#btscreatorscorner

[hoseoksluna]

LIQUID STARS | jjk

pairing: fuck buddy!jungkook x f. reader (feat. bam)

genre: angst, smut

word count: 11.8k

summary: to seal the deal, you give jungkook what he wants—your kiss, your cunt and your virginity.

playlist: liquid stars / pinterest board: wine

warnings: size kink, heavy dd/lg themes, provocation, dry humping, dirty talk, mentions of porn, oral sex (f. + m. receiving), multiple orgasms & countdown, dom/sub dynamics, reader has daddy issues (like the writer), first time, jealousy, inner child healing, plushie used during intercourse, jungkook fucks her numb & dumb, praise kink, cum eating, pet names and the establishment of a title, bondage, raw sex, tummy bulge, desperation, pain felt during intercourse, squirting

note: as difficult as it was to write this, i'm immensely thankful. this changed my life; it healed me and i'll dream about it for a long, long time. i was as exhausted as oc once i finished this, because i truly did give my all. everyone, this is part four to my series 'wine' and therefore the very end. this is the very beginning of jungkook's and oc's relationship. can be read as a standalone as there aren't any quirks from the other parts (except for bunny), though if you wish to read them now, now is the perfect time. now you can see the beautiful gradual development of their relationship. please, enjoy as you read and let me know your favorite parts bc i need to talk about this. heed the warnings as there are dd/lg themes that can be uncomfortable for some. thank you! and thank you for all the love on this series. i'll never forget it. i love you, guys. ʚɞ

side note: give some round of applause for 3D daddy provider jungkook everyone!! he deserves it!!!

Silky lilac bows adorn the tops of your pigtails that cascade down in loose braids, sprawled on the cotton of his pillow and on the soft belly of a bunny plushie. There are still traces of sunlight left on the bedding, which dissolve, little by little, into nothingness as the large star goes down, saying goodbye. It’s lightweight, the atmosphere—homely almost. And much to your surprise, you feel relatively at ease, despite the fact a man lies on top of you—a man you have a certain liking for. 

It was natural for you to end up here and you, yourself, wished for it, even. Deemed it was only right after the man took you around for a walk while his silly Doberman guarded each and every step both of you had taken in sync, especially so when he persisted in buying you a small plastic ring of the same bunny you’re lying against. He didn’t even forget about his own canine friend waiting outside patiently like the obedient dog he is, and fed him the snackies he got for him as soon as he returned from the shop. You swore Bam was as giddy as you when he received his gift. 

Now the ring glints in the last rays of the sun. His, too. 

While yours is as white as the cloudy morning sky, Jungkook’s is as black as the drowsily dozing night sky. You think it’s the perfect contrast between the pair of you. Not that you should be noting these things, considering you’re just friends. But his skin is satiny soft, painted in impressionist tattoos, while his muscles, that his well-fitted T-shirt graciously allows you to see, are strong. You’re sure he could just lift you and throw you around without much of a strain. And it certainly doesn’t help that he’s such a striking image of pure beauty. How could you not notice these intertwinings when they’re this lovely?

You like him—without a shadow of doubt. Can feel the call of an emotional attachment forming the more he studies your skin with the tip of his index finger, embellished with the Miffy ring, and it’s owed to the fact you’ve never been touched this way before. No one has ever come this close, no one has ever been interested in the moles scattered upon your shoulders, in the veins that make the pathway to the column of your neck. No one has ever gazed twice at them—but Jungkook?

He hasn’t stopped looking at them ever since he laid you down in the middle of his bed. 

How could you stop such a call? Such a lull, such a magnetic pull. You know you should, but for the meantime, you simply don’t want to. Can’t lose this moment, can’t lose this once in a lifetime opportunity—

Jungkook presses his lips against the prominent mole in the center of your left shoulder. Those pretty, puffy lips, closing against your skin, the smallest dart of tongue swiping past. It shocks you for a moment before the feeling dissolves beneath, adjusting within the freshness of your system. How could you refuse such dynamic poetry, expressed against your own forlorn body? When it’s so blatant that it’s natural, that your body willingly accepts it without a fight. 

You couldn’t. 

Stretching your fingers between the thick strands of his hair, you close your eyes to savor the feeling of being wanted. The movement of his mouth, going even as far as to the first vein rooted in your arm—following it with those half-closed pillows. Up, up until he finds the line of your collarbone. Jungkook pauses there, simply breathes against you before he interperses little pecks there, nibbles and gentle swipes of tongue. The lining of your top won’t let him go further down, so he changes direction—relies on the pathway of your veins to guide him to your neck. And there… at the first contact, you grip the roots of his hair. 

His kisses and nibbles are much harder here. And what’s worse, he takes the sensitive skin into his mouth and sucks. You fail at containing the whimpers that break out of your mouth and Jungkook reacts to them. Hums ever so deeply, rocks his hips against the mattress. You wish you were a bit bigger so you could feel the collision, but you’re just so small compared to his large form. You imagine he’s writing down the poems collecting inside of him with each cursive roll of his tongue. Wonder if there’s enough paper on your skin for all his words. 

“You sweet little thing,” Jungkook coos onto the crook of your neck, dragging his lips up and down before he stops at your jaw. You feel the warmth of his breath and his body heat seeps into yours, creating unity, blackening the ink. It feels strange, it feels so new. Brisk and springlike, like fresh air in a stuffed room. You want to stay here for a long time, tasting the wholeness of spring captured in him. You want his words to flush you red with the tinge of the entire sunlight that opens the buds of flowers during all seasons in a loop. “Can I kiss you?”

You haven’t gone beyond the innocent touching of hands with him. You brim with a tight feeling of thankfulness that he asked you such a graceful question, although something else steals your attention entirely. 

“Little?” you say, the smile on your lips pulled so taut that it quivers ever so slightly. It makes you crazy that he calls you that, but you play the game. Revel in it. “What do you mean little? I’m bigger than you.”

Jungkook cocks his brow at you, mouth falling into a lopsided grin. He sits back and you feel a whiff of coldness pass by the perimeter of your body, as if someone opened the window and let the winter air in, when it’s just his brief distance that caused it. The forming attachment in you tenses and before you can think about your actions, your hand finds his knee, his thigh and traces slow patterns there. Jungkook suddenly squeezes your waist, surprising you, and the ecstatic fluttering of butterfly wings break havoc all over your body. The solidness of his hands, their weight, their firmness, giving life to your body, meaning. You note how his fingers touch when he has his hands enveloped around you like that. And the inkling that your body matters in his hands like that slips into your mind, spreading through its axis. 

You bite your lower lip. A small ache begins to grow in your intimate parts. It’s so nice to be wanted, to be considered good enough to be touched, to be kissed. 

“You? Bigger than me?” Jungkook squeezes your waist again. Sucks in a breath through his teeth. Smiles softly; in a way that you find unbearably endearing. “No, you’re just little. Just a tiny, little bug. So tiny in my hands.” 

For the breath he inhaled, you exhale it. 

He leaves his hands there when he bends over you, hovering his lips over yours. His weight, his heat. You sigh against him in relief, in a newly blossoming excitement that he’s back again. You spread your legs wider, feet grazing his calves—

“Let me kiss you, please.” 

You’d give in, but the game is just so pleasurable. 

Your laugh is but a breath. “You wanna kiss me?” 

You exhaled, he inhaled. 

“Don’t ask stupid questions.”

“Since when do friends kiss?” You cock your eyebrow at him just like he did, prodding your tongue on the inside of your cheek. 

He hovers a little bit higher above you, hanging his head in defeat, sighing. Places his hands in fists on either side of you, caging you in. 

“Premium friends do,” he mutters, lifting his head, face all serious. You dig your toe into the toned muscle of his thigh, twirling sweet little circles, gliding up and down. Watch as his eyes lid and he tries to control it. “Don’t do that or I’ll fuck you.” 

Your body panics, but you will it to relax. 

“Does that come with the premium subscription?” 

Jungkook purses his lips, supports his weight on one hand as the other, the tattooed one, grips your jaw. He squishes your cheeks, bites his lip once—seemingly ponders whether he should play your game or not before he lets go of your pout, but still keeps his hand there. He traces the shape of your lips with this thumb, feeding his desire to kiss you with scraps. 

“Yes,” he utters. “Kisses, orgasms, my dog. It’s all—”

Orgasms, not just sex. Orgasms. 

“I get to take Bam?” 

Jungkook tuts at you. “You get to take me,” he corrects you. “Though, can even such a little thing like you take me?” 

Probably not. Definitely not. 

“But what about Bam?” 

He looks at you as if he couldn’t believe the words you’re saying, turning his head slightly to hear you better. Then, he scoffs, running his tongue across his lips swiftly, letting them express the enjoyment of your provocation by stretching into a smirk. He places his hand back on the right side of you, thinking over his words. 

“Bam is mine, but you can pet him. You can kiss him.” You can hear the feigned venom in that word as he spits it and you grin, pleased with yourself. You enjoy doing this to him. “And if you’re good, I’ll let you take him out for his walkies.” 

You gasp slowly, fingers absentmindedly gripping his thigh. Butterflies buzz you with a mere hint of arousal and to convey it, you wet your top lip with the tip of your tongue. The dominance, the principle of proving to him whether you’re deserving of something. Your heartbeat quickens, reaching for him with each swell. 

Oh, you’ll be good. You’ll be good until he’s sick of it. 

It seems he’s as pleased with himself as you were with yourself, reading your body language as he beams down at you, dimples poking holes in his cheeks. You want to stick your fingers there, pinch the skin at the corners of his mouth. Feel them, kiss them—

“Deal.” 

Jungkook blinks at you. He most likely expected you to be difficult. You like the look of surprise on him. A sweet kind of glint perches itself upon his irises. You’re at awe of how he manages to be so adorable and alluring at the same time. You could never understand it. You deem he must be otherworldly. 

“A kiss to seal the deal?” he tries, raising his brows, lowering himself to his elbows. 

He skims his lips across your cheek, descending to your neck. Places one, singular kiss there. Lifts his head to hear your answer, a soft curtain of hair falling across his forehead. 

You make a face as if you’re thinking about it. 

Jungkook groans. 

It’s cold, the way he turns away from you and it startles you—but then he slides his hands under your back and lifts you with ease, sitting you down on his lap. He moves you from the muscles on his thighs to the hardness of his intimate parts and you groan at the feeling of it. You’re wearing an airy short skirt with tights and knee socks underneath, the barrier so thin that you feel the solid, thick shape of him right under your femininity. 

You rock against him once. Jungkook lets out a sound akin to yours, fingers flexing—hands almost reaching for your behind before he decides against it and keeps them planted against your back. 

He desires your consent. And that makes you feel light-headed. Tipsy on the wholeness of him, on the pleasure coursing through your body. 

You rock your hips again—and this time, Jungkook whimpers. 

You take your hands and, slowly, you make a pathway down his chiseled chest. He twitches against you when your fingers pass by his nipples, his body following and squirming along. And once you reach the definition of his abdomen, your hands rise and fall against its quickening movement as his lungs heave. You’re mesmerized by his reaction to your touch. It’s as if it was his first time as well and something about that makes you woozy, savage and absolutely feline. 

And something about the way you’re allowed to do as you please, whereas he’s not, strengthens that state of mind, enriches it, thoroughly worsens it. 

You want him. 

It began with a ring and ended right here. 

And the process of your decision starts at his hips, finalizes at the pebbles of his nipples and finishes completely at the sides of his neck. He gives you the same, if not better, reaction, his manhood moving against you, and it’s settled. 

The giving of virginity to seal the deal, not just a kiss. 

Hovering your lips against his, you slip your hand to the place where you’re connected to feel up the shape of him. You moan onto him, vigorous power seizing you, propelling you to wrap your fingers around him. The breaths Jungkook emits are desperate, tortured, wafting over you, intoxicating you. It fills you with confidence unlike any other that you’re able to coax such a thing of beauty out of him—that you, the artist, have the upper hand momentarily while he doesn’t. 

And he waits, depends on you. You want to cry due to how happy it makes you, due to the way it suffuses an empty part of you, left abandoned by someone who should’ve taken care of it a long, long time ago. 

Because of that—if it’s kisses that he wants, you’ll give him as many as his body desires as a thank you. 

“You’re so hard against me,” you whisper. 

Jungkook grips your waist hard. 

“If you want it, you have to seal the deal,” he mimics your intonation, voice deep, tingling your tummy. 

“I want it.” You clutch both of your hands on his jawline, thumbs finding the invisible dimples. 

“Kiss me, then.” 

You whimper at the longing to do so. Your tummy clenches, butterflies inside swarm around and—

When you close your lips against his top lip, they burst into smithereens. Jungkook sighs in relief, enveloping you in his warmth. 

The kiss is hungry. You expected his first taste of you to be careful, contemplative, but he goes all in. Takes charge of the lip lock, swallowing you whole, moving against you, uttering low sounds that make your head spin and you just comply. Accept that you’re the one who submits to his craving and you find yourself liking it; find yourself wanting to deepen your submission. 

You wrap your legs around his waist, your head tilted as you reciprocate all of those hard kisses. When he comes up for air, he just gazes down at you, out of breath. One hand still on your back, the other cradles your cheek. There’s something puzzling in his eyes, as if he was fighting something within. You’re radiated by that energy, heavied down by it, letting him pet you like a puppy while you wait for the next step. 

“You’re so good that I’m considering letting you take Bam out,” he breathes, curling a wisp of your hair behind your ear. “Sweet little thing.” 

He pecks you once. You grind against his manhood and as he shortly groans onto your mouth, you splutter into giggles. Behind you, as if he heard him, the dog peeks his head out of the door, giving his Daddy a questioning look. Jungkook chuckles. 

“Bam, house.” 

The dog leaves and Jungkook sinks his fingers into your hair, sighing. Kisses you, again without tongue—only does what you’ve allowed him, but you overflow with the desire for more. He’s so considerate, so respectful and while you’re grateful for it, you want to break it. Your trust in him, made whole by all that he’s done for you, settled within you, made a bed in the sensitive parts of you that now shine. He doesn’t need to remain there—you want to go beyond that. 

“Touch me, please.” You look up into his eyes as you say it, willing them to see with all your energy how much you want him. 

He rubs soothing circles on your back. “If I touch you, I’ll fuck you, sweetheart.” 

You lift your butt ever so slightly and bounce down on him, your skirt furling. Jungkook moans, pleasing you to the core. It’s bratty of you, but it serves him right for being so stubborn, so firm in his control. You want to break him. 

“Can’t you see how much I want that?” you purr, bunching the cotton of his T-shirt in your fists. 

He merely shakes his head, licking his lower lip, fucking with you. He tugs on one of your braided pigtail, the other hand gliding to your hipbone. “This little girl is horny? I couldn’t tell.” 

A yellow light, sleepy in nature, spills through the blinds, latching onto the side of your neck. His eyes flick to it and his teeth sink into the wetness of his lip. He looks back at you when he says, “what was it that made you horny? The neck kisses?” 

He straps both of his hands to your hipbones now, adjusting you so your sweetest spot rests against his cock, rocking your hips like he wants them to. He swallows down his noises, makes room for yours. You figure he wants to hear them. 

You think about what made you horny. His respectful behavior. An electric spark spasms in your core at the memory and you roll your body against his at the impact—nipples pebbled, grazing below the hardness of his pecks. You moan loudly. He breathes heavily, can’t for the life of him contain that, gripping you with strength that will surely leave bruises. You add it to the list. 

His control—the momentary, delicious lack of it, too. The dominance that follows it. His noises and how unrestrained he is when it comes to them. The allure and the attractive charm of his looks, blended with that insufferable cutesiness. His hard cock. The neck kisses, too, of course. 

You summarize your answer and you tell him, “you.” 

A hitch in his throat. “Fuck.” 

Fuck, indeed. Fuck the steady rhythm—Jungkook speeds up your movement, the pace so fast your pigtails and your ribbons bounce, tits following suit. Your breath falls in step, moans echo within the walls of his room. He kisses you harshly, but that doesn’t silence you. He swallows your noises down, grunting. 

“You wanna know what made me hard for you?” 

You nod your head, lips forming a natural pout at the loss of contact. 

“Those fucking pigtails of yours. The knee socks. How tiny you are in my hands. Seeing you lose your fucking mind when I kissed your neck. Those marks I left behind, hm, fuck yes. Those marks made me crazy,” he mutters, staring you down. “And you know what else?” 

You wait for his answer as white flashes blind you, your roaring orgasm beckoning you close. He doesn’t stop rocking you against him, not once. Fills your brain with emptiness with his words coated wet by his dominant energy. You feel your own wetness soaking the fabric of your panties. 

“Your brattiness,” he says. “I want to fuck it out of you and make a good girl out of you that won’t misbehave again with her smart words.” 

A faint part of you, half affected by the pleasure he gives you, arises to stand up for you. “But I was good and you said so.” 

He clicks his tongue, disapprovingly shaking his head. Slows down the pace so you’re able to hear him loud and clear, your orgasm backing away. “You see the thing is with little bratty girls like you, even when they act good for me, there’s still that dark little side of them that hides. Unless I fuck it out of them, they play with me. And trust me, I like the game until I don’t.” 

You frown at him, but a moan betrays you. A fight throngs inside of you, his dominance yet again permeating you, causing you to flourish, but on the other hand, you don’t like being added to the mix. You want to be the only one—and it makes you angry that he had someone like you before you, that he even said it altogether. Though unfortunately, that’s something you can only keep to yourself. 

The forming attachment breaks, splitting into two, with the knowledge that your wish is futile. You understand he said it for the sake of the role-play that you both naturally, wordlessly established through sexual attraction, but you still have a lot of getting used to within the dynamic. He’s experienced, you’re not. Though, when you think about it, he doesn’t know a thing about your purity. You never told him. 

You blame yourself for your own pain. It’s your fault—you should’ve had a conversation with him about it before you let him do anything to you, instead of playing flirty games with him. You wouldn’t have gotten hurt, if he knew you were a virgin. The thought of what you’ve done stains you, makes you feel filthy, but you will it to kneel inside of you like a wounded animal. You need to be strong if you don’t want to storm out of his room in tears. 

No attachment, no liking. 

Just sex. 

There’s still a frown to your face, despite the fact you set yourself free with your decision. Jungkook chuckles at it, oblivious to your internal storm. 

“You didn’t like that, did you?” You didn’t like being compared to other girls he’d been with; there’s nothing to be said of the like about the role-play aspect. Being called bratty did rouse a moan out of you. “You prove my words right.” 

You roll your eyes. Jungkook grips your ass hard and spanks you. As the sting reverberates, along with it comes the realization you got what you wanted. 

You broke him. 

And now you have to face the repercussions. 

Good thing you’ve sobered up from the stupefaction of your arousal. 

You cradle his face and kiss him deeply in effort to change the narrative. No feeling of affection from earlier hangs upon your heart and you find that it’s easier like this. No strings, no pain. It relieves you—so much that you sense a layer of lightness to your body and tiny, manageable tears well in your eyes. You get to enjoy this after all. 

There’s radiance to your eyes, rooted in hope, and true softness to your words when you say, “I want you to fuck it out of me. I want you to be my first.” 

You want to be different—your pride is uninfluenced by your decision. If he fucks it out of you, the new narrative you’re longing for will fully take place and make living through this bearable. You know you can’t have him the way you’d like, but if fate wrote that you’re to have him this way—you don’t mind altering it to the little desires you’re allowing yourself to have. 

Once in a lifetime opportunity. You can’t lose it. 

Jungkook is left astounded by your words, eyes widening, shock evident on his features. Like your words, he softens, unclenching his fingers from your suppleness, the darkness in his irises making a way for gentleness to come through. He rubs the small of your back, hands ascending to your spine, feeling the clip of your bra, until he finds the nape of your neck. He holds you there, tenderly, as if you were a porcelain doll he now was careful not to break. 

The change in his demeanor is stark. It surprises you as well—and like everything that has happened within the hour, it isn’t something you expected from him. The emotion that emerges from the roundness of his eyes touches the hardness of your decision, tries to get through, pokes a gap inside, letting the light in. 

He tucks his darkness back inside. Strokes the back of your head, the silky ends of your ribbons sifting through his slender fingers. You relax against him and your body does it for you. It welcomes his tenderness, glad for the truth to be out. You fight against it—against yourself, willing your decision not to break but remain firm. 

No strings, no pain.

But to no avail. The light spreads. His light. Celestial twinkles of stars, small parts of him that make him who he is. 

“You’ve never had anyone before me?” he husks, regret glossing over his eyes, holding your head firmly as he awaits your answer. More stars spill like liquid. 

You shake your head ‘no’, your chest tightening. 

He kisses you and there’s something different about the way he does it. Now you can sense the carefulness you searched for earlier and you taste the primal core of loving care in the movement of his lips. The kisses are long, deep. As if you’re a different person now, a girl unlike any of the ones he mentioned. Someone who matters, someone who’s solid. You’re back at the beginning. 

A lump forms in your throat. 

“You sure about this?” he asks. 

One part of you, greater and illuminated by his stars, wants it gently like this, with flowers of innocence and purity besprinkled across his features, never leaving you out of his sight, taking care of you. But you fear that if you allow him to be tender, your heart will choose him again and cling to his side. The other, more faint part of you, affected by your decision, thinks it’s better to stick to the role-play, for there’s the aspect of illusoriness that will not bruise anyone’s hearts, especially not yours. It will make you horny, Jungkook will get you off and, glowing, you’ll go home.

You can’t decide. It’s too much of a heavy weight to bear on your shoulders. You can’t do it.

You need him to say the word. You need him to decide what will be the face of the trajectory of your premium friendship. 

Flowery or deceitful? 

A small candlelight in you hopes for gentleness and purity before your fear unfairly puffs it out. 

“Yes, I’m sure. I want you.” 

Jungkook lays you down and, at last, you feel his manhood against you. He bends to pepper apologetic kisses along the column of your neck and you feel the authenticity of his regret, thrumming against you warmly. Your breath hitches in your throat, the principle of the candlelight in you not being a high hope after all—

“I’m sorry. I should’ve gone about this better.” A kiss to your cheek; you stifle your sobs. “I should’ve checked in with you, but I jumped straight in. This was a mistake on my part. I’m sorry.”

He blames himself, not you. 

You want to remain stoic, but his authenticity beckons yours to come out and envelop him whole, gives access to your emotions and you can’t stop the miniature teardrop from flowing down the side of your nose. Neither can you stop the words that follow its footsteps. 

“I should’ve told you first,” you whisper, sniffling. Jungkook furrows his brows at the expression of your pain in tender emotion, wiping it away. “But I was bad—reckless.” 

He chuckles softly, caressing your hair. “You’re an angel. Sent to my side for me. You weren’t bad. I didn’t mean what I'd said.” 

His words, his touch, the kiss he adds to your cheek to punctuate his sentence—Jungkook erases everything that has just happened. 

Newness rushes in your chest, the pouring of spring into summer permeates your whole being. You hear the birds sing, the rustle of flimsy flower petals on tree branches as the warm wind grazes it with its touch. Jungkook seals this feeling by pressing a kiss to your sternum. 

He said it, so it must be so. You trust him. 

The firmness of the cage around your decision unlatches. Doesn’t fly away like the birds. Is a little bit afraid of peeking out. The candlelight returns to light up the room around that cage, blossoming into the sun. 

“We don’t have to do anything, if you don’t want to,” he says, looking up at you from the place where he dragged your top down to kiss your skin. 

The sun rays in you absorb all of the darkness. The firmness extends one wing. 

You run your fingers through his hair. Figure the only thing the summer in you is missing is the heat. You want him, you want sex and you don’t want to think about feelings or consequences. You don’t want to choose between anything anymore. You just want to enjoy yourself. 

“I meant it when I said that I want you to be my first,” you say, fingers curling around his ear. Jungkook leans into your touch and it’s as if he’s massaging the wing to alleviate it from a cramp due to being tucked in for so long. 

“Okay,” he sighs, taking your hands and pinning them on the pillow and bunny above your head. He sits up, examines you and you wonder if he can see how truly fragile you feel. “Do you trust me?” 

He’s had half a year of going out with you, mingling his life with yours, spending money on you and treating you like an absolute treasure to build your overall trust. And what he did just now? How he erased your pain? Your nod is immediate; you don’t need to think twice. 

“Of course I trust you.” 

“Good.” A soft smile. “I’ll make sure your first time will be beautiful for you.” 

Your heart thuds. His words steal all the breath in your lungs, smoothing out the surface of your body for his stars to fill. Tears prick at your waterline. 

“Are you scared?” 

You’re an empty canvas. 

“Not anymore.” 

Jungkook nods, gladness pulsating off of him. “I’ll be here the whole time. I won’t leave you, not even once, okay?” 

“Okay.” 

He finds the zipper on the side of your skirt and yanks it down. “How many times do you wanna come?” 

The ridiculousness of the question makes you laugh and you hide your face beneath your palms. “To be honest, I don’t expect to come at all. It is my first time after all.” 

You marvel at the honesty seeping out of you. His work, no doubt. 

Jungkook frowns, ridding you of the skirt, fingers hooking under the hem of your top. At the reveal of your pink, flowery, see-through bra, he stops altogether, stunned. He fondles the material, grazing over your soft nipples, at last reaching the embroidery of the small petals. He gasps in wonder, eyes flicking to your intimate parts to see if you’re wearing a matching set. 

The same flowers adorn the suppleness of your tummy. 

Jungkook smiles at his discovery. Is hasty as he drags the nylon of your tights down your legs, along with your knee socks. 

“I’ll decide how many times you come for me, then.” 

Heat pools in your femininity. There it is, the dominance that you love. Yet this time, it’s laced with his gentleness. Heaven on earth—a meadow full of flowers in the middle of summer. Like the ones on your lingerie. 

Joy grasps your heart. “Do I get to know before you start?” 

Jungkook chuckles, pressing a kiss on your tummy. “What, you wanna count them down for me?” 

You asked just because, but the idea excites you. You nod. 

Your response prolongs the rumble of his laughter and you feel its vibration as he kisses his way up to your clothed breasts. You’d think he’d focus his attention on them, but he straightens—reaches for something behind him and retrieves your white knee socks. He bunches them in his hands and puts them on you as if he were dressing a child. 

Paradoxically, goosebumps spread all over your thighs. 

Smoothing the material over your thighs, he lies back down against you, lips latching on the spillage of your breasts that your bra gives him. While it feels dizzying, you still want to know the number. You poke him in the bulging muscle of his arm and in the process, you flush his cheeks red. 

Jungkook pushes your tits together and licks over the line in the middle. The sight of the shine of his wet tongue against it drenches your pussy, ruining your pretty underwear, and you want him there, on your sweetest spot. Your nipples stand to attention and Jungkook listens to their call, thumbs brushing across them. 

You mewl, grinding your hips against his stomach. 

“Two times when I eat you out; two times around my cock,” he answers finally, awakening your butterflies. “How many times is that, then?” 

Amidst the pleasure, you do the math. “Four.” 

“That’s right. You think you can do that for me?” 

You’re not sure. In fact, you’re not sure of anything—lost in his touch, in his energy. 

“I don’t know,” you say, truthfully, skimming his face for a sliver of disappointment in his features. 

You find none. Only tenderness—round, soft eyes, brown in the light he radiates, nose and mouth buried in your tits, sucking on the skin, making you feel good. 

“That’s okay. We’ll try together. Nothing bad is gonna happen to you if you don’t come as many times. Or at all. I promise.” 

Your chest clenches. You grab his face and kiss him, licking over his bottom lip before you slip your tongue inside. Jungkook grunts, rolls his own muscle over yours, tasting you, feeling you. He inhales sharply against you, once again taking charge of the kiss, taking each and every thought and negative feeling you had and crushing it to smithereens. 

He lifts you and switches places with you, sitting you down on his lap with your back supported by his chest. He roams his hands all over you—tits, tummy, hips, sides and thighs while he busies his mouth on your shoulder. As your eyes follow each movement, you notice the marks he embellished your breasts with and your arousal grows—so much that you take his wandering hands and hook them under the waistband of your underwear, guiding them down your thighs. 

There’s a change to his breath when his index and middle finger feels up the fleshiness of your cunt for the first time. Hard, raggedy and absolutely tormented. He glides those digits up and down your dewiness, listening for the squelching sound that makes his cock twitch beneath you. 

He moans onto your neck, nose tracing the column on its way to your ear.  “How do you touch yourself?” 

A sudden shyness overtakes you and you turn your head, needing to hide in his neck this time. You remain silent, the words lodged in your throat. 

Jungkook sees you. 

“Do you rub your little clit from side to side or in circles?” he questions, helping you answer. 

“I—I like both,” you whisper onto his skin, moving your hips so his fingers slip to your clit, the sweet spot where you need him the most. He grabs the back of your thigh and lifts it, spreading you open, meanwhile you chase the firmness of his fingers.

“Just like that, ride them,” he husks, eyes dazed, fixed on the roll of your pelvis. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” 

Head on top of yours, you nod, never ceasing your movement, transfixed, just like him, by the constant way the pads of his fingers fondle your clit before dipping between your lips. The heat of the summer tightens in your lower belly and it’s a desperate litany of begging what your mouth utters, despite the fact you’re not really sure what you’re asking for, but you let him hear it. You’re close, so unbelievably close, yet still have a road to walk on before you, and you close your eyes to feel the delight of his touch more deeply, only to find that you manage to do nothing of the kind. 

When you sense his eyes on you and by instinct you reciprocate his stare, that’s when you feel the depth you sought after. Mouth parted, pupils dilated, eyelashes a drowsy catastrophe, messy hair casting a soft shadow over the planes of his blissed-out face. You want to kiss him. You want to make him feel as good as he’s making you feel—

“Let me do it now,” Jungkook says hurriedly, sensing the nearness of your climax. 

“Yes,” you croak out, halting the movement of your hips—and ‘yes’ is the word that ripples out of your mouth a hundred, a thousand more times when he spreads you wider and rubs his fingers on your clit from side to side. 

He feels the pleasure in sync with you, accepting all of your yes’, twisting his face the moment yours does, quickening the rapidness of his hand once he switches to circles to carry you to your summer-breathed paradise. 

And when you come all over his hand, he slips two fingers inside your hole.

He stills the buck of your hips. 

You widen your eyes at the new feeling of fullness and, panicking and constricting around him, you look at Jungkook, who merely strengthens his hold around you. 

“Trust me,” he says, breathing heavily. He doesn’t move his fingers past his first knuckles; he lets you adjust to the size. Gives you a kiss full of tongue to distract you. “Does it burn?”

You begin to pant against his mouth, the high of your orgasm long gone. You’re uncertain to count it as one when it was so short lived, ruined by the sudden plunge of his digits. But much to your surprise, you don’t detect any burn in your walls that he speaks of, which you realize was his intention.

“No, it just feels a bit uncomfortable.” 

He kisses you again. You feel your lips go numb, eyes lidding at the pressure you feel as he sinks his fingers a little bit deeper and begins to move them sluggishly, your slick creating another ring for him around his fingers. You try to meet his thrusts as the visceral sensation of being filled by longer, thicker fingers settles within you and takes roots. You discover that movement is the key to parting the uncomfortable feeling and it steps to the side to let the pleasure walk forward.  

Jungkook presses his palm flat against your clit, guides the pleasure to envelop your body when he plunges his fingers deeper, past the second knuckles and fucks you in swift jerks. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan and he fills in the sound, expressing his fiery delight for you at the clench of your walls against him, accommodating for him, for his desire to stretch you out, so when he finally enters you, no pain comes to greet you. 

Deeper and harder—yes, that’s what feels good. You roll your body, becoming waves of the sea as wetness and the build up of pleasure—seafoam—is all your senses wrap around. 

“Feels good, baby?” 

His need to check in with you speeds up the nearing expansion of your orgasm. Pointer and pinky finger digging into the skin of your backside, you watch the in and out motion, the digits coming out wetter and wetter each time.

“Feels so fucking good. I’m gonna come. I’m so close.” 

It’s quicker. Way quicker than your first tiny orgasm. He slips in and out of you so smoothly—you’re obsessed with the sight, ravaged by it entirely. You grind your hips and fuck yourself back, picking up the pace but slowing down instantly when you feel yourself at the peak of your climax.

You want to prolong it. You love the feeling too much to end it too soon.

Jungkook stops your movements fully.

“I want to be the one who makes you come,” he murmurs. “I want to be the one who fucks your brain out. I want to feel you squeeze around my fingers. Fuck, I want it so bad.” 

His hand drifts to your neck just to hold you there, the other, the busy one, fingers you harder, your fast approaching orgasm blinding your senses. Your drenched cunt squelches around him, the sound so lewd it causes you to seek comfort—your hand flies to his on your throat, fingers wrapping around his wrist, the tip of your pointer reaching the fat bulb of bunny’s head on his ring. 

Harder and faster. A scalding fire burns you and you just take it. Loll your head back against his shoulder, giving him the space to grip your jawline. Flames grow closer and closer, leaving a layer of sheen on your body in its wake. You feel the sudden need to pee.

“Oh my god, Gguk—” Your muscles tense. Close, so close. “Gguk, Gguk—”

“What, baby? What’s the matter?” he husks, squeezing your neck once. “You’re gonna come for me? Gonna come on my fingers?” 

You nod quickly, too quickly. Flames of the sun, licking you. Flames of the summer heat. Just what you wanted. 

Jungkook opens your jaw, swirling his tongue around yours. “Let go. Come for me. You can do it, I got you—I got you. Come for me, baby, please.”

Obeying his desperate order, you do.

A small stream of your pleasure, a faint fountain, trickles out of you and into his hand. He gasps, in unison with your whimpers, and you’re transmitted elsewhere. The wildly colorful, blooming meadow on a hill, overlooking the languorous sea and he’s there. Reaches behind himself. Offers you his hand. The wind ruffles his black hair, sweeps it back and you’re giddy—as giddy as Bam, as giddy as you were in the moment the slid the white bunny ring on your finger—to take the last two of his slender fingers, the pinky and the ring, and sit with him by the edge of the cliff. 

“Did so well for me.” 

The whisper takes you back and you awake. 

You’re different. Incandescent. Of life, of stars and its light, of growing fondness for the man you sit perched on the lap of, whose fingers still remain sheathed inside of you. He changed you. Perpetually, absolutely. He changed you and made you into something new. Something that is softer, more elegant—smaller but assertive. Alluring and kind. Indisputably good. 

He fucked everything negative out of you with his fingers. Left the vast canvas of stars inside of you.

You’re no longer a plain spread of cotton, but a living, breathing artwork. His artwork.

Once he fucks you with his cock, you wonder what further internal changes are going to occur within you.

You feel a great deal of gratitude for him—and you want to reciprocate all that he’s done for you. You want to work hard at it. Spoil him. Make him whimper. You believe he deserves it.   

“You finger yourself often? How come you took my fingers so well, hm?” 

You’re panting, unable to speak. Absorbing the sharpness of the stars, acclimatizing to the change. 

“I guess you do, huh?” he deduces. “Good little girl, preparing herself for me.” 

For the life of you, you can’t catch your breath.

Jungkook kisses your cheek deeply. Pecks you on the same spot a hundred times, slowly taking out his fingers. Lets you see your slick coating his fingers and, softly, you gasp at the little ripples of wrinkles upon the tips of his fingers, mouth parting.

And then he sinks them into your mouth. 

His hardness twitches behind you and you moan, your daintily bittersweet taste making your head spin. And when you look at him, you’re met with the utmost pink-dusted adoration painted on his face. You kiss it, inhaling it, letting it flow into your system so it suffuses your bloodstream, letting him taste you. You may not feel your lips, but the sentient poetry of the stars begins to sing in you. His stars. You feel like a flushed floweret visited by a bee. Spent, but happy. 

Happy to be wanted.

Good, because he said you were.

As if internally intertwined with him, you feel the identical heat tinge your cheeks. 

He says nothing as he lays you down and spreads your legs back to the way they were. Though when he’s graced with the sight of your bare cunt in all her glory, his face says everything that his mouth isn’t capable of. Hunger and torture—lips agape, corners of the mouth shiny with the rush of drool and Jungkook wipes it away, then lowers his fingers to your clit, to your lips, becoming more acquainted with this intimate part of you that no one had seen before him. He traces your small hole, even going as far as to your other, tinier hole and you yelp, stopping his exploration. 

Jungkook merely chuckles, eyes darting to yours. “You’re so pretty.” You grow so hot that you think you must be on fire. “Especially there.” 

You mewl, shrinking, hands looking for anything to hold and finding his bunny plushie. You take her into your arms, inhaling a scent that could never be hers. You recognize immediately whose it is. 

Musk, vanilla, wood. 

The thought of Jungkook cradling her while he sleeps moves you and you pout. 

“How we feeling?” he asks, still caressing your fleshy cunt, dripping with dew. 

Overjoyed. Overstimulated.

Heavenly.

“Good.” 

A foxy smile. “How many orgasms was that, hm?” 

You don’t know where your shyness comes from and why it chokes all of the words you want to say. You bury your face in bunny for a moment, taking a breath to fight against it, so you can please him because that’s all you yearn to do. 

You open your mouth, but no words come out. 

Jungkook stifles a laugh and it makes you feel terrible. And it’s worse when he leans over to kiss you, turns his head at the last moment and faces bunny.

“Bunny, how many times did she come?” he asks her, offering her his ear to hear her answer. Looks at you. Widens his eyes. Gasps. “Two,” he mouths. Listens some more. Nods. “I know she thought she wouldn’t come at all. Crazy, right?” Then he lets out an endearing sound. “She said she’d believed you could do it the moment you said it. She’s so happy for you. How cute,” he coos. 

You giggle, the bridge in your throat loosening, light flooding you, over and over, until you think you can’t take any more of it. You feel so full, so happy and the sensation threatens to pour out of your tear ducts. 

It heals something within you—that he treats you like this at your most vulnerable state. Your inner child flares, the stars the strength that fixes her stoop, helping her arise, stand straight, stand powerfully. 

He smiles down fondly at you. “So what number are we at?” 

You hide your face behind your hands. “Two.” 

“What did you say? I didn’t catch that.” 

You drop your hands and with as much energy as you can muster, you repeat the number. 

He purrs, caressing your cheek. “Good girl.” As a reward, as if the praise wasn’t enough, he kisses you deeply. “Will you let me taste you?” 

You swallow his desire, but speak up your own, “I want to taste you first, please.” 

Jungkook hums, curses under his breath. He straightens and kneels before your form, fingers pinching the back of his T-shirt and pulling it over his body. You catch the sight of his broad shoulders, of each dip and muscle, and your irises grown in width. Him ridding himself of his clothes dishevels his hair and as he untangles his arms from the material, he smiles down at you, noticing your stare. 

He caresses the back of your thigh before his hand flies to his hard length. He palms himself once, then continues to undress—tugs his sweatpants down to his knees, though he doesn’t bother himself to fully take them off. The shape of him is more prominent through the fabric of his white Calvins, the bulge of his mushroom wet and pellucid, and you sit up, hand itching to touch him, to join his in making him feel good, but he cups your chin—forcing you to look up at him. 

He swipes his thumb over your lips. “You want it?” 

You nod. “So bad.” 

Jungkook curses again, the sound low and rough. 

“Touch it,” he orders and both of your hands listen, wrapping around his girth, squeezing beneath the head of his cock. The thickness of him makes you see the light of the stars that you sense fluttering feverishly inside of you. Your mind is too empty, too washed out by your orgasm, by the change that you don’t even think about how you’re going to take him. Jungkook hisses, tilting his head back before he looks down at you intently. “You did this before?” 

You’ve never seen one in real life before, let alone touched one.

“I’ve never let anyone get this close.” 

Jungkook strokes your pigtails. “How come you know what to do then?” 

Instinct or memory from porn you watched—you don’t know, it all blends together within the fuzziness of your mind. And you tell him.

“I watch a lot of porn.” 

Jungkook smiles coyly and it strikes you. You’ve never seen him smile this way before or, even, feel this way before. All you know from him is dominance, dominance and dominance. 

You release him from the confines of his boxers and repress your gasp. His ever glistening tip reaches just below his navel and the thickness of his girth obscures most of his pubic hair. Along with the sound of your surprise, you also have a hard time swallowing the saliva collecting in your mouth. 

“I want you so bad,” you whisper, needy eyes looking up at him. Shy, too shy to let your gaze linger at the most intimate part of him. 

He sucks in a breath at your words, hissing. And you need him inside of you all over again. 

