieved.

"Ahh..." A breathy moan peels softly at first then snaps as he rips the ending from your throat with a harsh gnash of his teeth to your bottom lip, as one his hands immediately snaked into the opening of your robes.

His touch is molten, but his stare is unmoving as he forces your gaze to stay captured underneath his as his hand works quickly to part your thighs, riding the hem of your kimono up your legs, cold air tickling your pussy which he's more than pleased to discover is already bare, shiny with slick underneath.

"Closer, and do not stop looking at me." He mutters. All four of his heavily hooded eyes greedily drink in the way your expression liquefies to silk when you feel that first long, languid, warm stroke between both lips of your sensitive cunt.

"I said, look at me." Sukuna growls, a clawed hand coming up to cup your cheeks, both of them pinched between his thumb on one side and the rest of his fingers on the other. He runs his tongue over his lips, a slow sneer spreading out at your gradual fucked out expression as his tongue from his belly slowly licks, savors, and swirls against your dripping entrance.

High pitched whimpers flood past your lips, the corners of your eyes begin to prick with tears as profound warmth blooms upwards from the epicenter of unrelenting pleasure Sukuna's second mouth is wringing from your swollen clit. The tongue begins to slowly curl inside of you, each groove of its wet, meaty surface gliding against the soaking velvet of your tight walls, while the upper lip encircles and sucks over your soft pearl.

"Good." Sukuna whispers, stifling a groan when he feels you involuntarily pulse around his tongue, leading to a greedy string of juices dribbling down the second throat. "Who's your king? Tell me, pet."

He tauts his abs as he maneuvers you around his stomach slightly, still keeping you locked in an iron grip but allowing you to lightly bob as he guides you to ride his tongue, his other pair of hands coming to knead your breasts, his eyes tearing into your soul.

"You, Sukuna..." You managed to sigh, as you felt the soaking warmth linger over a tried and true spot, before Sukuna promptly removes it, irritated at your unsolicited use of his name.

"Tch." He grins wolfishly at the abrupt whimper that followed when you mourned the loss. "Do not get greedy with me, brat. You will feel only what I allow you to, understood?"

He breathes out as he lowers you back onto his awaiting open mouth on his belly. "And you will only address me as your Lord, woman, understood?"

"Yes, my Lord..."

"Mm."

And you continue to feel his tongue's meticulous exploration of you with your thighs parted on either side of his large waist, however it only became more agonizing as it coaxed and only teased around all the spots that amplified euphoria, dangling that peak of arousal frustratingly out of reach.

"My Lord, p-please, I wish to cum..." your nails dig into the hollows of his chest and he glances down briefly, internally bemused at the needy mess he was turning you into, thin trails of your juices softly dribbling down the soft meat of your inner thighs.

Your eyelids flutter and the intonations of your voice begin to quiver as his second tongue began to wetly prod your sweetest spot.

Sukuna glowered briefly at his second mouth that had a mind of his own, displeased at its less sadistic nature than his and its determination to drive you off the edge whereas he was in the middle of enjoying your desperate state. He cannot place it, but this idiosyncrasy between him and the rest of his body was betraying him.

Perhaps it was due to this question that was slowly being answered in his mind of just how soft you'd be for him in the throes of pleasure, silencing his ruminations of you at long last. As you knew, he cared little about the appearance of the concubines he chose to feed his ravenous sexual appetites.

He had rarely encountered a pretty face, and, for the first time, the King of Curses felt compelled to worship.

"Hmph. Cum for me then, brat." He croons harshly to disguise his waning willpower. "Be a good mistress and cum for your king. Don't you dare hide your eyes from me..."

And the dam quickly burst and you soaked his lap, tears releasing in your eyes as well, your blurry gaze burning as you obeyed Sukuna's command to keep your eyes on him.

The second mouth panted as it worked to clean you up, guzzling your arousal like it was nectar as it stuck to its lips and Sukuna's powerful torso in a shiny sopping coat of sheen.

"Good." Sukuna praised, pulling you off him as he undid the remainder of his robes, the subtle sound of the garment hitting the floor causes you to clench your thighs, even more so as you saw him, completely bare in front of you for the first time.

If you were any other whore, he would not have stopped after you finally came, if he had let you cum at all. Sukuna delighted in denying his partners their utmost release until it was practically unbearable, then would push them well over the threshold of normal stimulation, until he sunk his teeth in their shoulder and fucked them roughly with his dual cocks.

Now, as he tears off his robes, allowing the element of anticipation to linger with the promise of what was to come next, and the heat to smolder lying in wait, he realizes this first time with you would be much, much different. With you, things were unhurried and slow.

His black markings continued below where his dark robes previously concealed, all along his sculpted collarbones, pecs and chest. His muscles were rigid with the tension you were slowly building up in him this entire time. He possessed burly thighs that were covered with small forests of hair, as well as on his arms with sinewy veins and lightly flushed pink skin.

But, what stood out most of all were two staggering, meaty cocks that bloomed red at both tips that flopped against his belly. Veins adorned both sides, running purplish blue, a very large, plump, taut set of balls dangled in a flesh colored sack underneath.

You couldn't help but get on your knees, entranced as you slowly sank to the floor. Your mouth began to salivate as you took in the bulbous tips that had to pass for almost three of your fingers alone, mind fuzzy with both excitement and intimidation as you wondered how you could possibly accommodate both.

"My Lord, m-may I?" You lick your lips, whimpering as the throb of your clit begins to pulse as your warm pussy squeezes around nothing. You were still worked up from your orgasm, however having already been brought to heaven and back, you were eager to please Sukuna. After all, as you were repeatedly coached in your trainings as a concubine, a good one always pleases her Lord.

"Excuse me?" Sukuna frowns, ice in his tone.

"P-please my Lord? I wish you pleasure you, to suck your cocks..." You swallow, the blinders of arousal causing all shame to disappear out the window.

Sukuna scoffs pridefully. "Really? And why would I let you do something like that, brat? You think I require your mouth so badly?"

He taunts, noticing the way your pussy still bore no shortage of wetness. As a matter of fact, it was trickling even more as the thoughts of taking Sukuna's cocks in your mouth only aroused you to nearly primal levels.

"Please, please my Lord..." You breathe slowly as your teeth brushed your bottom lip, his hands coming to undo the knot of your kimono, allowing the garment to slide in a sensual display down your shoulders like seafoam receding over a shoreline, until all of your bareness lay exposed to his hungry eyes.

Sukuna stared at you, wrestling internally at the hazy feelings the sight in front of him was conjuring up. You were so desperate, panting and waiting. The smell from your soaked heat was earthy yet sweet, an aphrodisiac to his nostrils. You were so needy, so eager to allow you a taste of him, the way you tilted your head so sweetly as you begged permission.

"Very well..." Sukuna's jaw slackened just a tad before running his thumb along your glossy bottom lip, the pointed edge of his nail and thumb just barely poking your tongue, which you indulged him and slowly licked it into your mouth.

"Fuck, such a needy little thing, you. God, such a whore..."

He presses his thumb onto the middle of your tongue. "Open..." He pumped one of his shafts with the other, as you gently opened your lovely lips, gradually and steadily feeding you his cock, twinkling eyes peeking through your lashes.

"Fuck..."

The utter groan he lets out is music to your years, and you meet him more than halfway immediately, stuffing his cock quickly into your mouth and almost hitting the back of your throat.

Sukuna grits his teeth as you accept him so greedily. His size was such that the entire thing didn't quite fit, filling up such a pretty mouth and throat until your eyes watered, the stretch eased by how much you ached for him, and how delicious his heated skin tasted in your mouth. So warm and rigid as you feel him pulse with life with the faintest trace of salt from the blooming precum.

Your eyes roll back and you begin to bob your head, squeaking with surprise when Sukuna pushes your head, relishing the glistening coat of drool you leak every time the heavy shaft withdraws from your reddened lips. His hand tangled in your hair, guiding you up and down his cock.

Sukuna panted and grunted, falling backwards on his throne with you at his feet, his hips rippling as he couldn't help but fuck himself into your plush, silky, mouth. His other cock aches for attention as well, and he gets an idea.

"Your breasts..." He rasped. "Touch yourself, present them to me."

Mouth still stuffed with cock, you innocently batted your lashes as both your hands came to grip your tender globes, lifting them slightly as you gently pushed them together, creating the perfect, sinful little valley for Sukuna to slide his second cock.

Using the mixture of slick and spit and sweat from his other cock, he coats the second one with his hand and throws his head back as it meets that slippery canal, squished in between your two yummy tits.

You groan loudly, hugging the velvety length between your breasts as you continued to slobber all over the other. You cooed and whined sweetly, rubbing your thighs together, a practical second orgasm almost inevitable from watching this being, this king, this God, so wanton and so aroused.

"I'm going to cum. Don't stop, don't stop gazing at me like that, my goddess..."

He looked down at you, his lovely little slut, so filthy and carnal. This alluring, sexual siren he awakened that was concealed beneath a pair of glittering shy eyes and quiet exterior this whole time. You were a treasure to be guarded, a goddess of Earth and flesh, worthy of his devotion, of his love, and he finally snaps.

Both cocks ooze generous spurts of silvery white cum. It paints both of your supple tits like jelly. It's warm and thick as it coats the inside of your throat and mouth. Sukuna marvels at this masterpiece he's made out of this celestial canvas of you, slowly drawing out his slick, sticky cock and tracing your puffy lips with the milky gloss.

"My Lord..." You purred.