Fuck fuzzines in your mind. You’re fuzzy all over. Wrecked with nerves, suddenly. Your hands tremble, hovering in front of his manhood. Jungkook covers them with his, soothing you, and guides you to his shaft. Wraps your fingers around him. Doesn’t let go. 

The feel of him under his supervision is slow. He allows you to take in every ridge of him, every vein—the softness of his skin, the warmth and the weight. Round after round, up and down, until you get familiarized with him. A trickle of his male essence drips down the side of him and your tongue instinctively darts out. Like your hands, Jungkook’s breath shakes and he anticipates your next move, despite the fact he’s in charge. 

He’s been patient all this time, giving you the time you needed. But that hardly applies when you have him in your hands, when you own his neediness. His whimpers while he waits coax your slick out of you, soaking the bedding beneath you and you can’t take it anymore. 

Neither, evidently, can he. 

“Baby, please,” Jungkook croaks out. Tortured, so terribly tortured. Grip tight and clammy around your hands. 

So vulnerable. 

You ache. 

You lick up a stripe of his essence on the side of his cock and Jungkook shudders. Shifting onto your knees, you show him the milkie on the tip of your tongue and Jungkook pulls your hair, tilting your head back. Kisses you nastily, licking into your mouth. Moans, lowly. Then, he holds his girth at the base and pushes your head. 

When you take him, a mewl ripples around the thickness of him. His eyes roll back and his grasp of your hair tightens, burning your scalp, adding to the fire. He lets you feel it out; lets you figure out what to do, testing your knowledge from the porn you’ve watched. And the tensing of his stomach divulges his strained effort not to fuck your mouth. 

You go slow about it. Swirling your tongue around that rosy head of his, along that delicious ridge, licking a flat stripe across that line of his slit. Getting to know him in all those intimate places, relying on your senses—on them to tell you what he likes. Your hand begins to move on its own, gliding back and forth in tandem with your tongue stimulating his sensitivity. You try not to think about how you can barely fit him in your mouth, because if you do—you’ll ruin his bedsheets. 

But then Jungkook hums in approval, sending a gush of wetness out of you and you whimper—you whimper at the worsening ache you feel, at the helplessness that pools in your system by being just so filthily wet and horny. 

He moves your hand faster. Breath jagged, bedroom eyes zeroing down on you. And then—

Jungkook moans your name. Over and over, clenching and unclenching his hand on the back of your head. 

“Don’t have to teach you shit,” he spits. “You just watch porn all day, don’t you? Naughty girl.” 

Losing control for a split second, he rams his cock into your throat—and you don’t panic, you don’t yelp. Instead, you groan. 

He pulls you away from him with a sharp tug. Kisses you harshly. Shoves you down into the pillows with one push on your sternum.

Bending you in half, he drinks your cunt. Lips immediately suck on your needy bundle of nerves and it’s so fast you don’t even know which part of you he’s focusing on because he’s everywhere. Clit, hole, clit, hole—sucking, licking. Alternating, alternating so swiftly and deliciously that you completely lose your mind. 

And then he lifts your hips and holds them in the air, wanting you to see what he’s doing to you. Like you, he darts out his tongue and teases you, hovering the muscle above your clit. Shiny, nimble, capable of doing unspeakable things to you. He watches as your pussy drools for him and he chuckles darkly. Tongue lowering to collect it, but unlike you he never does it. He lets the dew trickle down your skin. 

“Cute little pussy. So wet. Wetter than when I fucked it. You liked playing with me on your knees, didn’t you?” 

With your fucked out brain, you don’t think it’s taunting what he’s doing. You deem it’s just him reveling in what he’s able to do to your body—in the fact that he owns it, that he teaches it new things. The glint in his dusky, lustful eyes proves it. 

Jungkook drags a long stripe on your clit, making your eyes flutter closed and your teeth to sink into your bottom lip to cage in your moans. 

“Talk to me.” 

You can’t. You don’t know how to talk. 

He stares you down. 

No answer from you. Just hard pants. Pussy drooling. 

“I won’t play with you, then.” 

Panic. “No.” 

He cocks a brow at you. “No?” 

Silence. 

He begins to lower you down but you grip his forearm. 

“Jungkook.” 

Bent over above you, head low, he merely flicks his eyes to yours. Duskiness, such blackening duskiness in those orbs. 

“Beg.” 

All your muscles tense. Wetness gushes out of you. 

Lucky for you, that word he wants is the one you haven’t forgotten. 

“Please.” 

“Please what?” 

You groan in frustration. 

“Be nice or—”

“Please, lick me.” 

That dark chuckle. You feel yourself becoming obsessed with it. 

“Where?” 

A challenge. Your throat dries up. 

“There.” 

He shakes his head disapprovingly, making a sound that expresses just how much he didn’t like that. 

“Try again. Last chance, little girl.” 

The loving smile on his face says everything about how that threat is feigned. You hear it tell you—you have as many chances as you need. He’s merely encouraging you to step out of your comfort zone. 

And something about that mellow, hidden kindness gently ushers you to do just that. 

“Lick my clit, please.” 

A hum. A long stripe on that sensitive, thumping spot. A roll of his tongue forward and backward.  

“Like this?” 

You choke out a moan. 

“Yes, please.” 

“Or—” He blows on you, causing you to tremble. “Like this?”

He shakes his head against you briskly, not yet at a full tilt. Just like his, your body shudders in his hands and he tightens his grip on your supple hips. You can’t take it, the pleasure is overwhelming and—

“Look at me,” he orders and you open your eyes, immediately. “Like this?” 

Jungkook adds more pressure and rapidness to the movement, leaving you glazed sweetly in the sheen of his saliva. He moves your hips up and down on the firmness of his tongue and you scream, taking a strong hold of his hair.

“Oh my god, yes, fuck, Daddy—”

Shocked, Jungkook groans against your pussy, slowing down to ingest what your mouth has just uttered. It’s more than natural to call him by a title like this, instinctual, innate. It fits him so well and it drenches your pussy, your slick amalgamating with his liquid love. You’re certain he feels the rush.

Your Daddy. 

You roll your hips against his tongue. Dark and more dark, those eyes of his. Bottomless pit.

“Fuck yes, call me Daddy again.” 

The whimpers you let out are pathetic and Jungkook shudders at them, groaning. You whine the title over and over again, a verdant, dreamlike litany of your feminine sexuality pampered, cared for, supervised. Jungkook accepts the gravity of it all, each declaration propelling him to suck your clit harder, bruises forming on your hips from his deathly grip, black eyes never leaving yours, hypnotizing you. 

And when you come like this, it’s unification what happens. 

You’re bound to him and he’s bound to you. 

Daddy and little girl. 

Throughout your sexual experience today, you had a hard time accepting things but this—this is something that slept inside of you all your life and just now has been awoken to a flickering canvas of bright stars. You feel it blink, adjust to the piercing light, before it smiles dolefully—happy to be conscious, happy to be caressed.

Jungkook kisses you and takes his time. The taste of your femininity, the fresh coldness of your change, the strong wine of his desire. You’re drunk. You’re slurring your mewls. 

And one thing about unification, it’s a mirror. 

You swallow down the same mewls, uttered by his throat. 

“Daddy’s gonna give it to you,” he whispers, adjusting between your legs. “Will be gentle. You’re safe with me.” 

He rakes the tip of his length along the entirety of your little sea-kissed seashell. 

“You want it? You want Daddy’s cock inside of you?” 

Jungkook looks into your eyes deeply as he asks you that question, the tip ready at your significantly smaller hole. He peppers kisses along your jawline and chin. 

“I’m scared it’ll hurt,” you murmur, brows furrowed. 

He kisses your cheek, the corner of your mouth. 

“We’ll chase the pain away,” he promises.

Your frown deepens. 

“But what if it doesn’t fit?” 

You expect him to chuckle, but he does no such thing. He absorbs your worry by kissing you tenderly. Then he glances at your body. Remembers he never took off your bra and fixes his mistake. 

“You may be small, but you were made to take me,” he says and your heart skips a beat; you wonder if he understands the gravity of his words as they take roots within you, rising to bloom into splendid flowers. “Besides, my dick is tiny. You won’t even feel it.” 

It is so far from the truth that you burst into giggles. He laughs along with you—a mirror reflected. 

Stars and flowers. Sea and freshness. You were made to take him. You trust him. 

He kisses your breasts, licking over your nipple—but briefly. Holding his shaft, he asks if you’re ready. You nod, your fingers desperately searching for his and Jungkook notices. Sinking slowly inside of you, he grabs his bunny plushie and tucks her into the crook of your elbow. 

There’s a pinch of pain, blended with the feeling of discomfort as your walls stretch around his head. 

Seeing it painted on your face, Jungkook draws close, enveloping you and bunny in his heat. Pushes a little more in. You wail softly, the pain intensifying. Fear intermingles with your features and Jungkook—the worry in his countenance makes you almost weep.

“Hold onto me,” he says, brows scrunched, so—so serious. “Relax, baby. I got you.”

You hook your arms around his neck, bunny sandwiched between your chest and his. Jungkook saves this time to let you adjust around him. 

“I know it hurts,” he whispers onto your mouth, index finger, the ringed one, stretching to graze your cheek. “Just relax your muscles for me. It’ll feel good soon.” 

You nod, trusting him. 

He pecks you. Smiles. 

“How many orgasms are we at?” 

You roll your eyes, your own smile threatening your lips. “Three.”

Jungkook hums. Pecks you again. You feel your walls loosening, little by little.

A smug smirk. “You didn’t expect that, did you?” 

“You obliterated my expectations.” 

“Just wait until I fuck you properly.” 

You blush, eyes twinkling. 

“Pretty girl.” He kisses you and you feel your attachment forming again, though this time—newly. As light, as free as an entanglement of seaweed upon seashore, you and him. Connected. Bound. No fear, not even a hint of it. “I heard you watch porn.” 

Your flush deepens. Jungkook sinks a little deeper. A faint pain—nothing bad. 

“Who told you?” You laugh, the sound ridding you of your shyness. 

But Jungkook grows solemn.

“Tell me what kind you watch,” he whispers, angling his head to give you a tiny kiss. 

Your cheeks hurt from the smiling, from the onrush of emotions within you, sloshing to and fro. You feel hot all over.

“The one where all the focus is on the girl,” you whisper back. “The guy uses all kinds of toys on her and she just takes it. Comes so many times and there’s a countdown for it.”

Humming, he begins to nibble on the skin beneath your jaw, making your breath shallow. He pushes in another inch—and the pain is worse. You tighten your grip around him.

“And how many times do you come when you watch it?” Deep, deep is his voice, the calmness to your nerves due to the pricking you feel. 

“I don’t stop coming.” 

Jungkook swears under his breath and clenches his digits into a fist beside your head.

“And you finger yourself?” 

You nod, confidently. Another inch. He smiles at your confirmation of his deduction.

“How many fingers?” 

You scoff. “Just one.” 

“Well done,” he praises, kissing you once, keeping his mouth on you even as he asks, “ready?” 

You nod, again, even though there’s fright to your eyes. He sees it and he brushes his eyelashes against your eyelids while he kisses you, taking it all away. And he doesn’t stop, even as he pulls out and thrusts back into your heat. Gently, so awfully gently. 

He didn’t break his promise. 

Jungkook rocks his hips in slow, sensual, prolonged staccatos, moaning into your parted mouth. You’re so focused on him—on the bulging of his muscles on the either side of your head, the broadness of his shoulders, the slick sweat dripping down his neck, right from the top of his tattoo; on the sheerness of his pleasure as he moves in and out, carefully so as to not frighten you, that the pain quickly subsides. 

And there you feel it. 

The sensation unlike any other. 

He rams into you, seeing the wrinkle between your brows smoothing, the lust clouding your eyes as the delight spreads all over your body, bringing along little dots of goosebumps. The night sea, windless, still hot from the afternoon’s goodbye kiss. You feel it—and you feel it deeply, sinking inside of you with every inch of his manhood. So much that you meet his thrusts. 

“That’s it, baby. Fuck yes,” Jungkook murmurs, enraging the waves within. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Being fucked?” 

Stars and its light. He picks up the pace, hooking your leg over his shoulder, entering you deeper and deeper, giving you more than half. The thrill of feeling so full—you curse, you moan, you can’t hold it in, even if you tried. And Jungkook coos at your conveyance of the pleasure he’s giving you, never lifting his eyes off of yours, off of your features, your emotions. Surveying you, controlling you, making sure you’re okay—more than okay.

You sense the pressure coil deep within your core, the sense of your climax approaching and you’re astonished at how quick it is. You halt your own movements, needing—wanting him to be the one to get you there, the one who owns your orgasms. 

“Gguk, Gguk, fuck—”

“I know,” he breathes. “I’m gonna make you come all over my cock.” 

He fucks you harder, making you cry out. Deep, deep staccatos, so different from the slow, languid ones. You can’t catch your breath, the sea within you sloshes violently and then—

Softly, you sprinkle him with your fountain of pleasure. Not enough to drive him out, but sweetly enough to force him to groan against you and pound you harder into the mattress. Continuing as if you hadn’t come. 

You don’t have the time or the space to think about what just happened—he fucks each and every thought of you. 

“My little squirter,” Jungkook mutters, kissing you. “One more, baby. One more for me and I’ll paint you with my cummie. Hm, you want that?” You’re gone, flung out of this world into a tranquil island. The palm trees, the sea and his cock. Your emotions are numb, body limp. All you feel is his cock, ramming and ramming into you. “Or you wanna swallow it for me like a good girl?” 

“Swallow, please,” you croak out and Jungkook makes a sound of approval. Rewards you by giving you the full thing, filling you balls-deep. 

“You feel me?” He kisses you, tugging your bottom lip with his teeth. 

Glorious, glorious delight. You can’t breathe. Too much. 

“I feel you—” You lift your head to look down where you’re connected. “I—I feel you in my stomach.” 

Sitting back, he lifts your hips and palms the bulge just a little bit above your mound. Feels it move under him once he resumes fucking you. He replaces his hand with yours, keeping you distracted as he undoes the ribbon in your hair and ties your wrists with it. Right there above the bulge, where he fucks you. Then he latches onto your hips and jackhammers his cock into you, watching as your tits along with bunny bounce with each slam. 

“You look so pretty like this, tied up for me, taking all that I’m giving you,” he says, thumbing your clit, making you cry out. “Such a good fucking girl for me. I’m bringing you up so well.” 

“Daddy,” you call out and Jungkook nods.

“Yes, that’s right. Daddy is fucking you so good.” 

White flashes. Seafoam. The pressure in your tummy deepening and deepening. The roar of the night sea and your body following—you come all over him, painting him iridescent with your dewiness. His joggers, dragged halfway down his thighs, his boxers are all ruined—pelvis, thighs and cock glistening. It’s such a beautiful image to you that it suffuses you with energy and you begin to speak. 

“Please, come for me.” 

Surprised, Jungkook chuckles. “Don’t you have orgasms to count down?” 

The ever persistent need for control. You kiss him, slip your tongue into his mouth to shut him up and you struggle against your ribbon, for the feeling of kissing him without your hands makes you feel iffy.

“Five. I came five times for you just like you wanted,” you whisper. “You fucked me so good. I’ll never forget it.” 

And it’s the truth.

Jungkook pecks you once deeply, humming into the kiss. He pulls out of you and whilst he strokes his cock, his fingers tug down the ribbon around your wrists. You take your place on your knees, gazing with awe and hunger at his shiny length. And as if he needed it, he plunges his fingers into your mouth for more lubrication. Then, grabbing your jawline gently, he pulls you in towards his cock, letting your lips play with his tip the way you like it as he jerks himself off. You flick your tongue under the ridge of his head and his length twitches, stunning you. You do it again, more rapidly, and you don’t stop until Jungkook begins to tremble. Pulling him inside your mouth, then out, flicking faster and faster. Repeat. 

Jungkook grunts. 

“Yes, like that, princess. Fuck, I’m gonna come for you.” 

He announces it, but it still comes as a surprise when the first rope of hot cum spills onto your flushed cheek. You suck him harder for a moment before you stick out your tongue, eyes flick up, as he empties his balls for you, his hand never ceasing the swift tug on his length. 

And he just keeps coming. Rope after rope. Liquid star after star.

And you swallow it all. 

Spent, sweaty and breathless, he helps you swallow it. Dragging his fingers to the places your tongue can’t reach, he feeds you his cum and you suck on his digits. Your heart thuds in your ribcage, especially when he begins to play with your tongue, smiling down at you in that dopey way. 

He pats you on the cheek once you show him you’ve swallowed it all. 

“Good girl. Good little princess.” 

That you are. A changed person for all eternity.

“Is your tummy full?” 

You nod, beaming vehemently up at him, the aftertaste of the bitterness of his liquid stars still wafting through your senses.

The three forbidden words rise in your tongue, even though you don’t believe them—you think it’s just the opulence of new emotions and experience that forces those words on your tongue. But they remain adamant when he bathes you clean, when he brushes your hair and gives you his clothes to wear to bed. They provoke you right there on the tip of your tongue when he gives you his zipper hoodie to wear on his balcony once you tell him you need a smoke and he joins you, giving you his pack of cigarettes. 

And they come off the edge, in a different form, when you tell him of how he changed you while you hold his hand and he caresses your damp strands with a cigarette propped between his index and middle fingers, kissing your cheek. The smoke fixes a makeshift halo around both of your heads. One body, one halo. Bound.

“You’re such a lovable person, Gguk.”

What you don’t know is that those mere words changed the entire trajectory of his life. Yours, too.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist / read part one, read part two, part three

[chateautae]

risk management | kth. (m)

➵ summary : you have one rule; you don’t date investment bankers, point blank period. but when your best friend invites you to her over-the-top housewarming party to meet her husband’s co-worker, kim taehyung, you don’t expect the night to take a wild turn; and risk bending your own rules. 

➵ pairing: investment banker!taehyung x f. reader

➵ genre : non-idol!au, s2l, smut, pwp

➵ rating : 18+

➵ word count : 9.4k

➵ warnings : alcohol consumption, swearing, sexual tension, heavy making out, mentions of exhibitionism (nobody sees them), big dicc!tae, against a window sex, unprotected sex (you’re smarter than this guys), ass, breast and pussy fondling (the holy trinity <3), sir kink!!, dirty talk, brief hand-jobbing, oral (m. and f. receiving), panty sniffing, denied orgasm, marking, riding, ass smacking, scratching, cum swallowing, 

➵ a/n : as always, your feedback means the world to me <3

➵ playlist : take a slice by glass animals 

Walking into Nabi’s home was the equivalent of waltzing into a bakery shop. The warm, aesthetic lighting provided a sense of homey comfort, the woodsy, though elegant furnishing and indoor pieces added an exquisite touch of sophistication, and the heavenly smell of freshly baked cherry pie welcomed you into a cozy paradise. 

The front door shuts behind you, and you’re privy to at least three dozen people chattering and mingling away. Some clink glasses of liquor together. Others pick off the appetizers in the opulent kitchen while a handful smoke outside on the lawn. 

Eyes surfing the crowd of people, you attempt to spot your best friend. Some familiar faces indeed catch your sight, though it’s the amount of new ones that settle some anxiety in the pit of your stomach. It’s not that you’re bad with people; you can actually be quite interpersonal, though the idea that many of these people are strangers leaves you slightly displaced, taking a deep breath. 

Exhaling, you’re suddenly interrupted by a familiar cheery voice latching onto your arm. 

“Y/N, you came!” 

“Of course I would. Why wouldn’t I?” You joke with her. “I know how important this is to you.” 

“Thank you. I was seriously getting worried you wouldn’t come. I’m so glad you did!” Nabi’s usually chirpy nature curves your lips, chuckling a little. “God, you must be starving. Let’s get you into the kitchen.” 

Nabi leads the way towards her grand, quite impressive kitchen. You have to honestly raise your brows, lips slightly hanging open at the shimmering granite countertops, the sleek induction stove, and the expansive storage space. She surely had an eye for interior design. 

When Nabi told you she and her husband Namjoon would be purchasing a new home, never did you expect a house of this caliber. It was already located in quite the expensive, high-class neighbourhood, but stepping inside to assess the luster yourself felt like a reality check. 

You live nowhere near this luxury. 

“Oh my God, Y/N, I have news.” Nabi dramatically begins, tugging you towards the table of appetizers. You nab a small plate as you choose some posh finger foods, attention shifting towards your best friend. 

“Soooo, some of Namjoon’s co-workers are here.” She playfully bounces her brows, wiggling her shoulders a little to indicate something mischievous. How very Nabi of her, you think. 

“Ah, speaking of Namjoon, I haven’t been able to say hi to him.” 

“And that’s exactly why I’m telling you this.” She sing-songs, much too proud and giddy to not be scheming something evil. 

“Nabi.. what in God’s name did you do?” 

“Nothing! I just wanted to tell you that Namjoon’s with a co-worker right now.” She explains, but soon begins nudging your side as you bite into a cube of Brie. “And guess which co-worker he’s with?” 

You gently raise your brows in question, your round eyes conveying an ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’ look of inquiry. Nabi ends up huffing in complaint with a  roll of her eyes, suddenly snatching your snack plate from you and placing it down on her table. 

“Wha-Nabi!” 

“You’re coming with me.” She rigidly instructs, clasping onto your wrist and dragging you across her kitchen. You protest against her, grievous over your lonely plate of food. 

“Nabi, are you serious?!” 

“Very. You haven’t said hi to Namjoon yet, and that’s a crime in my household!” She valiantly declares, to which you roll your eyes to the back of your head and unwillingly tag along. 

Nabi tugs you through her house far enough she reaches her living room looking out into her backyard, another show of just how luxurious her new home is. She only stops once you both spot her husband Namjoon, who is indeed speaking to a coworker. The stranger’s suit-cladded back is faced towards you both, your attention falling towards an (objectively) striking Namjoon. His hair is impeccably styled, and he adorns a clean, white dress shirt with a fitting vest. 

“Baby!” Nabi calls her hubby, and Namjoon’s distracted within minutes. 

“Hey, Bee, what’s up?” Namjoon instinctively asks his wife, and it always manages to melt your heart how considerate he is of her. He spots you immediately and waves a hand as he begins approaching you two, his smile dimply and dashing. 

“Hey, Y/N, it’s so great you came!” Namjoon chimes, soon wrapping his big, muscly arms around you for a bear hug. You nearly lose air; he’s gotten huge over the few months you haven’t seen him. You kindly return the embrace, giving his large back a friendly rub. 

Just as you let go, Namjoon gestures towards the co-worker he was speaking to. “Sorry I didn’t get to greet you at the door, Y/N. I was just with a friend. Taehyung-ah!” 

Right then and there, said co-worker of Namjoon swivels around, revealing himself with a charming smile and beautiful, yet fierce eyes that cause every feminine fiber within your being to become attracted. 

This is quite literally the most handsome man you have ever laid witness upon. 

He makes careful, slow strides over to the group, and you can’t help but notice how long and model-like his legs are; the confidence in his steps, the assured posture of his squared shoulders and back, the sharp, cutting edge of his sexy jawline. His brows were strong, lips wide and full, the expression he wore on his face equivalent to the ruler of a kingdom. 

“Yes, Taehyung! Come meet Y/N!” Nabi becomes far too elated, grasping your shoulder. “This is the Taehyung I told you about.” She harshly whispers by your ear, to which you are finally greeted by reality. 

Fuck. 

How could you have become so distracted so as to not recognize the man’s name? Nabi has never shut her trap about him ever since the day she met him, and your eyes shockingly widen once she mutters those words to you. You turn to quietly scold her, but you’re soon interrupted by Taehyung joining the group. 

“Hey, everyone.” 

Fuck, he has a deep voice. 

You’ve always had an uncontrollable attraction towards deep voices. 

That aside, you tug at Nabi’s arms encircling your bicep, gently rebuking her in a (hopefully) discreet voice. 

“Nabi, what the hell? I thought I told you I wasn’t up for this?” 

Clearly, you’re horrid at whispering because Namjoon and Taehyung across from you both fall silent, causing enough awkward tension in the air for Nabi to crack a very fake, deliberately polite smile. 

“Sorry, boys. Would you excuse us?” 

Nabi quickly ensnares your wrist to angrily tug you into a separate room, presuming it’s a guest room. She turns towards you after shutting the door with baffled eyes and firmly crossed arms, evidently pissed. 

“Y/N, what the fuck?!” 

“What, Nabi?” 

“Why would you say that when he was literally right there?” Nabi gestures for emphasis. 

You grievously sigh, despising that you were falling into this frustrating line of discussion again. You know all about this, Taehyung, your best friend has been trying to get on your radar. It’s not exactly exclusive information that you’re single. It’s painstakingly obvious being one of the only unmarried and childless friends among your peers. It’s what makes all of them seek out copious amounts of men for you to finally get hitched with. But there’s always the satirical element to every time you meet any of them; they all usually fall into the same pattern of failure. 

They’re either egotistical assholes that are unknowledgeable on how to take care of a woman, are far too fragile with their masculinity to even earn a smidge of criticism on the way they eat pussy, or are plain jane cookie-cutter corporate dogs. Most of the time, it irks your soul, being left with fickle relationships that end horribly or somewhat okay sex that eventually dwindles out into dry text messages. 

Sure, sometimes you get a good fuck or two in there, but none of that matters anymore. You’re tired of assholes, tired of the same routine of sorry-assed men that can sometimes never even get you to cum. 

Of course, you’re not saying all of this applies to Taehyung. You won’t subject the innocent man to such scrutinizing standards already. From what you knew, he was a kind, respectful and hard-working man. He was the epitome of tall, dark and handsome. There was surely something undeniably intriguing about him, and the sweet rise of his cheeks indicated to you he was indeed a pleasant man; there was no doubt about that. 

But there was just one goddamn thing about him. 

“Nabi, I fucking told you I don’t date investment bankers. You know how I feel about them ever since we found out the pattern of all my failed dates; they were all in finance!” 

“Y/N, c’mon, babe. You can’t hold this prejudiced mindset about all investment bankers, didn’t you see the man? He’s scrumptious!” 

“He’s scrumptious, yes, but I’ll still hold my bias against investment bankers ever since one literally answered a business call when he was balls deep inside me.” 

Nabi sighs, hand to her forehead as she rubs out the figurative stress piling onto her. “Y/N, look. I get it. I know you don’t date guys like him, but��� give him a chance, will you? I got to know him, and he’s a sweet guy.” She softes her tone to persuade you, intertwining her fingers with yours to play with them. 

“He has a lot in common with you, and he did say he’d like to meet you.” She speaks through puckered lips to coat her tone with sugary sweetness, honestly loosening up as you watch her doe eyes plead you. “You’d be a good match, Y/N. Just one chance.” 

Perhaps the night would be a disaster, or perhaps you could find someone actually worthwhile; you’d never know if you didn’t try. That, and the combination of Nabi’s puppy-like eyes and adorable pout, do you in, ultimately acquiescing. 

“Fine, fine.. I’ll meet him.” you drawl, to which your best friend springs to life.

Nabi happily bumps a fist in the air as she celebrates, squeaking a series of elated explanations about Taehyung as she leads you out the room and towards this seemingly perfect match of an investment banker. 

“Namjoon, baby, we should probably set up dinner for our guests, don’t you think?” Nabi inserts herself back into Namjoon and Taehyung’s conversation, thanking God he hadn’t left yet after you so rudely whispered about him. 

“Of course, love. We should get going.” Namjoon secretly communicates with his wife through his eyes, his smile growing equally as scheming as hers. God, they’re the perfect match. 

“We’ll see you two around.” Namjoon politely excuses himself and Nabi from you and Taehyung, to which your best friend shoots you a cute wave and wink, and Namjoon similarly flashes a finger gun and suggestive bounce of his brows to Taehyung. 

The displaced pair of you send tentative waves back to your friends, eyes finally, though nervously shifting towards each other. The sheepish two of you gently chuckle then, attempting to cut the nerves and welcome some ease between you. 

“Hi.” Taehyung begins. 

“Hi.” 

Your fingers dig into your Coach wristlet, maintaining a smile. It’s not that you’re anxious, but something about Taehyung automatically makes you assume a shier demeanour, his own exuding a subtle alpha-male power you’ve never felt before. Other men have channeled such power, but only with demeaning or dogmatic intentions; never so subtle and yet, enticing like this. 

“So, it seems you and Nabi had a lot to say, huh?” 

Your eyes immediately go wide, remembering he very clearly heard what you said about him and seemed intelligent enough to fill in the blanks of your private conversation. “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry about that. I was just- I wasn’t-”

“Expecting to meet someone new so soon, I get you.” Taehyung considerately offers an answer, to which you honestly feel your heart slow down its erratic beating, your lips curving into a smile of gratitude. 

“I’m Taehyung, by the way, Kim Taehyung.” He extends his hand, introducing himself quite suavely. His deep, baritone voice is what warms you up to him. There’s something so innately soothing about it.

“Y/N, Y/N Y/L/N.” You clasp onto his hand, and it’s almost embarrassing how your eyes widen. His hands are huge, his slender, ring-slated fingers long enough to entirely engulf your hand, the expanse of his warm palm wide enough he could most likely grab you with ease. 

You place a pin in that thought before it makes your legs squirm. 

“So..” You clear your throat, releasing him to fish yourself out of your delusions. “Your friends with both Nabi and Joon, huh?”

“Yeah, I work with Namjoon. I just got transferred to his department a few months ago. I’m-”

“An investment banker, right?” You finish for him, to which he puckers his lips with impression, his eyes bright with surprise. 

“Yeah, I am.” He confirmed with a smile, hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. Is it possible he’s nervous about meeting you, too? You don’t want to toot your own horn, squashing the contemplation. 

“How do you know Nabi?” 

“She’s my best friend. I’ve known her since our first year of high school.”

“Wow, you guys must be-”

“Like peanut butter and jam, yeah.” You both adorn amicable smiles, enjoying the company. Taehyung’s already turning out to be quite pleasant, exhibiting actual manners and social etiquette as you work through small talk. 

It’s almost comedic how even such simple decency seems so rare these days. 

“And you’re a..?” Taehyung suddenly obstructs your thoughts, drawing out his question for you to answer. 

“Oh, I’m studying for my PhD in psychology. Professor is my goal.” 

“Ah, at the university here, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s always been a dream of mine to teach.” You honestly admit, watching Taehyung reveal a quite... breath-taking smile, you notice. He seems thoroughly interested in what you have to say, and you quickly find a liking towards his personable aura. Taehyung’s close to speaking again until a rowdy group of men next to you almost impede on your personal space, instinctively cowering away. 

Taehyung’s eyes shift towards the group, jutting out an arm in between you and the careless stranger. 

“We should probably move.” He instructs, and something about the caramel smooth tone of his voice compels you to do so, to feel safe about it. Taehyung encircles his arm around you, not exactly touching you, but shielding precariously as he moves you both further away from the partygoers. He may not be directly contacting your skin, but the proximity of his presence alone suffuses you with a sense of fiery hormones. 

He smells incredible. 

The pair of you settle beside the backyard door, now much more secluded in the corner of the grand living room. Taehyung retracts his arm then, settling it by his side as he holds his glass of wine while you tuck some hair behind your ear. 

He swishes around the mahogany liquid in his glass, while you twiddle with your fingers. A beat of wary, nearly awkward silence passes until Taehyung bravely breaks the ice.  

“So.. Nabi and Namjoon keep telling me that I should ask you out.” 

There it is, the big elephant in the room. You should’ve known Namjoon was also indoctrinating the idea into Taehyung’s head, being a schemer just like his wife. Namjoon’s obvious encouragement earlier and the tangibly nervous shuffling of Taehyung’s feet was also a tell-tale sign. 

“Oh-please, I’m so sorry about this, but I don’t really date investment bankers.” You admit as courteously as possible. 

“Oh really, now?” Taehyung seems slightly taken aback but handles the information surprisingly well. 

You immediately scramble to clarify things. “Sorry, it’s nothing against you per se... I just-don’t necessarily have a liking towards corporate men.” 

“Ah, I see.” Taehyung charmingly smiles, and something about the curve of his pretty lips makes you want to kiss them. 

No, no.. you can’t have those thoughts. You cannot possibly be thinking about such things when you’re quite literally turning the gorgeous man down.  

“Just not your type, huh?” Taehyung catches your drift, and you let out a sigh of relief for his understanding. 

“Essentially? I’ve just had terrible experiences with them, and I’m not into the whole egotistical capitalist mentality.” 

“I mean,” Taehyung begins, and it’s hard to miss the way his eyes aren’t necessarily kind and polite anymore. They’ve been coloured with a darker shade, his gaze much more piercing, almost wild. “We’re all slaves to capitalism at the end of the day, aren’t we?”

You gulp listening to the slow, alluring cadence of his deep voice, almost as though he was trying to lull you under a spell of his own making. You feel something in the pits of your stomach begin to knot, arousal causing you to fix your legs. “Yeah, I guess so.” 

Taehyung narrows his eyes a little as he observes the change in your tone; it’s much more lax, inviting. He takes the opportunity to lean his forearm against the wall you both occupy, taking half a step towards you, and it’s now you realize just how much he towers over you. The impenetrable persona of his climbable body causes you to swallow, shifting your eyes upwards to meet his. 

“Funny you don’t like investment bankers,” he comments with a suave tone. “I’m not really into students.”

Your eyebrows furrow with offence, the possible allusion that you’re a child in his eyes throwing you off. You do remember Nabi mentioning he’s a couple years older than you. 

And that suddenly makes him a thousand times hotter. Fuck. 

“Hey-” but you halt yourself, checking the tone of your voice. “I mean, we’re... all students of something, aren’t we?” You attempt to mirror his earlier comment concerning capitalism, noticing how he lightly smirks at your scrambling.

Is that something he enjoys? Seeing a woman flustered because of him? 

Why is that so insanely hot? 

“Perhaps,” Taehyung tilts his head in half-hearted agreement, eyes dancing over the guests of the party as he takes a slow, leisurely sip of his wine and returns to you. “Though I’m not into how pretentious doctorate students can be.” 

“Hey, I’m not pretentious-”

“And now you know exactly how I feel.”

You open your mouth for a retort but quickly pause. He got you there, your look of defensiveness dismantling into one of amusement, breaking out into a little chuckle. He was trying to get back at you. “I… I’m so sorry.” 

Taehyung similarly laughs, and suddenly the sweet chime of his giggle sounds mellifluous to your ears. “No big deal, I just… feel like changing your mind, Y/N.” He sincerely admits, and you soften at the show of genuity in his look, not so nervous anymore. 

You bite your lip as your eyes flicker towards the ground, feeling courage permeate through you as you meet his gaze once again. You step closer to him, almost leaning into the arm he’s casted against the wall, finding his irises to be a warm, tender colour of coffee. 

“So, here you are at a party drinking an exquisite glass of Merlot compared to the other money-hungry mongers at this party.” You joke. 

“Well, what would the other money-hungry mongers usually be drinking, anyway?” He plays along with a similar tone. 

“You’d usually find them with a glass of Scotch or Canadian Whiskey, tipped off with rocks, of course, because it adds a little more snazz to their parvenu looks, you get me?” 

Taehyung lets out a hearty laugh, joining him as he curtains his mouth with his palm. “Yeah, you’re totally right.” He agrees. 

“But not you… huh?” You won’t deny the suggestion that taints your tone, even bringing your hand to his bicep and just gently caressing him. You watch his eyes follow the action, observing calmly, calculatingly as he returns his gaze to you. He’s much more dangerous, tempting. 

“Not me, Y/N.” 

His reply and the way he recites your name drips with sin, the caramel smoothness of his voice rich enough to want to hear it against your skin. You’re both caught in a moment of simply absorbing each other, observing him bringing a finger to his bottom lip. He rubs slowly as he speaks, drawing your attention towards his mouth. 

“And what about you?”

“What about me, Taehyung?” 

“You have no drink in your hand.. which means you’re either not a drinker or you’ve got somewhere to go tomorrow morning?” Taehyung draws out as he attempts to uncover you, as though he were traversing the map of mystery within your eyes. “Perhaps to see someone..?” 

“Oh, no, I’m not seeing anyone at all.” You immediately respond, squashing that assumption. 

“What a coincidence… me neither.” 

You could feel the tension between you two. It was palpable, so dense even a diamond couldn’t cut through. There were only mere inches between your bodies, having absent-mindedly gravitated towards each other. Something’s compelling you to drag him into a room or get him out of here, to stick by his side the rest of the party until it leads to something riveting tonight. 

But your mind tells you this isn’t a good idea. Sure, despite being an investment banker, Taehyung was certainly sweet and kind, even a delicious man of sin who just looks like he’d let a woman ride his face into the sunset. However, they all seem like that at first until they eventually reveal the beastly, harsh truths behind their unappealing characters, knowing that as much as you feel tempted, whenever you made decisions with your pussy, it didn’t go very well. 

“I um… I’m gonna go find Nabi and see if she needs help with dinner.” You stupidly derail the conversation, Taehyung springing back into his courteous persona from before, as though he were also awakened from a trance. “It was great meeting you, Taehyung.. And I see where our friends think we could be a good match but I just… I don’t think we’re a good idea. I hope you can understand.” 

It’s only right. You don’t date investment bankers, and he’s not into PhD students, it makes perfect sense for you two to not tread any further than this. 

“Yeah, yeah.. Of course.” Taehyung sweetly smiles, not revealing any hurt or immature offence, but rather mutual understanding, thankful he was surprisingly so compassionate.

“It's okay, Y/N. I agree, it only makes sense.” He admits, propping his arm off the wall. “I’ll see you around the party, alright?” 

“Of course, enjoy yourself as well.” You politely reply. 

“Take care of yourself, Y/N.” He considerately bids a farewell, and it honestly feels good to hear such words. 

You kindly wave him off as he lets you go, appreciating how gentlemanly he was, and shooting him a grateful grin. “Take care, Taehyung. I’ll see you around.” 

Taehyung rams you against the front door, his full lips devouring every inch of your hot mouth. He breathes impatiently. 

“When you said see you around, I didn’t think you meant in my apartment.” 

Here you were; dress falling off your shoulders, wine drunk, and shoving your tongue down Kim Taehyung’s throat. You moan, feeling the power of his manhandling, the sheer, rough carnality to his movements absolutely riveting. You remain shoved up against the door of this high-rise apartment, his knee nestled between your legs as his large hands desperately tug your lips onto his. 

“Shut up and kiss me.” You breathe harshly as you dive in for his tongue, impatient with your movements as Taehyung laughs. 

Nabi was the instigator, the goddamn game master of this entire play because if it weren’t for her, you wouldn’t be licking into Kim Taehyung’s mouth in his luxurious, 17th-floor apartment at 2AM in the morning. 

She’s the one who suggested you all keep drinking her expensive wine, always bringing out another bottle the minute the previous one finished. You didn’t want to make things awkward with Taehyung for the rest of the party, what with him being a quite pleasant man, and a possible, potential friend, so you self-determined your earlier farewell to be temporary. 

He joined you, Nabi and Namjoon in keeping yourselves entertained all night, having laughed, joked and hollered together the more progressively drunk you all became. Nabi was always a schemer, honestly, because she knew wine always made you exponentially horny, and you had already been daydreaming of what Taehyung’s lips would feel like sucking on your throat. 

You don’t need to imagine it anymore, though, because right now, he popped off your mouth to trail kisses along the edge of your jawline, moaning his name as you desperately tugged at his beautiful locks of nearly-raven hair. 

“Fuck, Taehyung..” 

“Y/N..” 

The way he says your name in his deep voice leaves even more arousal pooling in your panties. His lips skim down the column of your throat as you throw your head back, eventually latching onto your pulse point. He lays tender, slow kisses before wrapping his lips completely around your skin, suckling and licking generously. 

Perhaps Nabi isn’t to blame at all when you recall the night. It wasn’t her fault the irreversible sexual tension you and Taehyung had established between each other ever since your conversation. It was lingering, evident, magnetic anytime you two even brushed arms. You didn’t miss the amount of times you caught him already staring at you, that one look of his so alluringly wild; and he could never keep his eyes off the way your legs squirmed anytime he even so much as lowered the tone of his voice. 

Hours of painstaking tension later, you were both outside and near his car. You allowed him to show you the upscale features of his Benz as you watched him with arrant horniness. He just seemed so sexy when he was demonstrating something, so caught up in your arousing thoughts, you actually misstepped and nearly fell over. 

You didn’t, though, because Taehyung immediately wrapped his arms around your waist to steady you, and the one, hooded-eyed, tipsy look of lust you gave him caused Taehyung to suddenly pull you flush against his body, and crash his lips against yours. 

Now, you were both hungrily eating at each other, tasting wine and pure desire on each other’s dancing tongues. Taehyung, shortly after his wet kisses along your neck, pulls you off the door. Shoes and your purse are removed along with jackets, Taehyung swiveling you around to walk you back into his apartment. 

You both carefully step back as Taehyung peels off his suit jacket, your hands quickly shredding them off his body too. You trail your red nails all over his chest and torso, nearly angry at his dress shirt, gatekeeping his skin from you. You can feel how deliciously sculpted he is, and it makes your pussy palpitate.

You can’t help the moan that escapes you as he rapidly rips off his tie, disconnecting for a mere millisecond to tug it entirely off until it’s tossed away, grabbing your face once again for messy kisses. 

The pair of you waddle far back enough your back contacts the seamless glass all of a sudden, breaking away to observe your surroundings. You breathe harshly as you take it all in. 

“Windows…” You mumble, every nerve of yours alight with insatiable arousal; you’re pushed against the floor-to-ceiling windows of Taehyung’s, you had to admit, beautiful apartment. High ceilings, aesthetic light fixtures, a grand, king-sized bed, sleek and minimalistic furnishing. 

This definitely looked like the apartment of a wealthy man. 

It offers the cityscape as his view, mesmerized by the myriad of lights and moving traffic along the spangly roads, but also, unpreventable openness.  

“Are you okay if we’re against them?” He breathes against your mouth, lips brushing each other’s as his palms press against the window either side of your head. He leans down to your height, and the hooded, flaming look in his eyes makes you throw every care for whoever could possibly see you two right now away. 

You grab his collar and collide your lips with his, allowing your undeniable horniness for him to consume every fiber inside you. 

“Yes, yes Taehyung.” You answer headily, impatiently, and Taehyung immediately engulfs you in an intoxicating, head-spinning kiss once again. 

You were thankful to have worn a dress of pretty thin material, moaning into Taehyung’s mouth as he pins his hips against yours, feeling the impressionable, delicious prodding of his hardened cock. You ignite with passionate fire, pressing your chest against his because the rub of your nipples against him feels heavenly. 

Tongue swirling around each other, Taehyung glides his hands down your body, feeling every inch, curve and divot of your figure, finally settling around your waist. His large palms feel gigantic, but in a way that leaves you excited about what other things he can do with his hands. 

As if reading your mind, they skim down over your dress until he grips your ass, biting your bottom lip as he tugs you closer to his heated body. You release him with a gasp, hands clutching onto his thick neck. 

“I thought you said.. you don’t date investment bankers.” He chides, a ghost of a smirk playing onto his luscious lips. You huff hard enough it fans some hair from your face, lungs full of intoxicating, enthralling intensity. 

“And you’re not into PhD students,” you snark, flipping your hair out of your face. “And technically, we’re not dating. We’re going to fuck.” 

Taehyung immediately hisses with satisfaction. “Damn, a woman who knows what she wants.” 

“And a man that finally knows what he’s doing.” You nearly croak as Taehyung’s deft fingers abandon squeezing your ass cheeks to rather slip underneath the skirt of your dress, the sweet taste of his breath kissing the apple of your cheek. 

“Trust me, sweetheart, I know exactly what I’m doing.” 

His proclamation leaves you keening, at a loss for more air once Taehyung bypasses the band of your panties, and dips right into your sticky, sopping pussy lips. 

He hisses once again in pleasure, speaking deeply against your lips. “God, you’re so fucking wet.” The searing cadence of his tone leaves you gushing more essence, gasping when Taehyung boldly cups your sex in his palm, and a pathetic whimper escapes you. 

“Fuck…” 

“Yeah? You like that?” 

Shit, you can feel blood pumping in your ears and adrenaline coursing through your veins. The way you’re turned on right now is fucking unquantifiable. You haven’t felt this insane in a long time, and it only drives you to relish in Taehyung’s crafty touches more, hands hooking onto his shoulders for moral support. 

He continues rubbing you just like that, smearing your essence all over his hand as he attentively watches your every reaction, groans rolling off his tongue. You throw your head back against the window once Taehyung weaves two fingers through your soaked folds, gliding up your slit until he fondles your quivering clit. You let out a broken gasp, fingers digging into his sturdy shoulders as he begins a gentle sliding motion over your ocean of a pussy. 

“Fuck.. fucking shit, Tae..” 

You don’t even notice you’ve uttered a shortened form of his name, only recognizing the slip up when you feel Taehyung breathe a laugh against your swollen lips. 

“Shit.. I’m sorry-” 

“No, it’s okay.” He just as breathlessly replies, letting out little grunts every time you moan. “Just one thing,” he begins, leaving a wet trail of kisses down your throat until he finds your collarbones, slowly pecking away as his fingers work your pussy like magic. 

“I like hearing my name, but I want you to call me Sir.” 

Fuck, fuck. 

Of course, a man like Taehyung would have something as tremendously sexy as a Sir kink. 

The rumble of his deep voice against your throat leaves you mewling out, hugging his head into the crook of your sensitive neck. 

“Fuck yes, Sir.” Taehyung lets out a shaky groan that indicates the wave of arousal that washes over him, watching him pull back from you to wet his lips. He squeezes his eyes shut and takes a moment to breathe, using this as your opportunity to observe the city lights casting a soft glow over him. 

His lips are just as swollen and wet as yours, his hair disheveled after having wildly tugged at it in the backseat of his car, a chauffeur having transported you two here. One of his top buttons had popped open when you desperately clawed at his shirt too. 

He’s sincerely the most stunning man you have ever known. 

You also witness the tight tent in his crotch area and are suddenly filled with a fierce sense of confidence. 

He currently leans against the window, head hung low as he exhales. But you obstruct his moment of meditation, latching a daring hand onto his belt. With a feline-like grin, you tug him towards you by the Calvin Klein belt, catching a look of surprise from Taehyung. 

“Oh fuck..” 

“May I, Sir? You deserve some attention too.” 

You whisper it so seductively, Taehyung releases a deep groan from the back of his throat, the asking of his permission spiking blood towards his dick. You undo his belt with your flawless, ruby nails, and Taehyung peeks down to watch you do so. He cocks a brow at the skill he sees, observing with a sexy smirk. You tear his belt open and loosen his pants, diving inside his boxers to feel at the beast he’s hiding inside, and dear God, are you in for a fucking treat. 

He’s big, and you didn’t expect anything less. 

Your surprise seems to capture his attention, feeling the breath of his laugh fan your cheek. 

“You’ve got a cute face when you react to things, sweetheart.” 

“Thank you, Sir. You’re just so...” 

“Big?” Taehyung laughs, and you join him with a chuckle before you traverse further, and find the thick, meaty shaft of his cock. Taehyung folds with a groan as his face dips into your neck, enjoying the delicious sounds of his weakness. 

You waste no time in freeing him from his dress pants, Taehyung helping you along and curling his hand around your much smaller one. You both begin pumping him together. 

“Fuck..” he curses against your neck, and you conjure up all the willpower possible to not gobble him up like a five-course meal this instant. You splay your fingers over the back of his neck, tugging him closer as your lips envelop his pulse point for tasteful, intimate neck-kissing. You move your hand over Taehyung’s divine length in accordance with his own, guiding you to utilize the speed he likes. It’s so goddamn sexy; you moan against his neck and pump him faster. 

He’s leaking incessant pre-cum, but the dryness of his cock leaves you devising other plans, removing your hand. Taehyung huffs as though he’s pulled out of a trance, and before he can ask, you drop to your knees, fingers hooking onto the band of his bottoms. 

His pupils nearly physically dilate, eyebrows raising with rampant impression. You shoot him a look from below, eyes dressed suggestively as you tug his garments further down, and wrap a hand around his cock. 

Giving him a few pumps, you jut your tongue out to lick a slow, long stripe up the underside of his shaft, meeting his tip to swivel around and catch a heady taste of his pre-cum. Taehyung groans beautifully, bouncing off the walls of his apartment as he throws his head back. 

“Fuckkk” he draws out, fingers weaving into your hair for leverage. You moan once his tip is in your mouth, kitten-licking his slit and watching his Adam’s apple bob, the column of his throat enough of a masterpiece to have been crafted by Greek Gods. 

He gently thrusts into your mouth once your lips envelop him, sinking down on his engorged, red-tipped member as you hollow your cheeks. He lets out a string of curses once you bury him deep, his tip smothered by the fleshy back of your throat, and he immediately keens. 

“Fucking hell, Y/N.. just like that.” 

You hum in satisfaction, which causes Taehyung’s blown out eyes to meet you beneath. You maintain eye contact as you draw yourself out, and slowly swallow his thick, veiny length once again. His reactions grow weaker every time, relishing in the power you hold and beginning to bob your head a bit, crafting a pace he seems to like, slobbering all over his erect cock. 

He moans, deep-throating once before popping off, a lewd string of saliva breaking. He seems headily into it, boosting your ego, but when you move to drag your tongue across his balls, Taehyung gives you a soft push back, rejecting you. 

You furrow your brows and look up at him, puzzled. But before you can ask anything, Taehyung helps you to your feet and crashes his lips against yours, the power strong enough to shove you back up against the window. You breathe in his kiss, swiveling your slipper tongues around each other before he breaks away, saliva prevalent all over your lips. 

“I need a taste, too.” He breathes against you, your mind losing circuitry the second his lips meet your throat. He presses electrifying, hot kisses down your neck, the valley of your breasts, your midriff and stomach until his knees fasten onto the ground. 

You meet his bewitchingly smug look below you as his fingers travel up the sides of your thighs, casting your skirt away from your pussy to reveal your soaked panties. Taehyung doesn’t waste his time in stuffing his nose against your dampened folds, catching a heady whiff of your essence and letting out a soft hum from the back of his throat. The rumble travels up your core and nestles into the pit of your stomach, knotting the coil inside you as you gush a waterfall.

His fingertips hook onto your panties and tug them off, revealing your nearly sodden pussy to a hungry Taehyung, who wets his lip. Without a single prompt, he locks eyes with you above, and slowly casts your thigh over his shoulder, drawing his face towards your sex and wrapping his lips around your cunt. 

The wet contact of his tongue sets you ablaze, skin flushed and hot as your nails scratch at his window, the most erotic of moans spilling from you. He groans the second he catches a taste of you, tongue slithering through your folds as he amply sucks on your labia. 

“Shit… you taste sweet as fuck.” His deep voice resonates through your heat, eyes watching him as he stuffs his sexy face between your legs. You sigh obscenely against his window, using it as your only leverage to stay upright as he makes you weak in the knees. 

His tongue feels Godly, driving your hips over his face to shamelessly ride, and he welcomes you with an indulgent moan. It’s as though he enjoys his mouth being stuffed full of pussy, and you can’t help but feed into his heavenly work. 

Your fingers slot through his locks, tugging at him as intense pleasure overwhelms your system, rolling your hips against his mouth until high-pitched, heightened moans leave your lips. It means you’re getting close, and something about the way the bridge of Taehyung’s nose presses and rubs against your clit works wonders for your building orgasm. 

It’s coming, you’re blanking, and he’s eating you so passionately and methodically, you knew this would be your undoing. Your eyes are squeezed shut, reciting a mantra of Taehyung’s name and the hot title of sir that only spurs him on, losing your mind. 

“Taehyung, Sir, fuck, fuck!” 

His large hands grope your ass as he practically makes out with your pussy, tongue weaving through and around your engorged clit, and just as you grip him with a warning of your coiling orgasm, Taehyung stops. 

Air is sucked out of your lungs, peering downwards to breathe erratically. 

“Tae, what the fuck-” But you’re met by his lips when he springs to his feet, tasting yourself on his glistening lips as he sloppily makes out with you. He then props you off the window and spins you around, roughly pinning your front against the cool glass as you gasp. 

“Tae..” 

“Did you just say my name?” 

Taehyung then rips open the zipper of your dress and loosens the top enough it’ll inevitably slide down and reveal your bare breasts to the goddamn world. Taehyung wraps an arm around you from behind and cradles your stomach, lips by your ear. 

“I thought I told you to call me Sir.” 

“Yes, I’m sorry, Sir.” You immediately apologize, the heat of Taehyung’s breath invoking innate submission. “I was… just surprised.” 

“Still okay against the window?” He asks. 

You bite your lip with a harsh nod, hot arousal heating up your skin. 

Taheyung then tears off the top, hiking up the skirt of your dress as he shoves his crotch against yours, hard cock heavy on your ass. His heated breaths fan your ear, Taehyung casting away the hair on your shoulder to access the sweet spot behind your lobe. He kisses tenderly and yet, wildly as he fists his wet cock behind you, lining himself up with your entrance. 

“Put it in, Sir, fuck.” You desperately request. 

“Condom?” 

“Just fucking pull out. I can’t wait.” You wave him off, breaths rampant and needy. 

“Mmm, guess doctorates don’t learn patience, huh?” 

“And bankers don’t learn haste, fuck me right now.” 

Taehyung scoffs, and you want to say something, but when he pushes the bulbous, leaking tip inside you, you both let out harmonious, pleasurable groans that leave your nipples hardening and his dick leaking even more pre-cum. 

“Shit… you’re fucking wet, and tight.” 

“Fuck, you’re big, Sir. So big.” 

Taehyung likes the sound of that because a low growl and his palm fully engulfing a breast later, he’s tugging your hips back to sink himself inside, voice dangerously husky against your neck. 

“Do you care about marks?” 

“No, not fucking at all.” 

And Taehyung dives for your neck like a starved vampire, sucking wet, plum-coloured hickies over your pulse point as he bottoms out inside, filling your pussy up with his throbbing, divinely girthy cock. You moan against the window, nipples perfectly rubbing against the smooth, pristine glass and relishing in the arousal it speckles throughout your nervous system. 

Taehyung leaves no room for playing around, and begins slowly thrusting his delicious cock inside your gushing sex, your slippery, welcoming walls smothering his cock with arrant, uncontrollable arousal. 

“Fuck.. oh fuck.” Your moan hitches in your throat as Taehyung rides the wave of desperation, of searing, hot passion as he sucks all over your neck. You’re sure he’s going to leave purple blossoms across your skin, but right now, all you can focus on is the way his hips smack against your ass, your hand grappling onto his head dipped into your neck, tugging at his locks as you sigh like a pornstar. 

His kisses feel enchanting, his dick magical, and the way he fondles your tit is otherworldly, causing you to become completely lost in the stars you see behind your eyes and the breath-taking cityscape before you. 

Carnality overrides your entire body, turning your head to instead request Taehyung’s lips for rough, harsh kissing. Your lips and teeth smash against each other then, absolutely in unison with his hips slapping against you, his hands encasing your torso as he gives it to you from behind like a champ. 

“Fuck, Sir.. Oh, fuck me.” 

“Yeah? You want it like that?” 

“Yes, Sir, oh God.” You grit through your teeth as he pulls back the flesh of your bottom lip, nothing but your breathy moans and groans heard in the sizable apartment. 

You reach even further back and begin tugging at the collar of his dress shirt, hating that he’s still wearing fucking clothes. 

“Take this off, take this fucking off.” You ramble, Taehyung paying heed to your request within seconds and letting go to peel back his shirt, casting it off before his fingers curl around the hem of your dress. 

“Lift up your arms, sweetheart.” 

You’re not sure if it’s him calling you sweetheart that makes you so docile and pliant, but you follow his instruction and Taehyung strips your dress off, soon throwing it onto the floor. You’re both naked now, Taehyung having removed his pants and boxers in exchange to feel the heat of your skin. 

The warmth of his broad, smooth chest presses against your back, and the new feeling of his body heat causes you to moan indulgently, hands curling against the window. But you don’t have time to think, because Taehyung draws his pulsing length out of your fluttering pussy to turn you around, facing him. 

He’s equally as flushed and heated as you are, the gentle city lights exposing the sweaty glow to his dewy skin. Taehyung reaches his hands down for the back of your thighs, and you know exactly what he wants before he even has to say it. 

You leap into his arms, hands weaving into the feathered hair on the nape of his neck. 

“Let’s get you on my bed, sweetheart.” 

Taaehyung leans forwards for kisses, and you meet him for shameless make out as he walks you two towards his grand bed. He doesn’t toss you onto the sheets as though you’re a ragdoll, not that you would mind something like that, but he instead sits himself down with you perched on his lap, disconnecting for air. 

You peer down at his cock to make sure he’s still hard, wrapping a hand around him for generous pumps. Taehyung wraps his hand around yours and helps you, both of you fisting him together as his hooded-eyes remain fixated on you, and your eyes glow with sheer desire as you hold his gaze. 

You spring up onto your knees and Taehyung pulls his bottom lip between his teeth with a smirk, lining his cock up with your entrance and whispering against your wet lips. 

“Ride me like you mean it, doctor.” 

You huff at the deliberate emphasis on your future title, scraping your nails down his unblemished chest. 

“If you can even make me cum, Mr. Banker.” 

Taehyung scoffs, and before anyone can further the argument, Taehyung guides your hips down over his cock, and he invades you for the second time tonight. This position feels eons better; your breasts pressed up against his warm, smooth chest, his cock stretching your pussy wide open. You moan loudly as Taehyung huskily grunts out, who is settled against the headboard of his bed as you grip onto his shoulders. 

He entirely spears you over his cock then, and the way he fills you up leaves him impeding on your fucking cervix, letting out a shaky moan. 

“Fuck, fuck..” 

“You okay?” He asks as a hand clutches your shoulder blade, maintaining his rugged breaths. 

“Yeah, just-give me a second.” You breathe through the ache of his intrusion. You can feel him everywhere in this intimate position. Still, the pain feels good, and not long after you peck a kiss on Taehyung’s lips, you nod to him. 

“Okay, okay.. you can move.” 

Taehyung listens immediately and soothes his hands over your hips, helping you lift them off his crotch until you smash back down over him, a broken sigh escaping you. 

“Shit..” Taehyung curses, fingertips gripping your body hard. 

You repeat the action, then again, then again and again until you’ve developed a deliciously fast, wild rhythm, Taehyung’s hands slipping over your supple ass to grope and smack to his desire as he fucks you over his cock. He even drives up from underneath, and it leaves you keening, trading his shoulders for the headboard as you clasp on for dear life. 

But Taehyung isn't fond of that, grabbing your wrists and weaving them around his neck, eyes wild when he says, “hold onto me, sweetheart.” 

You fold, biting back a pathetic moan as she returns to gripping your body in place, impaling you from underneath as you work tirelessly over his thick, elongated dick. You feel so full, so satisfyingly filled to the brim your walls are quaking to release the orgasm he denied earlier, whimpering pitifully. 

It’s sinful the way he not only grasps you but slams upwards into your cunt as he presses your hips down, stuffing even your stomach as you cry out against him. Your face falters into his neck, relentlessly irving all over his throbbing cock as the friction against his abdomen supplies you the right rub for your pulsing clit. 

Taehyung takes your sudden weakness to mean you’re tapping out, which you are because he’s entirely a beast compared to you. He’s moaning and groaning like a mad man, watching your tits bounce as you repeatedly plummet over his cock. 

“Fuck, so gorgeous when you bounce, sweetheart.” He praises with a heady groan when you stuff yourself completely, the confines of your pussy driving him insane. He bites back a string of curses as you sigh erotically, nails digging into his skin, but he doesn’t fucking a mind a single bit. 

Your groins and thighs are already burning as your moans heighten in pitch. Taehyung suddenly wraps his arms around to embrace you close, hand splayed in between your shoulder blades as he cradles you and unforgivingly drills into your sex from underneath. 

You gasp so loudly, his neighbours are certainly tired of hearing you. You scream and beg, losing your fucking mind as you feel your pussy walls spasming around him. 

“Fuck me, Shit, fuck me!” 

“Yeah? You want more? Say it!” 

“Sir, I need more, please!” 

You’re both animals now, holding yourself before Taehyung’s face as he rams into your leaking, slippery sex. Taehyung sneaks a hand over your visibly pulsing mound and supplies you the relief you so desperately need. You release a drawn out, heady moan as obscenely as possible when he does, relishing in the ridges and veins and shape of his delicious cock fucking you wildly as your orgasm approaches, filling up inside your gut. 

It coils, your toes curl and your eyes squeeze shut, and your body shakes, legs quaking as Taehyung concentrates on stimulating your clit. He’s hissing and grunting, containing his load almost painfully as he senses your body beginning to convulse. 

“Oh shit, you’re gonna cum, huh?” He breathes against you. “Cum for me, sweetheart. I wanna see it.” He finally, stuffs himself so deep inside you, the gates of your impending release burst mightily open. 

A whimpering moan erupts from you, and you squeeze Taehyung’s so infinitely tight he begins to panic. 

“Fuck, fuck fuck fuck, I’m gonna cum.” Taehyung throatily grunts. “Where do you want it?” 

You’re still lost, in a post-orgasm daze as you gush gops of essence all over his violently throbbing dick. You’re only pulled off your cloud nine when Taehyung worryingly taps your breast and alarms you. 

“Y/N, I’m gonna cum any second,” he warns you, repeating urgently. “Where do you want it?” 

“In my mouth.. in my mouth.” You ramble, hopping off his dick and immediately assuming an all-fours position, sticking out your tongue and wrapping your hand around his pulsing shaft. 

Taehyung pushes himself into your mouth and tangles his fingers in your hair, sinking you down on his length. He begins fucking into your throat as heady, unabashed moans and groans leave him, hearing them mellifluously heighten as he nears his high. He rams into your hollowed mouth, fucking it open as he chases his euphoric high relentlessly until his load releases inside your throat. 

You moan as his hot seed floods you, tasting his cum for all its sweet glory. Taehyung actually loosens his hand on your head here instead of shoving you down over his length. It confuses you momentarily, but realize he’s presenting you the option of not swallowing if you don’t want to. That sweet sentiment alone drives you to, without hesitation, swallow his cum as plentiful as you can. 

Popping off his member with flustered cheeks and heavy breathing, you know your face is a hot mess, meeting Taehyung with hooded, tired eyes as he similarly comes down his high, leaning back on his palms. He wets his lips before cradling your chin in his palm, tipping his own to take a closer look at your mouth. 

“Fuck, open.. your mouth.” He breathes, his chest rising and falling as sweat sexily coats his skin. Your lips fall open and reveal an empty mouth, Taehyung adorning a proud side smirk that showcases his teeth. 

“Swallowed without hesitation.. you’re nasty.” He comments, and you shoot back just as smugly with a coquettish grin. 

“Eating me out and fucking me against a window? You’re kinky.” 

He laughs, and you soon join him, giggling together before collapsing face first against his thigh, and Taehyung’s hand lands over your bare back with a huff. 

Morning sunlight spilled radiantly into Taehyung’s apartment, welcomed by the bright light reflecting off his white furnishing as you awakened. Eyes fluttering open, you find your head nuzzled against Taehyung’s bare chest, his arm cushioning your body as he loosely clutches you, his face turned away as he sleeps. 

You grumble as you’re woken up by the abundance of annoying light, last night’s wild escapade probably too tiring for Taehyung to remember to shut his curtains. Said man also stirs underneath you as you prop off his chest and onto an elbow, watching him rub a heavy eyelid as they blink open. 

He turns towards you, and you both sleepily regard each other. 

“Fuck, I forgot to shut my curtains, didn’t I?” 

His deep, raspy morning voice shocks you, nodding with a sleepy pout, and Taehyung gently laughs as he reaches over towards his night table. He removes the arm underneath you and pries open the first draw, digging around until he pulls out a remote and presses something, to which his blinds begin to cover his windows. 

You raise your brows with light surprise, Taehyung returning the remote to plop back down in bed, tucking his hands underneath his head. You hate that it makes his bulky biceps appear meatier. 

He shuts his eyes again, desiring to indulge in more sleep, but you feel far too awake now. With a yawn, you entirely sit up, holding his duvet over your naked breasts. 

“Are you okay with me making breakfast?” You query, hoping that he is because you’re honestly famished. 

He speaks with his eyes closed, voice amused. “If you’re a good cook, then yes.” 

You snicker a little, shooting a narrow-eyed look his way. “I’m probably much better than you, investment banker.” 

His eyes flutter open to that, watching you with an entertained smirk. “I’ll have you know I make impeccable eggs, professor.” 

You roll your eyes. “Please, you’d probably never be able to make them sunny side down the way I like.” 

Taehyung suddenly springs up onto his elbows, shooting you a look of genuine surprise, eyebrows furrowed. “Wait, you like your eggs sunny side down too?” 

You pucker your lips with a confused chuckle. “Uhh, yeah I do.” 

“Sorry, I’ve just.. never met a single other person who likes them sunnyside down instead of up.” 

“What? Don’t tell me you also listen to some.. I don’t know.. Dean Martin or Sammy Davis Jr. when you’re cooking them too.” 

Now Taehyung entirely rises into a seated position, lips hung open with shock. “Holy fuck… you listen to Jazz too?” 

Now it’s your turn to widen your eyes with surprise, both of you replicating each other’s unbelieving looks. “No goddamn way, now if you tell me something like a movie you’ve been looking forward to seeing and it matches mine… we’ll have a situation on our hands.” 

“Okay, we’re gonna count backwards from three; tell me the movie’s name.” Taehyung instructs. 

“Okay.” You nod, both of you turning towards each other to focus. 

“3.. 2.. 1.. Billie Holiday.” Both of you immediately gasp, as though you just had the most shocking revelation of the 21st century. 

“No way, this isn’t possible. You have to be lying.” Taehyung becomes disbelieving of your similarities, laughing it off. 

“I’m not lying at all, Tae. I have no reason to.” 

“I don’t either.” 

You both take a moment to soak in the information, until you break out into an ironic laugh. “Fuck, Joon and Nabi were right. We really should date each other.” 

Taehyung cocks a brow with a pleased smirk, lazily leaning onto an elbow, and you admire him in his beautiful, shirtless glory. “I thought you said you don’t date investment bankers because you have terrible experiences with them?” 

“Eh, last night wasn’t a terrible experience.” You shrug, fluttering your eyelashes and similarly leaning on your elbow like him, mirroring his smile. “I can take a risk or two.” 

[patr-cluus]

jeon jungkook bf headcannons

summary : 

╰ pairing : none really, just headcanons.

╰ genre : headcanons..

╰ rating : none

╰ warnings : mentions of sex...there’s a whole section for it. 

╰ a/n: this is actually a draft that has been sitting here for months. hope u enjoy.

𝘗𝘌𝘙𝘚𝘖𝘕𝘈𝘓 𝘓𝘐𝘍𝘌

- he works out like crazy & you got really concerned when you first started to date him, but now you’re waking up to make his protien shakes sometimes.

- he takes pride in his skin but he doesn’t really do much. the only thing he spends a lot of money on are sheet masks and toners. you both set at least two days out of the month to give each other facials

- he’s a clean person, but it’s v easy for his surroundings to get a little messy.

- very close with his family--all of them love your relationship.

- he cooks a lot but if he doesn’t want to, he literally won’t.

- he’s a very busy person, but he makes sure to bring back some type of souvenir for you if he goes out of town. 

- he love sleeping. i feel like his iron is low, so instead of using the proper suppliments, he’d rather sleep.

- he has a motorcycle! he uses it to take you out at nights to the city.

𝘚𝘌𝘟𝘜𝘈𝘓 𝘓𝘐𝘍𝘌

- ..honey

- he is a SWITCH. like u can’t tell me he can’t be bottom too.

- but when he is a top, he likes to be very controlling. he wants you to obey him.

- he’s very teasing and uses a little dirty talk.

- i don’t think he has any kinks but maybe a mommy kink? idk.

- aftercare is a must or else he’d feel super bad and think that everything is his fault (giving and recieving)

- he loves eye contact during it.

- definetly in the nights, like whenever he can’t sleep or something.

- missionary. but is very open to trying new positions.

𝘙𝘌𝘎𝘜𝘓𝘈𝘙 𝘊𝘖𝘜𝘗𝘓𝘌 𝘛𝘏𝘐𝘕𝘎𝘚

- he doesn’t like arguing. when you both do argue, it’s more of a “intense conversation” than an argue. if he feels that you guys might end up arguing, he’ll stop talking and wait until the mood is lighter.

- he is very jealous and doesn’t care that he is.

- talking about relationship improvments are a must. honesty is encouraged. 

- he is a little sensitive; it’s a little easy to hurt his feelings and get him emotional. but this has made it easier for the two of you to understand each other because of his emotional awareness.

- he’ll try his best to be the best boyfriend ever, which can hurt his self-esteem sometimes if he feels like he isn’t doing enough.

[caelesjjk]

sanguine - jjk- part one

⟶title: sanguine

⟶au: vampire au, arranged marriage au, royalty au

⟶ pairing: vampire king!jungkook x human queen fem reader

⟶ rating: 18+

⟶ genre: romance, kinda slow burn?, smut, angst

⟶wc: 10.5k

⟶warnings: some swearing, mentions of blood, lots of sexual tension, one kiss, a bit angsty, reader is a badass. No smut for this part my fellow horny bitches, but there is certainly smut in the future.

⟶ summary: Marry the vampire king. Save the kingdom.

Your father is the king of a rare human kingdom that has been plagued by famine and sickness. And in a last ditch effort to save the kingdom, he has arranged for you to marry the vampire king to the north. Your hand in marriage in exchange for his help in saving your kingdom.

Everything you swore could never happen between the two of you begins to unfold as you spend more time in the vampire kingdom with its king and his subjects. Can you learn to love this place and it’s beloved ruler?

⟶ authors note: hi friends. this has been a whirlwind of a fic and this is only part one lol. it’s my baby in a way because I’ve had this idea for so long. I started writing it long before my king decided to actually grace us all with his vampire concept for his folio. that only encouraged me more to get this done.

A few shoutouts need to be made because without these people I don’t think I’d ever finished this. @jeonjcngkook jords, not only did you beta the shit out of this, but you’ve been there for me while I’ve written it and listened to me whine and cry for weeks. u have no idea how much it means. @haliiimede for reading through and convincing me that it wasn’t trash and giving me such lovely feedback. And also a huge thanks to @tea4sykes for reading through and encouraging me the whole way, ur the best Kay. @missgeniality siya, you absolute angel, I literally owe you big time for this amazing banner. and thank you for making me a new one when jungkook dropped all the vampire content lol. It’s so stunning.

(Vows found at vampireweddings.blogspot.com)

Alright enough blabbing, please enjoy! Send me all the feedback!

For the good of the kingdom.

For the good of mankind.

That was what your family kept telling you…no, they insisted that this was the only way.

Your father’s kingdom had become wrought with sickness, famine, and the people were starving. All of the resources available had been drained, there was nothing left.

And so, in a desperate plea for help, your father went to the vampire kingdom in the north, with whom your kingdom shared a border. And while the vampire king was willing to help, he wanted to make sure that this alliance was official and binding. He asked that you marry him to join your kingdoms, and that way there would be no reason for any type of betrayal.

You hated the idea. You fought it with everything that you had. The vampires disgusted you with their lust for blood and their strange habits. It was the worst thing you thought could happen.

But your father was right, it was the only choice your kingdom had left, and you had a duty to the people.

With that realization, is how you find yourself under this gorgeous oak tree in the middle of the night. The stars and moon and a few scattered candles are the only light to be found in this open field.

“Welcome one and all, witnesses to both His Highness the King and ______, princess of the human kingdom to our South, as they pledge their dedication to walk the night together. From the night we come, to the night we go, Cursed or blessed to walk the moonlight alone.”

The wedding dress that is chosen for you to wear is dark crimson, a bloody reminder of just who exactly is standing before you. With full lace skirts that drag against the ground, it’s light, airy even. It feels incredibly soft against your skin as your finger tips brush against the fabric but none of that matters as you still feel like you’re suffocating. It’s the absolute opposite of the dress you imagined yourself wearing on your wedding day but it is tradition here in the vampire kingdom for the bride to wear red.

“Sometimes another soul walks our path, Then two become one, in love everlasting. Come forward, Children of the Blood, And welcome this couple to your brood, Within each other, these two are found, Bear witness as their souls are bound.”

The hardest part of this is that it needs to be believable, and at the same time, the subjects from both kingdoms wanted you and the king to hate each other. So the wedding had to be done with official vows, ones that made it sound like the two of you were in love. It makes your stomach churn as the priest continues to speak.

“Please bring your left wrists forward towards me.” The priest said with a soft smile. Though it was gentle, his fangs are still visible, sending a shiver down your spine.

He takes out a red sash from his pocket and gently ties it around both of your wrists, Jungkook’s cold skin brushes against yours and makes you jump slightly. Though it’s as cold as stone, it’s also as soft as cashmere.

Finally, you allow yourself to look up at the man standing next to you.

You hate that he is so beautiful. Possibly the most beautiful being you have ever seen. Soft, thick, black hair slightly smoothed back away from his forehead, eyes almost as black as his tresses and lips that were sharp and hued pink.

When he catches you staring for a bit too long, he merely smirks and turns his attention to you.

“Sorry.” The king mouths to you, no sound coming from his mouth. You look back towards the priest quickly. He holds out a golden goblet beneath your bound wrists.

“Stand now as ye will stand forever, Like this crimson cloth your hearts are tethered, This goblet's contents are your symbols of devotion, So take the rings from the Goblet.”

Your hand shakes violently as you reach into the cup to retrieve the silver band that is to be placed on Jungkook’s right finger. You swallow thickly as you toy with the silver band in between your fingers, your pulse quickening because you know that not only can Jungkook hear the beating sounds of your heart, but all the other vampires present as well. Jungkook does the same with your wedding ring but with more confidence in his motions.

The ring he holds for you is a silver band as well, but it also contains a dark shaded ruby, cut into the shape of a blood drop or possibly a tear in the case of this marriage. But even then, it was stunning.

“______, please repeat these vows after me:

I will stand by your side, hunt at your back, and fly within your Soul. I will stand between you and all which would harm you. I will shield you from the Light of Day with my flesh. I will never betray you, for you are my Heart, my Soul and my Life.”

These vows had been written hundreds of years ago, meant for two vampires binding themselves together…not a vampire king and someone like you who is so very human. But you say them anyway, your heart still hammering in your chest as you turn your body towards the king and take his hand into yours, noticing just how soft his hands are before you slip the ring onto his awaiting finger.

“I will stand by your side, hunt at your back…” You pause when your voice shakes for a moment, “and fly within your Soul. I will stand between you and all which would harm you. I will shield you from the Light of Day with my flesh. I will never betray you, for you are my Heart, my Soul and my Life.”

You place the ring onto his finger and release the breath you have been holding the entire time. Jungkook smiles and takes your hand into his.

“King Jungkook, please repeat the vows to your bride.”

Jungkook waits a moment for you to look up at him, his eyes hold yours and his thumb rubs gently over the back of your hand. You wish you could pull it away…even more, you wish you wanted to pull it away.

“I will stand by your side, hunt at your back, and fly within your Soul. I will stand between you and all which would harm you. I will shield you from the Light of Day with my flesh. I will never betray you, for you are my Heart, my Soul and my Life.” His voice is alluring and even, as if he isn’t nervous about this at all. He slides the ring down your finger and lets it sit perfectly against your warm skin.

The priest hands the goblet to one of his assistants and turns back to the two of you after you’ve both finished.

“Above you are the stars, below you are the stones. As time passes, remember, like the star should your love burn brightly, like the stone should your love be firm. Be close, yet not so close that you restrict one another. Possess one another, yet grant each other the freedom to grow. Be understanding and compassionate, and have patience with each other, for storms may come, but they will quickly pass. Be free in giving affection and warmth. Fear not, lest the ways or words of the unenlightened give you unease.” He clasps his hands over your joined ones before he finishes the last part of the ceremony.

“As both your arms and the cloth form the symbol of eternity, may your love endure through this life and all others. As the Gods and the old ones are witness, with those of us present now, I proclaim them Husband and Wife, and thus are they bonded in Blood. The Two are now one. I present to you the Blood King Jungkook and Queen ______ forever bound, eternally free! You are husband and wife for all eternity. You may now kiss each other to seal your eternal bond of love.” The priest opens his arms and presents the two of you to the guests.

A kiss…was it necessary? Would they believe you if you didn’t kiss him? Would he be able to resist biting you? Would he taste of blood on his lips? So many thoughts plagued your mind in the moments before he cupped your cheek and tilts your face towards his.

“It’s just a kiss.” Jungkook whispered, only loud enough for you to hear. Your eyebrows scrunch together in confusion at his gentle touch.

“One kiss.” You step forward and wrap the arm holding your bouquet behind his back as he leans down to mold his lips against yours.

You weren’t expecting the softness of them, assuming that their appearance would be deceiving. His cool hand on your cheek brings you just the slightest bit closer as your lips brush over his once…twice…three times before your brain catches up with you and you remember who you are kissing.

There are whispers amongst the wedding guests who watch the scene unfold in front of them. Some with disgust. Some with curiosity. However even with the divided opinions in the crowd, they all share the same opinionated attitude. You try to ignore them as best you can.

Your lips separate from his a little too quickly and your hand immediately flies up to cover your mouth and the gasp that escapes you. Jungkook smiles, a flash of fangs when his lips pull back, and gently touches the veil hanging from your head and cascading over your shoulders. He takes your free hand in his and turns you both towards the guests, who clap but don’t seem to be pleased.

“And now the crowns.” The priest turns back to his assistants and picks up the crown that belongs to Jungkook first. The king bends slightly at the waist and the crown is placed gently atop his head.

The crown looks too perfect on him, black and silver metal twisted into spikes with small red gems at the base. It’s as if he has always worn one, perfectly designed with Jungkook in mind. And maybe he has, you don’t know how long he’s been the king after all.

You hadn’t actually seen your crown until this moment. The priest picks it up from a black silk pillow and presents it to you to observe. Like Jungkooks, it too is also made from black and silver metal twisted into even more dramatic spikes. Large, jagged diamonds and rubies cover it in its entirety. It looks ridiculously heavy, and when the priest places it on your head, you find your assumption to be correct. Heavy and cold.

From somewhere nearby, horns and trumpets start to play, signaling the end of the ceremony. Jungkook takes your hand again, and the two of you make your way back down the makeshift aisle your father had nervously walked you down less than an hour ago, and already things feel so different.

You’re quickly whisked away by carriage. The space inside doesn’t feel big enough, you can’t get far enough away from him, but he simply stays on his side of the bench seat and doesn’t move towards you on the ride back to the castle.

Once you’ve arrived, you’re met at the doors by Jungkook's advisor, Namjoon, who you had met a few times beforehand during meetings with Jungkook and your father. He has a kind face, gentle like he could do no harm, but that did not change the fact that he is a still a vampire. Standing next to him is the Captain of the vampire kingdom's army, Yoongi. You had also met him previously, but he doesn’t speak much unless it’s to Jungkook regarding the royal army.

“Did everything go accordingly?” Namjoon asks as the two of you ascend the stairs to the castle.

“It was my wedding, Namjoon, not a transaction.” Jungkook moved to the side and motioned with his hand for you to walk ahead of him through the doors.

“Is that not exactly what this is?” You hear Namjoon say just before you’re inside, Jungkook sighing as he follows.

“He’s right.” You grumble.

“Beg your pardon?” Jungkook says from beside you, his hands clasped behind his back as the two of you walk towards the great hall where the celebration and dinner is being held.

“It wasn’t a real wedding. It’s part of a bargain.” You stop to face him and he does the same, looking at you bewildered.

“Perhaps the circumstances aren’t ideal, but the wedding was real, my queen.” He bows to you, and you’re sure the scowl on your face is as deep as they come.

“Let’s get this night over with.” You grab the skirt of your dress in your fists and begin stomping off towards the great hall. You can hear Jungkook laugh quietly, but you choose to ignore him.

You’re forced to mingle, your hand wrapped through Jungkook's arm as the two of you make rounds through the room. You absolutely despise the whole experience. But soon enough, you’re thankfully seated at the head table and wine is poured into your cup.

You notice that yours and your parents' place settings are the only ones with plates. But of course they would be, no one else in this damned kingdom eats food.

Downing the first glass of wine in one gulp, you signal for an attendant to bring you another one. You can feel Jungkook's eyes on you as you down one glass after another, unable to bring yourself to care about what he could possibly be thinking.

“Do you want any?” You finally ask him after your third glass. A very unladylike hiccup following.

“I think you know the answer to that question already, my queen.” He smiles softly but his jaw is tight with annoyance.

“I’m not your queen.” You say a little too loudly. Some of the guests begin turning their attention to you.

“You have every right to be angry, _____.” Jungkook tries to say under his breath, but you scoff loudly, reaching for the bottle of wine and rudely snatching it from the attendant.