"Mine." He whispered before he yanked you against his lips again, greedily and messily tasting himself off of you, both hands nearly covering both sides of your face as he drank the breath from your lungs.

-----

Sukuna's bed is warm just like the heat that runs rampant throughout his body. His pillows and linens bend to accept you and embrace you like you have always belonged there despite this being the very first time you did.

A galaxy is born in that moment when both heads of his cock begin to rub and slowly push inside both of your holes, stretching you in a way no other man or being for that matter has ever done before.

"Look at me..." Sukuna commands again. His booming voice is reverent and his gaze is eternal as he bites back more groans that simmer at the back of his throat. You grip the sheets, sweetly calling his name.

"Sukuna..."

And he doesn't correct you this time. His face softens and the callouses of his hands run and squeeze over the expanse of your thighs as he becomes one with you over and over again.

"My queen." He utters at last as your heart sings and blooms within your ribcage.

The world shifted that night as the King of Curses irrevocably bound himself to you.

And when the exhaustion had claimed you, when you could no longer be flooded, filled, and fucked, when the sheets felt like silk and your tired limbs and his wove together like emerald leaves of holly, as his seed gushed inside your womb and buried a mixture of each other so deep and raw and new in a way that could not be conceived again.

The nighttime was quickly forgotten as you fell asleep to the King of Curses' heartbeat, the dawning hours of Christmas morning ushering in a gentle wave of steadfast snow.

#from my trees . ˚ 𖧷 ·𓇥 ° . ♡#ncs secret santa #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #sukuna smut #sukuna ryomen x reader #jjk angst #cw bullying #dividers by saradika #cw violence #jelly's 12 days of smutmas ✼ ｡ﾟ･ྀི𓈒 ݁⋆#x female reader #x fem!reader

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estellan0vella · 3 months ago

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Sunshine's Guide To Murder│Lee Minho

-Jang Hayun, Lee Felix and Han Jisung are college students who run a very successful true-crime podcast called Three Sunshines' Guide To Murder. For their one year anniversary, they decide to cover the five year old murder of Shin Yuna and the subsequent confession and suicide of Yuna's girlfriend, Lee Chaeryeong who is the older sister of one Lee Minho (Heavily Inspired by Holly Jackson's Book Triology; A Good Girl's Guide To Murder)

Pairing: Lee Minho x fem!reader (College AU) (reader is named Hayun)

General Masterlist SKZ Masterlist

Profiles: Murder Specialists; Theatre Kids & 1 Lawyer

Prologue Chapter One: DEFCON ONE Potential Chapter Two: WHORE HOUSE Chapter Three: Be Anything But Yourselves Chapter Four: I Murder Women For Fun Vibes Chapter Five: Scooby Squad Chapter Six: Playing Baby Sitter Chapter Seven: Waiting For Death Chapter Eight: Cornered Animals Bite Chapter Nine: Out Chapter Ten: Only She Knows The Rules Chapter Eleven: She's Too Powerful Chapter Twelve: I'm Praising You Chapter Thirteen: The Minho Way Chapter Fourteen: Burn It Chapter Fifteen: Who's The Daddy? Chapter Sixteen: All This Time Chapter Seventeen: MIRACULOUS LADYBUG Chapter Eighteen: Windows To Your Soul Chapter Nineteen: You Made Her Your Downfall Chapter Twenty: Cool Cool Cool Chapter Twenty One: It's Over Chapter Twenty Two: The Minho Way Still Sucks Chapter Twenty Three: Gil? Chapter Twenty Four: A Fuckton Of People Chapter Twenty Five: The Duke Or The Viscount? Chapter Twenty Six: Detox Chapter Twenty Seven: RUE WHEN WAS THIS? Chapter Twenty Eight: I Bite Chapter Twenty Nine: Narnia: The Bullshit Chronicles Chapter Thirty: Toad In The Pond Chapter Thirty One: Sounds Illegal As Fuck Chapter Thirty Two: Merry Fucking Christmas Chapter Thirty Three: Sex Starved Maniacs Chapter Thirty Four: Fan Event Chapter Thirty Five: You’re Too Good Chapter Thirty Six: There’s No Getting Away Chapter Thirty Seven: You Deserve Everything Chapter Thirty Eight: There Was A Fire Chapter Thirty Nine: Epilogue

Total Word Count: 102.65K Total SSs: 355

Moodboards:

Taglist: @hityoulikebahng @drewsandsebastianswife @fackeraccount @lily-loves-kpop @stilldontknowhoiam

@ziggy1221 @justaspoonofjam @tr-mha-fan @candycurshidkwhatthehell

@heeseungspookie @smigcrazy @skzstannie @nightmarenyxx @beaann

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fluentmoviequoter · 30 days ago

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Christmas Magic

hot cocoa bar celebration🧤❄️🎄

requested here! & inspired by Finding Santa (2017)

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!(event planner)!reader

Summary: Your Christmas charity dinner is threatened when Santa quits at the last minute. Tim Bradford is the only person you know who is free days before Christmas, but it will take some magic to make him agree to put on the suit.

Warnings/Word Count: fluff, brief angst, quick mention of harassment, mistletoe and magic. 3.5k+ words.

I rented the center, tables with chairs are being delivered at noon, and catering arrives at 4. Got that. Santa, gifts, check, check.

You turn away from your computer to make a note about contacting the pediatrics hospital administrator. With your phone tucked between your cheek and shoulder, you’d nearly forgotten that you were supposed to be listening to James, the older gentleman playing Santa at the fundraising event you’ve been planning since September.

“I’m so sorry to cancel on you last minute,” James says.

Barely managing to catch your phone as you jerk in shock, you repeat his words in your mind. “Cancel? James, I’m sorry, did I hear that correctly?”

“Yes, ma’am, I’ve been fighting this rotator cuff for years and it finally won out on me. I know it’s last minute, but I can’t safely perform the Santa duties.”

“Okay, okay,” you mumble, pressing your forehead into your hand. “I understand, and I hope you feel better. I’m just not sure where I’m supposed to find another Santa days before the event, this close to Christmas.”

“If I hear of anybody who’s available, I’ll send ‘em your way.”

“Thanks.”

You end the call and stare at your computer screen. There is absolutely no way you can find someone – someone decent, at least – to play Santa Clause in three days. The event is on December 23rd, Christmas Eve-Eve, and it was hard enough to book James so close to Christmas Day.

“Oh, I’m gonna need a Christmas miracle,” you whisper as you reach for your mug.

A bell jingles outside, and you close your eyes. If only an angel capable of playing Santa were getting its wings.

“Are you okay?” your assistant, Holly, asks from the doorway.

“Not even a little bit,” you answer with a stressed smile. “We need a new Santa.”

“In less than a week?” she exclaims, setting a stack of papers on your desk. “How are you going to do that?”

“I have no idea. I could do open auditions, but then we’re just going to get all of the crazy people desperate for a Christmas gig in here, and I can’t sort through applications or anything with everything else going on,” you ramble before taking a breath. “Any chance you have a cousin, brother, dad, or a neighbor without a criminal record who could help me out?”

“My folks are traveling for the holidays and all of my neighbors are girls. Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. We just… we have to think of something. Preferably by the end of today.”

“If anyone can pull together some Christmas magic it’s you,” Holly assures. “I’ll go make some calls and let me know if there’s anything else I can do to help.”

“Thanks, Hols.”

As she leaves, you open your phone and scroll through your contacts. Each name makes you a little more discouraged. Most of them are busy with families, out of town, completely unqualified, or you haven’t spoken to them in so long that you can’t justify asking for something like this, even if it is for the kids.

“It’s all I want for Christmas,” you whisper as you near the end of your list.

One name jumps out at you, but you hesitate to contact him. He might have to work or be coming off of a hectic holiday shift on the 23rd. But you’re running out of options, so you text Tim Bradford to ask if he’s free. The phone rings a moment later, and you answer immediately.

“No, don’t- Chen!” Tim scolds.

“Uh, hello?” you greet.

“Hi!” a woman replies. “My name is Lucy Chen, I’m Tim’s rookie. You asked if he was free on the 23rd and I’m calling to say that he absolutely is.”

“Good, good,” you reply, chewing your bottom lip. “I actually have a really big – huge – favor to ask him, so maybe I’ll call him back later.”

“What is it?” Tim asks.

“Uhm,” you hum, trying to find the right words. “I need someone to play Santa at the charity event for the Children’s Hospital Los Angeles and UCLA’s pediatric department.”

“I… can’t,” Tim says after a moment.

“He means he won’t,” Lucy adds.

Your shoulders drop as you murmur, “Okay. Bye.”

After you hang up, you realize that Tim Bradford is your only chance. If he really won't do it, you either have to put a woman in the Santa suit and hope for the best or disappoint every child and parent in attendance by announcing at the last minute that Santa can’t make it. You’re stuck between a rock and a hard place, but at least the diner down the street has good hot chocolate that will help you get your mind off it for a few minutes. You wave at Holly on your way out, then try to think of exciting, merry, and bright things rather than the coming disappointment as you walk to your favorite diner. As you enter, you notice three men sitting in the booth closest to the door, but they’re the kind of men you know you wouldn’t invite to be in the same room with wealthy women or children, let alone both at the same time.

“Robbery in progress at Vicksen’s Diner,” dispatch alerts. “Callers report three armed men, and one is blocking the main entrance.”

“7-Adam-19 responding, code 3,” Tim radios before hitting the lights and sirens.

“Vixen’s Diner?” Lucy repeats. “They must really like Christmas.”