“Angry? That does not even begin to cover it. I am outraged.” You take a swig from the bottle and laugh bitterly. “I am disgusted…and I am not your queen. You and your people are just…fucking vile.” You look up from the bottle of wine to see a look of horror on your father’s face from where he sits at the next table. You know you’ve said too much. You’ve been cruel. “Jungkook…” You start to correct yourself but he cuts you off by standing up from his chair with so much force that it flies back against the wall, causing the guests to look up and stare.

“One thing you are not going to do is insult my people. You can say all the terrible things you want about me, but not them. Not when they’ve given up so much so that your people can live.” He grabs your wrist and pulls you to your feet. “Let’s go.”

“Let go of me.” You try to pull your wrist away, but it’s no use against his inhuman strength. “Release me this instant!” Jungkook continues to pull you towards the door, your legs wobbly from wine and the heels on your feet.

“The evening is over. You need to sleep it off.” He pushes open the door and drags you into the dimly lit hallway.

“I am not sleeping with you!” Even though it’s futile, you scratch and pull at the sleeve of his embroidered jacket.

“As if I’d expect that of you.” Jungkook scoffs and swings you around to face him. He maneuvers your body until you’re pressed against the wall with your arms above your head, one of his hands pinning your wrists there.

“Let go!” You try to kick at him but he dodges every time.

“Whether you like it or not, my queen, this is your home now and these are your people. I have and will continue to do what’s best for everyone involved, including you.” His eyes are almost pitch black, a deep red threatening to spill into the iris’ as he speaks through his clenched teeth.

You must stop forgetting that Jungkook is a monster.

“You know nothing of what’s best for me.” You begin moving to spit in his face, but he knows what you are about to do before you have even finished the thought. His free hand comes up to cover your mouth, leaving you to glare at him without being able to talk.

“Listen carefully, my queen.” The grip on your wrists tightens slightly. “You are not the only one making sacrifices around here. So when you decide you want to act like royalty and not some drunken heathen, by all means come to me.” You jerk around in his hold, you just want him to get the hell away from you. He seems to understand your request as he slowly takes his hand away from your mouth.

“I fear you’ll be waiting a very long time, your highness. Possibly until my death, but I’m sure you’ll find that day ever so joyous.” You use your body weight to push at him once more and he finally releases you, but stays in close vicinity.

“Don’t assume you know anything about what I find joyous.” Jungkook looks over his shoulder towards the guards who are standing near the doorway to the hall. “Escort her majesty to her chambers, she’s not to leave them for the night.” Jungkook straightens his shirt and jacket, and begins making his way back towards the dinner hall.

“You can’t just lock me away! Do you hear me?” One of the guards motions for you to walk towards the opposite hallway.

“No more talking tonight. Go to sleep.” Jungkook says over his shoulder before he disappears into the dinner hall. You scoff loudly, taking off walking as fast as your drunken legs will allow you to go.

“Stupid, ignorant, pig headed blood sucker.” You grumble under your breath as you continue down the hallway. The dim lighting from the candles doesn’t allow you to see much, but you can see there is art on the walls that you would rather enjoy if you were not so pissed off. And if they did not belong to the most ridiculous man you had ever met.

The guards lead you to a winding staircase where you quickly find out that in your drunken state you are unable to climb them unassisted. At the top of the first set of stairs they split, one set going left and the other going right. The guards gesture for you to head to the left.

“And where does the right go?” You ask with a hiccup.

“To the king's chambers.” One of them replies. Jungkook had not been lying, he really had prepared your very own chambers. You reach the doors to your bedroom soon after.

One of the guards opens the door for you to enter the room. You cross your arms over your chest and practically stomp inside, turning around to face them.

“Your king is sadly mistaken if he thinks he can lock me up for the rest of my life. I’d rather die.” You aren’t sure what you expect them to say, but they merely bow before shutting the door.

As soon as it clicks shut, you grab the skirt of your dress into your hands and begin ripping the fabric apart, tossing the pieces around the room.

“Stupid, ridiculous, hideous dress.” You screech, grabbing the sleeves at the shoulders and ripping them apart too. You bend down to grab the heels off your feet, stumbling around before yanking them off and chucking them as far away from you as possible.

Your chest heaves with short breaths as you feel yourself burning with rage. Reaching up into your hair, you hastily pull out as many of the pins holding it into place as you can. You start to walk towards the wardrobe when you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror on the far wall. You look like a forest witch. And not the good kind.

Changing your mind about finding other clothes, you begin to notice that there isn’t much in your room. A few vases with fresh flowers and a bed with soft, silky white sheets. There’s a white fur rug at the foot of it and a very large trunk atop that. There’s also a small fireplace in the corner with a few small logs in a basket nearby. The room was otherwise quite empty.

Looking through another set of double doors, you find the washroom. There’s a claw foot tub in one corner with several shelves of soaps and oils on the wall behind it.

As badly as you want to bathe, you need to find ways to protect yourself. Weapons. You need to learn the layout of the castle so that you know where all the exits are at all times. And you also need to find some food. Food in a castle full of creatures who don’t eat it. You sigh loudly, almost tripping over some pieces of your skirt on the marble floor.

Looking down at what's left of your wedding dress on your body is almost laughable. It’s mostly just the bodice and a few pieces covering your lower region in a tattered disarray. You cannot bring yourself to care, this dress was a mistake. It was all a mistake.

You walk out onto the balcony and see a ledge that looks just big enough for you to make your way over to the next room. Wasting no time, you swing your leg over the side, feeling a bit dizzy and suddenly remembering that you’re still quite drunk. But there is no time to sober up now, you have missions to complete.

Still barefoot, you balance onto the ledge and carefully side step your way along the stone. It's only about ten feet from your balcony to the next one.

You get a little too ahead of yourself and almost slip just once, but manage to climb over the railing of the next balcony successfully. You slink over to the window and peer inside, seeing what appears to be an empty guest room. Trying the handle for the doors, you’re overly pleased to find that they are unlocked.

Once inside, you press yourself against the wall and move towards the bedroom door. You pray that once you open it, there will be no vampire guards waiting for you. You have yet to secure a weapon and this might be your only chance to do so when so many of the castle's occupants are still at your wedding reception.

Slowly, you open the door, poking your head outside to see the guards are still occupied with watching over your bedroom door. You silently thank the gods, tip toeing into the hall, you're able to make a mad dash as soon as you’ve rounded the corner and gotten out of the guards sight.

You run until you find the winding staircase that you had come upstairs on. Its familiar shape lets you know that you’re going the right way. Eyes darting from side to side, you descend the stairs, making sure there are no vampires lurking about in the halls.

With absolutely no idea where you are going, you take the hallway to the left, and to your surprise, you smell food. The scent gets stronger and more distinct the further you travel down the hallway. You notice a swinging door, the sounds of clanging pans and a soft voice coming from inside. You brave a peek inside the small round window on the door, the person inside has their back to you for a moment, but when they turn around to face you, you almost cry.

Hoseok.

You shove open the swinging door with all your might, jumping onto a very unsuspecting Hoseok, who screams bloody murder at the sight of you. He almost falls backwards, but catches himself on the corner of the counter.

“Get off of me, witch!” Hoseok yells, reaching for a frying pan in hopes to knock out the creature currently hugging his torso.

“Oh, Hoseok, I’m so happy to see you.” You cry into his chef's coat.

“______? Is that really you?” He grabs your shoulders and moves you back to get a look at you. “My god, it really is you. What the hell happened to you?” He picks up a piece of your dress from the floor that must've fallen off in your rush to get to him.

“How are you here? Why?” You sniffle, tears streaming down your face.

“The king asked me to come stay here and be your chef…since you know, they don’t eat food and you do.” Hoseok pats the top of your head affectionately.

Hoseok is your closest friend. You had grown up together back in your father’s kingdom. His mother had been a long time servant of your parents, the most loyal that you could ask for. Hoseok had inherited that particular trait from her. He began cooking as you got older and soon became one of the best chefs in your kingdom. You were very surprised when you heard your father was so willing to let him go.

“My father let you come? Who will make him those banana pancakes he loves so much?” You laugh, wiping your face so you can get a better look at him, making sure that he’s really here in front of you.

“No, not your father, I meant King Jungkook. He apparently gave your father a rather large sum to make sure that I came here to cook for you.” Hoseok shrugs his shoulders and smiles widely.

“Why would he do that?” You hiss.

“I don’t know, _____. Maybe he just wanted you to be comfortable here.” Hoseok gives you another small hug, then moves around you to continue what he was working on before.

“I find that hard to believe.” You scoff.

“Do you want to explain why the hell you look like a swamp witch?” Hoseok is packaging some food and placing it into the cold room that was filled with ice.

“I…may have gotten drunk at the reception…and got sent to my rooms like a child. And I may have thrown a fit of rage about it.” You plop yourself down on a wooden stool in the corner of the kitchen. You learned a long time ago not to get in his way when he was working.

“You? Throw a fit? Could not imagine such a thing.” He laughs before closing the door to the cold room. “So you haven’t eaten?”

“No. I’m starving Hoseok, please make me food.” You whine to your friend and he rolls his eyes in response.

“You’re lucky I don’t beat you with this plate of food. I made this damn dinner for the reception and they brought your plate back to me untouched? You’re on thin ice my friend.” Hoseok pulls a plate of food from the oven that he had been keeping warm there and sits it in front of you.

“Have I ever told you that I love you?” You don’t bother waiting for him to hand you any utensils as you grab the food with your hands, dismissing the fact that it’s too hot to be eating. You’re too hungry to care.

“One day in the vampire kingdom and you’ve already lost your mind.” Hoseok places a fork beside your plate, but still, you ignore it.

“Do you have knives in here?” Your face lights up, looking around the kitchen.

“I’m a little hesitant to give you any sharp objects right now _____.” Hoseok looks at you with concern reaching his face.

“It’s for protection, Hobi. We’re the only two humans for miles, aren’t you a bit concerned about that?” Your mouth is half full of food as you speak and Hoseok looks disgusted as you stand up and start rifling through his kitchen.

“Of course it’s a little…unsettling. But the king isn’t going to let anything happen to us. Especially you.” Hobi walks behind you, picking things up as you make a mess. You scoff at the last part.

“He cares about me as much as I care about him, which is not at all.” You finally find the drawer that holds the kitchen knives. “Finally! Why didn’t you tell me where they were?”

“Because I think you’re slightly insane.” He puts his hands up in front of him in surrender when you turn around to face him, knife in hand.

“I’m not insane. I’m being…prepared.” You close the drawer and move back towards the kitchen door, peaking out into the hallway through the circular window. You don’t see any movement.

You aren’t sure where to keep this knife if you finally managed to get your hands on, looking around the kitchen for something to use.

“Here, just use this.” Hoseok sighs, handing you a long leather string. “Wrap it around your thigh, that's what all the female warriors do.”

Looking at Hobi inquisitively, wondering how he could possibly know that bot of information, you take the string from his hand and wrap it around your thigh until you can tie it. You’re able to secure the knife between the leather well enough for now.

“Do you even know how to kill a vampire, ____? Is a knife even going to work?” Hoseok crosses his arms over his chest as he looks at you.

“Father told me once that you have to remove their heads.” You don’t look at him, just continue looking into the hallway.

“And a kitchen knife is going to remove a vampire's head!? I’m going to pretend you didn’t get that from me if anyone asks.” Hoseok motions towards your knife with his head before he goes back to cleaning up the mess you had left in your wake.

“I’m going to go look around some more. I’ll come find you later.” You look at him now, as he picks things up off the floor.

“Please don’t.” He teases, crossing the small kitchen to stand in front of you. “Be careful roaming around this castle.”

“I’ll be fine, Hobi.” You wrap an arm around him and he does the same to you, giving each other a much needed hug. He kisses the top of your head before he lets you go.

“Go on then, Blood Queen. I’ll bring you your breakfast in the morning.” He shoos you away.

“Do not call me that.” You glare at your friend. “Eggs and lots of coffee?”

“As you wish.” He rolls his eyes again and you can’t help but smile.

Pushing open the swinging door, you carefully step out into the hallway, keeping your back pressed to the wall as you follow it through the castle.

There isn’t much to see. Some extra bedrooms, one room that looked like a study and one door that had led to a small patio. You mentally mapped that door in your head and hoped you could remember it well enough to write down when you got back to your rooms.

As you approached the end of the hallway you began to hear voices. You knew you should turn around but your curiosity was too much to battle with. So instead, you made your way to the double doors that had been left slightly ajar.

Inside, the room was full of vampires seated at a very long table. Jungkook is sitting at the head of it, his fingers adorned by silver rings, stroking his chin with worry. You aren’t sure how you know that he’s worried, but you just know. Namjoon paces the floor behind him, babbling to no one in particular it seemed. Yoongi, who is sitting to his right, still appears to be his quiet and stoic self. Not much different to how you saw him for the first time.

There are several others present around the table that you do not recognize. But the real question is why are they here instead of attending the wedding reception?

“Is this a threat we need to be prepared for sooner rather than later?” You finally hear Yoongi say, his voice deep and rumbly.

“We knew taking on the human kingdom was going to cause issues with Taehyung. Because not only did you agree to help them, you married the fucking princess.” Namjoon says, distaste thick in his voice.

“They required protection. This was how we gave them that.” Jungkook doesn’t bother looking up, he merely sits back in his chair and crosses his legs.

“At what cost? Why are we paying for their ignorance?” Namjoon continues to pace the floor behind Jungkook's chair.

It surprises you how Jungkook continues to defend your kingdom when he clearly did not have much reason to. It isn’t as if you had married him on happy terms. The only thing he is really getting out of this arrangement is land, and it isn’t like there is much of it to give in the first place. You’ve been so angry that you really had never taken the time to consider that.

“Excuse me for a moment.” Jungkook says, abruptly standing up from his chair.

You feel panic rise up as you notice that he’s heading towards the door that you’re still standing in front of. You look around the hall frantically, seeing a large statue in the corner to your left.

You dash towards it, trying to keep the sound of your bare feet padding across the marble floor as quiet as possible. You hear the door creak open all the way as you fling yourself behind the statue, flopping against the ground with a thud.

“Shit. Shit that hurts.” You whisper, trying to right yourself into a sitting position.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have the mouth of a sailor?” Jungkook is suddenly standing above you, making you jump with fright, banging your head against the statue that had apparently done nothing to hide you from him.

“Has anyone ever told you that it’s rude to just appear out of nowhere like a damn ghost?” You rub the back of your head and manage to get to your feet to stand in front of him. Jungkook scoffs, trying to hold back a laugh.

“What in the world have you done to your dress?” He asks, reaching towards your torn up skirt. Before he can touch them you slap his hand away, making your hand sting at the contact.

“I had a moment. Not that it’s any of your business.” You attempt to smooth out what’s left of the skirts at your waist.

“You look like a swamp witch.” Jungkook can’t help the smile that graces his face and you want to slap it away for being so beautiful.

“I do not!” You shove past him, stomping back down the hallway where you had come from.

“Would you please stop for a moment?” Jungkook calls after you.

“I will not.” You refuse to give him any further satisfaction. He does not seem to take the hint, his footsteps following after you.

You’ve had enough of him for one night. You reach into the band you had made and wrapped around your thigh to hold onto the kitchen knife you had gotten from the kitchen, spinning around and pointing the sharp end of the blade right at Jungkook’s throat, making him stop in his tracks in front of you.

“Where did you get a knife?” Jungkook dares to ask, an eyebrow raised in question.

“That is also none of your business.” You move the knife so close to his throat that the slightest movement could make you cut him.

“Were you keeping that knife strapped to your thigh?” Jungkook's voice lowers as he slowly raises his hands in surrender. You choose not to answer him, only stiffening your stance. “Incredibly violent…” Jungkook smiles and his fangs extend slightly, making you feel bewildered at his reaction.

“Why are you smiling?” You poke the tip of the knife against his skin.

“Because I like that you’re beautifully murderous.” Jungkook is suddenly out of your sight, making you whirl around to find him, only to be pressed roughly against the wall, the hand holding the knife anchored above your head.

“Get off of me!” You move to knee him in the groin but he’s too fast. Inhumanly fast.

“I want you to be a part of this, you know. I want you to help us help your people.” His grip tightens slightly the more you move around.

“Why?” You seethe.

“Because you’re the queen. My partner in this life. Why is that so hard for you to understand?” The look on his face is so sincere that it makes you halt your movements.

“Jungkook…this is not a real marriage. Why are you so convinced that it is?” With one last push, he releases you and takes a step back.

“I’ll spend the rest of my days trying to make you see that it is.” Jungkook tells you with a quiet sigh. “But for the time being, please just come inside and listen to what we’re speaking about. You should be a part of it too.”

You feel the tiniest sliver of hatred melt away from your heart. It makes your chest feel lighter, like you can breathe a little easier. You don’t understand it. You don’t understand him. But you can’t deny that you want to know what’s going on in that meeting room.

“Fine. Let’s go.” You rip your eyes away from his face before it becomes too noticeable that you were looking at him at all.

“Do you perhaps want to change first?” Jungkook asks. “The dress has become rather revealing.”

You glare at him before propping your foot up against the wall, exposing your bare leg to him. You slide the kitchen knife back into the homemade holster on your thigh, adjusting it slightly and letting your foot slip back to the ground as you keep direct eye contact with the vampire king.

“No. I think I’ll attend the meeting just as I am.” You can’t help but smirk a little, pointing your nose to the ceiling before making your way into the meeting room. Jungkook laughs quietly in disbelief, but follows you inside.

All the eyes in the room are suddenly on you. One of the men sitting at the table visibly chokes on air as he watches you walk into the room and takes in your appearance.

“I suggest you get yourself together, Seokjin.” Jungkook walks ahead of you to pull out the chair to the left of his for you.

“Apologies, your highness.” The man named Seokjin splutters slightly, then straightens in his chair.

“Were you attacked, my lady?” Yoongi says, his voice low but still holding a bit of concern.

“No…I was…it's nothing. Don’t let my clothing distract you from the discussion.” You move around the table, choosing to ignore the chair Jungkook has pulled out for you, but instead decide to move to his chair at the head of the table and sit down there. “Shall we?” You ask, a smug look on your face.

“Incredible.” You hear Jungkook mumble under his breath, only meaning for you to hear it, but obviously all the other vampire ears in the room do as well, making everyone shift uncomfortably in their seats.

“Does the queen need to be present?” Namjoon remarks from the seat next to Yoongi.

“Yes, she does. And I won’t hear another thing about it.” Jungkook makes his point clear and moves to sit in the chair he had originally pulled out for you.

“Fine then. We need to start preparing for a war with Taehyung. And we also need to consider that in order to avoid it, we should give up the human kingdom. We don’t need it.” Namjoon is very monotone as he speaks about giving up your kingdom to an apparent enemy.

“Absolutely not.” You say without thought.

“No disrespect, your highness, but I was speaking to the king.” Namjoon dismisses you and you can feel anger start to bubble beneath your skin.

“You say that you mean no disrespect, but you’re sitting there suggesting that we turn over my kingdom, full of innocent people, to your enemy.” You lean forward in your seat, eyebrows scrunched in confusion as you look at the king's advisor.

“I’m not sure you understand the ramifications of going to war with Taehyung, your majesty. He is not to be underestimated.” Namjoon leans forward as well, meeting your gaze with a challenge in his eyes.

“Perhaps someone could explain to me who Taehyung is, and how he has become such a threat to the most powerful kingdom in this realm?” You don’t let your gaze fall from Namjoon’s, challenging him right back.

“If you two are finished with your vicious little disagreement you’ve got going, I would be honored to get the queen up to speed on the situation.” Seokjin says from a few chairs down. His voice makes you look away from Namjoon with a scowl on your face.

“Please. Tell me what you know.” You give Seokjin your attention, ignoring the mumbled curses Namjoon says under his breath.

“Taehyung is the king of the werewolf kingdom to our west, your highness. And I…well I know more than most about werewolves as I myself am one of them.” Seokjin looks up at you then, a golden glow flashing across his eyes when they meet yours.

“I’m confused. If you’re one of them, what are you doing here?” Your curiosity is peaked at this very unexpected bit of information.

“Well you see, my lady, I owe my life to your king. Many, many years ago he had mercy on me and I have pledged my loyalty to him until my dying day.” A smile plays at the corner of Seokjin’s mouth as he looks from you to Jungkook, who also shares the same smile of fondness on his face.

“He saved your life?” You ask, enthralled by this story. A vampire saving the life of a werewolf is unheard of, the two of them becoming friends is even more unheard of.

“He did. And now he has me at his side, even if he wishes I wasn’t at times.” He laughs a little and Jungkook’s smile grows wider.

“You’re too humble sometimes, hyung.” Jungkook says, sharing one last fond smile with Seokjin before he looks back at you. “Seokjin is vital to the way this kingdom is able to live and operate on a daily basis. Don’t let him talk lowly of himself.”

You wish their story wasn’t so endearing. That you didn’t feel a pang of something in your heart for the fondness they share for each other. But no matter how hard you try to bite back your smile, it betrays you, pulling your lips up slightly.

“I am happy to meet you, Seokjin.” You say, sharing one more look with him before the moment is interrupted.

“Could we get back to the point?” Namjoon says, obviously annoyed by the friendly conversation. Why was he so frumpy?

“Of course. My apologies.” Seokjin sits back in his chair with a small bow of his head.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a sour puss?” You say to Namjoon, almost causing Yoongi to choke on a laugh.

“My lady, this is not a joke. If you’re insistent on being involved, I beg you to take this seriously.” If Namjoon could blush, you suppose he would be at this point.

“I’m listening.” You roll your eyes a bit and turn to Jungkook, who is watching you with a smirk on his face.

“Taehyung isn’t happy about this…union. He believes your land should be his and we are almost positive he isn’t going to sit back and let it go.” Yoongi takes the initiative to explain this time.

“And for now, as I’ve said before, we double the guard at the border but we don’t engage. I’m not starting a war without reason.” Jungkook speaks now, everybody forwarding their attention to him. “And perhaps we need to set up a meeting with Taehyung.”

“A meeting? What do you hope to come of that, your majesty?” Namjoon looks with disbelief on his face.

“I’m avoiding a war at all costs. I won’t bring unnecessary danger to either of the kingdoms.” Jungkook stands up. “And this discussion is over for now. I’m sure the queen would like to sleep.” You nod, quickly being able to tell that Jungkook is done talking for tonight.

You stand from the table, bowing to the others who stand at the same time as you do to bow deeper in your direction. Jungkook motions for you to walk ahead of him with his hand as you take one last look over your shoulder at the men sitting at the table. More monsters than men…but it was easy to forget such a thing.

“I’m glad you joined us.” Jungkook's voice startles you from your thinking.

“Yes well…I won’t let anything happen to my people. We can’t just throw them to the wolves.” You hope he detects the seriousness in your voice.

“I hope that you can see that isn’t my intention. It never was.” Jungkook walks next to you, his arms crossed behind his back.

“As long as that is clear.” You reach the bottom of the stairs that lead up to your separate bed chambers, stopping on the bottom step and turn to look at Jungkook.

“Loud and clear, my queen.” Jungkook steps up closer and you almost trip over the step trying to create space. “Where is the knife now?”

“It will be in your chest if you do not step away from me.” You growl through your teeth, making Jungkook grin wickedly, fangs appearing under his lip.

“Beautiful and violent. Where have you been all my life, darling?” Jungkook steps up onto the stairs, making you stumble up a few more to get distance.

“You’re some kind of masochist, aren’t you?” You put your hand down onto the handle of the knife. Jungkook throws his head back in laughter. The sound is…certainly not what you expected. He seems so human as he laughs and tries to compose himself.

“Would you like to find out?” He takes one more step up towards you and you’ve had enough.

You lift your bare foot from the wooden stair and press it into the middle of his chest as he stands two steps down from you. You watch Jungkook's eyes as they take in what is happening, roaming over the exposed skin of your legs and thigh.

“Stop flirting with me.” You push slightly against his chest with your foot. “It’s very annoying.”

“Your heart is beating so quick, I’m not sure that you mean that.” Jungkook says in a low tone. The sound of his deep voice tries to pry its way between your thighs, but you won’t let it. “I think you rather like it, actually.”

“You’re not amusing, your highness.” You try to remain unfazed.

“You can’t lie to me. I can hear the blood rushing through your veins…and your breath struggling to even out.” Jungkook tries to take a step up but you push him back down with your foot.

“You’re delusional. Whatever you are hearing is simply because I am fending off a vampire, not because I find that vampire to be maddeningly beautiful.” You wish you had said that differently…surely he will know you’re lying now.

“Why do you fight it?” He questions.

“Fight what?”

“The attraction between us.”

“Because there isn’t any. None. It is nonexistent.” You shove your foot into his chest once more but he doesn’t budge of course.

“Liar.” Jungkook says quietly, you can feel his breath on the skin of your leg. His cool fingers come up to ghost over the skin of your ankle, allowing goosebumps to find home on your skin as your body betrays you even more. “Shall we test your theory?” Fingers continue their featherlight touch up your calf.

“You’re…it’s not affecting me at all.” Your voice shakes slightly as you fight to keep your eyes open.

“More lies, my queen.” When his fingers get to the inside of your thigh, your brain suddenly remembers what’s happening. You kick him in the chest with more force and Jungkook stumbles slightly, giving you a chance to jog up a few more stairs before you speak to him again.

“No more of your unrequited flirting. And especially touching. None of that.” You yell down to him, wishing you could smack the grin on his face.

“As you wish.” He bows to you.

“Goodnight, your highness.” You pull the knife out of your holster and point it towards him as you back your way up the rest of the stairs, making Jungkook laugh out loud again. You don’t look back this time as you dash your way down the hall to your bed chambers where the two guards are still standing. “I’ll be going to bed now.” You huff past them and into the room as quickly as possible.

You press your back against the cool wood of the door, trying to catch the breath you had not realized were holding . He was absolutely infuriating. Ridiculous. Egotistical. And yet… soft and endearing at times. Like when he was speaking to or about Seokjin. It is something you never expected to see.

Looking down at your hand, you see the wedding ring he had given you just a few short hours ago. Shaped like a drop of blood and every bit the color of it. You had forgotten all about it and now you aren’t sure you wanted to take it off. You and this ring have been through a lot already.

Finally, you bring yourself to move towards one of the tall armoires on the other side of the room. Perhaps it’s time to finally change out of your tattered wedding dress.

You look through some drawers until you finally find some silky night shorts and matching camisole. It seems revealing for pajamas, but you also don’t have the energy to keep digging for something else.

With a sigh, you head into the bathroom and make a beeline for that glorious claw foot tub in the corner of the room. You look around and notice the gold crusted faucets at one end of the tub.

Running water. The vampire kingdom had running water for baths. This was not a luxury that you had back in your human kingdom.

“Something decent has come from this.” You mumble to yourself as you turn on the faucets and watch the crystal clear water start to fill the basin of the tub. You grab one of the first glass bottles of soap that you can reach, breathing in its scent and finding it to be lavender. A scent you missed about the gardens in your father’s kingdom. You pour a plentiful amount into the stream of water and watch the bubbles begin to form and you can’t help but smile.

Stripping out of what’s left of your wedding dress, you toss it away and carefully step into the tub. The water is so warm already, instantly loosening your tired muscles and cleanssng your dirty skin. It felt like heaven.

Once the tub has filled you turn off the faucets and sink down into it. You let your head dip beneath the bubbles, letting it washclean your hair and , making it easier to pull the rest of the pins out of it.

It’s quiet in this washroom. Almost too quiet. So you decide not to dawdledauddle for too long, getting yourself cleaned up and grabbing a robe from one of the hanging hooks on the wall.

Making your way back into your bed chambers, you dress into the pajamas you had found earlier and climb into the bed. You feel alone all at once. Too alone with your thoughts.

How would your life play out now that you’re here? Married. To the king of vampires. Jungkook. The blood king.

You want to know more. Need to know more about him and this place.

In order for you to do that, you have to change your sleeping schedule. You need to be awake at night when everyone else is awake.

It took some time for you to get used to but after a couple of weeks you are able to get up and join the vampires during their meetings regarding Taehyung.

You are also able to explore the castle and its grounds more thoroughly. Finding it full of vast libraries and art from different centuries…different worlds it seemed.

Most recently though, you had discovered the gardens. Gardens that had been somewhat neglected by visitors if you were being honest. They were clean and well kept, but they were mostly empty. Not many flowers and things to fill all the spaces in between the manicured bushes and small trees. You wondered if it was because no one could come out during the day to care for them. And the more you thought about it, the sillier it seemed.

You love walking around outside nonetheless. Sitting on the stone benches and watching the fountains. But your urge to do more is constantly bouncing around in your mind.

Tonight, you find yourself changing into a pair of leggings and an oversized sweater. You had decided you were going to start digging around in the gardens, whether it is something a queen should do or not, you didn’t care. It would busy your mind and give you something productive to do.

“Where are you off to?” Hoseok calls behind you as you make your way to the back doors.

“To the gardens. I think I’m going to start digging around. Maybe plant some new things.” You turn to see the bright smile on his face. One of the few bright things here.

“There are groundskeepers for that, you know?” Hoseok teases as he approaches you, taking in your very unqueenly outfit.

“I am aware, Hobi. But I’m bored and I need to find something to occupy my time.” You wave him off with a sigh.

“Do you know where the gardening equipment is?” Hoseok asks, hands moving to his hips as he looks at you expectantly.

“Well…no. But I assume that you do?”

“Perhaps. What’s in it for me?” He continues to tease.

“I’m the queen, you have to tell me if I ask.” Your arms cross over your chest.

“Oh now you want to be the queen? Only when it benefits you, I see.”

“Come on, Hoseok, pleeeeease?” You’re growing tired of his antics.

“Let me use your bathtub twice a week, and I’ll tell you where it is.” He puts his hand out for you to shake.

“As if I would deny you that bathtub.” You laugh a little and shake his hand. “Come on then, to the gardening tools.” You jump onto his back as he turns around to lead the way, making him carry you.

“I don’t remember carrying your spoiled ass around being in my new job description.” Hobi laughs, adjusting you on his back so he can walk with more balance.

“It’s in your best friend job description, check your paperwork.” You place your chin on his shoulder and squeeze your legs tighter around his middle.

“Ridiculous.” He laughs louder, making his way towards the back doors to show you where to find the gardening tools.

Hoseok takes you to a small building outside the castle, inside of which are plenty of gardening tools for you to get started with your plans. He doesn’t stick around though, making his way back to the castle to finally get some sleep. Hobi is having a harder time adjusting to the new sleep schedule than you had.

With your arms full of shovels, rakes, and other tools you may or may not need, you find an area near the fountains that you plan to start with. The dirt in this area seems a bit dry and sad looking, so you think if you dig into the soil, you’ll be able to bring the good dirt to the top.

You spend a few hours tilling the soil and sure enough, it already looks so much better than it did before. And even though autumn is in full swing and you’re working by the light from the moon, you’re still a bit sweaty.

“I think digging your way out of here may be a bigger task than you bargained for.” A now familiar voice says from behind you, making you jump at the sudden sound.

“Will I have to live out the rest of my days here wondering when the next time you’ll give me a heart attack will be?” You place your hand over your hammering heart while Jungkook smiles.

“Apologies, my queen.” Jungkook walks closest to where you’re kneeling on the ground, his hands behind his back. “What is it that you’re doing exactly?”

“I’m gardening. Is that not obvious?” You sit the small shovel down and wipe your hands off on your thighs.

“Yes. But why?” He asks curiously.

“Something to do? A hobby? I’m tired of wandering around this castle like a ghost.” You look up at him when he comes to stand next to you. “Is that something I’m allowed to do, your highness?”

“You’re rather snarky for a queen.” Jungkook smiles again, the sharp points of his fangs showing behind his lips.

“I have been called much worse.” You huff, standing up from the ground, wobbling slightly from being in that position a bit too long.

Jungkook is inhumanly fast, gently steadying you on your feet. One hand on your hip and the other on your shoulder. His skin is so cold it sends a shiver through you, goosebumps covering your warm skin.

“So long as you’re here, no one will dare to call you anything less than you deserve.” His eyes are almost black as they meet yours. “Are you okay to stand?”

You shake away the trance you feel when you look at him, stepping back slightly and out of his hold.

“Yes, I’m fine.” You awkwardly stumble over the shovel on the ground, righting yourself before Jungkook has a chance to try and help you again. “Thank you.”

“Shall I help you with this?” He asks, bending to pick up one of the rakes.

“Oh…that’s not necessary, I can manage.”

“I’m well aware that you can manage. But would you like some help…and some company?”Jungkook almost looks shy as he asks. “I think it would be good for us to spend more time together.”

You aren’t sure what to say. Part of you despises the thought of spending time with him. But a bigger part tells you that you long to know him more. To hear his infuriating tone when he teases you.

“Fine. But you start over there, and don’t crowd me.” You point towards an area a few feet from the one you had been working on. Jungkook laughs quietly.

“As you wish, my queen.” He bows at the waist and makes his way over.

“I’ve asked you several times to stop calling me that.” You sigh, pushing some hair away from your face before you continue tilling the soil.

“Why does it bother you so much?” Jungkook gets down to his knees, the brown slacks he is wearing meeting the dirt.

“I am not a vampire, Jungkook. Being the Blood Queen seems like I’m pretending to be something that I’m not.” It bothers you. All those vows that you took about protecting each other are just lies.

“You don’t need to be a vampire to be the queen here. No matter what you hear or what you think, you only need to try and understand.” Jungkook’s quick hands are making much faster work of things than yours ever could.

“Understand what?” You ask.

“Will you let me show you some time? It will be much easier to show than to try and explain it in so many words.”

You don’t understand what he means, but the look on his face tells you that he’s sincere in what he says. And even though you should probably say no, you’re too curious not to indulge him.

“Okay.” You simply state. Jungkook smiles softly and continues his digging.

Another week passes, and Jungkook joins you out in the gardens every night. He brings you new tools to use and lists from the florists in the kingdom so that you can pick out flowers to plant wherever you please. You choose as many as you can find that grow at night, because though they carry all the usual things that flourish in the day time, you know you won’t get to enjoy them as much as you will the ones who bloom at night.

You spend hours in the many libraries within the castle researching the plants and what they need to live well at night. Jungkook joins you there often, following you through the stacks of books and listening to you babble on and on about the flowers.

As much as you wish you didn't enjoy his company, as much as you don’t want to be fond of the sound of his voice, you are very much beginning to.

“_____?” Jungkook says quietly, closing the book that you’re holding in your hands. He doesn’t call you by your first name often, it’s a strange feeling that follows it.

“What is it?” You slide the book back onto the shelf in front of you, turning your attention to him.

“Would you please do me the honor of accompanying me into the kingdom tomorrow night?” His hands are behind his back as he speaks, stepping closer to where you’re standing.

“May I ask why?” You try to pretend his close proximity does not affect you. Jungkook is still a vampire after all.

“I told you I would help you to understand why being human does not mean you cannot be the queen here.” Jungkook brings a hand from behind his back and reaches out gently, brushing your fingertips with his.

“What are you going to show me, Jungkook?” You slowly pull your hand back from his touch, making him smirk at your stubbornness.

“Everything, darling.”

[armysantiny]

22:15 – 정국 (Jungkook)

P: Jungkook x male reader | G: timestamp, smut | Inc: tattooist!Jungkook, sub!Jungkook, dom!reader, petnames, teasing, orgasm denial, Jk's hands being restricted, implied multiple orgasms, filth tbh, I took 'every second, every minute, every hour' and ran with it lmao | Wc: 223 | W: slight D/s dynamic, restriction, orgasm denial,, desc. of pleasure almost being painful (consensually ofc) | R: 18+

Min’s notes: I blame a mf named Jeon Jungkook singing Seven for this ^-^

Sweat drips down Jungkook’s forehead, his head thrown back as he tries to ground himself on y/n’s bed. His head is spinning – how long have the two of them been at this? How long did y/n want to keep this up? All manner of moans and whines slip out of his mouth, only encouraging y/n to keep up his loving torture on Jungkook’s cock. There’s not much Jungkook can do to make it stop; his hands restricted above his head and leaving him exposed and entirely at y/n’s mercy.

“F— fuck, y/n, baby…” The tattooist cries, unable to stop squirming the longer y/n refuses to stop. He’s so close but anymore and Jungkook might just lose his mind. He’s going to start coming dry at this rate. Y/n simply blinks, looking to his boyfriend as his hands just…stop. Jungkook panics, bucking his hips into the younger man’s now still hand, desperately seeking the pleasure that’s keeping him on the edge of pain and holding him there.

“What is it bunny? Do you want me to stop? It is too much for you?” Y/n taunts, tracing circles onto the writhing man’s tip. He huffs, “and here I thought you had stamina~. What was it you said? Every second? Every minute? Every hour?”

Perhaps Jungkook regrets riling y/n up over text.

Perhaps not.

Definitely not.

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[writtenwhalien]

jump then fall (into you) | teaser

banner by the talented @jimilter​ 💖

pairing ↠ jungkook x reader

genre ↠ cruise AU, fake dating AU, best friends to lovers AU | fluff, angst, smut

word count ↠ 50k+

18+ | warnings ↠ swearing, some jealousy, drinking, sexual content (detailed warnings on the final fic)

summary ↠ bringing Jungkook along as your date to your ex’s lavish cruise wedding seemed like a perfect idea at first — all of your family and close friends together, nothing can go wrong… then Jungkook’s ex shows up and all of a sudden you’re in a year long relationship with him. You don’t mind though, really, how hard can sharing a cabin and pretending to be deeply in love with your best friend really be?

a/n. finally after months i feel like im coming back?? i hope this fic turns out to be somewhat decent lol 🙃 please let me know how you find it!  ↠ a part of the seven seas collab hosted by the wonderful yannie @ressjeon​ 🌊🥰 posting date ↠ 22nd may ‘24 — 5pm BST

taglist is open <3

Alex watches quietly as the scene plays out in front of him. 

He can’t help but find it amusing how you try to step in and help Jungkook out, subtly trying to protect your best friend from the wiles of Valentina, but to Alex, it seems a little more than that. It’s what he’s been trying to tell you for months now! – Sometimes he wishes you could see everything exactly as he sees it.

Take now for example, all Valentina has done is placed her hand on Jungkook’s arm and your eyes seem to be hyper-fixated on it– oh, and now look, you’re slipping your own hand around his arm.

Jungkook’s and your actions are so transparent to Alex, he just wants to say it out loud right now and make you see it...

Then, the cogs in the brilliant mind of Alexander Cirillo turn and he comes up with what can only be a genius idea. Perhaps it's all the romance he’s been experiencing recently with his own fiancee, but Alex is convinced that this can only have one outcome, the only possible outcome – the one that’s been written in the stars since Jungkook and you met so many years ago, he’s sure of it.

Beaming, Alex looks at Valentina. “Don’t they look so good together?”

She pauses then frowns. “Together?”

Your own expression matches Valentina’s as you glance at Alex too. 

“Yes, together,” he repeats as a fact, smiling at Jungkook and you before looking at Valentina.

“You’ve heard, no? Jungkook and Y/N are together.”

From next to you, Jungkook swallows hard and your hand subconsciously tightens around his arm. Both of you are staring at Alex and he just gives you a subtle raise of his brow. 

“Oh, my,” Valentina smiles, and although there’s some kind of genuinity to it, there’s more you can see but haven’t got the mental capacity to try to decipher right now when you’re still trying to figure out what Alex is doing.

 “I should’ve known this was gonna happen, you always were inseparable,” she says with somewhat of an eye roll. 

Jungkook laughs awkwardly, but he’s not stupid and he knows Alex isn’t either. This is one surefire way he can keep Valentina and any of her advances away from him for the next three weeks. All he has to do is pretend to be dating you… how hard can that be?

“Yeah, I guess it was meant to be,” he says, sounding a little stilted. 

You’re still sitting a little dumbfounded but Thalia also gives you an expression that tells you to improvise better. The most you can manage is a meek smile. 

Jungkook responds almost as awkwardly, putting his arm around you which makes Alex laugh.

“Oh, don’t be so coy,” he says, sneaking in a wink to you as Valentina’s eyes remain locked on you both. “It’s been almost what? Eight months?”

“Uh, yeah, almost,” you answer, suddenly feeling shy with the way Jungkook’s hand is gripping your waist. 

It’s not like he’s never had his hand on your waist before — his face was all up in your boobs only fifteen minutes ago — but the feeling remains. It makes your cheeks go warm, your heart races a little faster and your fingers go fuzzy. 