“V-i-c-k-s-e-n,” Tim corrects. “It’s the last name, the family has owned the place for decades. The call you intercepted earlier?”

“What about her?”

“She’s probably there. It’s her favorite place and they have Christmas specials right now.”

“How do you know that?”

“Focus, Chen,” Tim snaps as he turns the sirens off. “We’re approaching the rear exit without a sound, understood? Our priority is to get these people safe, then and only then do we go after the robbers.”

“Yes, sir,” Lucy agrees.

“I don’t have any more cash,” the owner explains again. “It’s the twenty-first century, genius, most of our business is card or tap-to-pay.”

“And it’s Christmas,” you add from your booth. “Just go.”

“Not until I get something!” the man screams.

“How about a one-way trip to jail?” someone adds. “We already called the police.”

“Then pay up or they’ll have a body,” one of the other robbers says, turning their gun toward the customer.

Someone clicks their tongue, and you look over to see Tim Bradford and who you assume to be Lucy Chen standing behind the counter.

“LAPD,” Tim says. “Weapons down, hands up, or your Christmas is going to be even worse.”

The man closest to the counter tightens his grip on his gun, then curses and drops it as he raises his hands.

“I recommend you follow his lead,” Lucy tells the man beside you.

“Open the door,” Tim dares the final man. “My partner out there would love to lay you out.”

All three men surrender, and you watch Tim as he cuffs and zip-ties them while his rookie calls for backup.

“You said you had a partner out there!” the men complain.

“I lied,” Tim says as he stands. “You should know what it’s like.”

Three more patrol cars park outside, and officers take the would-be thieves out of the diner as Lucy checks on the owner and the other patrons. When Tim walks to your table, you lean back and look at him.

“I really need your help,” you explain. “It’s one night and you’d get paid.”

“It’s not about the money,” Tim replies. “Are you okay?”

“Then what is it about?” you press. “We both know you’re great with your nephews even if you hate to admit it. It’s only a few hours of asking kids what they want for Christmas, a few pictures, and then- then I’ll buy you dinner, whatever you want.”

“Why are you asking so close to the event?”

“Because I already had a Santa, but he tore his rotator cuff and backed out on me at the last minute. You know I wouldn’t ask something like this unless I really needed it.”

Tim nods, though he’s wondering why he is the one you’ve chosen to show your persistence and desperation to. Surely, you know other men capable of wearing an uncomfortable polyester suit and saying ho, ho, ho.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Tim points out. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. One of them pushed me out of the way, but-“

Tim moves closer to you and bends to look into your eyes. His gaze moves over your face before catching on the slightly red area against the side of your neck.

“You sure?” he whispers.

You nod and smile before you push past him to exit the booth. “I have to get back to work and find a Santa or break hundreds of hearts. Be safe, Tim.”

Tim watches you walk toward the door, and Lucy’s eyes widen as she gestures wildly toward you.

“I’ll do it,” Tim calls. He tells himself it’s because you’re so persistent and seem stressed, but deep down, he knows there is more to it than that.

“You don’t have to,” you say as you face him. “Don’t do something that’s going to make you miserable just because I need help.”

“I’ll do it,” he repeats. “Text me the details?”

“How ‘bout I just pick you up on the 23rd? Around noon?” you reply.

“Sure.”

“Thank you, Tim,” you say with your hand on the door. “You’ll never know how much this means to everyone… to me.”

Tim nods as you leave to return to work, and Lucy claps silently.

“Get in the shop, boot,” he demands.

“You look nice,” you compliment when Tim opens his door the morning of the event. “The red suits you.”

Tim swallows as he looks at you and says, “You don’t have to butter me up, I already said yes.”

“I’m just calling it how I see it,” you assure him.

“I thought this thing didn’t start until 4,” Tim muses as he locks his door and follows you to the car.

“It doesn’t, but we have to get the Santa suit fitted. If you want to leave after and come back at 3, you can take my car.”

Tim shrugs and buckles his seat belt. When you turn the radio to a Christmas station, Tim immediately switches it to a football show. Your jaw drops as you turn toward him.

“You don’t like Christmas music?” you ask incredulously.

“I just don’t think it’s okay to give someone 23 birds,” he explains.

“My car,” you argue when he reaches for the control.

“My Santa debut,” he replies.

You give up and back out of his driveway with an exaggerated scoff.

“Why do you want me to be Santa anyway? I get that you had to ask people you know but I’m clearly not jolly enough.”

“Why is that?” you inquire. “I can understand not loving the music or the commercialism. The rest of it, though, that’s what I don’t get.”

“Just… don’t love the holidays. Reminds me of the things I don’t have anymore, I guess.”

Glancing at Tim, you wonder what it feels like to be someone’s for the holidays. Yes, it’s hard to be jolly when you miss someone, but for a moment, you wonder what it would be like to listen to carolers and decorate the tree while being in love.

“What’s this event like?” Tim asks, pulling you from your thoughts. “Been working on it long?”

“Since September,” you answer. “It’s geared toward the kids, but we have to do something to get the parents in too, so there’s raffles, a silent auction, dinner, and an area where they can sit with each other while someone else watches their kids.”

“So, it’s for donors?”

“At first,” you explain. “The donors are welcome to come anytime between 4 and 7. Then, we make everything absolutely perfect and bring in the kids from the hospitals at 8. They get more time with Santa, more gifts and games and treats. I know we have to raise a lot of money, but it’s not worth it if the kids don’t get to have fun with it too.”

“You’re really good at this,” Tim compliments, looking at you. “I didn’t know how much you put into all of this.”

“Now you regret saying no at first, huh?” you tease.

“That depends on how good the cookies are.”

“Then why are you so nervous?” you ask as you pull into the event center’s parking lot.

“I’m not-“

“It’s hidden well, but it’s there, Tim. You know you’re good with kids, so don’t let the size of this get to you.”

“I’ll try.”

“And if you get overwhelmed, Santa can always take a cookie break. I’ll be around if you need anything.”

You wish Tim luck as you drop him off with the wardrobe designer you hired, then begin transforming the space into a winter wonderland.

“Are you okay?” Holly asks as you finish constructing the games for the children from the hospital.

“I came to ask the same,” Santa says from behind you.

You turn quickly and smile at the sight of Tim in the suit. His beard has been set aside while he takes a break, but something about seeing him this way feels right.

“I’m fine,” you assure them. “Rich people are hard to please, I’m used to it.”

“Nobody should get used to people screaming in their face because the caviar is room temperature,” Holly argues.

“Is that what it was about?” Tim asks with a humorless laugh.

“He got over it. I actually saw him eating the caviar later,” you say. “Besides, this is the part of the night I’m here for.”

“You’re an excellent Santa,” Holly tells Tim. “The kids went on and on about you.”

“Told you,” you sing song.

“Do I give gifts to every kid?” Tim asks you.

“Yes, give them as many as you want because we have more. The red candy cane paper is more girly gifts, blue snowflake paper is for boys, and the gingerbread paper is gender neutral,” you list. “The elves also have a list of what we have, so if a kid asks for something specific, someone can check for you.”

“You should’ve been a cop,” Tim muses. “I wish my boot could keep things this streamlined.”

“You need to get back to the Northpole,” Holly says, glancing at her watch. “Not that this isn’t adorable.”

“Tim,” you call as he walks away. “Thank you.”

“It’s the only thing you’re getting for Christmas!” he replies.

Holly smiles as she moves to your side, and you glare at her.

“A gorgeous man wrapped in a Santa suit,” she muses. “You got every girl’s dream gift.”

“He isn’t mine,” you remind her.

“Christmas seems like the perfect time to change that.”

“Excuse me?” a young girl asks.

“Hello,” you greet, smiling as you squat beside her. “What’s your name?”

“Sally,” she answers. “Will you go with me to see Santa?”

“Of course!” You offer your hand and lead Sally through the crowds of happy children and grateful parents to get in line to see Santa. “What are you asking for this year?”

“I want a Hug-Wave,” she says softly, wrapping both her hands around yours.

“What’s that?”

“It’s twin stuffed animals, and when you hug one, it sends a hug to the other. I want to give my brother one so I can send him hugs when I have to stay in the hospital. He’s coming to see me on Christmas, but I miss him.”

Your eyes tear up, and you smile at Sally as you move forward in line. “I’m sure Santa will bring you one,” you assure her. “Look, we’re next!”

“You’ll stay with me?”

“Of course, Sally.”

As you walk onto the red carpet platform, Tim looks at you before looking at Sally. You mouth her name, and Tim calls, “Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas, Sally!”

“You know my name?” she asks softly, stopping beside his knees.

“Santa knows all of the good boys’ and girls’ names, and you, Sally, are on my nice list!”

“Do you want to sit on his lap?” you ask Sally.

She nods but keeps her hand firmly in yours. You move to Tim’s side as he pulls her onto his leg and blink to get the tears out of your eyes as Sally tells Santa about the hugging stuffed animal she wants to stay close to her brother.

“I think you and your brother would love that, Sally,” Tim says. “I’ll tell my elves about your wish, and we’ll work on that.”

“Thank you, Santa,” Sally says before pulling her hand from yours and hugging Tim.

You wipe your face before taking Sally’s hand and leading her to pin the nose on Rudolph, where she plays with kids like she didn’t just tug your heartstrings. Turning to check on everything, you notice that the Santa chair is empty, and the elves are entertaining the children in line. Less than a minute later, Tim returns and continues to visit children and parents alike.

“Psst!” someone calls.

You furrow your brows as you turn, and when you see Lucy, your eyes widen in shock.

“Santa asked me to bring you this,” she whispers as she slips a large gift bag through the door. “Care to be an elf for me?”

“Thank you,” you tell her. “I’ll take it to him now.”

“It looks amazing in here!”

“You’re welcome to stay, Lucy.”

You walk toward the North Pole area and tap an elf’s shoulder to take the gift to Tim. He excuses himself after the last child and walks to your side with the bag in his hand.

“Where’s Sally?” he whispers in your ear.

You look up at him and feel your tears building again as you say, “Tim–”

“I’m Santa tonight.”

You locate Sally sitting at a table with her parents and brother and eating a cupcake. Following behind Tim, you press your hand over your mouth as he kneels beside her and offers the bag. Her parents look at one another in shock as she removes the bears from the bag, then mouth their gratitude to Tim. Sally passes her brother a bear, and they begin hugging them to hug one another, and you decide this is the Christmas miracle you hoped to see.

Tim exits the small dressing room in the back hallway and doesn’t see you before you wrap your arms around his neck to hug him.

“Thank you,” you whisper against his neck. “For being Santa and for giving Sally the gift.”

Tim tightens his arms around your waist before you pull back. “It’s the least I could do,” he deflects with a shrug.

“No, it isn’t,” you insist. “I talked to Sally’s parents. They can barely afford gas to go back and forth to work and the hospital right now because one of them has to stay with her full-time because of her treatment. That’s why her brother can’t visit much.”

“Is she…”

“The doctors are hopeful that her current treatment is working,” you assure him. “They’re expecting to send her home sometime in the spring if she continues improving. Tim, you made their entire year.”

“You deserve some of that credit.”

“You pulled off a Christmas miracle, it’s all yours.”

“Does that mean you’ll tell me why you chose to ask me to be Santa?” Tim asks with a smile. His hands are still on your waist, but you’re dreading the moment when he steps back.

“Because I knew you could do it,” you answer. “You’re the only person I know that is kind and generous, selfless without letting people know it, and even if you get mad at me for saying it, you are kind and a big softie. You’re special, Tim Bradford, and a gentleman, and the closest thing I’ve seen to magical in a very long time. That’s why I asked and kept asking.”

“Well, you’re the closest thing I’ve seen to Mrs. Claus… ever,” he replies lightly.

“Without the time to bake and ‘Mrs.’ you mean.”

Tim shakes his head and asks, “Who helped you decorate?”

“Holly, mostly. Why?”

Lifting his chin, Tim gestures to the mistletoe hanging from the ceiling.

“It’s tradition,” you begin.

“You don’t have to convince me,” Tim interrupts.

He moves a hand from your waist to your cheek and kisses you. It feels like fireworks, warm hot chocolate, and every good and magical thing you can think of all at once. You move your hands to Tim’s jaw and move together, then pull back to thank him again.

“Thank you for calling Lucy and getting Sally’s gift here so quickly.”

Tim’s brow pinches as he says, “I didn’t call Lucy. I thought you got the gift here for her?”

You shake your head, then ask, “Well if you didn’t order it, and I didn’t order it, which Santa asked Lucy to bring it?”

Tim hesitates before he says, “It couldn’t…”

“There you are!” Holly calls as she enters the hallway. “I could not find this entrance, geez. Oh, hey, mistletoe!”

“You didn’t put this up?” you ask her.

“Me? No, I don’t even know where to buy mistletoe. That made me sound so single.”

You look at Tim, who smiles and whispers, “Christmas magic,” as he leans in again.

#fluentmoviequoter hot cocoa bar🧤❄️🎄#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford fic #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford #fem!reader #hanna writes✯#the rookie x reader #the rookie abc

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chibinasuu · 1 month ago

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Sanji x Reader ― baking; sweater

part of the cozy holidays event

🎁 ― anonymous tags: sfw, pure fluff, GN!reader, no use of y/n

Your thin silk pajamas did nothing to shield you from a draft of cold air that made its way into your bedroom, making you shiver as you pulled the blanket tighter around you.

After a bit of mental preparation to brace for the cold, you threw the blanket away, got out of bed, and quickly pulled on the thick blue sweater that was draped over the chaise at the side of the bed. You inhaled the familiar scent of a masculine, musky cologne infused into the garment – tinged with a hint of tobacco – and smiled. You had your own collection of sweaters, of course, but none were as comfy as his.

You leisurely made your way to where you knew Sanji was.

He had woken up early this morning, kissing your forehead sweetly before he got out of bed, whilst you opted to sleep in for a while longer, still worn out from the party that the crew had thrown you the night before.

As you leaned against the doorway to the kitchen, you saw that Sanji had not only been busy with preparing breakfast for the crew. Every inch of the room was now also decked in winter decorations – boughs of holly, tinsel, fairy lights, you name it. Chopper had introduced the crew to Drum Kingdom holiday traditions way back when, and it had since become a beloved annual event onboard the Sunny.

It also seemed that the festivities did not stop at the decor, as the air was filled with the warm aroma of ginger, cinnamon, and clove.

You silently watched your husband as he rolled out some dough on the flour-dusted counter.

It still felt surreal, to refer to Sanji as your husband.

Your lips involuntarily turned up at the memory of yesterday. Your and Sanji’s wedding was a small affair on the deck of the Thousand Sunny. You had exchanged rings to the beautiful melodies of Brook’s violin, then your Captain excitedly pronounced you officially wed, with only the crew as your witnesses. Sanji had had to prepare his own wedding cake and feast, but he did it happily. He would never trust anyone else on the ship to do it anyway – everything needed to be perfect for the special day. After dinner, Sanji carried you through the threshold of your brand new quarters – some unused storage space that Franky magically transformed into a beautiful honeymoon suite – everyone cheered, and then you all partied and drank away the Sunny’s entire supply of alcohol.

It was the best night of your life.

Sanji was carefully cutting out the cookie dough into the shape of little people when you called out teasingly, “Good morning, my dear husband.”

Your new title for him, combined with the sight of you in his sweater, was apparently too much for Sanji to handle. Blood gushed from his nose and you laughed as he desperately reached into his pocket, pulling out a handkerchief to staunch the bleeding before any drop could contaminate his dough.

You loved how you could still affect him so, even after years of being together.

You helped Sanji arrange the little gingerbread men on the baking tray as he quickly prepared the frosting. Once the cookies were in the oven, Sanji picked you up and placed you on the cleared countertop, positioning himself in between your legs. Finally having a moment of respite in his busy morning, he took the time to languidly gaze at you, his blue eyes overwhelmingly full of love, “Hi.”

You couldn’t stop the giggle from escaping your mouth as a surge of happiness washed over you, “Hi.”

Sanji took hold of your left hand, admiring the thin silver band around your ring finger, before lifting it to his lips, “I still can’t believe you’re officially mine.”

You smiled and threaded the fingers of your other hand through his soft blond hair, “And you’ll have me for the rest of our lives.”

You sighed blissfully as Sanji showered you with lazy kisses – on your hand, and your forehead, then your cheek, down to your waiting lips. He hooked his index and middle fingers into the collar of your – well, his – sweater, pulling it down to expose your neck before leaving kisses there too. His lips were traversing upward to your ear when the shrill ring of the timer interrupted him.

Not wanting the cookies to burn, he reluctantly stepped away from you with a smile and took out the tray from the oven.

After the cookies had cooled down, Sanji snapped off an arm of one of the gingerbread men, and fed it to you, “How does it taste, darling?”

“Perfect, as always.”

You and Sanji stood side by side, decorating the freshly baked goods with colorful frosting. You drew curly eyebrows on one of the little people-shaped cookies, and a vertical line across the left eye of another. Sanji frosted a long nose onto one, and an x-shaped mark on the chest of the next one.

The room was filled with the echoes of your laughter as the two of you competed on who could draw the most realistic-looking gingerbread skeleton.

And you thought to yourself, it really couldn’t get any better than this.

a/n: is this the most tooth-rotting fluff i have ever written?? probably!

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ main event page || event masterlist ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

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#sanji x reader #sanji x you #sanji x y/n #vinsmoke sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x you #sanji #black leg sanji #vinsmoke sanji #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece fluff #one piece fanfic #op fanfic #sanji fluff #sanji fanfic #one piece sanji #op sanji #chibinasuu fics

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thebenjiblackwoodexpress · 3 months ago

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Fire on Fire Part. 2

Description: Aegon struggles to deal with the fact he's in love with his niece, who seems to prefer every other noble boy in the Red Keep to him. When a drunken attempt to illicit her jealousy prompts a heartfelt conversation between the two, Aegon almost gets exactly what he wants, her love. But a disastrous turn of events at Driftmark threatens to tear them apart forever.

Previous part Next part Dividers by @zaldritzosrose

Writer's note: thank you to everyone who read part 1. This part is half fluff half angst, so fair warning. The next part will be after the time jump. I do play around a lot with timings here and Rhaenyra hasn't yet taken her children to dragonstone in this part.

Warnings: female reader. Targcest (Aegon and Rhaenyra's daughter). Characters are 16 and 15 respectfully at this point. Very much frenemies to lovers and heavily inspired by Jude and Cardan in The Folk of the Air series by Holly Black. Long because I don't know when to stop yapping.