You’re sure it’s showing on your face but Valentina doesn’t seem to notice, or if she does, she must think it’s down to you finding this awkward. 

“Well, congratulations to you too then,” she says, wearing a smile that doesn’t actually seem anything less than genuine, but you’re aware there’s more to her words.

“Thank you,” Jungkook and you say in unison. 

Valentina nods, taking it as her cue to leave. “I’ll see you all around, and except for the engaged couple who get a pass, let’s keep the pda to a minimum please,” she adds airily, words directed to Jungkook and you as she saunters off. 

“Can’t promise anything with these two,” Alex calls out after her.

When he looks back at you, he’s grinning like the Cheshire Cat. Thalia purses her lips in a smile that resembles a child trying to laugh while they’re getting told off. 

Turning to them, you burst. “What the hell was that?” you say hotly, seeming more flustered than anything else. 

Alex shrugs. “Sorry, it was the best thing I could think of.” 

“It could be worse,” Thalia adds with a smile that’s supposed to be apologetic but the gleam in her eyes tells you she’s finding this just as amusing as her fiancé. 

Then, Jungkook shifts from beside you and only now do you realise you’re still holding his arm. “Well,” he says, briefly glancing down as you let go, “I guess we’re dating now.”

With a small raise of your brows, you shrug lightly and try not to show any signs of how flustered you’re feeling. “I guess we are.”

When you meet his gaze, for a second you go still and think of what it means, how might you be expected to act with Jungkook — but really, it doesn’t seem that much different from how you already are now. Except of course, if you ever had to indulge in any public displays of affection, cheek kisses, lingering hugs, maybe even a peck on the lips…  

The thought of it all sets loose a swirl of butterflies in your stomach and only then do you realise that your gaze is still locked on Jungkook, and he too, is still staring at you. 

With those butterflies still swarming, you abruptly break away from his gaze and notice the tips of his ears are turning pink. You wonder if he’s thinking the same as you right now. 

“See, already believable.”

Alex’s voice interrupts your thoughts and when you turn to flare at him, he’s got a smug smirk on his face. 

“You’re supposed to be smart,” you say with a sigh, pushing down the butterflies that it almost seems like Alex knows all about. “Couldn’t have come up with something smarter?”

“This is smart,” Alex says with a hint of sass.

“How?” you sass back. 

Leaning back, he puts his arm around Thalia as his smirk grows into a smile. “You’ll see, just give it some time,” he sighs, punctuating his sentence with a wink.

note. taglist is open! i hope you enjoy the fic when it comes, i’ll keep you updated on the date x please comment/rb if you enjoyed :) <3

[bluewhale52]

Wallflower in Bloom

Summary: After three months of no intimate actions as Seokjin's sugar baby, you finally find out what it's like to have him open you up till you bloom.

Pairing: sugar daddy Seokjin x shy university student f!reader

Genre: non-idol au, s2l, sugar daddy

WC: 3.6k

Rating: NSFW, no minors allowed

Warning: sugar daddy Jin, shy and timid sugar baby reader, reader is nicknamed petal by our WWH, reader carries some emotional baggage which isn't mentioned here but will be in future chapters, pwp, grinding, fingering, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, dom Jin, begging, multiple orgasms, riding, Seokjin has a third leg obviously, and... i think that's it??

A/N: Starting 2023 with my brain producing the smut scenes in this fic, and somehow I decided to make a series out of it. Hah. This will be the first installment of my Seokjin Sugar Daddy series, The Wallflower Series. Major thanks to the amazing @moonleeai for beta-ing and brainstorming with me, your appreciation for the smut scenes feeds my ego and makes me extra embarrassed too lol. And also to WaywardSammy for the BEAUTIFUL BANNER. I don't know how you took the picture out of my head and made it into this super pretty artwork.

You take a deep breath as you enter Seokjin’s penthouse. It is not your first time here, but your heart is pounding wildly, remembering the words he whispered into your ears last night.

Tomorrow, my petal, I will ravish and devour you.

You shudder. Your senses have been heightened ever since, and you feel like a taut string on a bow ready to snap. 

You have known Seokjin for a few days over three months now, and since the initial meeting when you both agreed to this arrangement, he has been nothing but kind, patient and generous. He told you that the first three months were for you both to get to know each other. You were able to read between the lines, though- it was a test that you needed to pass. So you spent time with him, accompanying him to dinners, fishing trips, and staying at his place while he gamed the whole night till the sun came up. You never asked for anything, you remained quiet and mousy at the events he brought you to, listening to murmurs and gossip and reporting them to him. You learned to fish so you could feed into his competitive streak, and you even tried your hands at gaming; a luxury you never had growing up. And during all these times, he had never touched you, apart from a peck on the cheek when he dropped you off at your place. However, with every notification on your phone of a deposit made into your bank account, you knew when the time came, you would have to be ready for him.

And now, the time has indeed come. Your body feels hot all over as your sugar daddy approaches you. He looks incredibly handsome, and you keep wondering why he would pick you, a plain wallflower, when he could have picked any other beautiful women, even celebrities. 

“Petal,” he lands a soft kiss on your cheek, “you look like you’re about to pass out.” He stands so impossibly close to you, enveloping you with his musk, making you feel dizzy with want and lust. 

You let out a nervous chuckle. “I am nervous,” you admit, knowing Seokjin values honesty above all. “I’m worried I won’t be good enough.”

“I will be satisfied, and you will be too,” he promises. “Are you wearing the gift I got you?”

You nod. The lingerie sticks to your skin, clammy from all the nerves and anxiety. Seokjin takes your hand and leads you to the sofa. He sits down and pulls you to his lap. Insecurity engulfs you when he wraps his hand around your middle, his fingers digging into the flesh underneath your clothes. You shudder when his fingers travel up your side, touch so fleeting you instinctively turn to him, silently begging for more. His chest rumbles in appreciation once his large hand covers your breast, and once his fingers dig into the supple flesh, your doubts fly away, your mind filled with more need and lust for him.

“So soft,” he whispers, squeezing your breast again. You lean further into him, embarrassed that you are already making a mess between your legs from a single action.

“Been wanting to touch these tits since the day I met you,” his nose nudges your neck, his words slither along your skin. “I’ve thought about them so much, had to control myself these last three months. Do you think about me at all, baby? Hmm?”

 Another gush of arousal leaks out onto your panties, you revel at his admission that he thinks of you too. “Yeah,” you pant. You do, you do indeed. You fantasize about him every night, since you started being his sugar baby, wondering what it would be like to finally be intimate with him. Not that you have a lot of references to go with, but from the time you have spent with him, you would like to think he would be more attentive than… no, you’re not going to think about that. 

Seokjin pulls you into a searing kiss, his hand still kneading your breast while his other hand grabs your ass to pull your body flush against his. He continues kissing and touching you, pulling out moan after moan, touching your body to make you jerk and press yourself further onto him. You can feel his hard erection underneath you, so you naturally start grinding on him, seeking friction to enhance your pleasure. You hear the growl first before he bucks his hips up, catching you by surprise.

“Oh my god!” You yelp, your sex feels like it is on fire. You hold your breath and grip his shoulders, your orgasm just within reach.

He tuts in your ear. “Gonna cum already?” He nips your earlobe. “I haven’t even started yet, petal. You’re so sensitive, hmm?”

You cling onto him. “Want to,” you mumble. 

He maneuvers you so that you are seated facing him, straddling him. His hands are on your thighs, pushing your dress up and up, until your panties are shown to his hungry eyes. He licks his lips. Your cheeks burn at his brazen show of desire.

“God, I have good taste.”

His self-praising line makes you giggle a little, which in turns makes him laugh too. Feeling the tension abating a little gives you some courage to lift your dress up and off, presenting yourself in the lingerie he has gifted you.

“Fuck…” he leans back on the sofa. You feel your skin heating at the way he looks at your body. The self-conscious feeling is creeping in again, your hands itching to cover your middle, but before you can do so, he grabs your hands and pulls them to the small of your back, pinning them there. The position makes you arch your back, pushing your breasts closer towards him.

“Fuck,” he curses again, “I’m going to have so much fun taking these off of you.” 

You are delirious. Seokjin is merely admiring your body with his eyes, butl your arousal continues soaking your panties. You grind your hips again, desperate to feel his hard cock. You wriggle your wrists, and he adjusts his grip on you so that you can link your fingers with his.

“My baby is so horny, hmm?” He chuckles in fake amusement. “Want to wet my jeans so much, do you?”

You let out a series of yeses amidst your panting. You rock your hips, angling your pussy so you can rub your clit against his denim-covered bulge.

“That’s it, baby,” Seokjin encourages you, “ride me till you cum.”

“Oh god,” you squeal as you feel your orgasm building up, “oh god… Daddy!”

You ride him harder, and you wriggle your wrists free. Your hands immediately latch onto your lingerie clad breasts, squeezing them so tight till it hurts, while your lower body continues to rock in Seokjin’s lap. 

“Fucking hell, look at you so lewd and loud,” he chuckles darkly. “So desperate to cum, aren’t you?”

You nod your head furiously.

“So cum, baby. Cum for your daddy.”

His words are all it takes for your dam to burst. Your jaw drops open as heat engorges your body, from your core traveling up to your head, rendering you breathless and motionless. Amidst the explosion, you feel the bra of your lingerie set being ripped off of your body, and Seokjin descends, almost aggressively, to your freed tits.

His strong hands hold you up when you just want to melt into his hard chest. He sucks, nibbles, gropes to his heart’s content as you recover from your orgasm. 

“You’re shaking, baby, you cum good?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you breathe out, wincing when he sucks and pulls on your nipples more roughly.

“You look so good cumming for me. Wanna see it again.”

Before you can tell him to give you a breather, he flips you over till you are lying on the sofa. He stands up, towering over you, running his fingers over your body. You realize then he is still fully clothed, and you notice the wet spot on his crotch. 

Seokjin follows your line of sight and taps your chin. “Look how you made it wet, baby. I bet your panties are ruined.” You turn to hide your face but he spreads your legs open and tuts at what he finds. “You’ve soaked your panties. You dirty, dirty girl.”

You mewl, you can feel the satin material of your panties stick uncomfortably to your pussy.

“So wet,” he continues, “I bet my fingers will slide right into your little pussy.” 

Your eyes returned to the wet bulge on his pants. You reach to him shyly, palming his erection. “Daddy…”

“Hmm? Baby wants cock now?”

You nod, your body writhing from a new wave of arousal. Your mouth waters at the thought of sucking Seokjin’s cock. He steps closer to your head and your mind reels from the anticipation, but instead of taking his cock out for you, he manhandles you again until you are positioned upside down on the sofa- your head dangling on the edge of the seat, while your lower body is propped up against the back of the seat, your legs open and hanging over.

Blood rushes to your brain and you internally panic. “Seokjin,” you call out to him, worry laced in your voice.

“Relax, baby,” he unzips his pants and pulls his cock out, stroking it lazily. “This way you can suck me while I play with your wet pussy.”

You try to process what he has just said, but your mouth opens automatically as his cock comes to your vision. He praises you as he slides it in, until the head hits the back of your throat. You gag so he withdraws, before he goes in again, forcing himself a little deeper this time. 

“Good girl, taking daddy’s cock so well,” he caresses your cheek, “you’re gonna take it all, yeah? Relax your throat, baby.”

You close your eyes. Your jaw is aching already but you force your mouth and throat to adjust to his girth and length. 

“That’s a good girl,” Seokjin moans above you as you swallow more of his length. He rains praises on you as you take him more, determined to deep throat him. “You feel so good, baby, fuck!” He reaches down to your breasts and squeezes them, holding onto them as he starts fucking your throat. You gag again but he ignores you, making you open yourself more to take him. 

Saliva pools in your mouth, and you choke, needing an outlet for the liquid before it goes up your nose. Seokjin relents a little, giving you a small window to let your saliva seep out, rolling down your face to mix with the tears from your eyes. He picks up his pace, his balls slapping against your nose, and despite the constraint you are in, you feel feverish with wanton lust.

Even more when you feel his fingers pulling your panties aside. Cold air assaults your clammy pussy, giving it some relief, but not for long as Seokjin pats your pussy roughly with his fingers, making your body jolt.

“Let’s see how tight you are,” he inserts a long finger  and your walls clench immediately at the intrusion. He hisses at the tightness and adds another finger. You moan around his length. Seokjin fingers you hard and fast, scissoring you open. “Fucking tight cunt. My cock is gonna split you open, baby.”

You clench again at his words. He chuckles, “You like that, don’t you? You want Daddy’s big cock to stretch you out?”

As a reply, you moan again around his cock and your pussy pulsates around his fingers. He curses, “Fucking pussy sucking me in!” He fingers you faster, until the squelching sound fills the room, mixed with your moans and his. Then without any warning, he yanks his fingers out and starts rubbing your clit harshly. He presses his body down and continues fucking your mouth, trapping you underneath him. You grip his ass, holding on for dear life as you suck his cock, and his fingers urgently pull another orgasm out of you.

Seokjin pulls out of your mouth when your legs start shaking, allowing you to scream his name as another tsunami of pleasure washes through you. His fingers do not relent, however, eager to prolong your orgasm as much as possible.

“Fuck… Daddy, please… no,” you push his fingers away once you are able to collect yourself, and Seokjin does as you ask, only after he snaps your panties back in place, making you jerk from oversensitivity.

He leaves you in your position, upside down on his sofa, as he watches your body come down from its climax. He makes a show of licking his fingers clean of your juices, and you cannot believe how your body responds so quickly after your orgasm. You are hungrier than before. 

Your hand goes to his cock, your fingers wrapping around it, still damp from your saliva. “Daddy,” you mewl, desperate need in your voice. “Want your cock, please…”

Your sugar daddy smiles mockingly at you. “You just had my cock in your mouth, baby. That’s not enough?”

You whimper at his teasing. You want to be greedy. “Want your cock in me, daddy, please.”

“You sure, baby? Your pussy can barely take my fingers.”

“Daddy!” You whine, your hand stroking him with more determination now, while your other hand slides under your ruined panties. Seokjin’s eyes widen at your action. “Please, daddy, I can take you, please.”

Seokjin pulls your panties aside again to see two of your fingers pumping desperately in and out your pussy.  He watches you intently, trying to stay in control, but you feel his cock twitch in your hand. You tighten your grip on him.

“Daddy, it’ll be so nice and tight for you,” you insert a third finger, eyes rolling back at the stretch. “Ah, daddy, please fuck me!”

His cock twitches again, so you finger yourself harder. You chant your nickname for him, begging him to replace your fingers.

“Fuck me, please daddy, my fingers are so small, I need your big cock, please!” You watch him through your lidded eyes, your vision getting hazier with lust overtaking your body yet again. Never in a million years did you think you would be able to act and talk so lewdly, to be so shameless before a man, but Seokjin, in more ways than one, has changed you, and the tension from the past three months has eroded all your decency. You are so horny for him, you just want him to use you as he likes.

Seokjin grips both your hands, removing them from his cock and your cunt. He maneuvers you again so that you’re seated upright, then he undresses fully. You take the time to recalibrate yourself after being upside down for so long, while also watching his toned body being revealed. 

He sits down and motions you to get back on his lap. “Face the front,” he instructs, and you dumbly obey, your body following his orders naturally. His large hands engulfs you, kneading and molding your flesh, and you surrender yourself fully to him.

“You beg so sweetly, so I’m gonna give you what you want, baby.” He whispers in your ear, sending goosebumps all over your body. He places your legs on either side of his, and then he spreads them, opening you up and keeping you open. 

“My panties,” you breathe out, wiggling as the fabric of your underwear bunches up against your slit.

“Keep them on. You look so slutty with them on.”

Seokjin pulls the panties aside and lines his cockhead with your hole. You grimace as you feel it bullying itself in, gasping in pain as your pussy is stretched to the limit.

“Told you it’s not gonna fit,” he chuckles against your cheek, licking the tears that have escaped your eyes.

“It will fit, it will fit,” you chant to yourself. Despite the stinging discomfort, you are already addicted to the feel of his cock splitting you open. You sink down, slowly but surely, and when your pussy finally swallows him whole, you are nearly hysterical from how good he feels inside you.

“Fuck, baby, so tight and so warm,” he hugs you from behind. 

“So big, daddy,” you pant. You reach down to your lower abdomen and rub your skin there, feeling for the bulge. “So big and so good.”

“My petal, my girl,” Seokjin pulls your face towards him to kiss you sweetly, as if he is so proud of you for taking all of him in. “My good, good girl. Daddy’s gonna fuck you good now, okay?”

“Yes, daddy, please.”

“My good girl deserves to be fucked silly, hmm?” His hands rest gently on your breasts. You sigh your agreement into his kiss. “Put your hands behind my neck, baby, and keep them there, okay?”

You grip the back of his neck. 

“Good girl.” 

He starts pounding into you hard and fast without any warning; the air from your lungs is knocked out so suddenly that you let out silent screams as his cock reaches new depths inside you. You hold on to his neck tightly, not wanting to disobey him, so your fingers dig into his skin there, which makes him hiss and go even faster. 

“So fucking tight, so fucking wet! Been thinking about this pussy for so long. Fuck, you feel so good. Tightest pussy I ever had.” Seokjin spits each comment with every hard thrust. 

Your body is jostled around, bouncing wildly on top of him. When you finally find your voice, you cannot even string any coherent sentence. You are literally being fucked dumb by him. And you revel in it, in the way your tits are slapping against his open palms, in his heavy breathing on your neck, in the sounds of skin slapping against skin, so loud in your ears that it adds to your arousal. 

“Gonna cream my cock, baby? Gonna let me cum in you? Fill this tight pussy up?”

“Oh god, yes! Yes!” You squeal your answer, and squeal even more when his fingers find your engorged bud. He rubs it almost brutally, vigorously drawing your orgasm closer. “Daddy, daddy, please! Oh fuuuck…”

The pressure is getting too much, and you frantically seek for something to hold on to. You find his hair and you clutch onto it tightly as you feel the explosion nearing.

“Daddy, oh, fuck, daddy!” 

“Fuck, that’s it, cum for daddy, come on!”

Your core explodes, and you feel like your soul has left your body, floating and basking in the climax of your pleasure, while your body seizes up, your pussy clamping down painfully tight around Seokjin’s cock, making him lose control and spurt into you. He pumps his hips up a couple more times, emptying himself to the last drop, before sinking into the sofa, pulling you with him.

“Fuck, that was amazing.”

You blink your eyes open. Now that your mind is cleared of lust, your insecurity creeps back in. “Did I do good?” you ask meekly.

Seokjin answers you with a searing kiss. “Did so well. My good, good girl.”

Your heart soars at his praise. You rest your body on his, his hands still secure around you, and you feel so blissed out, so safe, you just want to fall asleep in his arms.

“Petal, do you have any plans tomorrow?”

His question brings you back. You quickly run through your schedule in your head. “No, none, why?”

“You’re staying with me till Monday,” he lays you down on the sofa, his body still connected to yours. Your heart starts racing again. He pinches a nipple and you squirm, clenching your pussy. “My girl is so insatiable, hmm?” He bites and sucks on your breast. You clench again. “Keep clenching around my cock, baby, make me hard again.”

It does not take long at all. 

Surprisingly, you feel pretty good, you might even say you’re glowing, despite the very little sleep you got over the last 2 nights, and the soreness in your limbs and your pussy. You wonder if people around you can tell that you have just spent many, many hours being fucked to oblivion by a very big cock belonging to a very hot, very sexy man. 

You get to class, and gingerly sit down at your usual seat in the back corner of the room, trying to be as invisible as you possibly can, staying out of your classmates’ attempts to make small talk. You wriggle a little to alleviate the soreness of your sex, but all it does is remind you when you sat on Seokjin’s face, wriggling while he ate you out until you were a crying mess. You immediately slap your cheeks to stop your mind from wandering too far into the details. Luckily, your phone dings and breaks you from your reverie. You nearly drop it though, when you see how much he has deposited into your account.

You do a quick calculation- you have enough to pay off a sizeable chunk of your parents’ gambling debt, three months worth of rent, and even the university fee for next semester. You cover your mouth in shock. 

Another ding from your phone arrives, and with a trembling hand, you open the next notification.

KSJ >> Booked you an appointment this afternoon at Mikrokosmos Spa. Enjoy yourself, my sweet petal. I’ll see you Friday night.

PS: Tada! Hope you enjoy this fic. I'm excited to set this series out and in motion, to see how this couple navigate their new dynamic... especially with OT7 in the horizon, hmm?

If you enjoy reading this fic, it would mean the world that you reblog it so that it will reach a wider audience. Come talk to me in the comments or send me an ask! As always, thank you for reading! 💜

Published 08012023

[threeletterslife]

Things We Owe to Each Other

⨰ summary: The Capitol promised you riches and fame after you won the games, but you should've known they were lying. After years of wasting away and feeling pity for yourself, when you meet the local fragrance shop owner who's as similar to you as one can get, you realize you need his help. Except, everything comes with a price.

⨰ pairing/rating: yoongi x reader | PG-15

⨰ genre: 100% angst | hunger games!au & hurt/comfort!au

⨰ warnings: profanity, death, gore, blood, mentions of prostitution and suicide

⨰ wordcount: 26.8k

cr.

ONE.

You were never going to die.

You were meant to volunteer, to survive. Meant to win. And most of all, you were meant to be the face of the new rebellion.

You’ve done most of these things. You volunteered obediently—without hesitation. You survived as your life depended on it, which it did. And you won. You really won. But then you betrayed the people who built you up when they needed you most.

All those years of training, of intermittent starvations, of freezing cold nights and scorching hot summers in the name of preparation… You just wanted to rest. You wanted a break. You were only looking out for yourself. Because not once in your life were you ever given a choice. If you died in the Arena, you were only going to be a martyr—but there are 23 martyrs every year, anyways. If you lived, you were going to be puppeteered again, and the rebellion would begin, just like it did 24 years ago. Except this time, it was expected to succeed. 

TWO.

You didn’t think you would betray the rebels. They were all that you’ve ever known. They fed you, dressed you, gave you so many rules to follow, punished you if you broke them. 

They chose you. Because your mother was strong and your father was handsome. They plucked you from your crib and handed you a silver dagger and told you to fight. So you did. You were dazzling. They told you that you had to look pretty all the time—even while you fought. You needed sponsors to survive the Arena, and sponsors only loved beautiful things. So you had to be the most beautiful, lethal thing they’ve ever laid their eyes upon.

You learned how to move faster than lightning, how to aim so precisely that you could throw bullseyes with your eyes closed, how to survive off of the land with only nuts and berries, how to put your body through hell yet not beg for death just yet. 

But that wasn’t all.

You learned how to be charming, coy. You learned how to manipulate and get your way. You learned how to lie. You learned it so well that sometimes, you couldn’t even remember what the truth was anymore.

They strategized every minute of the game for you—from the moment you’d step forth to volunteer at age 18 to your last kill in the Arena. They paved your path to victory. All you had to do was follow it. Then, you were supposed to kill President Snow at the victor crowning. You were supposed to kill all of them at the victor crowning. That would’ve set off a chain reaction, wherein District 8—your district—would lead the new wave of the rebellion. The Capitol would be destroyed once and for all.

But when the time came, you sat on your throne, exhausted, relishing in the feeling of victory, and you pretended to forget all about the rebels back home. In fact, you might’ve tipped off a couple of Peacekeepers about the secret rebel headquarters you’d frequented in your district. In days, they’d all be dead. Another rebellion, squashed.

You tried not to look back.

The people at the Capitol made you feel good. They made you feel desirable. And for once in your life, you felt free.

THREE.

You regret it. 

You regret the betrayal.

You wish you could turn back time to three years ago during the victor crowning. You should’ve done it. You should’ve killed everyone in that room—maybe even yourself. Because this, whatever this is, is considerably worse than what you’d expected.

You slip on your silk robe. It billows out, trailing the clean, marble floor of the suite. When you look behind you, you see the Capitol dog still sleeping. In fact, he’s snoring. It’s loud enough to shake the jewel-studded nightstand. He’d bragged about that nightstand yesterday. Said it was made from every naturally occurring and man-made gem in the world. That it was a one-of-a-kind. That he won it at an auction to impress his wife. And for some reason, he thought it would impress you too. But maybe that nightstand is impressive.

It’s most definitely worth more than your own life.

Your brow twitches at the sight of the Capitol dog. He hasn’t even bothered to throw some clothes on after last night. Hasn’t even bothered to take a shower in his bathroom that’s so big that it could shelter at least fifty people. Told you last night to “Get out” as soon as you woke up the next morning. Threw the money on the floor and made you pick it up—bill by bill. Sometimes, you wonder if they’re the animals, not you. So why do they treat you like one? Why are you always used and tossed out like a rag doll?

You thought after you won the games that they’d accept you into their highly civilized society. You thought that you wouldn’t have to work another day in your life. You thought you’d be happy. Freedom never felt so real. But the monthly income you receive from the Capitol for winning the Hunger Games is barely enough to buy a single bathtub, much less an entire suite, and you don’t dare to go home to live in the Victor’s Village. Your district would burn you alive for the betrayal—what’s left of them, anyway.

So you stay in the Capitol, spending night after night in strangers’ beds, using their generous tips to buy food, some nice clothes for yourself. Everyone wants to spend the night with the alluring District 8 Victor who killed her supposed ‘lovers’ in the games with nothing but a delicate smile on her face. You’ve always been popular amongst the Capitol. You used to think it was because they admired you, respected you. But now you know you’re just a toy to them.

You’ve thought about killing them. You trained thirteen years to become a vicious killer—couldn’t you go for a couple more kills? But the prospect of getting caught is terrifying. President Snow would have your head. No. Even worse. He’d torture you to death and then broadcast it for everyone to see. And you refuse to die in such a humiliating way.

With a final look, you check to see if you’ve left anything in the suite; it’d be embarrassing to come crawling back to find it—not that you’ve done it before. But this time around, you’ve been meticulous. Satisfied, you make one final movement and spit on the jeweled nightstand. Then, you leave, your pink silk nightgown billowing in the air behind you.

FOUR.

You step into the fragrance shop. You’ve been saving up for this moment for the past three years. They sell products such as lotions and perfumes here, but not just any lotions and perfumes—ones infused with your own, personal scent. It’s supposed to drive other people crazy, make them hungry with desire. You’ll use it to fish even more tips out of your clients.

A silver bell rings as the heavy door closes behind you. Instantly, a man comes out from the purple drapes behind the counter. “Hello,” he says, rustling about and straightening a row of bottles filled with a mysterious, golden elixir. “Welcome to—” When he meets your eyes, he stops talking.

Oh no. For a moment, you forget how to breathe.

Then, his sharp, cat-like eyes narrow, and he spits out an even sharper: “Get out.”

You hear the phrase too often to care—even if he says it so menacingly. And you know what this man is capable of. He could slice your head straight off your body in a matter of seconds. You’d be dead before you blinked. District 2 trash. A Capitol lapdog. Of course he’s working in the Capitol after he’d won the games.

You remember watching him win on the screens back home. They made you study every televised game, take notes on the Victor’s strategies and learn from their mistakes, copy their triumphs. His was the 95th Hunger Games. It feels so long ago—seven years, to be exact. He was sixteen, then. So young. So naïve. He’d volunteered for his younger brother. 

But his sacrifice never ends up mattering.

Because four years later, you end up killing his brother during the 99th Hunger Games.

“I’m only looking to buy some perfume,” you say innocently. “You’re not going to turn down a customer, are you?”

In a second, he’s standing before you, hot breath in your face, hands reaching to clasp around your neck. But his eyes widen when he realizes you’re holding onto his wrist, effectively stopping his hands from closing in around your throat.

“Did you forget?” you whisper. He’s so close to you that you can carefully delineate his every feature—his downturned lips, his squinted eyes, his soft, delicate nose. But you manage to maintain eye contact. “I’m a Victor, too.”

He scowls, wrenching his hand out of your grip. “I’ll call the Peacekeepers,” he threatens. “I’ll tell them that their little throw toy is out of her cage.”

“Ouch,” you say, placing your hand on your chest in mock hurt. “But what makes you think that they’ll take your side?”

He gives you a disgusted look. “I’m not going to tell you again.”

“What? Tell me to get out?” you say. “How are you even here, anyway? You’d think someone like you would live in the Victor’s Village.”

“Someone like me?” he scoffs.

“A Capitol lapdog,” you say as a matter of factly. “Did District 2 run out of housing for the Victors?”

“Watch your mouth,” he says. He looks like he’s ready to lunge at you again, but you’ve studied his fighting style. You’ve integrated it into your own, too. So you know he will lean right before he throws a punch. 

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“I don’t owe you an answer,” is his simple reply.

He’s also not wrong. You suppose that you’re the one who owes him. And you hate owing things to anyone—why should you? Your entire life has been a give-and-take. They told you that they only fed you so you could be strong. You had to be strong to win the games for them. They wanted you to do blood loss training. You did it because they let you rest an hour longer than usual. Your clients use you for self gratification; and you let them because they give you generous tips in return. Things have always come out even in your life. No one owes each other anything.

So why do you feel the need to owe this particular shrimp of a person? He’s short, barely taller than you, and has twigs for his limbs. Looks can deceive, of course, because this twig-legged man can outrun a particularly fast dog muttation. But his lacking physique doesn’t change the fact that you’ll owe him.

Yet where there is an odd favor, there’s always a way to make it even. 

“Ask me two questions, then,” you say. It’s an offer that almost comes out of nowhere. The thought of anyone prodding around, demanding that you indulge them in your private business—it’s sickening. It makes you vulnerable. But this is what will make you and him even. “One for Jungkook,” you say. “And an extra one so I can ask my own question. We’ll be even then.”

His expression darkens when he hears Jungkook’s name fall from your lips. He spits out a harsh: “I don’t want to know anything about you.”

“But aren’t you just the least bit curious?” you press him.

He hesitates. It’s only for a split second, but it still counts in your eyes. “Your answers to my questions won’t undo what you did to him.”

“I suppose it won’t,” you say. “But you admit it, then. You have questions.”

He glares at you.

You just grin innocently. “You watched my games.”

“You watched mine,” he accuses.

“I did,” you say. “I enjoyed it. It was fine entertainment.”

Out of all the words you’ve spoken, these are the ones that set him off.

His eyes flash. Then, all too soon, he’s leaning right, ready to take a swing at you. But you’re too quick for him, side-stepping out of the way. He almost crashes into a shelf full of glass bottles, but he stops himself just in time. Victor’s instincts. They never disappear. 

He’s shaking in anger as he slowly turns around to face you.

“What’s wrong?” you say. “Am I too fast for you?”

He’s lunging at you again.

But his patterns are so easy to detect. You’ve watched his games over and over and over again. You know how he fights. You know how he pins his victims down and saws through their throats. You know that if you’re not careful, you could meet the same fate.

But you’re always careful. And you were born to kill.

You grab his wrist and flip him down to the ground. He grunts in pain.

“Are you going to stop now?” you ask him.

He’s panting. Clearly, he hasn’t been exercising much after his games. 

“I won in three days,” you tell him. “Or did you forget?”

It’s quiet. You think he might lunge at you again, but then he speaks without bothering to face you. “That’s because you cheated.”

You raise your eyebrows. “I did?” 

Of course you did. You had hundreds of people on the sidelines, strategizing for you, helping you take notes on your opponents. You needed to win. For the rebellion that never happened. But did he know?

“Everyone knows you started playing the game the moment you stepped into the Capitol,” he says. “You were so charming that no one could take their eyes off of you. Even the other tributes.”

“That wasn’t my fault.”

Yes it was. You were trained to do that. To trick them into falling in love with you, then kill them off when they were blinded by their own starry eyes. 

“Just get out,” he says, standing back up, though with a wobbly leg. 

Huh. You hadn’t noticed that before. He walks with a slight limp. Was that because of the District 1 girl he battled to win his Victor title? Does it still hurt after all of these years?

“I can’t.” The words slip out before you can even stop them.

He raises his eyebrows. “And why would the Capitol’s Princess desperately need her personal scent?” It’s a stupid question and he knows it, too. There are only certain types of people who come here, frantic to smell desirable, to smell addicting. Because how good they smell will likely dictate how much they might make in a night. He looks away. 

You hate being vulnerable. You hate being weak. You’ve been weak and vulnerable nearly every night for three years. So what’s one more time going to do?

“How did you do it?” you whisper. “How did you get out?”

He looks stricken with panic. His eyes dart around the shop, though there’s no one there except the two of you. Then, he lunges forward—not to punch you, not to pin you to the ground—but to tug you behind the counter, behind the purple curtains. There’s a tiny corridor there, one with a door at the end. He must be living here. You wonder what it took for him to gain this much freedom. 

“You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve,” he says quietly, still tightly holding onto your wrist.

But you’re persistent. “You were prostituted too, weren’t you?” you say, urgently. “So how are you here? Teach me,” you say. “I know I’ll owe you twice as much but I’ll make it up to you.” That’s a lie. You could never make that up to him, but sometimes, well, most times, people believe the words you say. Something tells you though, that he won’t be so easily deceivable.

“How?” he seethes. “How would you make it up to me when I know how much you’re making a night? You couldn’t ever pay me back during your entire lifetime, and I have no desire of letting you off easy, either.”

His sharp words boil your blood. You inhale deeply in an attempt to calm yourself down. But that’s when you notice how nice he smells. It’s such a strange instance to focus on his scent, but you can’t help it. He’s too close to you. And your nose is simply doing what it’s supposed to do.

“Mint,” you whisper.

He frowns.

“Fresh mint, a hint of lemon and…” you struggle to find the last note. 

“Linen,” he says impatiently. “It’s clean linen.”

“I see you made yourself a personal scent of your own,” you say. “It fits you. Except I’m not sure it works. You were much more charming on-screen.”

He glowers. “Is this your way of attempting to persuade me into helping you?”

You shake your head. “Just making an observation.”

“Well, I’m not going to risk getting in trouble,” he says, his grip around your wrist tightening so hard that it’s beginning to hurt. If he grips any tighter, you think it might crack. “I already got away with it, so I’m not going to let you ruin things.”

You jerk your wrist away from him, rubbing it tenderly. “Careful! That’s my working wrist,” you exclaim, glaring at him. “It’s my money-maker, you hear?”

There’s something that flashes in his eyes. Is it anger? Pity?

But who knew such a stone-cold killer could feel pity?

“You’ve become so pathetic.”

Oh. He wasn’t feeling pity, all right. It had been anger. His downturned lips, the crease on his forehead, his darkened eyes—he hates you. But no one ever hates you—at least, not to your fucking face. You’re sure the survivors back home despise you, but you’ll never visit them to find out, anyway.

You open your mouth to defend yourself, but he speaks before you can even get your words out.

“What happened to the coquettish girl who kissed and seduced the other tributes before stabbing them to death?” he says. “How fucking dare you ask me for help years later? After you killed him? You’re a pathetic person. And you’re weak.”

Weak? Weak?! After everything you’ve been through, you’re the weak one??

That sets you off. 

“I didn’t have a choice!” you yell, your voice booming so loud in the tight quarters that he visibly flinches. “I won for the same reason that you did! Because I couldn’t die!” 

His eyebrows raise at your outburst. “Well, would you look at that? I made the Capitol’s Princess finally lose her cool.”

“This isn’t a joke!” you cry. “This is my life, okay? If you won’t help me leave, then at least find me my personal scent!”

He finally steps away from you, giving you your much-needed space—well, as much space as the narrow hall can provide. “Your life?” He nods, scoffing. “Of course. And what makes you think your life is so much better than everyone else’s?”

You snap.

Screaming obscenities, you lash out at him, slapping him straight across the face. He could’ve stopped you, but he didn’t. Your hand stings. You’ve never slapped anyone in your life—mostly because you always resort to doing worse. Now there’s an angry red welt on his face, and you know it’ll blossom into a purple bruise by tomorrow.

He touches his cheek. Doesn’t even wince. “You won because the Capitol let you win,” he tells you, slowly, as if he’s talking to a child. “You’re alive because of them, their money, their sponsors. So you owe them your life.”

“And what about you?” you pant angrily, ready to deliver another slap when the time comes. “You’re just like me.”

“I know,” he says. “I’m just like you said.”

“And what did I fucking say?”

“I’m a Capitol lapdog. But the difference between you and me? I know it, and you don’t.”

You want to slap him across the face again. It’s so tempting. Your hand twitches. But he’s right. He’s so right. 

“You don’t regret it at all,” he says.

“Regret what?”

“Killing everyone,” he replies. “You don’t feel the guilt.”

“Why should I?” you say. “If I didn’t kill them first, they would’ve killed me.” And you had a mission. Those 23 other tributes were supposed to be pawns, martyrs, for the real cause. For the rebellion that never happened. You swallow. Can he see right through you? Does he know how many people you’ve killed both directly and indirectly? Does he know? That you’re only really loyal to yourself?

“On second thought, we’re not alike at all,” he says. “You misspoke.”

You hate being told that you’re wrong. “And what?” you scoff. “You feel guilty for winning? Is that it?”

“Haven’t you heard of survivor’s guilt?”

“No, and I don’t want to hear about it.”

He stares at you a long while after that. “Sometimes, you don’t seem human to me.”

“I wasn’t meant to be.”

He frowns at your words. “You weren’t?”

How do you tell him that you were a carefully crafted weapon? That you were never meant to have measly human feelings and emotions because you were just the rebels’ tool? How do you tell him that you have never cared for someone other than yourself? Because if you didn’t, no one would?

You don’t tell him, that’s what.

“God,” you say, messing up your perfect hair by running your hand through it. “This was supposed to take ten minutes.”

“I was never really asking for much,” he tells you, voice quiet.

“You weren’t the one who was asking! I was.”

“If you were even a little bit regretful about killing him, I would’ve helped you right away.”

This shocks you. You nearly stumble back. “What?” you say. It would’ve only taken that? 

“But you’re exactly as how everyone back in the districts saw you as,” he says.

“And what was that?” you challenge him.

“A monster.”

The word seems to pierce through your chest. You’ve heard of tool, weapon, martyr, killer, murderer, coquette, slut, whore… But monster? You’re not sure why that stings so much.

Yet… he doesn’t understand what you’ve gone through. He doesn’t understand that all your life, you’ve lived for everybody but yourself—even now, as a Victor, you can’t seem to escape.

“I’m not a monster,” you whisper, voice shaking slightly. “I can’t be.”

“Did I hit a sore spot?” he asks. 

You can’t even answer.

“Maybe you do have some emotion in you after all.”

You’re still silent.

There’s a long pause.

“You’re really desperate, aren’t you?”

Of course you’re fucking desperate. You were promised fame and riches. People were supposed to kneel and bow in your presence. They were supposed to please you. Instead, it’s the other way around. You, a vicious Victor, forced to kneel down before your clients and please them in ways that you’ve never been pleased yourself. You’ve killed so many things in your life—starting off small with insects, working your way up to cats, dogs, foxes, wild boar to desensitize your mind from blood and gore—so when you finally killed a human, you wouldn’t feel anything at all. 

So how is it that you, a trained killer, is working so subserviently for others?

It makes your skin crawl just thinking about it.

You only betrayed the rebels because you wanted freedom. The blood loss training, the blunt force trauma training, the intermittent starvations were better than this. Because you felt like you had actual purpose then—an important purpose. They chose you to be the face of the rebellion. You were to be better than Katniss Everdeen ever was.

But this is where you end up?

Pleasing Capitol dogs by night, feeling sorry for yourself in the mornings?

Doing everything you can to seek revenge in the littlest ways? Spitting on their jeweled nightstands? Leaving a hairpin in the bathroom so the wives will find out? Stealing a few extra bills from their wallets? 

It’s so pathetic.

You can’t even kill them without facing dire consequences.

Sometimes, on your worst days, you wish you were back in the Arena. At least there, you could kill without being persecuted.

So yes, he’s right. You are desperate. The truth hurts—you’ve been trying to hide it for three years now—and for this Capitol lapdog to debunk your inner turmoils within minutes of first meeting you? You don’t feel angry, you feel…

There’s a lump that grows in your throat. It’s expanding and expanding until you think you’re choking. Is this how your victims felt in the Arena? Is this what they call karma?

It’s hard to breathe. Is there something in your nose? Did he poison the air? Will you drop dead in a few seconds now? Will he pull out a gas mask and watch you struggle to breathe until you’re no longer a nuisance to him? Were you stupid to follow him into his own territory—where he could pull all the strings he wanted to, and you’d be too ignorant to notice them?

But your thoughts come to a screeching halt when something wet rolls down your face.