The sound of Y/N's laughter met Aegon's ears as he made his way to the morning room to break his fast. He picked up his pace to round the corner and see just what was so funny but almost immediately wished he hadn't. He felt the stirrings of jealousy rise within him and his chest clench as he watched Y/N talking with that same noble boy as before, laughing again at something he'd said. It was thrice he had caught her with the same plain-featured weasel. If she loved the boy, Aegon would strike him down where he stood. She wasn't meant to love anyone but him.

The blood rushed to his cheeks as Y/N caught his eyes and sent him an infuriatingly sly smile. She knew how much her flirting irritated him and yet she persisted. Scowling at her, Aegon forced himself to continue walking past his niece and her admirer, keeping his gaze firmly set before him. He'd managed to avoid glancing at Y/N until he approached close enough to hear their conversation.

"You have the beauty of a lily with your silver hair and delicate features."

Aegon snorted, unable to help himself at how ridiculous a comparison that was. Y/N wasn't soft or fragile like a lily, unable to weather a storm and so easily trampled. She was the blood of the dragon, and her beauty was like that of a fire or a knife inlaid with the rarest of gems. It was made to burn, to cut, to make one feel something. He knew the stupid boy couldn't have a hope of understanding who Y/N truly was, would never appreciate her sharp edges or fierce spirit. And he who cannot handle the thorns should not desire the rose. Aegon ignored the look of contempt Y/N shot him and had nearly made it to the end of the hall when he heard a change in Y/N's pitch he misliked.

"No."

"Why not? I thought you liked me." He turned back to see her gently push the nobleman away from her with a hand on his chest. The boy looked like he had come perilously close to stealing a kiss, an act he would have paid for. Y/N was not his to kiss. She was a princess...more specifically Aegon's princess. And that thought had Aegon marching back whence he'd come, his features set in a scathing glare.

He used his momentum to roughly shove the boy away from Y/N.

"You presume to touch the princess, you swine? To sully her lips with yours. You baseless prick."

He felt Y/N gently tug on his sleeve, but he paid her no mind, only continued to scorch the noble boy with his eyes.

"I apologise my Prince. I meant no offence. Princess." And with a respectful nod at his niece, the boy hurried back down the hallway.

"Thank you."

Aegon turned to look at Y/N, prepared for sarcasm, for a rebuke at the extremity of his actions, but not her timid look as she fixed her gaze on her jewel embroidered slippers.

Aegon disliked seeing her like this, and he wanted to ask her whether she was alright, whether the scoundrel had tried anything like that before. But his jealousy and anger won out, as it so often did when it came to Y/N.

"You should be more discerning about who you spend your time with, niece."

Her head snapped up, her eyes fierce once again and her words venomous.

"If you're going to be like that then I certainly don't want to be around you, uncle. I don't even like you anyway."

Ah, there was that fire he so admired. Aegon smiled at her as she passed by him, shouting after her, "Yes, you do."

Aegon was more than a little amused to find Y/N was still cross with him as they listened to instructions from the dragonkeepers in the pit. Each time he attempted to catch her eye she was already frowning at him, and would quickly look away, pointedly ignoring him.

He generally let his mind go blank as the dragon keepers droned on, but his interest was sparked as he heard them discussing Y/N attempting her first flight on Grey Ghost. Two of the keepers were considering whether it would be better to ask Rhaenyra of Laenor to ride up with her and ensure her safety, when he stepped forward and interrupted them.

"I'll take her up."

Y/N sidled up to him

"No he won't."

Aegon turned to shoot her what he must have been an infuriatingly condescending smirk, for he could see her clench her fists on response.

"You either play with the children and their baby dragons or you come with me. What's it to be?" He glanced pointedly in the direction of her brothers, whose dragons were still too young to ride far.

Y/N huffed resignedly.

"Fine."

Aegon grinned at her triumphantly.

"Excellent. Let's go then Quelos."

Then he took hold of her wrist, dragging her towards where the dragonkeepers had shepherded Grey Ghost and Sunfyre, ignoring the uneasy looks the keepers exchanged. Sod them. Y/N was perfectly safe with him.

Getting Y/N to actually mount her dragon presented a bigger challenge. She'd spent what felt like an eternity staring at the ladder hanging off Grey Ghost's saddle, and he could practically hear her heart beating out of her chest.

"You do know how to climb right?"

Y/N whipped round, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Of course I do."

"Thank the seven. I had thought you'd forgotten how to use your limbs at all."

Y/N looked like she was trying very hard don't to slap him. Aegon only shot her a smile that showed far too much teeth for it to be kind.

Y/N rolled her eyes at him, turning back to approach the ladder and place her hands on the first rung. She didn't look back at him as she spoke

"And if I fall to my death?"

"Then I'll have far less food launched at me at supper."

When he caught a slight tremble in her hands as they gripped the ladder, he relented.

"Grey Ghost won't let you fall, and I'll be up there with you on Sunfyre in case you're stupid enough to fall off. You'll be fine."

Y/N fixed him with a look of exasperation. Any comfort he offered her would always have an edge of mischief to it. Nonetheless, she climbed the first few rungs before stopping only a foot up from the ground.

Walking up to where Y/N stood he patted the back of her leg encouragingly, feeling how tense she was through her riding leathers.

"Up you go."

Y/N looked down at him with widened eyes, likely shocked at his presumption to touch her like that.

"I'm not a dog, Aegon."

Her rebuke carried little import for Aegon as her face curiously flushed. Was she blushing? More specifically was she blushing because he'd touched her? He removed his hand quickly, realising he'd kept it there for far longer than was appropriate. Shaking her head as if to clear her thoughts, Y/N began to climb in earnest, not stopping until she reached the top of Grey Ghost's back, swinging her leg over to settle in the saddle.

Aegon patted Grey Ghost's thick scales. "Look after her, there's a good dragon."

Then he turned to mount his own dragon, which took significantly less time.

"Right. Look how I'm holding Sunfyre's reigns. This is how you get your dragon to move and direct them as you wish." He demonstrated each movement slowly to Y/N who was watching him attentively.

"your dragon will have a sense of what you want, so you can rely on your bond for the most part. The order to fly is 'Soves'. You try."

Y/N squared her shoulders and gripped Grey Ghost's reigns, facing forward and issuing her command with determination.

"Grey Ghost, soves." The dragon responded instantly, breaking into a run before taking to the skies.

Aegon followed quickly after, keen to keep an eye on his niece, being the more experienced rider.

As they rose higher and higher into the clouds over King's Landing, he laughed to see Y/N gripping her reigns for dear life, every muscle tensed.

He shouted to her so she could hear him over the wind and flapping of their dragons' wings "Relax Quelos. Feel the wind on your face and the power of the beast beneath you. See how small King's Landing looks from this height. We are gods among men."

He through his arms and head back behind him, letting out a laugh of exaltation at the familiar feeling of flying with Sunfyre. There was nothing quite like soaring high above the clouds. He felt like nothing could touch him here, none of the expectations imposed upon him as a Prince, nor the judgements of his mother and the dismissive looks of his father. Up here it was just him and his dragon...and now Y/N. Aegon suddenly imagined this would be something they'd do if they were married. They'd take to the skies together, share in the singular joy of dragon riding that only a Targaryen could experience, flying high over King's Landing so that all the small folk would see them and their dragons and know they belonged to one another.

Glancing at Y/N, he was pleased to see she'd relaxed considerably and looked like she was actually enjoying herself. When she let out a carefree laugh, patting her dragon and urging him to rise higher into the sky, Aegon followed without hesitation.

Y/N had grown in confidence as she grew accustomed to flying on dragonback, and challenged Aegon to a race back to the dragon pit. He'd been all too willing to oblige and they left the pit after dismounting their dragons playfully shoving each other's sides as they bickered over who had actually won.

Just as they were about to enter the Red Keep, Aegon stopped Y/N.

"Wait a moment, Quelos."

Raising his hand he picked a stray leaf from her hair before tucking a strand of hair that had escaped her elaborate braid behind her ear.

Y/N stilled, staring up at him with a dazed expression.

An award silence ensued which had Aegon regretting his brash actions and clearing his throat to break it.

"You look a mess. It's off putting actually."

Y/N glared at him, whatever spell that had kept her frozen in place breaking as she turned on her heel to storm up the stairs and into the Red Keep, nose upturned haughtily. Aegon stared wistfully after her, wishing he could just damn well say something nice to her for once.

From that day onwards, Y/N would only fly out with Aegon, grabbing his sleeve and dragging him to the dragon pit with her whenever she wanted. This pleased Aegon to no end, seeing it as another way in which they were irrevocably connected to one another.

News of Laena Velaryon's death reached the Red Keep, and it was decided that the royal family would travel to driftmark for her funeral. Aegon had never met Laena, his concern lay with his niece, who seemed to take the news harder than he would have expected.

As they played a game of Cyvasse, Aegon could no longer ignore her melancholy expression.

"Is it your aunt?"

She looked up from the board, seemingly having been lost in her own thoughts. He misliked her going off in her head to a place he could not follow.

"What?"

"Your aunt Laena. Is that why you're so glum?"

Y/N shook her head, playing with the end of her braid, a nervous gesture she'd taken to as a child.

"You might think me selfish. But it is not the Lady Laena I mourn for. It is Harwin Strong. We never got to mourn him properly, it wouldn't have been appropriate mother said. We weren't even able to bury him."

Aegon, in an uncharacteristic display of empathy, reached over and took her hand, interlocking their fingers as he'd tried to do only once before. This time, she didn't pull away from him, and he knew then the depth of her grief for her to accept comfort from him.

"I don't think your selfish. He was...he meant a lot to you and my sister."

Shit. Aegon had almost said what everyone had always known but never voiced. That Harwin Strong was Y/N's father, the father of all Rhaenyra's children. Y/N was clever. She must know. But Aegon felt there was a silent pact between them that they could throw jibes at each other as much as they liked as long as they did not cross this one line.

"You're surprisingly good at this."

"I'm good at a great deal of things. You'll have to be more specific."

"No, you're not. Don't lie. I meant you're good at comforting someone when they're upset. Thank you."

"You wound me Quelos. But, you're welcome."

He squeezed her hand one last time before retracting it to gesture back to the Cyvasse board.

"Now hurry up and make your move so I can take your castle with my dragon."

Aegon couldn't shake his concern for Y/N as he watched her mope about the Red Keep in the days before the Lady Laena's funeral. Though, he tried to convince himself he was starting to act just like those lovesick fools in Y/N's books. If only he could find a way to distract her, cheer her up. The perfect opportunity arose the day before they would set of for Driftmark.

Aegon had fortuitously tripped over a wine goblet he'd carelessly tossed on the floor, only to fall against the wall by his bed, gripping onto the nearest sconce to steady himself. Only a moment later, the wall gave way and Aegon fell into a darkened passage. As his eyes adjusted, he could see the passage was long and branched off in different directions. Quickly righting himself, he brushed the dust of his tunic and grabbed a candle, choosing a path and following it to see where it lead. After a short time, he spotted ridges in the wall that signalled this was another secret entrance and peaking through a small hole he could see it entered into Aemond's room. Aegon smirked. For once, his drunken tendencies and clumsiness had been useful. He knew just how to distract Y/N. With an afternoon of adventuring.

Aegon bounded up to Y/N excitedly as he finally found her reading one-off her novels in the godswood. Grabbing her by the elbows, he pulled her up and wasted no time in taking her hand to pull her along with him.

"Come on little star, I have something to show you."

Y/N looked startled by his abruptness and a little ruffled by his manhandling of her. Though this was hardly new, he never treated her like a porcelain doll as the other members of court did.

"What is it?"

"A surprise."

Y/N yanked her hand back, though Aegon refused to let her go.

"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather not. The last time you said you had a surprise for me, you put one of Helaena's tarantulas in my hand."

Aegon rolled his eyes.

"It's not like that this time. Don't you trust me?"

"Decidedly not. I'm not stupid."

Groaning at her stubbornness, Aegon leaned down to look her in the eyes.

"I give you my word as a Prince of the realm that I won't allow any harm to come to you...and there are no spiders involved this time."

Y/N searched his eyes for a few seconds before seeming to decide he was telling the truth, her arm loosening as she stopped resisting him.

"Fine then. I'll set Jacaerys on you if you are lying though."

"Ha. I'd like to see that." Y/N followed him wordlessly after that until they reached the door to his chambers where she suddenly stopped and frowned at him sternly.

"There's not going to be any funny business is there?"

Glancing from her face to his door Aegon scoffed as he realised what she meant.

"Do you have any faith in me whatsoever?"

"Absolutely none."

Aegon huffed, a little hurt by this.

"Well that stings. But no, I would never take advantage of you." He looked at her seriously, urging her to believe he wouldn't joke about something like that. He wanted her to feel for him one day, wanted to be able to kiss her...marry her. But he wanted her to want him too.

Y/N relented and gestured towards the door.

"OK then. Lead the way."

Aegon leaned back, rocking on his heels as he awaited Y/N's response to the passageway opening, having explained how he'd found it.

"Well, what do you think?"

Y/N looked back at him, mouth opened partially in shock before she abruptly closed it.

"Aegon. This...is brilliant."

He positively beamed at her, not used to such praise, but happy to have impressed her with his discovery.

"It would be a shame to leave all those passages unexplored, don't you think?"

Y/N shot him a sly, conspiratorial look.

"An awful shame." And for the first time, Y/N held her hand out to him, inviting him to take it. He'd never moved so fast, interlacing their fingers quickly. It felt more intimate to hold her hand that way somehow.

Aegon tried to shush Y/N's giggles as they looked through a peephole into the council room and overheard Lord Tyland Lannister getting a talking down by his grandsire the Hand. But he himself was laughing so hard, it had turned into pained wheezes that left him clutching his stomach. Y/N was only making it worse as she mimicked the Lannister Lord's face.

"What was that noise?" King Viserys looked about him, clearly having heard their muffled laughter.

Aegon's eyes widened and he gently started pushing Y/N away from the peephole and further down the passageway.

When he thought they'd successfully found the entrance to his chambers again he pushed through with a sigh of relief, but froze as he realised he'd been mistaken...for there was his sister Rhaenyra packing belongings into a trunk for the journey on the morrow. This was not his room. He felt Y/N's skirts brush against his leg and quickly pushed her back through the entryway, closing the passageway with the sconce just before Rhaenyra turned to look at him, eyes wide with shock at his sudden apparition. He was glad at least that Y/N had not been caught if he was about to be told off for snooping.

"Aegon?"

"I'm sorry...sister." The word felt strange to describe their relationship. He'd been raised to be suspicious of her, to fear her even. But he did not want to. He stumbled over his words, trying to provide an explanation for his appearance in her room.

"I discovered this secret passage and was just exploring. I didn't mean to intrude upon you, I thought this was my room."

A strange expression came over Rhaenyra's face, her eyes glazing over slightly like she was remembering something. To his surprise, she did not shout at him or rebuke him at all.

"That is alright. I myself discovered the passage when I was about your age just exercise more discretion when you're exploring." This was the longest they'd held a conversation that Aegon could remember. And he felt himself wanting to grasp for more, for a reality in which they could have just been brother and sister.

"Thank you, Rhaenyra." The ghost of a smile lit her features at his appellation of her name.

"I remember when you couldn't say my name. You couldn't form the vowels properly so I taught you how to say it when you were 2."

Aegon felt his heart clench at the thought.

"I wish I could remember." He wished for more than that. He sought for something to say to Rhaenyra, anything to express his earnest wish they could form a sibling bond. After all, he wished to marry her daughter one day. But nothing came.

"Off you go, then."

The brisk morning air sent a shiver through Aegon as he made his way up the ramp to the galley that would take them to Driftmark. He could have flown there on Sunfyre, but Rhaenyra had forbidden Y/N from making the flight herself, saying it wouldn't be fair to her brothers whose dragons were too young to make the journey. And so he'd opted to stay with Y/N.

Aegon came to regret this choice later that day as the little she devil didn't seem grateful to have his company in the slightest, all but slamming the door to her cabin in his face.

"No, Aegon."

"Why not?"

He'd been trying to convince her to play a game of Cyvasse with him for the last half hour, but she'd positioned her body in her doorway blocking his entrance.

"I just don't feel up to it.

Aegon smirked at her.

"Coward. You just think you'll lose."

To his surprise, Y/N didn't bite back a smart retort.

"See this line right here?" She pointed at the slight inclination in ground level at the foot of her doorway.

"You stay on your side, and i'll stay on mine."

And in his shock at such a cold rebuttal, Y/N was able to slam her door shut before Aegon could stop her. He sulked off unhappily to his own room. Perhaps she really was feeling unwell. She had looked a little paler, perhaps.

Aegon grew truly concerned the next morning when Y/N didn't emerge from her chambers. He was bored and wanted her company, after all he had opted for the boat expressly to spend time with her. Hours passed, and his eyes kept flitting to her door as he sat on deck, so he made the decission to check on her.

He rapped his knuckles on her door impatiently, calling out to her.

"Go away." Aegon frowned. There was really no need and no explanation for her animosity. But then he heard the unmistakable sounds of vomiting and realised why Y/N hadn't wanted him in her chambers the night before or now.

"Are you sick?"

"Obviously, idiot." Alarmed by how weak Y/N's insult sounded, Aegon pushed his way through the door.

"Then I'm coming in."

He shut the door quickly behind him, turning around to see Y/N crouched over a bucket, looking as green as his mother's House colours.

"You look awful."

Y/N scowled.

"Ugh, don't you always think that anyway?"

Her face contorted with pain and she had to lean over to heave into the bucket again. Aegon moved towards her, gently pulling her hair back from her face and stroking her back. When she'd finished he grabbed her wrist, dragging her to sit on the bed.

"Sit."

Y/N was leant forward, her hand on her forehead.

"Still not a dog, Aegon. You can't order me about."

"Are you sure? You're doing an awful lot of yapping for being not a dog."

"I will hit you."

Aegon winked at her, pleased she was feeling well enough to bicker with him. She was not dying at least.

"I don't doubt it."

Removing the bucket from the room and leaving it outside for a servant to deal with, he returned to start gathering cloths and wetting them in a dish of water.

"What are you doing?" Y/N questioned him inquisitively.

"Helping."

He lightly pressed her shoulders so she would have to lie down and began dabbing at her face with the cool cloths, leaving one pressed against her forehead. He made her take some sips of water from a goblet he handed her for good measure.

"Better?"

"Yes. Though thoroughly embarrassed at having such pathetic sea legs considering my father is a Velaryon."

Aegon didn't know what to say to that. To him, it made perfect sense that Y/N would not be suited totally to the sea like a true Velaryon. She was made of fire and blood. So he said nothing, and a silence ensued, broken by Y/N.

"I'm bored."

"What do you want me to do about it?"

"Read to me."

"No."

"Please."

"Still no."

"But my head hurts and I can't keep my eyes open."

"It'll pass."

If she thought she was just going to bat her eyelashes at him and get whatever she wanted...