At first, you think it’s sweat. Then, you suspect it’s the condesation from the poison. Only after the fourth tear rolls down your face do you realize what is actually happening to you.

You look up to see the Capitol lapdog’s shocked expression. At least, you think he’s shocked—you can’t tell. Your tears have blurred your vision. It’s been a long time since you’ve cried. Probably more than a decade. You hate this feeling. It’s too foreign, too vulnerable. What did you do to warrant this? How can you stop it? Why are you doing it in front of him? 

With your blurred visions and disoriented state, he can kill you right now if he wishes to do so—even with his bad leg. But you can’t seem to stop the tears. These are the same bodily instincts that the rebels told you to be wary of. You should be able to control them; for god’s sake you’ve dealt with dehydration, starvation, hypothermia, hyperthermia—all the likes. Can you really not stop weeping?

“Look at that,” the Capitol lapdog breathes. “I made her highness cry.”

It makes you want to slit his throat. But that would make you even more of a monster than you already are. Why do you always feel like killing someone? Even when they don’t entirely deserve it? 

“Maybe you are still human,” he says absentmindedly. He sighs, staring at your pathetic state, yet he doesn’t leave. He just watches you.

Is he waiting to kill you? Biding his time, having a little fun with watching you squirm? Will he swoop in and pin you to the ground and put you out of your misery soon?

“Well?” he says. “Are you going to tell me I’m wrong? That you’re not desperate? I have a shop to tend to, you know.”

Silence.

He stares at you for longer. When he realizes that you may never talk again, he makes a move to leave. But it’s only then when a depressing croak leaves your lips: “W-Wait.”

He stops.

“I’m desperate,” you say.

It feels horrible to do this. To tell him that he’s right. To show him that you’re weak. But do you have another choice? You’ve been backed up against a wall. You’re not giving up—you’ll never give up. You just need help. A little bit of help from a Capitol lapdog. It takes all of your strength to keep from breaking down, from lashing out and killing him.

His eyebrows raise slowly. “And how do I know you’re not lying?”

Why the hell would you lie about this? Even before being tossed into the Arena, you never pretended that you were weak; even with all that deception, all that trickery, you never ever bargained away your strength. Your training score was a whopping 11, though you’d secretly hoped for a 12. The other tributes always knew you were strong—everyone did. Does he really think that you were feigning weakness? Does he think you’ve been sent to detain him by President Snow? Or is he only saying this to rile you up?

“And even if you weren’t lying,” he says, “what makes you think that you deserve my help?”

The lump in your throat pops open. “You don’t know what I’ve been through!” you yell, fists clenched. This doesn’t seem like you. You’re usually so calm, so collected. Even if someone angers you, you’re able to stay smiling, though you might be positively seething inside. But why do his words garner such a reaction out of you?

“What? That you had to kill people to be here? I’ve done it myself,” he says. “You’re not that special.” He pauses. “Or maybe you are. You didn’t have to give them hope,” he says. “You didn’t have to play with your food.”

You know exactly what he’s talking about. But you had to do it. You had to pretend to like them, to enjoy their company, to become their lover if you ever survived the games together. It would make it easier for you to kill them later. It wasn’t your plan but the rebels’. 

You feel limp. Like his words had sucked the anger right out of you. Do you wish to go on? Should you abort? But you don’t think you have the strength.

“I…” the words get stuck in your throat. The lump is back. “I’d… rather it had been Jungkook.”

For the first time in your life, you feel like prey.

“What?”

“I think I wanted to die in the Arena,” you say. The words just come out. You can’t comprehend what you’re saying. But they also don’t feel like a lie. “But I couldn’t die,” you say, slowly as if you’re recalling memories from the past. “They… They were counting on me.”

“Oh sure, the Capitol was rooting for you the entire time.”

“No, not… not the Capitol,” you say. “I thought I was going to do it, then. I thought I’d follow through with their plan because that was my purpose. I went through hell for it. But… But I couldn’t do it.” You look down at your feet, knowing that if he wanted to kill you now, he could. “I couldn’t do it, Yoongi. I didn’t want to work for someone again. I thought if I became a Victor, things would be different. I didn’t know that they’d…” You can’t even bring yourself to finish.

Everything you’d been suppressing for the past three years pours out of you. And the aftermath?

You feel tired.

Who knew it took more strength to be weak than resilient? If you were in the Arena, even the youngest tribute could’ve killed you at this state. Your legs suddenly give out, but you never fall to the ground. Because he’s caught you by the arm.

Will he finish you now? Kill you after you confessed your sorrows? Has he heard enough? Is this the right time to give up? Is this how you’ll die?

But one look at his face and the bad thoughts dissipate.

He looks sorry. 

And his hold is gentle. Something you wouldn’t expect from a man who once beat a tribute dead with a log. 

“You said I have two questions,” he says, quietly.

You look up at him, relief washing over your body. It feels so good, but your cheeks burn with humiliation. You can barely look him in the eyes, but you force yourself to. You don’t want him to think you’re completely broken. “Yes,” you say, using your other arm to wipe your face. “Two questions to make us even.”

He scoffs as if what you did to his younger brother will never be made up for by a couple of answered questions. But he’s silent, probably thinking of questions to ask you, if not ready to change his mind and make you leave. His long pause allows you to regain your composure. 

The emotions slink away, behind a veil in the back of your mind. You calm down your wildly beating heart with a breathing technique that the rebels taught you when you were only ten. All traces of your tears are gone. The lump in your throat is gone. You no longer feel weak in the knees, so you shake his hand off of your arm. It’s almost as if you’ve never had your outburst.

“Too many questions to ask me?” you ask, the tremor that had been in your voice, gone.

His eyes scan warily over your figure. He must be shocked at how easily you can regain your composure. Even you have to admit it’s scary how easy it is to pretend you don’t feel anything at all. He scowls. “I liked it better when you were crying.”

“Not a question,” you quip. But if he mentions your weakness again, you swear you’ll kill him.

He only glares. Finally, he sighs, parting the purple curtains and walking out. You follow him, only to find him leaning on the counter, staring out at the tinted windows of his shop. “I’ll find you your personal scent,” he tells you.

Your eyebrows raise. “Without asking any questions?”

“You already told me everything I wanted to know in your little soliloquy,” he says. He ignores your grimace. “Apple blossoms,” he tells you. “I’ve thought about it ever since I saw you on the screen.”

FIVE.

They’ve started to pay you more in tips—ever since you began smelling exactly the way they wanted you to. Apple blossoms, notes of mellow wine and pink pepper. Yoongi said it was all undeniably you. So you’d purchased lotions, hair and skin care products, perfumes all laced with the same scent. You watched him make them, silently, slowly, studying him, his stance, his hands, his concentrated expressions and the red welt on his cheek that you had given him.

Then, you’d paid him. He refused to give you a discount.

Your personal scent was supposed to be your big break. You were supposed to feel happy again after this. You’re making much more than you usually do, and having this money gives you a sense of power. But…

Now you know what freedom actually looks like.

You want what Yoongi has.

But he had been so reluctant to help you; how could he ever do more for you—more than he already has? 

Can you manipulate him? Sweet talk your way into his heart? Just like you did to his brother? He seemed to soften up slightly when you showed him some emotion, which you didn’t really do willingly; it had just come out. But maybe you could use that to your advantage. Maybe if you act more human, he’ll be more likely to help you. 

But no, if he caught you, he’d kill you. Even with his bad leg he’d figure out a way. Because not only is Yoongi extremely adept with his weaponry, he’s also scarily intelligent. 

“Back again?” he scoffs when you burst into the store, letting the silver bell ring violently behind you. 

You slam your palms on the wooden counter. “How did you do it?” you ask him. This was not what you planned to do—to scare the information out of him—but you always seem to go rogue, anyway.

“I thought you were the one who owed me two questions, not the other way around,” he says, cocking his head. He’s unfazed. 

“Why do you think I’m a monster and you’re human?” you say. “Why am I some—some fucking creature and why do you get to be okay? We both killed the same number of people. So why? Why do you think you’re better than me?”

“I never said I was better than you,” is his answer. His left cheek has a giant purple bruise plastered on it, and even to you, it looks painful. Why didn’t he get medical help for that? The Capitol medicine could have him looking brand new in a matter of seconds.

“You’re sure as hell thinking it,” you accuse him. 

“Am I?” he asks. “Are you what, a mind reader now?” But when he sees the dangerous look on your face, he seems to remember what you’re capable of. “I killed because I had to,” he says. “But you? You enjoyed it.”

“I did not!” you scream, his accusation curdling your blood. You did it because you had to, too! You didn’t have a choice! You couldn’t die—there were thousands of people counting on you to start the rebellion. The rebellion that you’d conveniently squashed. 

“Careful, or you might cry again.”

All of a sudden, you see red.

“How fucking dare y—”

But the silver bell sounds and you whirl around to see a Capitol dog, all dressed up in a flouncy skirt with odd feathers attached to it. Feathers are appended to her lashes as well, and you wonder how hard it is for her to blink like that. She giggles when she sees Yoongi, and it instantly makes you narrow your eyes. She just unknowingly saved his life.

“I see you have a new worker here, Yoongi,” she tells him with a kind smile. “I’ve been telling you to hire some help since forever. Ever since old woman Hennenger died, you’ve been running this shop all by yourself. Glad that you adhered to my advice.”

“That’s Y/N,” Yoongi grunts, awkwardly reaching out to polish some empty glass bottles on the counter. “She works here part-time.”

The words shock you, but you don’t show it. Is he lying because she’s a Capitol dog? Or is he telling the truth? Do you really work here part-time now? Did your scare-him-until-he-agrees tactic work this easily?

“Y/N?” the Capitol dog gasps. “You mean…?”

It’s your cue. You immediately turn around, facing the dog fully, curtsying dramatically. A radiant smile plasters on your lips. “Yes, madam,” you say. “At your service.”

She seems satisfied with your formal greeting, and it helps her forget all about how deadly you had been on-screen. “Well, it looks like Yoongi’s trained you well!”

Your eyebrow slightly twitches at her words, but you let it go.

“Go clean the bottles behind the curtains,” Yoongi orders you. “I’ll attend to Miss Bijou myself.”

How can he have the nerve to boss you around? It stings. He always speaks in a way to show off that he’s better than you. How could he have thought that you enjoyed killing those people? You’ve never found enjoyment in a single thing in your life. Just because you smiled prettily for the cameras didn’t mean you enjoyed watching the life leave your victim’s eyes. Killing the others was a chore, an obstacle. It was never for your own self gratification.

You push aside the curtains into that small space again, only to find that there are no bottles at all. How can there be? There are no shelves here—only the door that most likely leads straight to his living quarters. Your heart seems to sink. So was he lying? Did he only say that to get you off his back while he dealt with his customer? God, you’re such a fool for believing him for a split second. Is this how desperate you’ve become? That you’re able to listen to a goddamn stranger because he has all the power to help you?

You hear his quiet voice from outside the curtains and scowl. He’s so fucking polite to her, it’s irritating. Would it be worth it to barge out here and twist his neck? But no, the Capitol dog would report you for violating whatever stupid laws there are around here. So what else can you do other than to sit here and sulk? 

“Oh,” he says after who knows how long. He parts the curtains and gives you a strange look. “You’re still here.”

The Capitol dog must’ve left.

You’re immediately in his face. The smell of fresh mint and linen reaches your nose. “Of course I’m still fucking here! You promised me a job!”

He raises his eyebrows. Your heart drops. “So what, you think I’d really let you work here?” 

The hurt on your face is hard to conceal. You hate it. Hate being weak, hate being vulnerable. So you do the only thing you know how to do: you fight back. “Maybe you should,” you tell him, voice icy. “What was it that the Capitol dog said? About old woman Hennenger? You killed her, didn’t you?”

You think he might lunge at you again. To your surprise, however, he just slumps against the wall. “And what if I did? You seemed to have betrayed a larger sum of people.”

Is that all that he gained from your sob story? That you’re a betrayer? That your deception probably killed hundreds?

“You’re a monster,” is all you can muster up.

“I never said I wasn’t,” is his emotionless reply.

“You killed her and then you took over her shop and now, you can’t even face the Capitol because they let you get away with it once, but they’re not gonna be so forgiving after that. So even if you’re hurt,” your finger grazes his cheek, “you can’t seek medical attention.” You glance down at his left leg too, for good measure. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“For someone who’s been begging me for help, you don’t sound too desperate anymore,” he says. But the way he evades answering your question… You must be correct.

“If I kill you, will I be able to take over the shop?” you say. “Does that sound desperate enough for you?”

“You’d think they’d leave you alone?” he says. “You’re the Capitol’s Princess. If you left, they’d know.”

“I’m not their fucking princess!” you yell. “How can I be? They treat me like an animal!”

“Am I supposed to feel bad for you?” he asks. 

You sputter. “N-No! Why the hell would I want your pity? I just want to work here. Let me work for you!”

“No,” he says, sternly. “You can’t.”

You have never wanted to strangle someone to death so badly. There are glass bottles everywhere in this shop. One tiny accident, one little wrong move and they should shatter into a million sharp pieces. If you were to take one of these shards and stab him in the jugular… No. No! You can’t kill the only person who could be the key to your escape, to your freedom.

You have to play this smart. You have to manipulate him. Sweet talk won’t work on this man; he hates you too much for any of your coy tactics to work. But maybe, maybe persistence will.

SIX.

Despite Yoongi’s protests, you come to the store every single day. You arrive in the early morning, ignoring his violent threats, and leave swiftly in the late afternoon—after you’ve helped him clean up the shop. 

Though he scowls every time the silver bell rings and you step in, he can’t do much to force you to leave. He knows that if he were to challenge you to a fight, he’d lose—with his bad leg and all. You and he both know that while you took only three days to kill off 23 people, he took nearly twenty. 

“I swear to fucking god I’m going to call the Peacekeepers,” he mumbles under his breath whenever the two of you fall into a minor disagreement—which occurs as naturally as one might breathe—but he never follows through. Probably because you and he both know the Peacekeepers would never come. 

It’s also not like he can stop you from interacting with the customers, either. If anyone asks who you are, you immediately give them your brilliant smile, push Yoongi out of the way and announce that you are a part-time worker. He can’t even argue with you—not without raising suspicion. And you quickly come to realize that the man has a paralyzing fear of the Peacekeepers. 

So, he always lets you stay. He doesn’t have much of a choice.

And besides, you’re a diligent assistant. 

“Good day, Miss Bijou!” you say as you rush out to greet the regular customer. “What can I do for you today?”

“I’d like a refill, Y/N,” she says, holding up two empty glasses bottles.

You recognize the shapes instantly. “Two conditioners, Yoongi!”

He grunts in reply, rustling around in the back as he gets started with Miss Bijou’s refills. Soon, the modest shop begins to smell of sweet honeycomb, amber and sugary vanilla. They’re smells that encompass the entirety of Miss Bijou, and you have to give Yoongi some credit for being so accurate in his judgments all the time.

“How are the cats?” you ask the Capitol dog. “I hope Glimmer’s surgery went well last week. Oh, and did Shimmer finally learn that new trick you’ve been getting him to do?”

Miss Bijou brightens up when you give her attention. She is a peculiar lady—not at all rude or condescending like some of the other Capitol dogs. Instead, she is… sweet.

“Oh,” she giggles, hand placed politely on her lips. “Glimmer’s in the process of recovering,” she says. “And Shimmer, oh goodness! He can’t seem to catch on, unlike his sister! She’ll have to teach him after she’s all healed.” She smiles at you kindly, and her feathered skirt bounces as she moves, holding up a basket full of Capitol pastries. They smell absolutely delicious, even complementing her personal scent. “I picked these up for you,” she says. “For working so hard! They’re for you too, Yoongi!” she calls to him behind the counter, where he’s got his sleeves rolled up, goggles on, mixing whatever chemicals and fragrances for Miss Bijou’s refills.

“Thanks,” he replies.

But you’re a bit more animated than that. You gasp, taking the basket from her hands. “Oh, Miss Bijou, these look wonderful; thank you so much! We’ll eat them down to the last crumb! Are these from Mr. Bauble’s bakery down the street?”

She nods, blushing. “Yes, of course! The best bakery in town!”

You laugh, putting a hand on her shoulder. “You go there pretty often, don’t you?”

She stutters, “T-The pastries are too good!”

“I’m sure Mr. Bauble enjoys your company,” you smile. “You should ask him how Trinket is,” you tell her. “He loves his cat as much as you love yours.”

Miss Bijou flushes a deeper shade of pink. “Maybe I will next time.”

As if just on cue, Yoongi interrupts the conversation and hands Miss Bijou her two refilled bottles of conditioner. She squeals with joy. “Thank you!” She quickly digs through her tiny purse and pulls out a wad of bills. “Here,” she says, shoving the money into your unoccupied hand. 

“Oh!” you say, eyes widening almost comically. “That’s so much—”

“Take it,” she sings, enclosing her hand around yours. “It’s thanks to you that I’ve been talking to Mr. Bauble more often these days.” She tucks her bright pink hair behind her ear. “I’ll see you next week?” she asks.

“Of course,” you answer, beginning to walk her out of the store. Her feathered skirt bounces behind her as she moves.

“You too, Yoongi!” she calls out from behind. “I’ll see the both of you soon!”

He only waves.

Then, she’s gone, the silver bell on the door jingling, and the only trace of her presence is the lingering intoxicatingly sweet smell of her personal scent.

You immediately turn around from the door, a murderous look on your face. “God, if I have to squeal and giggle again one more time today, I’m going to kill someone.” You set the basket full of pastries down on the counter and toss Yoongi the money. He catches the bills and counts them meticulously—right in front of you. He always does that. You think he thinks you’ll steal from him. The thought is tempting, of course, especially after seeing him being so annoyingly careful with the money. But that would ruin the little trust that he has for you. And then all these early mornings walking to his shop and squealing your goddamn ass off with the Capitol dogs would’ve been for nothing.

“Your squealing and giggling is helping the business,” Yoongi answers. He looks at you, black eyes seemingly staring into your soul. “You’re disgustingly charming.”

“I know,” you say. “People can’t get enough of me.”

It’s true. You can shift your personality to be whoever the other person wants you to be. For kind, insecure people like Miss Bijou, you’re bubbly and supportive. For men who are rough around the edges, you flirt a little to find your way into their hearts. For mean, uptight women, you act subservient, act as if you couldn’t ever possibly upstage them—it helps boost their egos, and in turn, they open up to you.

You spend most of your time in Yoongi’s shop listening to the Capitol dogs. You’re used to it, however. After your nightly sessions, most of the men want to talk to you too—about their ugly wives, their disobedient children, their unsatisfying jobs. You usually massage their shoulders, coo something suggestive in their ear, and they tend to shut up right away. But the shop customers aren’t as easy to take care of.

You have to play along. You have to pretend that you care. 

There are women who come in, begging for Yoongi’s expertise so that they feel lovable. There are men who come in, wanting to feel more confident. There are young girls who frequent the shop, swearing that no one else makes the whipped lotions as soft and smooth as Yoongi does. Their stories blend in together.

Too many women want to impress other men.

Too many men want to impress other women.

Too many children are caring about how tantalizing, how alluring they smell. When you were their age, you were lucky if you even got to take a bath once a month.

But then there are the outliers.

There’s a man who comes in one morning—and not just any man—a Peacekeeper. Yoongi immediately steps out, a terrifying look on his face. It reminds you of the version of him you’ve seen on the big screen: menacing, unafraid to kill. He motions you to hide behind the curtains and scowls when you don’t listen to him. 

“Hello, sir,” you tell the Peacekeeper, though cautious enough to not overbear him with too much charm. You’re polite but nothing more than that. “What are you looking for today?”

You can see Yoongi behind you, gripping a glass bottle particularly hard in his hands. You’re not sure if it’s because of distrust or genuine fear.

But the Peacekeeper only takes off his helmet, which might as well have signed a peace treaty. “Is this the shop that sells personal scents?” 

He’s on the older side, eye bags sagging, hair completely white and wrinkles on his forehead. Even with the Capitol’s anti-aging cosmetics, he looks eternally tired.

“Yes,” you say. “This is the place.”

Yoongi’s still on his guard, glaring at the Peacekeeper through the slits of his eyes. 

“And… And this personal scent… can it be made for other people?”

You cock your head. “Other people, sir?”

“What are you planning?” Yoongi asks. He steps closer to the Peacekeeper, eyes still narrowed.

“He’s just our customer, Yoongi,” you tell him, and though your voice is light and teasing, the glare you throw his way screams bloody murder. You turn back to the Peacekeeper, a polite smile on your face. “If you can describe the essence of this person, we can try to make it happen,” you say.

“Will these do?” the Peacekeeper asks, pulling out a photograph from his uniform, along with a small teddy bear. His hands shake as he shows them to you.

Inside the photograph is a young girl; she couldn’t be more than six years old.

“Your daughter, sir?” 

“Yes,” he says. “My daughter. I wanted something… To remember her by.”

You force your eyes to soften. “Oh, sir…” You try to think of something a sympathetic person would say. “She looks like such a bright child.”

He nods in agreement. “She was… So… can you…? Can you do it? I know she’s not here right now, but I can tell you everything I know about her. I even brought her favorite teddy bear… It’s a little old… Think it’s been twenty years since she’s last held it.”

You turn to glance at Yoongi. He looks stoic as ever, but he moves forward to take the teddy bear and photograph from the Peacekeeper’s hands. “I recommend infusing her personal scent into an essential oil,” he says. “It’s useful for air diffusers, candles and incense. Good for keeping around your home.”

The Peacekeeper looks forever grateful. “Thank you, thank you so much.”

And to try to gauge an accurate personal scent on the young girl without ever meeting her, Yoongi asks the Peacekeeper to talk about his daughter. The man goes on and on for hours. Other customers come and go, and you tend to these regulars, simply filling up their refills as Yoongi had taught you. 

You hear just fragments of the Peacekeeper’s monologue, “...was always so bright and adventurous… didn’t like to share her adventures until you tickled them out of her… hated dead animals… afraid of the dark… loved ice cream for breakfast… Died when they bombed the Capitol… identified her body three weeks later… never had a funeral. There were just too many casualties.” He says something about wanting to kill the rebels, the ones who had bombed the Capitol nearly 30 years ago. You fight the urge to tell him that it’s too late; they’re already dead. The Capitol was sure to take care of that.

And you were the one who killed the new batch of rebels. Did you unknowingly avenge the Peacekeeper’s daughter’s death?

By the time you’re done helping the others, the Peacekeeper is done talking. The first thing you notice is that Yoongi looks annoyed. You would be too, if you had to listen to someone jabber about another person for more than one sentence. You cannot fathom it. How can you care about someone so much that you can talk about them like that for hours? How can someone be fond of you so much that they find comfort in your scent? The annoyance is replaced with confusion.

And soon, with Yoongi working his magic, the entire shop begins to smell of lilac and magnolia with softer notes of rose and jasmine. It’s so undeniably the little girl in the photograph that you have to admire Yoongi’s expertise. 

The smell makes the Peacekeeper emotional, and you have to hand him a few tissues to help him compose himself. 

“I-I’m sorry,” he sniffles. “It just… It makes me feel like she’s by my side again.”

You don’t understand.

Why would anyone want someone else by their side? 

“Good for you,” Yoongi says, curtly. 

You push him out of the way. “The smell is lovely,” you tell the Peacekeeper. “I’m sorry about your daughter, sir. She sounded like such a wonderful young girl. I would’ve loved to have met her.” You hand him back the teddy bear and the photograph, and he takes them, staring at the items in his hands.

He smiles sadly. “Thank you…” he says. “I feel… I feel better.” He looks up at you, worn eyes filled with tears. “She would’ve loved an older sister like you.”

Something horrible spawns in your gut. It twists around, fighting to escape, and you have to secure your hand on your stomach to ignore the searing pain.

“What was her name?” you ask, though you know you would forget by tomorrow.

“Haeun,” he says. “Her mother… she wanted to name her Glitter—it was a popular name in the Capitol back then. But I insisted on Haeun. It’s a name from the districts. From District 2.”

You turn to Yoongi. There are no fluctuations in his expression.

“Are you from District 2?” you ask.

The Peacekeeper nods. “It was either become a Peacekeeper or become a trainer in the academy. And…” he glances at Yoongi, “I didn’t want Haeun to grow up in a place like that… I didn’t want her to become a killer.”

Yoongi scoffs, though it’s a very quiet one. The Peacekeeper is too busy drowning in his emotions to even notice.

“And you chose right,” you say. You press harder against your stomach, wincing a little when it retaliates with a sharp pang. “She never became a killer.”

He blots his eyes with the tissue you gave him and smiles at you. “But when I look at you, I think, ‘Maybe she would’ve turned out fine if I had trained her to win the games.’ You’re a Victor from District 8, aren’t you? Your parents must be so proud… all their hard work raising their kid… It paid off. You haven’t lost your humanity.”

Have you, really? Is this the impression that you give off to strangers? That you’re perfectly normal and polite after the complete nightmare you’ve been in the games? That the you in the games was a fake? That the current you is the real you?

It’s all wrong. Right now, solacing this crying man is the fakest that you’ve ever been. And you liked yourself more in the Arena. Besides, how could your parents be proud of you? You barely remember what they looked like after they sold you off to the rebels. And the rebels? You’ve betrayed them, and they’re all probably dead—or worse, working for the Capitol. Does he really think you turned out “fine?”

Yoongi steps in. He pushes you back and faces the Peacekeeper himself. You notice that his hands are shaking.

“You made the right choice,” he tells the Peacekeeper. “Not everyone can survive the academy in District 2.”

The Peacekeeper nods, but he’s silent, lost in his thoughts.

“We have another customer scheduled to come in a few minutes,” Yoongi continues on. “I apologize for rushing you, but we’ll have to prep to help them.” Lies. All lies. He does it so easily.

“O-Oh! Of course,” the Peacekeeper says. He wipes the last of his tears away and positions his helmet back on his head. “I… I don’t know how I could ever repay you,” he says. “I don’t think any sum of money would be enough.”

“No,” Yoongi says. “Money’s fine.”

He gets a large wad of bills from the Peacekeeper—much more than what the price was originally asking for. 

The Peacekeeper won’t stop mumbling his gratitude, even after Yoongi has to push him towards the exit. He leaves eventually, but not before turning around and giving the two of you one last gesture of gratitude.

“Thank you,” he says, voice shaking. It doesn’t take a genius to know that he’s crying under his helmet. “Thank you so much.”

Your stomach stings. “I’m glad we could be helpful,” you say with a feigned smile.

And just like that, he’s finally gone.

Yoongi collapses against the counter, hands still shaking, and you? You’re lost in your thoughts, stomach twisting uncomfortably. 

After a while, Yoongi’s the first to speak.

“Damn fucking Peacekeepers,” he grunts, rummaging around the used tools and beginning the arduous clean-up process. “They think they’re so fucking high and mighty. What the fuck was that he said to you? That you turned out fine? That you haven’t lost your humanity? Is he out of his goddamn mind?” His face is so eerily dark that even you’re a little shocked. “He didn’t want his daughter to become a fucking killer? Like we ever had a fucking choice! Fuck!” he curses, hurling a glass beaker into the sink. It breaks cleanly in half with an ear-splitting crack!

You stare at him, still massaging your upset stomach.

“Calm down,” you say. “He’s just an ignorant Capitol dog. Don’t waste your energy getting upset about it.”

“You should be more upset,” Yoongi says. “I can stand normal Capitol citizens spewing out bullshit, but Peacekeepers? They’re the fucking instigators! They’re the guiltiest of them all—right after fucking President Snow and the Gamemakers themselves!”

“You’re so worked up,” you tell him, cocking your head. “Do you really think that I didn’t turn out that fine?”

This time, he’s the one who stares at you. “You’re joking.”

At least you tried.

“Whatever,” you say. “What fucking ever. It doesn’t matter. If you hate him that much, then he got what he deserved, anyway. His fucking daughter died. He’s depressed. He’s the one who emptied out half of his wallet to buy shit from your shop. It doesn’t matter. Everyone lost.”

Yoongi doesn’t respond. Only carefully picks up the two broken pieces of the beaker. For a second, you think he might throw them at you. But when he carefully tosses them in the trash bin, you blink—as if you can’t believe your eyes. 

Maybe he’s right. Would a normal person be afraid that everything everyone else does is an attack against them? 

“My stomach hurts,” you say. “I’m going on a lunch break.”

“You’re not allowed lunch breaks,” he says.

“Are you going to stop me?” you ask.

He pauses. “No,” he says, after he seemingly realizes that he can’t really do anything about it. 

So you take a longer lunch break than usual, de-stressing yourself and erasing the words that the Peacekeeper had spoken to you until all that is left in your memory is his love for his daughter—you already forgot her name. The horrible feeling in your stomach goes away after a while. You forget that it was even there in the first place.

Another time, there’s an Avox.

You are kind, chirpy when greeting her; it’s your default persona when you see someone who looks older than a teenager but younger than a middle-aged woman. But all too soon, you realize that she can’t speak back—that she’s the Capitol’s slave. They must’ve cut off her entire tongue because the only sound she can make is this faint, guttural noise. But you hide your initial shock in a matter of milliseconds. “You must have orders from your master,” you tell her with a smile. “Could they not make it to pick up their orders?”

The Avox shakes her head. She’s on the younger side, a little shy, too. She stares at her hands the whole time.

“Stop talking to it,” Yoongi says, swiftly collecting bottles of lotions and perfumes and placing them in a thick, purple bag. He must know who the master is. “You’re gonna get us all in trouble.” He hands the filled bag to the Avox, who takes it without once looking up. 

But before turning to leave, the Avox pauses, and you watch as she inhales a whiff of Yoongi’s personal scent. Yoongi never overdoes it; he only slathers on a bit of lotion around his arms and neck to achieve a faint effect. It’s not overbearing, nothing too fancy at all, so customers can’t accuse him of manipulating them into buying more products; yet the smell’s still there, giving him a small boost of charm—he really needs it. 

You see Yoongi subscribing to his lotion routine every day, just minutes before the two of you open up the shop. The scent is the first thing you smell when you walk in every morning. That crisp smell of mint, sour lemon and clean linen. It’s started to become a smell that brings you strange calm. Not because Yoongi’s wearing it, but because you’ve always been a fan of mint. 

You smelled it a lot in District 8; there were mint bushes outside the factories, in the forest, too. You’d come home every day from training smelling the leaves. You used to imagine that the smell itself would soothe the aching pain in your wrists, your sore arms and legs. It was one of the many lies you told yourself to endure your training.

The Avox must like the smell too because she’s lingering, trying to ingrain that particular scent in her head. She must be so deep in her thoughts, because the next thing you know, her grasp on the bag slips, and the whole thing falls to the floor with a loud clang.

You’re the first to crouch down and pick up the thick bag. It’s mostly reflex, not kindness that forces you to do it. Nothing cracks, thanks to the heavy fabric—it would’ve made a nasty mess that Yoongi would’ve made you clean. 

You smile as you hand the Avox the bag back. “Mint’s a nice scent, isn’t it?” you say. “Smelled it all the time back in my district.”

Her eyes light up with recognition. She lets out a gargled noise that sounds a lot like the number eight. Or maybe you’re imagining it. But if she is from District 8…

You suddenly search her eyes, her face, her posture. She couldn’t be… Could she? 

There were so many people involved in the rebellion that you never got to learn everybody’s faces and names. But the others? They all knew who you were. You were the face of the movement; how couldn’t they know you?

So was she involved too?

And does she know what you’ve done?

Does she secretly wish that she could bludgeon you to death for selling out the others? 

The foreign feeling is back: the horrible emptiness in your gut, the wrenching of your insides. 

But you force yourself to smile. “Well, you’re all set,” you tell her. “Have a nice day!”

She looks so grateful—as if no one has ever bothered picking up the things she has dropped in years. As if no one has ever looked her way, even talked to her unless they were giving out orders. 

But what if she wants you dead?

What if she’s hiding her real emotions, just as you are?

You don’t get much time to mull over it, however, because she’s hastily leaving—either embarrassed about dropping the bag or eager to escape the presence of you, the one who ratted out the rebellion.

Yoongi stares at you. And though you have your back turned to him, you can feel his gaze piercing through the back of your head. “You didn’t have to be so nice to it.”

You press on your stomach, grimacing slightly. “I know.” You turn to him when you can manage the pain a little better. “I know how I’m supposed to treat an Avox.”

But what if she’s a Avox because of you?

You would’ve preferred it if she tried to kill you. Her grateful gaze flashes in your mind. The pain in your stomach worsens.

“Do you, though?” Yoongi asks. “Because I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to talk to them if you’re not going to give them orders.”

“I was trying to be amiable,” you tell him. “She’s still technically a customer.”

“No, she isn’t,” he says. “Her master is.”

“Why do you always have to argue with me?”

“I only do it when you’re wrong.”

“God!” you shout, running your fingers through your hair. Yoongi’s not making anything easier. Now you have to deal with him and the strange stomach pain. “Sometimes I wish I could fucking kill you.” But you regret it at soon as the words come out.

“Why don’t you do it then?” he says. “Maybe you’d put me out of my fucking misery.”

Your eyes involuntarily widen. Does he really think that you’d kill him? As much as he’s akin to a pesky fly, you don’t think you completely despise him anymore. But does he still despise you?

“I-I thought…” You hate that you stuttered. You hate that he got to hear it come from you. You clear your throat. “I thought you of all people would be happy.” He owns his own shop, despite the dubious ways in which he’d inherited it. He makes quite a lot of money every day. He no longer has to worry about President Snow breathing down his back if his sales drop just a little bit. 

But Yoongi laughs out loud, to your surprise. It’s the kind of laughing you’d do when you’re in utter disbelief. Ergo, he’s not laughing because you said something funny; he’s laughing because you said something stupid.

“Me? Happy?” he says. “I’m a Victor, Y/N. I’ll never be happy.” He glances at you. “How can I be? When the person who toyed with and killed my brother won’t leave me alone?”

There’s a lump in your throat. It’s comparatively tinier than the last one, but it’s still there, threatening to squeeze your throat closed. Yet… you ignore it, trying not to think about how hard it is to breathe. “Well, surprise,” you say, dryly. “I guess no one is ever fucking happy. So you really aren’t that special.” You scoff. “Everyone who fucking comes into this shop is depressed. They all come here because they want something. Because they’re desperate. Isn’t it funny? The desperate helping the desperate.”

He scowls. “I never said I was desperate.”

“You never say you said anything,” you retort.

“That’s because you put words in my mouth.”

“I’m only saying what you’re probably thinking.”

“Oh, because you’re such a fucking mind reader?”

“Maybe you’re that fucking easy to read.”

“Go fucking take your billion hour lunch break,” he tells you. “I have better things to do than argue with someone like you.”

Someone like you, huh?

Well, if he really hates you so much, he must hate most of his customers. Because a good percentage of the people who come to this shop—other than the Capitol dogs—are just like you. They frequently blend into the shadows, often ashamed that they’ve resorted to this tactic—as if it’s something illegal. Other times, though extremely rarely, they are proud and haughty; you can almost mistake them for a Capitol dog if you aren’t so keen.

These are the people who have been sold to the Capitol by President Snow. Just like you. People who are forced to spend their nights with strangers. People who are barely getting by because every cent they make, President Snow takes. And the tips that their clients give them—especially if they’re not a Victor—are scarcely enough to keep them afloat.

But if Yoongi really hates people like you, then why does he give them a special discount? Why does he give them products for free?

“What did you mean?” you ask him, weeks later.

He turns around from cleaning the tinted windows. “Mean what?”

“When you said that you hate people like me,” you say.

He frowns. “I never said that.”

Those words are like a trigger. Why does he never admit to anything? Before you know it, you’re raising your voice. “Yes, you did!”

“You’re only proving my point,” he says. 

“How the hell am I proving your point? What even is your point?”

“You have a fucked-up perception of things,” he tells you. 

“Excuse me?”

“You think that everyone is against you,” he says, so casually, so easily. There’s no way he came up with this on the spot. He’s thought about it before; you’re sure of it. It bothers you. How long has he been psychoanalyzing you? “You think that you’re the fucking victim and everyone else is the villai—”

“So?” you say, cutting him off. “Is that so bad?”

“It is when you start remembering things incorrectly,” he says. “I never told you that I hate people like you. I told you that I can do better things than argue with someone like you. You know, someone who always fucking thinks the other person is attacking them. People like you are so blinded by their own fucking perception that they can never admit when they’re wrong.”

“I do it to survive,” you tell him. “Because everyones does want to bring me down!”

“Well, wake up then,” he says. “We’re not in the Arena anymore.”

“You might not be!” you tell him. You can feel yourself losing patience. “But I still have to go to the Capitol buildings at the end of the day. I still have to sleep with these repulsive men and women knowing that if I refuse, Snow will have my head!” There’s a pause while you catch your breath. And when you come to, your voice is cold, icy. “What makes you better than that Peacekeeper you hated so much? You both need to get off your high horse.”

Your words seem to shock Yoongi into silence.

“What?” you say. “I’m right, aren’t I? Got nothing to say all of a sudden?”

He pauses a moment before nodding his head. “No, I have something to say.”

“What ever could it be?”

“That I was wrong. And I’m sorry.” 

Then he simply turns around and begins wiping the windows clean again.

All you can do is stare at the back of him, mouth agape. Was this some sort of trick? Is he pulling on your leg? He must think you’re stupid if you actually believe his apology.

“What are you doing?” Yoongi asks. He doesn’t turn around, just pauses his cleaning. “Aren’t you going to help?”

You scowl. And without saying anything more, you pick up another rag, walking over to clean the windows on the other side of the door. The two of you work silently, you seething in anger and suspicion, and Yoongi? You have no idea what he’s fucking thinking. Neither do you care.

But you do know that tomorrow, the two of you will act like nothing happened.

And just like this, with mid-sized banters here and there and wordless resolutions, months pass. Now, your presence is always expected in Yoongi’s shop. He still scowls at you when you enter, sure, but that might be due to habit. Just as you, by habit, shoot him back a murderous glare. Regulars come to greet both you and him, and they often bring you gifts, sometimes forgetting to do the same for him. You’ve quickly become a favorite, though you’re not so sure how. Can they not see through your façade? Don’t they know that you don’t really care about them? Don’t they realize that you simply covet the nice gifts and large tips that they leave you?

Even so, there must be something different in the way that you treat them. Because Yoongi mentions it, nonchalantly, one day. The feeling of wanting to murder him in cold blood doesn’t completely go away, but it comes less frequently now. Yet he still has a way of getting in your head. It’s enough to make you want to slap some sense into him—not enough to kill him, but well-enough to bruise his stupid ego.

“I noticed you don’t call them Capitol dogs anymore,” he says as he thoroughly cleans his soiled gear while leaning against the counter.

The store smells like honey, amber and vanilla—Miss Bijou’s personal scent. She’d just left a couple of minutes ago, but she’d stayed longer than usual. Turns out, the man she was in love with, Mr. Bauble, recently became engaged to another woman. She had cried big, fat tears, the feathers on her skirt wobbling as she hugged you. One of the feathers on her lashes had also fallen off, but everyone just pretended that didn’t happen—to save her from further embarrassment. She wouldn’t let go until you had to gently coax her to spend her money on more products.

“Do it for yourself, Miss Bijou,” you’d told her. “Mr. Bauble never deserved you anyway. So show him that you’re better off without him.”

She’d complied, hugged you tightly, told you that you were one of her only friends, and left the store with four bags in her hand—an obvious splurge. Your entire year’s worth of salary, spent in a blink of an eye. 

You look back from feather dusting the shelves, giving Yoongi a distasteful look. “I’m glad you have a brain to be able to discern that.” But the mysterious feeling in the pits of your stomach had come back as soon as Miss Bijou had left. It’s coming so often these days that it’s strange when you don’t feel it.

“You’re nicer to them too,” he says.

You frown. “I was always nice to them.”

“I know,” he answers. “It just feels more genuine these days.”

“Well, it’s not.”

“Really?” His eyebrows raise. “Is that why you’ve been feeling sick to your stomach so often?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

He gives you a strange look. 

You stare right back at him.

He’s the first to break eye contact, staring down at the messy residue of assorted lotions, candle wax and perfume on the wooden counter. He sighs. But before he can even reach down to grab a rag to wipe it all down, you’re doing it yourself.

He gives you another strange look.

You give him the side eye. It’s nothing special. But during the months of working for Yoongi, you’ve come to know exactly what condition he likes to keep his (stolen) shop in. Subsequently, at times, it can even seem like you can read his mind.

SEVEN.

The silver bell chimes when you walk in. Except, today’s a little different. Where is that stupid, welcoming scowl of his? And where is he?

You carefully step into the shop, instinctively slinking into the shadows. This is what they taught you to do during your training: to be the predator, to wait out the danger, to leap in when you spot weakness. Even after all of these years, you can’t seem to escape it.

You’re not stupid. 

This could very much be the work of President Snow. He probably figured out that you’ve been spending time with one of his ex-prostitutes and thought he was giving you bad ideas, which, he was. Maybe Yoongi’s somewhere in the Capitol building now, being tortured alive. Maybe there are rows and rows of Peacekeepers hiding behind that purple curtain, waiting to jump you and take you there too.

Do they really think some Peacekeepers could take you out? The rebels trusted you to assassinate President Snow and murder everyone else in the room. You’re a built killer; if you want, you can kill anything in your path with a blink of your eye. You’re stealthy, picking up a glass bottle, ready to tug the curtains down and kill whoever dares to hurt you. But then you hear a crash! and an oomph!

No Peacekeeper in their right mind would let out such a pathetic sound. President Snow would have their head. 

The sound comes from behind the curtains; it’s faint, which means it’s from behind closed doors. So it must be coming from inside the door down the short hall. Yoongi’s living space. You’ve never been in there, nor have you cared that you haven’t.

Has he been taken hostage? Is a customer angry at him? But Yoongi wouldn’t let a mere Capitol citizen best him; he’s the Victor of the 95th Hunger Games. He should be tougher than that. So what the hell is happening?

He couldn’t be waiting to jump you, could he? Was the pathetic sound of weakness a ploy to let your guard down? Did all those months you spent together working the shop mean nothing to him? Probably. He must be fed-up with you; your persistence has bothered him, and now, he’s going to kill you—just like he killed old woman Hennenger. 

But not if you kill him first.

You slip between the purple curtains, walking quietly across the floorboards, making no sound. Your hand ghosts around the door handle down the hall. And you hesitate. You don’t know why. You never hesitate when you go for the kill. This is why you won the games; this is why they trained you.

You shake the thoughts away. There is an uncomfortable feeling creeping into your gut. It’s horrible; similar to the sensations you’ve been feeling when you’ve dealt with customers in the past. You push past it, and you swing the door open, ready to jab the glass bottle into Yoongi’s throat.

But you stop.

He’s on the floor, next to a small bed. There’s a small kitchen in one corner, another door in the other—that one must lead to a bathroom. There’s a desk and a chair with a few dirty dishes and paperwork piled on top the table’s surface. Overall, quite a humble one-bedroom space for a shop owner who sells expensive products. 

Your eyes shift back to the man. He’s crumpled on the floor, face red, hair clinging to his forehead from sweat. He seems to be in a great deal of pain. 

Stern voices echo in your head.

When you see someone wounded, you finish them off. 

Your training instructors told you that countless of times. That’s what you did in the Arena; it’s exactly how you won. You never hesitated, never second-guessed yourself, never let anyone get away alive.

But…

“Don’t just fucking stand there,” Yoongi grunts. “Do something.”

You stare at him. “Do… Something?”

What could you do? What is there to do? You can put him out of his misery. Is that the merciful way to put it? Is that how you kindly deal with someone who is injured? Apologize and then kill them?

“You can start by helping me up,” Yoongi tells you, outstretching his arm as if wordlessly telling you to grab it. 

You look at him suspiciously. “Help you up?” 

“Yes, Princess. Have you forgotten how to speak over the night?”

You scowl at him. Then, placing the glass bottle on his desk, you walk over, grabbing onto his arm and yanking him up. He winces in pain, obviously favoring his right leg. You drop him on the bed, and he nearly wobbles over. He’s so weak. If he were in the games now, even someone from District 11 could’ve picked him off. 

“Thanks,” he grumbles.

You don’t answer. Because you don’t know how to respond.

When you see that he has no intentions of killing you, you sit down on his bed next to him. “They didn’t heal that after your games?” you say, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Heal this?” he frowns. “I got this after the games.”

So it hadn’t been the District 1 girl who’d mauled his leg. That would make sense. After someone wins the games, the Capitol scrubs and polishes and mends and fixes their body—it would almost be like they never fought in the Arena. So then…

“You think I got off easy when I tried to escape?” Yoongi asks.

Your eyes raise. “You let them do that to you?” You bring your legs up to cross them on the bed and Yoongi scowls.

“That’s disgusting,” he says. “Put your feet down.”

You ignore him. “I asked you a question.”

“Should I have killed them instead?” he asks, exasperated.

“Is that even a question?”

“Right. And then they would’ve killed my entire family. Back then, Jungkook was still alive.”

Oh. Right. You feel uncomfortable again. You end up putting your feet down.

“Stomachache?” he asks when he notices you pressing on your belly. 

You nod.

“I had to let them do something to me,” he says. It almost comes off as an excuse, but you let him be—only because your stomach stops you from arguing. “That way, they would think they’re still in control,” he continues. “But you always wondered how I got out, didn’t you?” He doesn’t wait for you to reply. “Well, I bought it.”

“Bought it?” you say incredulously.

“I bought my way out,” he clarifies as if that would help you believe it any better. “I bribed my clients, stole from them, and then I killed Hennenger because she was old and unimportant enough to fake a health-related death.” He leans back on his bed, careful not to bump his left leg onto the edge. “She didn’t wrong me in any particular way,” he says. “She was one of my most loyal clients. But she was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

So he kills when he has to, too. Interesting.

You throw him a look. “You are a monster after all.”

“I know I am.”

“And your leg?” you say. You’ve always wondered about it. Not because you cared but because it was pitiful. “Is that when they found out?”

“They ransacked this place,” he says. He closes his eyes, but you can tell that he’s holding something in. What is it? Fear? Anger? Sadness? Why is it so hard to read him? “That dent in the wall?” He points though he’s got his eyes closed. “That’s where the Peacekeepers threw me. Had a concussion. They took turns beating me with the blunt ends of their guns—like it was some sick game. And then the leg… They were going to kill me, but I had money. A lot of it. I was saving up to escape anyways, so I paid them off. But they made it clear I’m not allowed in Capitol buildings. Hence,” he sighs, gesturing to his leg. “Hence why it’s been getting worse. God, it took me fucking ages to scrub my own blood off the floors.”

You feel sick hearing his confession.

Is this really his life? Trapped in his little fragrance shop with no way out? Even with money, he can never live like a real Capitol citizen.

So wait a minute.

This isn’t freedom. In a way, he’s just as locked up as you are. So why are you asking him for help?

Suddenly, your head feels too heavy for your neck. Your limbs feel sluggish and your stomach? It seems to free fall from inside of you. You lurch up onto your feet. The words leave your lips before you can even comprehend them:

“I have to go.”

There’s something that flashes across Yoongi’s face; it goes away so quickly that you don’t have enough time to discern what it means. But then he’s stoic again, and he lazily opens one eye. “I thought as much,” he says in an even tone. “Lock up the shop for me, will you?”

You don’t know why you half-expected him to stop you, perhaps even beg you to stay. He stays silent the entire time you walk out, and you even walked extra slowly to give him a chance to say something, anything.

Nothing.

He says nothing. He lets you leave. So you do.

You lock up the shop, closing the door behind you, hearing the faint sound of the jingling silver bell before you make your way back to the Capitol buildings. His stupid words echo in your head the whole way there:

I thought as much.

I thought as much?

I thought as much?! 

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

It makes you almost irrationally angry.

Sure, you left him because he’s no use to you now, but did he really insinuate that he knew that was going to happen? Is that what he meant by fucking ‘I thought as much??’

You imagine that if you march back and confront him, he’ll berate you for putting words in his mouth again. The goddamn bastard. And why didn’t he stop you? He could’ve asked you to stay. He could’ve scolded you for being so fucking shallow. 

It’s almost like he wanted you to leave! Like he was waiting for it!

You pause in your footsteps.

Did you make a mistake?

Should you have at least said goodbye?

No.

You begin to walk again.

You did the right thing.

He hates you anyway. And now that you know that he’s just as free as you are, you’ve lost interest in his aid. In fact, he probably needs help just as much as you do. So there’s no reason for you to stay with him at the shop anymore. He never wanted you there anyway. And now you don’t need to endure his stupid little scowls and annoying remarks every morning through evening.

But…

I thought as much.

God, why can’t you let that go? Leave it to Yoongi to somehow always get inside your head—even when he’s not anywhere near you. The rest of the trip to the Capitol buildings is a long one. You can’t stop repeating his words over and over again in your head.

By the time you reach the Capitol buildings, it’s time to check your pool of clients for the night. You’re considerably luckier than most. While others sleep with whoever requests them, you’re so popular that you get to pick your client for the night out of the many who ask to see you. It’s a privilege—that you get a choice.

It makes you think. Are you somehow freer than Yoongi?

No… that can’t be.

Even if Yoongi’s confined to the small quarters of his shop, he doesn’t live for anyone other than himself. If he chooses to, he can take a few days off of work and President Snow won’t have his head. He has his own agenda, his own autonomy. Well, his own autonomy to be an asshole to you, that is.

You, in the end, still live for other people. Maybe you get the illusion of power from the fact that you get to choose your clients. But it doesn’t matter who you choose because, at the end of the day, they’ll still use you, throw you out and then pay for your usage—like you’re some kind of animal. And you can’t take days off as you please or President Snow will have your head.

After you put your client to sleep, you stare at your hands from the edge of the giant bed. You’ve put your legs up on the sheets—even with your shoes on—because it’s a comfortable position. It reminds you of earlier today when Yoongi had freaked out over it. 

Yoongi.

Even on your job, you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

The faux moonlight streams in from the window of your client’s suite. It bathes you in its blue light, which is supposed to calm you down, but you’re agitated all over again.

Goddammit, Yoongi. Those damned words won’t seem to leave your head:

I thought as much.

You run your fingers through your hair.

I thought as much.

You roll your eyes.

I thought as much!

You stand up. You’ll fucking show that stupid bastard. He thinks he’s so smart all the time! Thinks he can read you like a book. Well, you’ll prove him wrong. He’ll be so wrong about you that he’ll be humiliated. I thought as much, my ass.

You tiptoe around your client’s gigantic suite. He’s richer than the average citizen—most likely a Gamemaker or some sort of famous researcher. He probably has an unlimited amount of medical supplies. You dig around the place, finally finding a fridge-like cabinet with white backlight that holds everything you probably need.

You don’t care for the labels, so you take one of each product, stuffing them in the pockets of your robe and holding whatever that doesn’t fit in your hands. He’ll never notice that anything’s gone—he’s far too rich to be counting his supplies. Then, in the dead of the night, you leave the Capitol buildings, your pink silk robe billowing out behind you in the wind.

The real moonlight is a hideous, dim shade of yellow. But compared to the fake, eerie blue light in your client’s suite, it’s infinitely better. At least it somewhat calms you.

The silver bell sounds strange when it’s so dark out, but you step into the shop, where the lights are still off—the way they were in the morning. You cock your head, shifting the medicine in your arms before pulling back the purple curtains behind the counter. The walk down the short hallway is a little unsettling, and that’s coming from you, who once had to fight off dangerous rat muttations with her bare hands.

When you reach the door, you hesitate.

You feel real stupid, right now.

Did you come all the way here in the dead of the night just to prove this tree stump of a man wrong? And what about the medicine? You didn’t have to bring it, did you? But what if he’s dead behind that door? What if you left him when he was dying? Well then, that’d really suck. Because how else would you prove him wrong now?

That is exactly why you brought the medicine. You want him to be conscious when he sees you come through that door. You want to see that shocked look on his face. 

The door creaks open. Inside, the room is pitch-black dark. You can barely make out a figure on the bed. The figure groans. Well, he’s not dead at least.

You switch on the light. And there Yoongi is, laid out on the bed, in the exact same position you saw him hours ago. Had he not moved the entire day? You walk closer to him, only to find him staring up at his ceiling blankly. 

Where’s his scowl? His snarky commentary?

“I’m back,” you say, only slightly desperate for a reply.

There’s something glistening on his face. Is there a leak on the ceiling? Your eyes train up to see what he could possibly be staring at, but there’s nothing interesting up there at all—not even a crack. So the wetness on his face… 

“Are you crying?”

He finally blinks. In fact, he blinks several times. “I was,” he croaks. He sounds bad. Much worse than the way you’d left him this morning.

For a second, you’re angry that you didn’t come sooner. You would’ve liked to see him cry.

“Well, I brought some medicine, so you don’t have to whine about the pain anymore.” You sit on the bed, laying out the assortment of creams and bottles of pills to show Yoongi. He barely looks your way.

“Why are you back?”

Your hands hover over the medicine. “What do you mean?”

“You left,” he says. “Why did you come back?”

“I always leave and come back. That’s how working part-time works,” you sigh.

“No,” he says, closing his eyes again. “This time, you weren’t going to.”

How is he so sure?

“Well, I’m here now,” you say. “So you were wrong.”

Silence.

It’s so, so awkward. Why isn’t he fighting back? He should be saying something mean. This is why you came back! To see his reaction; to fight with him. But why is he so weak?

“I thought about giving up, you know.”

You turn to him. “Giving up?”

He hums. “Sometimes waking up doesn’t seem worth it.”

Why is he telling you this? And how the hell are you supposed to respond to that?

“Why did I want to live so bad?” he says. But it sounds like he’s talking to himself, not you. “It feels like such a waste. That I out of the 23 others had to be the one who lived. And look at me now, busted leg, terrified of the fucking Peacekeepers, living in hiding, being so fucking alone all the time… I’ve killed so many people to be alive, but why did I do it? If I’m going to live like this? Even if I try to be a better person, it will never erase what I’ve done.”

You stare at him. This is far beyond being weak and vulnerable. 

He might as well be digging his own grave. How can he be like this in front of you? You could kill him in the blink of an eye if you wanted to. How can he trust you like this? To be so open and bare in front of you?

“I was so ready,” he croaks. “I was ready to accept my fate. So why the hell did you waltz back in?” Yoongi’s eyes slowly open and he stares straight back at you, cold, hard eyes meeting your very own. “I know you didn’t do it because you care about me.” 

“You’re right,” you say. “I don’t.”

“You probably wanted to prove me wrong,” he says. “Even though I’m no use to you anymore, you’re stubborn, and you hate it when I’m right.”

You also hate that he can read you like a book.

“Are you going to take the medicine or not?” you say, an exasperated sigh leaving your lips. “It’s fucking three in the morning and I came all the way from the central Capitol to deliver this to you.”

“Whatever,” he says. “Just leave me alone.”

Something inside your stomach twists again.

But you can’t just leave him alone. You didn’t walk all that distance just to walk back in your flimsy pink silk robe. You’re going to finish what you started. 

So without another word, you seize Yoongi’s leg, roll up his pants and take a look at the injury yourself.

He winces, eyes scrunching closed, but he doesn’t say anything.

The leg is bright red and swollen. It looks like most of the damage is from the inside. How fucking convenient. You noisily sort through the medicine to find something worth using until Yoongi has to spit out a very annoyed, “Can you be any louder?”

You get the sudden urge to snap his leg. 

But that would be the exact opposite of what you’re trying to do. You’ve only ever tried to heal yourself. Why would you ever care about another person’s well-being? 

Still, you pick up a thick, silver cream that looks just about credible and begin to lather it onto his lower leg. He grimaces every time your fingers make contact on his skin, but he doesn’t complain.

It’s hard being gentle.

The only time your skin is on someone else’s is when you’re servicing them or killing them. 

So this is quite new.

When you’re finished, you roll back down his pants and throw a bottle of pills in his face. His eyes open and you see annoyance flash across his features. 

“Eat up,” you tell him.

“I can’t fucking figure you out,” he says, groggily picking up the bottle of pills from out of his face.

“Then don’t.”

He looks at you strangely. “Okay.”

Every time he agrees with you, something feels wrong. You’re just so used to being alone, fending for yourself that when someone’s on your side, it feels like an act. Like a lie.

“I think I’ll start paying you,” Yoongi suddenly says. “For working.”

Your eyes widen. “Paying me? Are you delirious?” Maybe his leg is worse than you thought.

“I’m serious,” he deadpans.

“Why the hell would you do that?”

You’re not friends. You barely tolerate each other. You’re only helping him because… well, because you came all the way here and you might as well make something out of the trip. He may not be useful to you anymore, but… If he died, you would lose the little interest you already have in your life.

“I want you to owe me,” he says. “You helped me with my leg, so I’ll start paying you. I don’t want us to be even just yet.”

You scowl at him.

“And you still owe me two questions,” he says.

“Do I?” you pretend you’ve forgotten. “I thought you wanted to give up. Are you changing your mind?”

He leans up on his elbows, dried tears on his face, eyes bloodshot and lips cracked. “I can’t die yet,” he says, attempting a grin. “I’m a curious man. I’ll need some answers from you.” 

EIGHT.

Leave it to the Capitol to invent advanced medicine and not think to share it with anyone. Whatever miracle ointment and pills you’d given Yoongi, they’d worked. He’s almost as good as new.

You wish the pills could’ve fixed his attitude, though.

He still walks with a limp, but judging by the way he carries himself, and the speed of which he can move from one place to another (mostly to slap your hand when you touch something you’re not supposed to), much of his pain seems to have subsided.

He’s also been scolding you less these days about keeping the shop in shape. It’s either because he realizes that you have blackmail material on him (now that you’ve seen him all weak and crying), or you’ve just gotten better at knowing what conditions he likes to keep his shop in.

It’s pretty funny. Despite the messy way he keeps his room, Yoongi likes to keep his shop shining from wall to wall—maybe to give off an illusion that he’s actually clean? That no one could possibly have any dirt on him? Either way, it’s a lot of work to be constantly scrubbing the counter down, washing the dirty beakers in the sink and feather dusting every inch of the place, but strangely… it’s not too horrible.

Now that you’re balancing two jobs, you have even less time to sleep. But they always told you sleep is for the dead, anyways. And besides, you think you actually enjoy coming to the shop.

It feels like a real job, now that you’re actually getting compensated for your work, and Yoongi’s generous with the money, too. Maybe he just has that much to spare. This is also the first thing in your life that you’ve voluntarily chosen to do. And it was a good choice, indeed.

You enjoy washing the glass bottles, sweeping the floors, talking to the customers (no matter how disingenuous you have to be). You enjoy the scowl on Yoongi’s face every time a customer asks for you and not him. You enjoy the fresh mint, the sween lemon and the clean linen when you walk into the store every morning to find him waiting for you at the counter.

You enjoy it all because you know that you don’t have to be here if you don’t want to. 

Enjoy…

What a strange little word.

You’ve never exactly enjoyed anything in your life, for what was there to enjoy? You were always taught to get the job done, to move on from one tragedy to the next. You never had the time to stop and think to yourself, ‘Wow, I really think I take pleasure in this activity.’ How could you? When you were learning things like the fastest way to bludgeon someone to death?

But enjoyment is an amazing feeling. It puts bubbles in your chest, makes you feel like your feet are off the ground. If you’re not too careful, you might just fly away. Sometimes, you catch yourself involuntarily smiling. You never smile for yourself. Always for other people—mainly to charm them, trick them, getting them to do what you want… So what is this? Is this what enjoyment makes you do?

You’re careful never to let yourself smile in Yoongi’s presence. He would never let you hear the end of it. But still, on the nicer days, where the sunlight streams in through the tinted windows of the shop, casting its amber light on the glass bottles, reflecting small rainbows on everything inside, you can’t help the smile that slips onto your lips.

It’s pretty.

You never knew that beauty could extend to the outer world. They always told you that your vicinity was a dangerous ground, that you had to stay tense and guarded. But there’s no reason to suspect the worst around here.

It’s so peaceful.

On slower days, you no longer wait for customers at the counter; it gets old pretty quickly to count the cracks in the wood. Now, you wait with Yoongi in his room.

He usually sits at his desk, dozing off, working on some documents, eating lunch, whatever it is that he does to pass the time. And you? You sprawl on his bed in a starfish position, staring at the ceiling and letting the soft mattress support your stiff back.

The first time you collapsed onto his bed without warning, he’d given you a distasteful look. “You’re getting the fucking sheets dirty,” he’d complained.

“Like you’re any cleaner,” you replied, not moving an inch.

He couldn’t really do anything about it (nor could he disagree), so he quickly gave up. He wasn’t going to share his chair with you, either.

His bed is always so comfortable. If you were him, you would never leave it. The sheets also smell like him. The mint, the faint hints of lemon and linen. Occasionally, when he’s not looking, you bury your face into his sheets.

Except, he is looking today, and he breaks the usual silence to embarrass you about it.

“What the hell are you doing?”

You immediately jerk your face away from the bed. “Thanks for waking me up, asshole.”

He squints at you as if he’s well-aware that you’re lying. You’d never sleep in front of him; even he would know that. Sleeping is the most vulnerable position a normal person can put themselves in. And while you trust Yoongi enough to no longer want to kill him at the slightest inconvenience anymore, you don’t trust him enough to sleep while he’s in the room with you.

“Yeah, right,” he says. “Jungkook used to do that all the time, you know.”

“Do what?” You frown, sitting up on your elbows. It’s rare that he would mention his brother, and it’s even stranger that he’s doing it in front of you—the person who killed him.

“Pretend to sleep,” Yoongi answers. “He did it a lot when we were kids. And then when you’re unsuspecting, he’d reach out and wrestle you to the ground. He’d always win.”

“Oh.”

What are you supposed to say to that? The only thing you can seem to take away from Yoongi’s little anecdote is that Jungkook never grew out of that habit of his.

“You can’t seriously be sleeping during the games!” you giggle, poking at Jungkook’s cheek as he lies there on the forest floor, eyes closed, breaths even. When he doesn’t answer, you feel the urge to yank his hair. But you can’t do that. Not with the cameras on.

You’re supposed to pretend that you love him, not that you’re waiting for the perfect chance to kill him—after everyone else is already dead.

So you caress his cheek, lean in closer—just so the audience back home could squeal—and whisper, “Hey, wak—”

He’s awake and on top of you in less than a second.

You gasp, the wind nearly knocked out of you as he holds you on the ground, pinning your body down along with a couple of leaves.

How fucking stupid! How fucking weak of you to be taken out like this! You’re about to slip the knife from your pocket out to slit his throat, when you realize that he was grinning happily.

“Got you,” he sings before crawling off of you. “Did you really think I’d be asleep?”

“W-Well, I just! Your breathing was so even, I—”

He only leans in and ruffles your hair. You want to cut his hand off. “Let’s go,” he says, taking your hand. “We’ve got some others to kill.”

“—about me?”

Yoongi’s voice brings you back to reality and you blink a couple of times in an attempt to register his words. But you realize you’d missed more than half of it.

“What?”

Some time when you were lost in your head, he’d turned around. And now, his back faces you. You stare at it blankly until he repeats his question. 

“Did he ever talk about me?”

The two of you make camp in front of the Cornucopia, guarding the supplies and basking in the riches the Gamemakers had to offer. The sky is dark, and the moon is shining. The dead tributes’ names had already been flashed in the sky. Four of them in total today—all killed by the two of you.

“Weren’t we productive today?” Jungkook says, offering you some jerky found in one of the packs. He cooks wild squirrel with his other hand, letting the fat drip down and sizzle into the fire.

“I guess we were,” you answer, taking the jerky and taking a small bite of it—pretty and dainty—just like they taught you. “We have five left now.” Five left before you’d have to kill him too. 

“We’ve got time,” he says. “We’re doing better than my brother did, actually.” He smiles. 

“Oh?” you say, even though you already knew. “You talk about him a lot.” During training, in between interviews, in the dead of the night when you’d sneak into his suite to visit him (and many others), he’d always mentioned Yoongi. 

“I look up to him,” Jungkook says. “I know I said it in my interview, but I’m here because of Yoongi. Because I want to show him that I can win, too.”

Yikes, you think. “That’s admirable,” you say.

“He said he survived the Arena thinking of me,” Jungkook says, the faux moonlight cascading over his doe eyes and sculpted face. “I want to do the same. But… I dunno, he didn’t have someone like you with him…”

His gaze is too soft. Too kind. It takes everything inside of you to not look away. 

“I want to be just like Yoongi,” he says. “But I want to be with you too.”

You don’t know what to say, so you just kiss him to shut him up. Thankfully, he takes the bait, and the Capitol gets a good show out of that one.

It’s too bad you can’t do the same with Yoongi. If you leaned in to kiss him, he’d probably murder you, and you wouldn’t be able to do anything about it… Because now, the thought of hurting Yoongi feels… weird. It feels odd.

“What, cat got your tongue?” he says without bothering to turn around.

You scowl. “Is this how you’re going to use one of your precious questions?”

He pauses for a second before answering, “Yeah.”

“Well…” The stomachache is back again. “He… He always said he wanted to be just like you.”

“I meant the things he said off camera. You said in your Victor interview that you cozied up with him before the games even began.”

You feel like throwing up. It’s like he’s caught you in a web, except you’re not the spider, he is.

“We weren’t usually talking when we met,” you say, which is the truth. Yoongi looks rather disgusted, but you continue on anyway. “He still told me small things. Like…” You struggle to remember. When he spoke, you’d always tuned him out. You were interested in what he could do for you, how much he could trust you, not what he had to say about his goddamn brother. 

You’re in his bed, and he’s holding you in his arms, his bare chest pressed flat against your back.

“You awake?” he whispers in your ear.

“Is that even a question?” you reply with a sigh. He should know that you never sleep with someone around. But perhaps maybe he did know. Maybe he only wanted a good segue to talk to you. And even if you were a little short-tempered around him, he never minded. In fact, he enjoyed it when you were a little mean. Because you were honest with him and him only. 

You can practically see Jungkook smiling. “I can’t believe we’ll be in the Arena in three days.”

“Me neither.” Although you prepared thirteen years of  your life for this.

“I’ve been wanting to ask you this for a while,” he says. “But why did you volunteer?”

You turn around, exasperated. “I thought you listened to my interview.”

He just nudges your noses together. “You were lying,” he says, grinning. “I could tell.”

You sigh. “I volunteered because I knew I could win.” There was something about him that always compelled you to tell the truth—even if it was only a part of it.

“Really?” he says, face lighting up. “Me too!” Then, he laughs. “But there can’t be two winners.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes.

“You know, back in District 2, my instructors hand-picked me to be the boy volunteer four years ago,” he says in a low whisper as if the Capitol could barge in at any minute and arrest him for illegally training for the games. “I was fourteen. But during the actual reaping, my brother overrode the already rigged selection.”

“Did he?”

“The instructors considered him too, but they ultimately chose me over him.” Jungkook’s grin widened. “I thought he was jealous at first, and I was angry at him for taking the spotlight, but as I watched him in the games, bleeding out, starving, crying out my name… I realized he did it to protect me.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really,” he says. “He thought I was too young to win. That I still had a lot to learn. So I took four years to learn more, and I volunteered myself. I’m not letting my brother down.”

“Oh yeah?” you say. “And will he be waiting at home when you come back as a Victor?”

Jungkook shakes his head. “He never came back home.”

“How protective,” you say sarcastically, but when you catch his hurt face, you smile, pushing back his bangs and pecking his cheek. “I’m sure he had his reasons.”

“I’m gonna win to find him,” Jungkook says. But he looks at you, eyes softening and his grip around you tightening. “But I’m not gonna be the one who kills you.”

How ironic. Because you’re going to be the exact person who kills him.

“He told me he wanted to win to find you,” you say, sitting up and hunching over to press on your stomach. “He told me that he didn’t want to let you down.”

Yoongi’s silent.

“He told me that he thought you were probably waiting for him at the Capitol. That when he won, he’d finally be able to meet you. And then you’d be proud of him…”

Again, silence.

“I resent you,” Yoongi finally says after a long time. “I still hate you for killing him.”

“I know.”

You don’t know what else to say.

And Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind.

The two of you dwell in the quietness of the afternoon, both sinking into your respective thoughts.

As the faint smell of mint leaves calms your mind, you realize that even if Yoongi resents you, hates you, absolutely despises you for what you did to his younger brother, he still trusts you. Why else would he be sitting at his desk with his back turned to you? Why else would he doze off some days or be lost in his thoughts with you in the room? In the Arena, that would be like him asking to be killed by you.

But, of course, this isn’t the Arena, and if he trusts you this much, you couldn’t possibly kill him—nor hurt him for that matter.

As you lazily trace the lines of the wood of the ceiling in your mind, it suddenly dawns on you.

You trust him too.

Why else would you be lying on his bed, completely unguarded with him right in front of you? Why else would you not feel the need to kill him every time he annoys you? And why else? Why else would you find comfort in his scent?

NINE.

The 103rd Hunger Games rolls around. 

You and Yoongi watch the reaping together in his small space, where a cheap hologram set lies near his desk. It helps pass the time.

But the reaping is always the most boring part of the televised Hunger Games. Volunteers usually make things interesting, but volunteers at Districts 1, 2 and 4 are far too common, too predictable. And these tributes never volunteer because they want to sacrifice themselves to protect their loved ones; they volunteer because they think they’ll win. It’s flashy and ostentatious. No one wants to watch someone who thinks they’re better than everyone. Which was why everyone talked about you when you volunteered. They thought you volunteered to protect the little 12-year-old girl who had started to cry when her name was called. District 8 rarely—almost never—has volunteers, so of course they assumed you volunteered out of the goodness of your heart. You sure made it seem like that: in your interviews, in your expressions, in your actions.

But in reality, your district had an agenda, and you were merely their puppet.

You glance back at the hologram where by now, a boy and a girl have been chosen from District 8. The boy is much younger, and he’s crying. The camera makes sure to pan to his older brothers who look horror-stricken, yet they don’t have the guts to volunteer. The girl is older, but she looks desperate, eyes darting around to the girl’s section, wordlessly praying that someone will volunteer to take her spot. No one does.

Yoongi speaks absentmindedly with his eyes trained to the hologram. “I’ve never seen a District 8 volunteer other than you.”

“I didn’t do it because I was kind,” you say.

“I never said you were kind,” he says back. “You didn’t even know the girl. I always assumed you volunteered because you, for some reason, thought you would win.”

So he had seen through your cordial glances at the girl, your relieved smile when you glanced at her from up on the stage. He had seen through your kind words during your interviews—somehow just like his younger brother. The rest of the Capitol was fooled, though. They thought you were the sweetest little thing. 

“You didn’t think I’d be a threat.”

“No,” Yoongi admits. “But I always suspected you’d get a lot of sponsors.”

“Did you?” you say, placing your hand on the top rail of Yoongi’s chair.

He turns around slightly in his seat to look at you. “And I was right.”

“You were.”

“I didn’t think you’d actually…” he trails off. “But as soon as I saw the training scores, I knew you were hiding something. A lot of things, actually.”

“Too bad you weren’t Jungkook’s mentor. You could’ve warned him.” The words come out of you before you can stop yourself. You glance at Yoongi to see if you’ve hit a sore spot. Will he get angry at you? Will he yell? Tell you to leave? The horrible feeling is back in your stomach again, and you want to say something, tell him that you were just joking. But would that even help?

“Yeah,” Yoongi agrees with you, to your surprise. “I could’ve. Too bad I’d already been banished. Should’ve waited a couple years before I decided to retaliate… But I never thought that idiot would volunteer to make me proud or to find me or whatever the fuck.”

“He could’ve won,” you say, though you know that’s not true. As long as you were in the games, everyone else was doomed.

“Don’t lie to me,” Yoongi says. He turns back to look at the hologram. “He was a goner the moment he saw you.”

It hurts. Your stomach turns, twists, tangles up just like yarn. 

“I didn’t mean to do it,” you say, hoping it makes him feel better.

“You had a plan,” Yoongi says. “That’s what you told me, remember? Then you went rogue.”

Of course you remember. The first day you’d met—when you had cried and begged and told him your sob story. How could he ever forget?

Your grip on the chair tightens. “It wasn’t my plan,” you confess. It’s strange, but you don’t want him to hate you more than he already does. “It was theirs… People who were sick of the games,” you say. “People who were sick of the Capitol.” 

“I thought so,” he says, a little too casually for your liking.

“Are you trying to tell me you knew all along?” Your eyes narrow.

“It wasn’t too hard to piece it together,” he says. “District 8’s mentors were killed during the Second Rebellion, which means no one trained you. But someone did something because you played the games better than any Career I’ve ever seen. I didn’t think some 18-year-old could’ve strategized that herself.”

“So you doubted my abilities.”

“Yes, and I was right,” he says. “I was never sure who you worked for, but I do know now.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“They wanted you to be the new Mockingjay,” Yoongi says. “So they trained you back at District 8, like the academies do in the Career districts.”

It’s quite shocking how much he can discern from little hints here and there, but he also didn’t win the Hunger Games at 16-years-old for nothing. He was always astute and observant. You just never thought that he’d observe you.

“They chose me when I was three,” you say, confirming his suspicions. “And they began training me when I was five.”

“The Third Rebellion, huh?” Yoongi says, leaning back in his chair. “I guess they didn’t think things through, putting a child at the front of their campaign.”

“It almost worked with Katniss Everdeen,” you say, though you’re not sure why you come to the rebel’s defense. It might just be a habit.

“Yeah, well, Katniss Everdeen is dead.” He’s also not wrong. “And you betrayed them, so I’d say the success rate is zero.”

You wince. “I didn’t mean to do it.”

“Really?” He sounds painfully sarcastic.

“Really,” you say. “I… I dunno. The deal was that they’d feed me, clothe me and train me. All I had to do in return were two things: win the games and assassinate Snow. I was supposed to kill him during the victor crowning.”

“He’s still alive,” Yoongi says, but it’s without malice—as if he’s only stating a fact.

“Obviously I didn’t go through with it,” you say.

Yoongi hums. “You told me before that it was because you didn’t want to work for someone again. Clearly not the entire truth,” he says. “Because you’re working for me now.” You grimace. “So why? Why couldn’t you?”

Why. What an age-old question. You’re not even sure if you can admit the real reason. 

“Do you really want to use up your last question on this?” you say, eyebrows raised. 

“Sure,” he replies. “Why not?”

“What if I’m not sure of the answer myself?”

This time, his eyebrows raise. “Then maybe you’re lying to yourself too.”

Why is he always right?

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I dunno… I just—It felt good to be congratulated for the first time in my life. They never… Well, back when I was training, they never really liked me.”

“But you were their precious Mockingjay.”

“They’d photograph me, ask me to read random scripts in front of a camera and videotape my training sessions, but it was never because they admired me. At least, it didn’t feel that way.”

“I see.”

It feels good to finally let it out. You can almost feel the pain in your stomach dissipating.

“I didn’t want to be thought of as a rebel,” you admit. “It wouldn’t make sense. I’ve always done what I was told to do. I was always so obedient. And for the longest time, I didn’t know why I was chosen and why I had to train. I just did it. No questions asked.”

You glance at Yoongi, who seems to be listening intently.

“I sold them out,” you say, and the bubble in your stomach pops. “I tipped off the Peacekeepers about their location and… I don’t know what happened to them. They’re dead now, maybe. Or they’ve become Avoxes.”

Yoongi clicks off the hologram. He turns away from you, resting his head on his hands.

“So I guess I am a monster.”

“All Victors are,” is his rather comforting answer. “But we all have our reasons.”

You had your reasons, all right.

They’d let you bleed out of your injuries from training for days—made you fight through the pain because they told you that’s how it would be like in the Arena. They’d tie you down and repeatedly hit you with non-lethal objects to get you used to blunt force trauma. They would never let you eat what you caught in the woods; instead, they’d give you the scraps of their dinner. Because it would prepare you for starvation. They never let you sleep with blankets; they didn’t even let you sleep on a bed so in the Arena, you wouldn’t miss the comfort of a plush bed with fleece blankets. Even when you were at the Capitol, they fed you detestable food—too salty jerky, nearly perished squirrel meat, small berries—because they couldn’t have you getting spoiled just days before the biggest moment of your life, could they? They made you sleep on the hard, marble floors too, and the only sanction you had was when you’d visit the other tributes in the middle of the night.

Because you knew they’d let you in their beds, and the rebels couldn’t do anything about it. Technically, you were following their directions: play coy, wrap the other tributes around your finger.

It never really hit you—the gravity of their treatment—until now.

You knew you were unhappy then, and you knew you didn’t belong with the rebels, but you didn’t think that they ever used you. When you betrayed them, you thought it was because you wanted to save yourself. You didn’t think you were trying to save yourself from them.

But how fucking funny the universe works.

Now that you escaped being used by the rebels, you’re tangled up in the same web again, being used by the same man you were supposed to kill.

It reminds you.

“It’s getting late,” you say, glancing at the small antique clock on Yoongi’s desk. “I might have some clients.”

“Might?”

“It depends,” you tell him. “I select my client of the night. If I don’t like the pool of requests, I don’t choose. But I’ll have to, sooner or later,” you say. “Or Snow’ll know I haven’t been making his money.”

“How much?” he asks.

Your head whips around to stare at his back. “What?”

“How much for the night?”

You scoff. “You’re not telling me that you actually want to—”

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Yoongi snorts. He turns, standing up from his chair to face you. You get a whiff of his scent: the mint, lemon and linen. It nearly overwhelms your senses. Did he put on more lotion than normal today? “I don’t want you in the way that you think.”

The only thing you can manage to do is roll your eyes. And after some hesitation, you tell him your price.

He nods. “I can do that.”

“So what?” you say, arms crossing over your chest. “You’re just going to steal me for the night?”

“Steal?” he asks, cocking his head. “Of course not. I’m paying for you to stay.”

It’s time to throw the age-old question right back at him. “Why?”

He gives you a long, hard look, black eyes seemingly piercing into your soul. It somehow sends something sizzling down your spine. Does he know? That you didn’t tell him everything? That you purposely left out the parts where they’d used you? Where they’d hit you, starved you, bled you out? You don’t want him to think you used to be so weak—or worse, stupid.

But he just shakes his head, maintaining eye contact as the words casually slip from his lips: “Because I figured you’d need a rest today after all that stomachache.”

TEN.

Every so often, when Yoongi’s happy with the money he’s earned that day, he’ll buy your company for the night. His money, of course, never goes to you. It’s wired straight to President Snow, who guzzles up all the profit he makes from selling young bodies to the Capitol. Staying the night at the shop also means you don’t get your usual share of the generous tips your clients leave you. But it’s worth it. Yoongi’s paying you to work, anyway.

He also always lets you sleep on his bed, but that was only after you (jokingly) threatened him. (It wasn’t anything too mean, just that you’d put a strong diuretic in his meals whenever he least expected it.) But he never reacted strongly to your threat either, so you suspect that maybe he wanted you to take the bed in the first place.

Never in your life have you ever slept on a whole bed just by yourself. It’s something that you could get used to. Being able to stretch out your legs without touching somebody else’s, to have ample back support and soft covers that keep you warm at night—you almost feel bad that you make Yoongi resort to sleeping on his chair. You glance at him at times. His upper body is usually laid out uncomfortably on his desk, and he slouches in a manner that would’ve had your past instructors screaming. But he never complains. 

It’s nice spending a night with him.

Yoongi never whines about a wife that he does not have. He doesn’t whine about his nonexistent children. And he sure as hell doesn’t whine about his job when it’s all that’s been keeping him afloat. In fact, he doesn’t really talk to you, which doesn’t bother you at all. You like it that way. He lets you do whatever you want. You begin to look forward to these nights at the shop. 

Sometimes, when you and Yoongi are feeling less hostile towards each other, the two of you stay up late to watch the reruns of the current games. It started ever since the day an exhausted Yoongi collapsed onto his chair and switched on his hologram set to search for fine entertainment before he fell asleep. You’d already been swaddled up in his blankets on the bed, and you were about to yell at him for switching on the hologram when you were trying to get some well-deserved shut-eye. But the games happened to be playing, and it was like a train wreck you couldn’t look away from. 

Even on the first day, it’s clear that one of the Careers would win. By day 11, there are only a few tributes left, and they are those who survived day 10’s violent, bloody massacre. You used to be able to watch every single moment of the games—all the blood, all the gore, the screams, the crying and begging—but now, sometimes you have to look away. You used to analyze every tribute’s fighting styles, memorize their strategies and minute habits. Yet now, none of that interests you. Instead, watching the games makes your chest heavy. It feels like your frequent stomachaches, but even worse.

Yoongi usually ends up shutting off the hologram when he notices you grimacing, and at first, you were offended that he thought you couldn’t handle it. You yelled at him for that, and he’d tried to keep calm but ended up yelling back. You’d left that day, storming away and muttering obscenities under your breath and retreating into another one of your client’s beds. But you came back the next day, pretending that incident never happened. And now, you’re glad that he shuts off the program. It saves you from stomachache.