She grabbed his hand and squeezed it, looking at him imploringly, and Aegon caved.

"Oh fine then. What drivel do you have stashed away for me to read?" He approached the pile of books by her bedside table, flicking through their contents to find the least unappealing.

"Despicable, disgusting, simpering fool. Quelos, I'd say you should be ashamed but I never had that much faith in your reading tastes anyway.

"If you're going to be mean then leave." Y/N crossed her arms, looking genuinely embarrassed by his assessment of her literary tastes.

Smirking at her, he picked a book at random from the pile and settled down in the chair beside her to read. He surprised himself by how much he enjoyed reading to her, changing the pitch of his voice for different characters and performing a pretty compelling reenactment of the scorned lover's appeal for forgiveness, he thought. He was so animated that he didn't realise when Y/N had fallen asleep. He'd never seen her look so peaceful, and he realised it was because she wasn't scowling at him. He thought she looked lovely, ethereal even, but he much preferred when she was awake to glare at him. It was so much more fun, and deep down, he thought it was a mark of affection that was wholly theirs.

He must have fallen asleep not long after, for he awoke to find Y/N sitting up and reading, looking much better than she had.

"You snore very loudly."

"No I don't." Aegon frowned. He didn't think he did at least.

"How do you know?"

"Heathen." There was no malice in the insult, but a tenderness.

"First I'm ugly, then I'm a dog, now a heathen. I've had an interesting metamorphosis on this trip."

"You're not." Aegon replied before he could stop himself.

"Not?"

"Ugly. You're beautiful."

"You think I'm pretty?" No, he did not think her pretty. He thought she was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. Pretty wasn't enough for her.

"Beautiful. I said beautiful. Pretty is a pathetic word for what you are. If you wanted someone to call you pretty you should have asked that prick you've been spending so much time with."

Y/N looked momentarily stunned, then a flash of hurt crossed her features.

"He's not a prick. Are you making fun of me?"

Aegon felt his blood heat at her defence of the bastard he'd warned off her only a short while ago. Then, he was angry at her for seeming to prefer every other boy in the Keep over him, no matter what he did.

He rose to stand, only glancing back at her once he'd reached her door, one hand on the door knob.

"If you like."

Aegon steadfastly avoided Y/N for the rest of the journey, and once they reached Driftmark, he immediately set to getting as drunk as humanely possible. He gulped down cup after cup of wine, though he winced as it burned down his throat. He tried to ignore the disapproving looks Y/N kept shooting him, as well as the droning chatter of the other guests around him. Aemond came to stand by him quietly. "Whats happened between you and our niece?"

Was he really so transparent? Aegon downed another cup of wine before answering.

"Nothing. Why do you say that?"

"Because it looks like you're trying very hard to drink yourself to death, and you won't stop staring at each other."

Aegon frowned at the validity of his brother's assessment, his shoulders stiffening as he saw Y/N approaching them. When she was in hearing range, he raised his voice and turned to Aemond.

"She's not to my tastes, brother. I prefer creatures with very long legs." Out of his peripheral vision, he saw Y/N halt in her tracks, a look of hurt passing over her features, before she walked back in the opposite direction to rejoin her brothers. Aegon had wanted to make her jealous...to make her want him. But as so often was the case, his words had had the opposite effect, and she only seemed to hate him more.

Aegon sank down onto the steps overlooking the blackwater, letting his head fall back on the stone wall, his head beginning to ache and his vision to swim.

"You're drunk."

Aegon tilted his head to look at Y/N, though it was difficult to make out her figure in the oppressive darkness.

"Yes. The wine is good. What of it?"

The wine wasn't good. It was bitter and acrid, and burned Aegon's throat. But he had drank cup after cup nonetheless. He didn't drink it for the taste, but to forget his worries; the pressing weight of his mother's expectations, the bitterness he carried within him in the face of father's complete disregard for him, and the pain he felt at Y/N's inability to love him. His niece sank down next to him, her shoulder pressing against his as she leant her head against the wall with him to look up at the starless sky. Obfuscated by dark grey clouds, even the sky seemed sinister tonight.

"You don't have to be like this, you know." Y/N didn't have to clarify. He knew she meant his self-destructive behaviour and tendency to lash out when in pain. They'd always understood each other too well for any pretence. But he did wish she wouldn't be so direct about it. If she couldn't love him, then couldn't she at least let him drown himself in wine and sulk as he pleased? That was what the rest of his family did.

"Yes I do."

Y/N sighed, looked sadly at him with her beautiful eyes...her painfully beautiful eyes that haunted his every waking thought. He wished she would close them or direct them elsewhere so he didn't have to look at them.

"You pretend to be awful, but I know it's all just an elaborate charade..."

He interrupted her before she could finish. He didn't like where this was going. It was too raw, too vulnerable. He was too vulnerable under her penetrative stare.

"Maybe I am awful." It was better for her to dislike him, hate him even, than pity him. Her indifference to him he could just about bear...her pity he could not. He was pathetic to his grandsire, a disappointment to his mother, and nothing at all to his father. He couldn't be nothing to Y/N. A source of irritation, the object of her ire perhaps, but not nothing.

"No, you're not. You're my best friend."

Friend. The word rang sickeningly in Aegon's mind, only worsening his headache.

"Don't say that." He gritted out.

"What?"

"I don't want to be your friend." He watched her face fall at his unexpected animosity. She was innocent to her power to hurt him with just the idea that she saw him only as a friend. It wasn't her fault, but he couldn't bear for her to state it so assuredly. Was there not even a part of her that felt for him as he did her?

"Oh. I thought..."

"Well you thought wrong."

Panic tore through Aegon as Y/N brushed off her skirts and rose to leave, her face oddly scrunched up like she was trying hard not to cry. Against his better judgement, Aegon grabbed her hand in a vice like grip, pulling her back down next to him.

He despised how broken his own voice sounded to his ears as he whispered a silent plea.

"Don't leave. I'm sorry."

He didn't loosen his grip on her hand till he felt her relax, her arm brushing his again. He found even this touch comforting, a reassurance that someone cared about him, even if it was not in the way he wished. He was glad his mind was somewhat befuddled by his overindulgence of Velaryon wine. It made it easier for him to pretend Y/N loved him too.

"Why are you trying so hard to act like you hate me, only to apologise immediately afterwards. It seems awfully exhausting." Aegon smiled sadly at her. Of course she knew it was an act. She knew everything about him.

"Because I'd rather hate you than feel as I truly do for you. It's insufferable."

"What do you mean, Aegon?" And suddenly, he couldn't stand her ignorance to his own feelings, whether it was willful or not. If he had to suffer them, then she did too.

"I mean that everytime I see you with another stupid boy I want to feed him to Sunfyre, and I don't know whether I want to shout at you or kiss you stupid until you don't want to look at another boy ever again."

Y/N's mouth parted open in shock, her gasp only seeming to reaffirm what Aegon already felt he knew deep within his bones. She did not feel the same.

"So why don't you?"

Aegon stared at her, searching for anything that would give away the game she must surely be playing.

"You don't see me that way. Like you said. I'm your best friend." His voice was laced with sarcasm, the word 'friend' tasting like the bitter Velaryon wine on his tongue

"What if I did?"

"Did what?" He let his eyes flutter closed, tired of this game. It wasn't fun for him.

"Want you to kiss me?"

He jumped upright. She couldn't be serious. And yet she didn't look like she found any of this funny. He didn't dare to hope.

"Don't play with me, Y/N. Not now."

"I'm not...for once. I never liked any of those stupid boys as you call them. I just wanted you to look at me, really see me. As a girl you might love rather than just your little niece."

Aegon felt like he was walking in a dream, perhaps a symptom of the alcohol running through his bloodstream that was making him slightly lightheaded. He grinned at the girl in front of him, who might just be his girl after all.

"So you like me as well."

Y/N wrinkled her nose at him.

"Like is a strong word."

Aegon took her hand, chasing her eyeline as she shifted awkwardly under his gaze. She looked shy for once, her cheeks dusted with a lovely shade of pink.

"I think you might actually be madly in love with me based on how red your face is."

"It's rude to comment on a lady's appearance like that, Aegon. And don't get ahead of yourself."

He smirked cockily at her, feeling his confidence grow.

"You like it when I'm rude. Besides, I'm quite the catch."

Y/N scoffed, wrenching her hand from his, though he quickly reclaimed it.

"I'll have you know I'm very much sought after and admired in the Keep. Didn't you see how taken that nobleman was with me?"

Aegon tilted his head down, whispering against Y/N's ear.

"I remember you looking at me when he was looking at you."

Y/N's eyes widened, though she did not deny it. Aegon felt a rush of excitement pass through him, felt the blood pounding in his ears as he saw her eyes flit to his lips.

Right then Aegon decided he'd teased Y/N enough. Now he wanted to reassure her of how he felt about her.

"I think I'm a little in love with you actually. I'd better kiss you to be sure." He tried to sound playful, light hearted. But he so wanted her to say yes.

Y/N looked nervous for a moment before smiling at him

"OK."

Aegon moved slowly, just in case Y/N wanted to change her mind, shifting closer to kneel before her. He tentatively placed a hand on her waist, more gentle than he thought himself capable of, and pressed his lips to her briefly. Pulling away to guage her reaction, he nearly laughed when he saw that her eyes were shut, her long eyelashes grazing her cheeks as she tilted her head up, seeking his lips. Then he kissed her again, more fervently this time, until she started to move her lips against his with a degree of clumsiness he found endearing before finding a rhythm. He'd kissed other girls before, though not one of them had mattered to him, and he never much cared for it. Kissing Y/N made him feel like all his nerves were on fire, and each brush of her soft lips against his as they moulded together made him feel an elation quite like flying on dragonback..like he was soaring. Y/N shifting suddenly pulled him from his joy, and he pulled away, concerned he'd stepped too far.

"What's wrong?"

Y/N looked sheepish, toying with the rings on her fingers.

"I don't know where to put my hands."

Aegon smiled tenderly at her.

"Anywhere."

He kissed her again but quickly grew distracted by her continued fidgeting. He'd expressly granted her permission to touch him and was more than a little disappointed she hadn't taken him up on his offer. Taking hold of her hands himself, he placed them on his shoulders. Y/n relaxed against him then, gripping his shoulders to pull him closer. He shuddered under even this innocent touch, feeling overwhelmed by the reality that Y/N loved him.

Y/N pulled away to catch her breath, pushing against his shoulders so she could look up into his face. "Well? Are you in love with me or not?"

Aegon pretended to think. "inconclusive. Perhaps we should try again to be sure." Y/N promptly hit him on the arm, hard. Of course, he'd fall in love with such a heathen. Aegon wrapped his arms around her, pressing their foreheads together. He wanted her to know he was only jesting. Of course he loved her.

"Yes, you silly girl."

Aegon stroked her cheek experimentally, only having read about such affectionate gestures in the ridiculous novels Y/N had forced him to read to her. He did still hope he was doing it right.

"I'm going to marry you one day."

"Are you now?"

Aegon blinked. Shit. Perhaps that was too far or he sounded too sure of himself, too possessive. He quickly fumbled to amend the error.

"Only if you want to...then I'll go and talk to our mothers."

Y/N laughed at him, leaning forward to rest her head against his shoulder, causing him to still completely.

"I think you'd better. Maybe when you've sobered up a bit. You're slurring a little now, my stupid boy." And the way she called him hers had Aegon leaning forward to kiss her again.

The young prince and princess entered the Velaryon halls hand in hand. Though Aegon felt something was wrong almost immediately as he heard raised voices. They followed the direction of the voices, being admitted by a pair of knights. Aegon dropped Y/N's hand at the sight before him, horrified by the blood covering his brother's face and the gaping wound where his eye should have been. His mother was shouting, but he couldn't make out what had happened amongst the din. Glancing around the room, he could see that Jace and Luke were also covered in blood, though with no visible injuries. What could possibly have happened in the space of time he'd been absent?

Aegon rushed over to his mother.

"What's happened?"

She pointed angrily in the direction of his nephews.

"They attacked your brother, took his eye. Where were you when your brother was being set upon?" She slapped him then, and Aegon looked at her in shock. He heard a gasp and looked to see Y/N over by her brothers, her hand covering her mouth. A wave of guilt swept over him. He'd been with her, and for a moment, he had been truly happy. But he couldn't say that the reason he had not been there to defend his brother was because he'd been too busy kissing and confessing his love to his niece.

He lowered his head to the ground with shame, standing with his hands clasped behind his back.

His mother turned away from him as the doors burst open to admit Rhaenyra, Rhaenys, and Corlys.

"What is the meaning of this." The sea snake's voice boomed across the hall, and the room erupted with noise as each party sought to tell their side first.

Aegon got the gist of it eventually that Aemond had claimed Vhagar to Baela's displeasure, that a brawl had broken out and Aemond had been left to fend off four children single handedly before Lucerys Velaryon cut out his eye. Aegon felt appalled at his nephew's actions and then with himself for not being there to stop them.

"He called us bastards."

Aegon's head snapped up at Jacaerys' accusation, feeling panic creep in. They had never addressed the fact so directly before. It was the worst kept secret in Kings Landing, but a secret nonetheless. Viserys approached Aemond, a dangerous look on his mottled face.

"Where did you hear such vile accusations? Tell me, Aemond."

Aegon watched as Aemond's eye shifted to their mother, their father following his eyeline. He silently prayed that Aemond wouldn't say he had heard it from their mother. Aegon didn't know what Viserys would do to her if he knew she'd spoken badly of Rhaenyra, ever father's favourite.

"Aegon"

Aegon's eyes widened, his whole body tensing as Viserys turned his gaze on him instead.

"Me?"

"And where did you hear such lies, boy." Aegon couldn't think of an answer, which only seemed to anger his father more as he shouted into his face, making him jump. "Aegon!"

He wouldn't implicate his mother in this, and so there was only one thing for him to do. He had to tell the truth his father refused to accept. He took a deep breath and locked eyes with Y/N, trying to express to her without words how sorry he was for what he was about to say.

"We know, father. Everyone knows. Just look at them."

He wanted Y/N to know that he didn't mean her. Never her. She was different, a true Targaryen no matter her parentage. But he had to choose his brother, his mother, and to watch Y/N's face that had only a short while ago looked at him with love fall at his betrayal.

"This interminable infighting must cease. We are a family. Now make your apologies."

Aegon felt disgust at his father's dismissal of Aemond's suffering, simply telling them to make their apologies. He'd lost an eye, it could never be so simple.

"That is not sufficient. My son has lost an eye."

Aegon shifted closer to his mother as she argued with his father, preparing to step between them if Viserys raised a hand to her.

"What would you have me do?" Perhaps acknowledge your other children, Aegon thought bitterly.

"There is a debt to be paid I shall have one of her son's eyes in return." Aegon felt his heart begin to beat faster with fear at what his father would do at such a suggestion, feeling his shoulders sag in relief when Ser Criston refused to take Luke's eye. His relief was short-lived as his mother grabbed his father's dagger from its sheath and made as if to take the boy's eye herself. With adrenaline fuelling him, he quickly crossed the room and took hold of Y/N's arm, pulling her out of the way though she struggled against him.

"Let me go."

"Not until it's safe."

Aegon gasped as his mother cut Rhaenyra, a heavy silence enveloping the room.

In his shock his grip on Y/N loosened and she tried to get out of his hold. He quickly made a grab for her wrist to stop her.

"I'm sorry Y/N. I had to say it."

She yanked her arm away from him, her voice like ice.

"You as good as called me a bastard."

"You have to understand Y/N. My father, gods know what he would have done to my brother, my mother."

Nothing he said seemed to help. Y/N's eyes were welling up with tears and she wouldn't even look at him.

Placing a hand on her waist, he whispered a desperate plea for only her to hear.

"Please, Quelos. You know I love you."

She took hold of his hand only to remove it from her waist, taking a step back from him.

"No I don't."

And then she was rushing away from him to catch up with her mother and brothers, leaving Aegon there to stare after her.

Aegon paced outside his mother's quarters, waiting for his grandsire Otto to leave so he could speak with her. Otto seemed surprised to find him there once he emerged from her chambers, the hour was late. But he said nothing as he set off down the hall and Aegon entered his mother's chambers before the door had even swung shut.

"Mother, I must speak with you."

His mother sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Not now, Aegon."

He closed the door behind him.

"It cannot wait. I've come to request your permission to marry Y/N Velaryon."

His mother gawked at him, grasping blindly behind her to steady herself on a chair.

"What can you mean by this? You wish to marry the girl whose brother maimed your own this very evening?"

Aegon flinched at the harshness in her voice.

"It would surely help to put an end to the conflict between the two sides of our family...and I love her, mother."

"I will not allow you to sully yourself by marrying one of your sister's bastard children. You are a true born Targaryen. Y/N is not worthy of any of my sons."

Aegon straightened his shoulders.

"Don't speak about her like that, mother."

She looked shocked at him talking back to her like that, but it pained him to hear his mother speak badly of the girl he loved.

"That's the end of the conversation, Aegon. We're leaving tomorrow."

"But, mother..."

"Now, Aegon. Get to bed."

Turning from him to gaze into the fire, Aegon realised with a heavy heart that his mother would hear no more of his plea for Y/N's hand that night, and he quietly left the room.

Neither Rhaenyra nor her children were on the boat home to the King's Landing the next day, and Aegon leant over the deck railings staring at Driftmark as it faded into the distance. He hated having to go even another day without speaking to Y/N, knowing she must still be angry with him. How could everything have turned to ash so quickly, all of his hopes and dreams turning to cinders. But she would have to return to King's Landing for her dragon. They all would. He would make her understand then...

Days passed, and there was still no sign of Y/N returning. His mother continued to avoid answering his questions about when Rhaenyra would return, and all of his attempts to bring up a marriage between himself and Y/N.

There was a heavy mist covering King's Landing when Rhaenyra finally returned with her children. Aegon had woken to find servants milling about the hallways carrying objects from Rhaenyra's room and from Y/N's, much to his confusion. He'd headed to his mother's chambers to find out what was happening.

"Your sister is taking her children to live on Dragonstone. She returned this morning to arrange for the transportation of her belongings and for her children's dragons. She has likely left by now."

Aegon had dashed from the room, sprinting down the stairwell that led to the main courtyard. Surely his mother had to be wrong. Rhaenyra wouldn't even let Jace and Luke fly their dragons to Driftmark. Dragonstone was a similar distance. Y/N couldn't be gone.

But he was too late. Out of breath from his exhertions, he looked up to the skies only to sight Rhaneyra's dragon Syrax in the distance and the unmistakable grey scales of Y/N's dragon as they flew over King's Landing. And as he watched on, Grey Ghost's scales blended with the mist until he could no longer see them.