On day 15, there are only two tributes left. You and Yoongi watch, you sitting on his chair and him right behind you, arms resting on the top rail. “Don’t turn it off this time,” you warn him. Even if you get a stomachache, you want to see how this ends.

Yoongi just nods, eyes glued to the screen.

This year’s Arena is set in a city in ruins. The two tributes who are left are forced to meet each other back at the Cornucopia after some bird muttations chase them there, nearly pecking out their eyeballs. The tributes circle around each other at the remains of a courtyard, where there are crumbling bricks, splintered wood, metal pipes—all great weapons—strewn about. You can already see about ten different ways to kill someone in this particular setting. The thought unsettles you. But you make sure not to show any emotion on your face. Yoongi always thinks he knows better, and despite your warning, he’d turn the hologram off again.

You and Yoongi watch the scene unfold. One of the tributes—the boy from District 2—picks up a metal pipe and swings it at the girl from District 4. She ducks, quickly scrambling around in the dust to come up with a red brick. It’s a dumb move on her part; she won’t be able to get in close range to him when he’s got that metal pipe. But as the District 2 boy is laughing at her unintelligent choice of weapon, she throws the brick right at his arm. She’s got good aim. He drops the metal pipe, clutching his arm in pain, and she’s quick enough to take this opportunity to lunge at him. They end up falling on the dirt floor with the boy taking most of the impact. She’s sitting on his chest, his arms trapped under her knees.

You can tell from the look on the boy’s face that he knows he lost. He begins to beg. But the girl is quick. She picks up the brick she’d thrown—the one that is tinged with skin and blood—and she begins bludgeoning him with it. You can hear squelches of skin, of blood splattering. The crack! of the skull. The moans of the boy in pain. She’s so weak. The games have been going on for so long that she’s out of strength. She can’t finish him off with one hit. It’s worse for both of them.

It’s exactly like what happened during the 73rd Hunger Games; the brick bludgeoning, the city ruins… The Gamemakers decided to come full-circle after three decades.

The scene even reminds you of your own games.

“Look at that,” Jungkook grins. “We killed the last one.”

You link your arms together, pulling his body close to yours. “That just leaves the two of us.”

“I guess it does.”

“So, are you going to kill me now?” you ask him innocently—as if you’d already accepted your fate.

He looks at you, eyes softening when he catches sight of your long face. And for a while, he just stares at you, drinking in your features, especially lingering on your eyes and lips. It takes a long time for him to find his words. “Not if you kill me first.” 

And before you can even react, he’s embracing you, hands in your hair, your arms around his waist. The hug is sweet. And he embraces you like it’s the last time he’ll ever do it, which isn’t so far off from the truth. There’s something like desperation in his actions, and you try to mirror it, wondering if anyone in the Capitol will believe you. He smells of mud, rainwater and sweat. It isn’t too bad, considering that you’ve only been out here for three days.

Your mind is racing. If you make the move to kill him, will he fight back? Or will he let you kill him? Will he let his feelings for you go so far that he’ll sacrifice his life for you to win? Or will you have to end his life by brute force? And what about his brother? He wouldn’t so easily give up on the search to find him, would he? He surely wouldn’t give him up for you.

But all of your thoughts vanish when he leans into your ear, and your hair hides his mouth as he whispers, “I trust you.”

Then, he’s leaning away, his fingers tracing your cheek and moving down to hold your chin. His dark eyes twinkle in the morning sunlight. He trusts you? Does that mean he won’t fight back when you eventually stab him to death? Does that mean he trusts you to sacrifice yourself for him? No, he wouldn’t do that. Because as haughty and cocky as Jungkook can get, he’s kind to the people he loves. You’ve heard him talk about his older brother.

He pulls you in for one final kiss—one that would have the viewers back at the Capitol gasping and squealing. It’s too chaste, too sweet. Before you can really process it, your hand slinks behind to grab the silver dagger you kept hidden in your pants. And when you stab him, his lips are still on yours. His eyes open, though. Blood splatters from his mouth. You step back, watching him fall. He’s dead before he hits the ground. You’d stabbed him right in the heart. Without any hesitation.

Even when the hovercraft comes to pull you up, the winner of the 99th Hunger Games, you can taste his blood in your mouth. The bitterness, the iron. 

And you swear you can taste it now. 

You’ll never forget that face before he fell. It hadn’t been a look of betrayal. Nor had it been a look of hatred, even contempt. It had been acceptance. But why? Why was he so okay with it? Why did he let you kill him? You don’t understand. He deserved to fight back. So why didn’t he?

Did he know that you were going to kill him? He was always smart; he should’ve known that this was your strategy: to charm everyone in the games and to kill them when they were blinded by adoration for you. Did he think that you’d make an exception for him? Did he think that just because you were meaner to him, that you’d spare him? That you showed him your true self? And that you really truly adored him back? So was he waiting for you to kill him? But what about his older brother? Did he give up on his ambition to find him just because of you? But no… it couldn’t be.

Yoongi switches off the hologram. “Stomachache?”

No, this is considerably worse. It feels so painful, yet nothing seems to be there. How do you feel empty yet drowning at the same time? 

“Can you stay?” he asks, eyes sparkling and mouth set in a hopeful smile. “We’ve never had breakfast together.”

But you’re already gripping the door handle of the exit. “I don’t—”

“I know you don’t eat breakfast, but today’s the last day… You know, before we get thrown into the Arena.”

All the more reason for you to skip your meals today. You wouldn’t want to mess up 13 years of training the day before the main event. “I can’t,” you tell him. It’s the truth. 

“Why not?” Jungkook asks, stepping forward.

You give him a hard look. “Because tomorrow, we’ll get thrown in the Arena and we’ll have to kill each other eventually.”

And to your surprise, he laughs. “So? That’s tomorrow. We’re friends today, aren’t we?” You want to correct him. 'Friends' is such a strong word. You and he are allies. But do allies sleep with each other? “Besides,” he continues in your silence. “We won’t have to worry about killing each other in a long time.”

“Oh?”

“We’ll have to kill the others first,” he says, walking even closer. He stands before you, hands lifting to play with your hair. “And when the time comes…” He pulls you into his arms. “I guess we’ll have to fight to the death.”

You snort, pushing him away. “So you’ve thought that far too?”

“Of course I have.” He can’t stop staring into your eyes. “But I don’t think I’ll put up much of a fight.”

You roll your eyes. “Your survival instincts are going to override your feelings, you know.”

He shrugs his shoulders. “I have a hard time hurting the people that I love.” Then, he opens the door of his suite for you, waiting for you to leave. And you do, because you have to begin your rigorous training just like any morning. But his words echo in your head for a second longer than usual.

I have a hard time hurting the people that I love.

Was that it, then? Love?

How could a silly little thing like that cost him his life? He must’ve been an idiot! It was you or his brother. It was a lying stranger versus his own blood. He should’ve killed you; you would’ve felt better if he’d fought back. But no… He couldn’t hurt you because he loved you. You don’t understand. How can you dedicate yourself to a single person like that? Enough to make you sacrifice your own life?

Love?

You’ve been told that you were loved before. The rebels, your clients, your fans after the games… But it never made sense to you. They only loved you because you did something for them. So you always thought love was something you exchange—a give and take.

But you never gave Jungkook anything. 

Even when you were an absolute asshole to him, he always acted in your best interest. But how? He only knew of your existence for a little over a week. How long does it take to fall in love? Do you really know nothing about it? Is it love that made the Peacekeeper mourn over his dead daughter? That when he smelled her personal scent, he broke down? Is it love that Miss Bijou is missing that makes her so lonely and friendless? Is it love that Yoongi feels for his brother?

Is it so hard to lose a loved one?

Is that why Yoongi hates you?

In that case…

What about all the people you’ve killed in the Arena? Do they have loved ones at home? Loved ones who want to kill you for inflicting harm and pain on their children? What about the people you’ve indirectly killed because you sold them out? What about the ones who survived and became slaves to the Capitol? Do they hope to see you one day? Even as Avoxes, would they try to seek vengeance for their loved ones?

You would deserve it, wouldn’t you? You ruined their lives. You didn’t have to rat them out, but you did. Because you thought it would gain you a favor from President Snow. And all he did was sell you to the Capitol.

God, you’re a monster. 

You can see the faces of those you’ve killed. They’re looming over you, laughing at your distress. They tell you that you deserve everything that happened to you: your embarrassing failure to attain true freedom. It will never matter how much you try; you will always be owned by the Capitol.

Maybe all of this happened because you don’t have anyone to love and no one ever loved you. And the only person who did, you killed without hesitation. Because back then, you never thought too much of his words.

I have a hard time hurting the people that I love.

Why didn’t you understand it before? There’s a hole inside of your stomach. It’s growing and growing until it expands to your chest. You feel empty. Barren.

He loved you! He really, truly loved you.

“You’re not supposed to be here!” you say. The words come out sharper than you’d hoped, but Jungkook is far too used to your short temper to react any differently.

He just moves in to embrace you, cradling your head in his arms. 

“You’ll see me in there, anyway,” you murmur against his chest.

“But this is the last time I’ll get to see the real you,” he murmurs back.

“The real me?” You’re incredulous, pushing him back to stare at his face. 

“Yeah,” he answers, tugging you in to plant a small kiss on your lips. When he pulls away, he’s grinning. “You act a lot sweeter in front of the cameras,” he says. “But I like it when you’re you.”

“What makes you think that this is the real me?” you ask him, brows furrowed.

He only shrugs. “I just know.”

“Well, what if you’re wrong?”

He shakes his head with a grin on his face. “Then I guess I’m a fool.”

“You’d be a little more than a fool,” you say, but you find yourself in his arms again. It’s annoying. He always finds a way to wiggle his way into your embrace. And strangely, you often find it hard to leave. So, the two of you stay in each others’ arms in silence. 

Soon, you’ll be escorted underground, below the Arena, and wait until the tight capsules transport you above the surface. Then, the games will begin. But Jungkook seems to want to savor this moment. And in order to kill him in the future, you have to let him appreciate you.

His grip on you tightens.

“I know you’re going to do it,” he says. Your eyes widen. It’s like he can read your mind. “I’ll be okay,” he whispers. He begins to draw circles on your back. 

“Don’t say shit like that,” you tell him, face still buried in his chest. “You won’t know what it’s like in there.”

“I won’t,” he answers, “but it won’t matter. I’ve thought about it, Y/N, but in my entire life, I think I’ve been the happiest here.”

“Here?”

“Yeah. With you.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“No, it’s the truth. I liked it here with you. I trained all my life to be here, but now that I am here, I just don’t… I don’t know. What would I do after I won? What if Yoongi never came home for a reason? What if he wanted to cut ties? What if I can’t find him?” His fingers tangle up in your hair. “And then there’s you. I know I volunteered to be here, and I know I wanted this, but… I don’t know anymore,” he says. “I just want to spend every waking moment with you.”

He’s stupid. So goddamn naïve. Or… wait a minute. He could be saying this to trick you! So you let your guard down! So when the time comes, he can go for the kill since you wouldn’t suspect anything! You frown. 

“You don’t have to believe me,” he says. How does he know you so well? “But when you do it, don’t hesitate.”

Is he really…? No, he has to be lying. He can’t be telling you that you have to kill him. It’s impossible! He can’t like you this much, can he? It has to be a trick. You’re desirable, but not to the extent that your fans would sacrifice their life for you. So what he’s saying must be a lie.

Except, years later, now you know it wasn’t.

He’d given his heart to you and you’d repeatedly smashed it down. How had he never gotten tired of you? What did he see in you that was so lovable? God, it hurts to breathe. There’s a searing pain in your chest, so you buckle over to clutch it.

“If you need to throw up, I’d rather you do it in the bathroom,” Yoongi says with an indiscernible look on his face.

You can’t answer.

Everything is too much. And even though you’re sitting, the world is spinning.

“Do you need me to drag you there?”

He doesn’t understand.

You’re not sick to the stomach; you’re sick in the head.

“You’re getting the table wet. That’s a pretty expensive table, you know.”

That’s when you realize you’re crying. Your vision is blurry again, and that coupled with the pain in your chest? It hurts more than the time you broke four bones in your body during training. Because then, you at least knew you’d heal in time. But this? Can heartache heal?

“No, seriously. That’s real poplar wood.”

He must be shitting with you. Can’t he see that you’re in pain?

“Can you hear me?”

God, he boils your blood sometimes.

“Leave me alone!” you shriek. The sheer volume of your voice even takes you back. You hadn’t meant to yell.

But Yoongi ignores your tone altogether—he must’ve been teasing you before, that asshole. “I guess everything’s finally catching up to you.” He settles down at the edge of his desk, facing you. When you give him an incredulous look, he clarifies. “Guilt,” he says. “Or sadness. I dunno. Anything you’ve repressed before, during and after the games.”

Is that what the pain in your stomach had been this entire time? Guilt? Sadness? Are you so emotionless that you can’t tell the difference between emotional and physical pain? Yoongi never once breaks eye contact with you, and it’s so uncomfortable to the point that you have to look away first. You think you understand now.

You might not know love, but you understand. To see the person who killed his brother ask him for help, to see her every day because she won’t fucking leave him alone… To house her, support her, help her… Does he look at you and see red? Whenever he hears your voice, does he hear Jungkook’s? 

Deep down, does he still seek revenge? Deep down, does he wish to kill you?

He must only be helping you because if he doesn’t, you would kill him. But maybe he’s plotting a way to kill you. Maybe one day, he’ll find the nerve to call up the Peacekeepers. Maybe he’s already working with Snow right now, praying on your down fall.

You wouldn’t blame him.

In fact, you can’t even look at him.

“You can do it, you know,” you tell him in a shaky voice. “I’ll let you win just this once.” 

He looks utterly confused. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb! Kill me, Yoongi!” you stand up, tears flying off your face as you stand up to grip his shirt. “You were going to do it, anyway.”

He stands still, letting you threateningly hold his shirt but not doing anything about it. “Is that your way of apologizing?”

Apologizing?

“W-What?”

“You feel guilty about killing Jungkook.”

Silence.

“Did you think that I wanted to kill you this entire time?” He cocks his head, staring straight into your eyes so hard that your grip on his shirt loosens. Your hand falls to your side. “If I wanted you dead, don’t you think I would’ve poisoned you by now? I know my way around chemicals, you know.”

Oh.

“Do you really think that if I kill you, we’ll be even?” he asks.

You look down at your feet, and no answer emerges from your lips.

“Why the hell would I waste my money buying you for the night if I wanted you dead?”

“To gain my trust?” you whisper.

Yoongi just sighs.

“I know,” you whisper. “I’m…” The word gets stuck in your throat.

“You’re what?”

“I’m… sorry.”

Silence.

It’s so uncomfortable that you look up to see Yoongi staring at you; he has a look of disbelief on his face. “You’re… sorry?”

You nod. “I…” You grit your teeth. Why are you stuttering and pausing and crying? It’s so pathetic. “I hurt him,” you say. “I hurt him and I hurt you and then I hurt everyone else in my entire life. But I never knew or cared. I didn’t know you’re supposed to feel things and that love is real and that I don’t exist to be used and that feelings are meant to be understood and that I shouldn’t use others’ emotions against them and I—” You stop, panting for breath. “I didn’t know he loved me.”

Yoongi is silent.

“I thought he was using me too. I thought it was all just for show! I didn’t think that he… I didn’t—” The babbling is back again. You shut up before you can lose even more dignity. It’s a lot of staring into your own feet after that.

Pathetic.

But is it really?

You are sorry after all. And you’ve seen Yoongi lose himself to his emotions before. Is it so wrong that you apologize? You don’t think you’ve ever apologized for anything other than this in your whole life. It’s always been killing and killing and killing, on to the next, get on to another mission. This is weird.

You’re not really used to this.

And Yoongi seems to be relishing in the silence. He slowly backtracks and sits on his bed, leaning back slightly to stare at the dent in the wall where the Peacekeepers had thrown him years ago. He doesn’t speak—and he doesn’t really need to.

You trudge towards the bed, sitting down next to him.

He doesn’t need to say that he forgives you. You don’t need to hear that he forgives you. And he doesn’t have to forgive you—in fact, you’d feel better if he never does. Even if it would mean that you owe him everything. And even after your embarrassing breakdown, you don’t feel the need to knock Yoongi out to give him slight amnesia. 

You glance at him as he continues to stare into the wall, a blank look plastered on his face.

When you look away, he glances in your direction.

But you see his gaze from your peripheral vision. 

You realize that you don’t have to speak for him to know either—that you really do trust him.

ELEVEN.

The District 4 girl is the new Victor. She’s crowned and celebrated in the Capitol, but you can’t watch the ceremony. It reminds you too much of what you were supposed to do: you were supposed to kill him. Kill President Snow. 

You wonder what your life could’ve been if you had. If you listened to the rebels. Would the rebels have won? Would you have tasted real freedom? Or would you have died trying?

But the rebels… would they have killed everyone in the Capitol? Even people like the sentimental Peacekeeper who longs for his lost daughter? Kind yet lonely Miss Bijou? The innocent children who’ve never had a day of hardship in their life? But it was never their fault that they were so spoiled. They never knew any better.

But god, are you so fucking sick of killing and murder and death. Why did you never feel guilt for taking someone’s life? Because you didn’t know how much it could affect others.

You didn’t understand why Yoongi was so mad. You didn’t understand why the Peacekeeper would pay so much just to smell something that reminded him of his daughter. You didn’t understand why Jungkook died for you. But you understand now. Because you can’t imagine feeling that gaping hole inside of you every day.

On some days, you feel stupid. And weak.

It’s a disgusting feeling. 

You’ve never been so vulnerable, so in tune with your feelings in your life. Every way you walk, you feel like sobbing. Every time Yoongi looks your way, you see Jungkook’s face. You hear his last words to you. You recall all of your memories together. Either Yoongi notices that you’re repenting or he’s been nicer ever since you apologized. You still don’t know where that apology came from. But strangely, you don’t regret it. Yoongi might never forgive you for killing and toying with his younger brother, but he would never hurt you in the way that you hurt him. Despite your shortcomings, he has always been generous. Even if he has lingering doubts.

“I want to blame you, you know,” he says one day as the two of you work together to close the shop. He’s been paying more frequently for you these days; you rarely ever enter the Capitol buildings anymore. He considers his pay as his taxes to the Capitol, and Snow doesn’t care where his money comes from, as long as he gets it. But it allows you to stay at the shop with Yoongi, sometimes spending entire weekends there—from morning to night.

“Blame me?” you echo, meticulously cleaning the tools on the counter. Yoongi trusts you enough to let you handle them now. He used to slap your hands away when you went anywhere near them. Then, in your head you would’ve imagined killing him with those very tools. But you can’t imagine doing that now.

“Yeah,” he says, looking up from mopping the floors. His eye contact isn’t as fierce as it used to be. It’s almost like he’s talking to an old friend, although you wonder if that’s the right way to describe it. You’ve never talked to an old friend before. Much less have a friend. “I want to hate you. And sometimes, yeah, I want to kill you, too. But I guess it wasn’t entirely your fault.”

You stare at him. Is this his late reaction to your apology? Is this what he had been thinking in his head that day as he stared into that wall with the dent? 

“Some days I get really angry,” Yoongi confesses. He goes back to work, running the mop across the wooden floor. 

“At me?” you ask. And it dawns on you that just a teeny tiny part of you does care what he thinks of you.

“At you, at myself, at Jungkook,” he answers. “But I’m working on it. I’m trying not to be angry. I hate it when I am. It’s like I can’t control myself.” 

Somehow, his words resonate with you.

“Do you know why I kept you around for so long?” Yoongi asks you. He looks up from his mopping, staring you straight in the eyes.

“Because I clean your toilet so you don’t have to?”

He doesn’t react at all. “Because I trust you.”

Oh.

“Because I trust that you won’t hurt me, given that I won’t hurt you. Because I know you’re already walking on eggshells since you killed my brother. Because after a while,” he says with a slight pause, “I realized that you were helping me too.”

“Yeah, like taking care of the shop.”

“Sure,” he says. “Sure.”

“You’re hiding something,” you reply.

“Can you tell?” he asks. 

“I can read you like a book.”

“Oh?” He raises his eyebrows. “Read me, then.”

“Well, you’re big on self-improvement, that’s for sure. You’re sentimental, but you don’t like to show it. But maybe a couple of years down the road, you’ll be softer than the people from District 11—”

“It seems like you’ve gathered some substantial information,” Yoongi snorts. “Fine, then. I won’t deny it. But let’s just say that we’re even now.”

“Even?” you ask, quirking your brow.

“I don’t like owing people things,” he answers. “Just like how you don’t either.”

“So you’re saying we shouldn’t owe each other anything anymore?”

“I’m sick and tired of keeping count,” he says. “I’m sick and tired of being sad, and I’m sick and tired of being angry.” He places his mop against one of the towering shelves and walks over to you, resting his elbows on the counter. “Or maybe I’m always sick and tired.”

You understand how that feels.

“Would it help if I told you that I trust you too?” you say. 

“Oh, yes, I’m magically healthy and awake now,” he says sarcastically.

You roll your eyes. But you do really trust him. You could turn your back on him without worrying he’ll stab you. You could sleep by his side without questioning if he has ulterior motives. If he tells you that you have nothing to owe to each other, you believe him. Whole-heartedly. 

There’s that silence again.

The two of you lean on the opposite sides of the counter. It’s peaceful. The warm sunlight filters into the shop, making the glass bottles glitter in different shades of the rainbow. It’s a little hazy, though. Soon, it’ll be evening, and you’ll help Yoongi make dinner—just as usual.

“I think the apple blossoms calm me down,” Yoongi suddenly says. “They make me feel less alone.”

It takes you a second to realize he’s talking about your personal scent. And for another second, it feels like the sunlight is warming you from the insides. Such a strange feeling. 

“Do they?” you ask. “Then I like the smell of mint,” you confess absentmindedly. “It makes me feel secure.”

He peers at you, dark eyes twinkling. There’s something about his gaze that makes you feel warm again. Are you glowing? You certainly feel like you are. Is this what happiness feels like? Have you finally found it? Will it fade away at one point? Will it come back again?

You don’t care. Because as you gaze into each other’s eyes, the aroma of mint and apple blossoms mixing together, for the first time in your life, you feel free.

⨰ a/n: i didn't know that tumblr had a 1,000 paragraph limit. :0 this post was DEFINITELY way over that. spent another hour shortening it down >:( but this is the final product! i'm very proud of how the characters turned out (dare i say this is my favorite story that i've completed on my blog so far??) i very much enjoyed writing every moment of this, and i'm sorry it took such a long time to get posted! nevertheless, please enjoy, if you can, leave feedback (so we can squeal about the characters together!)

masterlist

[bangtaniconcafe]

JUNGKOOK ABS ICONS — 6 icons — like/reblog if you're going to use — no credit needed but would be appreciated

[hoseoksluna]

ROSÉ | jjk

pairing: boyfriend!jungkook x wine!oc

genre: smut

word count: 5.7k

summary: on your first dinner date, your boyfriend brings you a small gift—too bad you're too horny to appreciate it.

pinterest board: wine

warnings: a bit of drunkenness, a mention of inner child healing, oc teases jungkook and oc is horny as fuck, dom/sub dynamics, wine!jk, provider jk..., daddy issues, punishment, spanking, food used during intercourse, oral sex (f. and m. receiving), dirty talk, a mention of a sex toy & a mention of a plushie in a sexual context, raw sex, brattiness, jk and oc smoke together

note: OH GOD—IT'S FINALLY HERE. SLFJSLDFJS. A REQUESTED DRABBLE about wine!oc and jungkook. this was so fucking fun to write and i was so hot and bothered from this that i had to take a break............ yeah uhm anyways, I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS. ENJOY READING AND LEMME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK ANONYMOUSLY IN MY INBOX. I NEED YOUR THOUGHTS. PLS AND THANK YOU. ₊˚⊹♡

side note: jk in the first pic made me fucking die. and other things....

The rosy pink nectar has, undeniably, gone to your head. 

Your empty wine glass is illuminated by the setting sunlight spilling past your shoulder, reaching its yellow, warm fingers to the tips of your boyfriend’s that rest lazily on the white cloth of the table. You’re woozy, in a lighthearted mood—so much that even the world has lost its heft and all you can sense is the sluggish process of your absorption. You’re engrossed in the way the spring coalesces with the beginning of summer—in the warm evening wind ruffling your curls, tickling your bare shoulders, in the darkening hues of the sky, pinks and violets, in the gray smoke of Jungkook’s cigarette interlacing with the slightly sultry air. You can see it in his eyes, the unfolding of it all. And perhaps you’re tipsy or perhaps you’re just brazenly and foolishly falling in love, because you’re aware that if the man weren’t sitting in front of you, none of these things wouldn’t have caught your attention in such a devastatingly profound way. 

He has made you feel so safe. By simply and beautifully laying his feelings bare. To you and for you. Created a haven for you to dwell in, for you to grow in and explore all the dark and light corners of you that have merely seldom seen the face of the sun. How could you not indulge in a little bit of alcohol, when you’re protected in that place of security? Let your girlishness swim a little, refresh herself, enjoy herself?

You’re glowing. You always had been, but your shimmers have gained a new intensity to their twinkles, keeping Jungkook’s liquid stars warm and taken care of inside of you. Their blunt points have carved you into someone else entirely, too. Joyous, cool-headed and absolutely and irrevocably self-assured. Fearless. And his hands have reached deep within and caressed the head of your inner child, healing her and washing her clean, giving her everything she ever lacked. Love, attention, care and validation. Whenever you remember that you never wanted him to get a glimpse of your soul, bile rises in your throat and your stomach hurts.

He saved you. Healed you. Through and through. Gave you his control.

It stirs your never-ending awe that he has managed to do this in a month, and you want to celebrate it. You think now is quite the perfect occasion for it as it’s your first dinner date since you’ve become exclusive. Having spent most of your time at each other’s places fucking, partying and fucking some more, it’s nice to be out, alone with him, that is—and it’s nice as fuck to be out with your boyfriend. The sex has become so different with the label and the rawness of his feelings. And the thing about Jungkook that gets you the most, that strengthens the realm he invented for you, is that once his emotions overflow, the stream of its wine doesn’t stop pouring. The moment he confessed his love for you, ever since then you sense it expressed in everything he does—in the way he greets you in the day, in his tight, burning embrace, in the tenderness with which he holds your hand or kisses it, the relentless, great thought and consideration he puts in the choices he makes for you on the daily. Whether it’s the fatuous things he buys you that mean the world to you, the way he never neglects bunny and incorporates her in everything you do together or… the sex. 

Fuck, the sex alone has taken over your life so vividly and drastically that it consumes your brain. There, in that environment, is where the wine of his emotions is the raciest. He’s not ashamed to cry, letting those liquid pearls trickle down your collarbones, quenching the thirst of his liquid stars as he fucks you dumb and enjoys every second of it. He’s not afraid to be loud either. To talk you through your orgasm with even more care and detail than you were accustomed to in the past. 

He’s become boundless. And it’s the most attractive thing you’ve ever seen in your life. 

God, you’d be crazy not to let yourself fall for him—

“I got you dessert,” Jungkook husks, digging his fingers into the pocket of his pants while his other digits draw close to his mouth. He takes a drag of his cigarette, crinkling his eyes so the smoke wouldn’t get into them and you beam at him with a fire that’s more scorching than the sun’s ever been in centuries, heart doing somersaults at the thought of him thinking of you and spending money on you again. And, also, at how hot he looks while he smokes.

Your love language must be gift-giving. You don’t know what else to connect it to, the joy that envelops your entire being whenever he gives you something. It doesn’t even have to be expensive, nor does he have to pay for it at all. Drawings have become your favorite keepsakes—drawings of his Miffy bunny, drawings of flowers, of you. You’ve hidden them away in a box along with everything he’s ever brought you, except the white bunny ring because you wear it daily and one small, particular drawing that you’ve put inside your glittery phone case. 

A cutesy marker sketch of him and you. His arm around your shoulders. Bunny sitting on your laps in the middle, as if she were your own child. Cheeks big and bubbly, pink and twinkling. Your curls the way you wear them; his mullet. A perfect depiction of the pair of you. You gaze at it every single day—prefer to now put your phone face down because of it. 

You’re tracing it now with the pad of your finger as you wait for him to reveal your mystery gift to you. The bulby heads, the cheeks, Miffy’s ears. Jungkook puts out his cigarette, puffing out the smoke, away from you, and once he’s done, he taps the back of your hand. Turns it over and spreads out your fingers, inserting, at a snail's pace, something round but slender at the same time, smiling adoringly at you. 

What a sight to behold. It steals, fleetingly, your attention away from his hand. 

Slicked back mullet, twinkles taking laps in his soft eyes, blushed cheekbones and stretched, pouty mouth, shiny with his liquid love. Long neck that you’d like to devour now, the broadness of his shoulders and chest that could come second as a plain, dark beige shirt accentuates his hard work at the gym. 

Oh, fuck. Your nipples pebble against your carmine tube top. 

Jungkook withdraws his hand and with blurry eyes, you look at the thing he placed in your palm. 

Chupa Chups. Strawberry and cream. 

Your mouth parts and it’s a concoction of a gasp and a sound of endearment when the realization that he got you a lollipop sinks in. Your heart flips and does a head stand. Lips round into a pout, drunk eyes softening, its twinkles growing in size and light. It’s like he gave you something golden, when in fact it costs a few wons, but to you it’s exactly that. Something so precious. 

You give him an air kiss, bouncing in your seat in joy, fingers already destroying the wrapper. “Thank you so…”

Your brows furrow as the wrapper remains intact. You do a bad, bad job of picking at the tape around the slender stick, your long manicured hands absolutely useless—and the cause of your frustration. You puff out an angry gust of breath, trying harder to get to the sweet delight and it’s at that moment that your boyfriend takes it from your hands with a deep chuckle. 

“You silly boo, this is how you do it.” Jungkook pinches the wrapper around the stick and he merely, in a few swift motions, twists the ball until it lets go. He scrunches it in his fists and throws it away in the ashtray. Smirks smugly, leans his elbows on the table, draws close to you. You mirror his position, get to him almost nose to nose, and his smirk deepens, tongue darting out to lick across his lips. You do the same, eyeing the round pinkness in his hand, the sexual attraction and its tension soaring high between you.

Without your hands, you could put it in your mouth, mimic the way you do it on his own tip and make him lose his mind a little bit. It’s right here, an inch away and you dip your head towards it, a magnetic pulling drawing you naturally to it. Sense his gaze on you, sense his delight, sense the flashback glimmering across the wholeness of him. But before you could wrap your lips around it, he moves it out of your reach. 

“No,” Jungkook murmurs, breath slightly ragged, holds it up in front of your face, watches as you go cross-eyed a little bit. Hums at the sight, quietly enough for only you to hear. “If you want it, ask for it nicely.” 

His puffy lips being so close to you, you desire to kiss him—cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink, his oh-so-loved dominance fucking with your drunkenness and your brain, body altogether. You tip your head to the side, flutter your lashes, make your eyes big and smile at him as sweetly as you can. 

He coos, validating you, and it is a force that makes you feel safe enough to submit to him like a small animal to its father. Safe enough to want to get under the table and make him feel really, really good, too. 

“Can I have the lollipop, please?” 

He groans, still quietly, and your panties drench immediately. You widen your eyes at him, feeling your slick, pursing your lips to scold him silently. He just laughs, amused by it all, and the sound of his joy fills you with elation.

One that darkens, when he asks, “Where?” 

You lick your lips, taking in the question, struck by it. Letting your mind wander, the places where you want it, except your mouth, is on your nipples and your clit. Nicely sweet and sticky—for him to clean up, for him to enjoy. Your dewiness soaks the material of your panties and your body begins to yearn for any kind of friction. You’re not sure whether you’re able to stick around in your chair, acting as if nothing’s wrong—acting as if you’re not stupendously horny. 

“In my mouth.” 

Jungkook makes a noise of appreciation and you’re so frustrated by all those sounds he makes that you want to dig your nails in his arms and make him pay for it. Even more so, when he plunges the lollipop into his mouth and his lips pucker around it, inciting the butterflies in your tummy to go absolutely fucking berserk. You place your hand on his bicep, nails ready to attack, but then he pulls out the treat with a pop, angling it at your mouth. 

“Open.” 

You thought he stole it from you, but he did no such thing. He wetted it for you, like a father for its child. You’re stupefied to the point that you don't even realize that you’re leaving a mark on the linen material of your seat. 

You do open your mouth for him, however. 

He twists the ball on your tongue, expecting you to close your mouth around the stick, but you don’t. No, you swirl that muscle around the candy, deepening your gaze, smirking. Jungkook stills, clenches his strong jaw. Darkness flicks across his eyes and he narrows them. First warning. 

You pretend you don’t see it. 

Closing your mouth and encasing your hand around his, you move the lollipop to the side of your cheek, acting as if it were his dick. And when you bob your head once, Jungkook tugs on the stick, wanting to pull it out, but you don’t let him, keeping it caged between your teeth. It only drives you to bob your head again.  

“Stop,” he says, voice calm, deep and serious—terribly deadly. Withdraws his hand and leans back, watching you with a predatory gaze, one that makes you even wetter. “Or we’re going home.” 

That’s exactly what you want. Instructions clear. 

You open your mouth and do a show of swirling your tongue around the ball, only this time you flick the muscle against it. Jungkook grips the table, knuckles white, and you laugh, which you soon realize was a grave mistake. 

“You think it’s funny?” he questions you, staring you down with a look that should frighten you, but it merely turns you on. You suck on the lollipop, the dulciness of strawberries suffusing your senses. “I’ll bend you over this fucking table, lift up that slutty little skirt and spank you in front of everyone.” 

You pull out the candy with an exaggerated pop. Scowl at him. As though his words didn’t affect you the way that they did—as though you’re not squeezing your thighs together, trying to gain that friction you so desperately need. “Why are you so angry?” 

He looks away for a moment, laughing silently. Nods his head at your wine glass. “You finished with your wine, baby?” 

It’s this pleasantness that you hear in this voice that spreads goosebumps across your skin. Feigned sugariness—the sunlight right before the clouds come in and thunder strikes; the calm before the storm. 

Good thing you’re dressed for the rain and ready to sing in it. 

You nod your head and Jungkook clicks his tongue, grabs you by your hand whilst he pulls out his wallet. You accompany him as he walks over to the bar, black card ready between his fingers. Waits to be noticed. Gives you a look over and fixes your skirt, pulling the hem down. 

Pays for you. Smiles down at you as he pockets his wallet. 

And then, he drags you to his car. 

Perhaps it’s the fresh air, perhaps it’s the briskness in his walk and the tight hold around your hand, but all intoxication evaporates from your body, leaving only your stained elation and neediness. You can’t help your smile. Think it must be sewn in at this point. By his own diligent fingers. 

A wind blows in, pulling your hair to your front and Jungkook pins you against his car. Tits squished against the passenger side, elbows pressed together. Eyes wide, you check your surroundings and find no one in sight. Only swaying trees, buildings of apartments, lamps illuminating the dark street. You relax right away, trusting Jungkook that he’s on the lookout and knows what he’s doing. 

He grinds his hips against your backside and you moan at the feeling of his hard length. With his free hand, he brushes your hair to one side and begins to pepper kisses along the curve of your neck, nuzzling his face in. Hovers his lips above your ear when he says, “You feel how hard you made me with your little show?” You nod, quickly, wanting more of him, wanting him inside of you. Push your hips back; twirl them in slow circles. Jungkook hisses. “I guess you really do want that spanking. Where’s your lollipop?” You show him your hand, where your treat remains uneaten and dry. He takes it from you and you turn your head in time to see him sink it into his mouth, placing it on the side of his mouth like you did. “Get inside the car.” 

Jungkook opens the door for you and forces you in, closing it with a harsh thud. As he rounds the vehicle, he makes eye contact with you and your tummy flips in response. 

Fuck. 

Nothing happens in a millisecond once he’s seated, but then he grabs your cheeks, squishing them in the way he likes, and kisses you hard, lollipop in hand. Moving his mouth against yours, his tongue only briefly greets you before he pulls away. “Naughty fucking girl. You’re lucky that I love you because otherwise…” He doesn’t finish his sentence with words, but with another kiss, breathing against you, grunting when it’s you this time that slips the tongue inside, playing with him the same way you played with the dessert he got you. “Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me. I’m gonna put you in your fucking place, make you remember how to behave in public. You’ve forgotten, haven't you?” 

You don’t have time to react, you merely bite your lip so hard that it aches. Jungkook pushes you back and yanks your leg between his, lifting your skirt. Then, he hovers his palm above your ass, the other forearm resting on the top of the seat, lollipop dangling near your head. He hides his smirk behind his effort to flatten his lips. 

And when he spanks you, you don’t roll your eyes back and rasp like your body naturally wants you to. No, you hold the eye contact and you take the pain, letting it course through your body, reveling in it. He doesn’t say anything as he keeps going, alternating between slapping your now reddened cheeks and the back of your thigh. Doesn’t even stroke the skin to alleviate the burn. He solely bores his gaze into yours, his cock rock hard against your leg. Another set of words are exchanged, silently, deeply, teaching you your lesson in tandem with the hits, burying it to a great depth inside you. 

And then he finishes with a nasty kiss, but his hand resumes causing you pain. You’ve lost count of how many spanks you’ve taken. 

It’s like you’ve woken up from a trance. It reverberates throughout your entire body and it’s now that you allow your body to vocally react. You whine, rounding your mouth in a pout, so different from the one on the dinner date. And you remember your manners—perceive how wrong it was to tease him, even though a good half of you still takes delight in it. 

“It hurts,” you whisper, nudging your lips against him and he gives you your last spank—the hardest of them all. The infliction makes you flutter your eyes shut and Jungkook brings them back to him by caressing his knuckles down your flushed cheek. 

“Good, you remember how to behave now?” he asks, halting his movement, such piercing intensity in his irises that drive you to nod your head. “That’s my good little girl.” Taps the side of your thigh. “Let Daddy make it better now.” 

You open your legs for him and Jungkook pushes your soaked panties to the side, revealing your little bedewed seashell. He hums at the sight of her, pops the lollipop back inside his mouth. Collects your arousal by swirling the pads of his middle and ring finger around your hole, eyes flicking from your pussy to your own, groaning when he comes into contact with your swollen clit, rubbing slow circles. You whimper, bucking your hips, needing him to go faster, needing to come. 

Jungkook shakes his head, disapproving. “You take what I give you or I’ll stop.” Lifts his hand to express the gravity of his threat and you help, wrapping both hands around his and putting it back on your bundle of nerves. He chuckles at your desperation, giving you the same circles, though now firmer. 

Waves the lollipop near your lips. You open your mouth, instinctively, and he plunges it into your mouth for a mere second before he pulls away, growling at the sound that comes out. He does it again, fucking you with it in a way, just to hear that pop and he’s so pleased with it that he sinks those two fingers inside your heat, fully, in one ego. Keeps them there. Teases you. Hovers the lollipop out of your reach and you decide to fuck with him back. Darting out your tongue, you whirl it around the flat side and he swears, moaning, giving to you at last. 

He latches his mouth onto your neck, starting the drill of his fingers. “Fuck, you’re so hot.” 

He picks up the speed so rapidly that you scream, squeezing your eyes shut, the pleasure permeating your body so vastly that you quiver all over. Grab a hold of his hair, pulling on it and then—

Then, he withdraws his fingers. Ruins your orgasm. 

You pant, trying to catch your breath. “Please, Jungkook, please—”

He nudges his nose against yours. “What, baby?” 

“I need to come, please.” 

Jungkook tuts, kissing you once. “I thought we could play.” Plunges the lollipop into your mouth to wet it. Shows it to you, just to see you go cross-eyed again. Moans. “Where do you want it, hm?” 

Ever the angel that makes your fantasies come to life. You wrap your fingers around his hand, butterflies swarming in your tummy. Lead him towards your still clothed breasts. “Here.” Take him to your drooling pussy. “And here.” 

Jungkook makes a sound of approval. Descends his fingers a little lower, to your other hole, circles it. “What about here?” 

You giggle, but you shake your head. The idea may be intoxicating, however reality is much different. There’s a risk to putting any sweetened food inside, one you don’t want to deal with. 

Jungkook smiles at you, pushes your seat back and slides it in the same direction. Crawls over you and you feel so feminine, so sexy underneath him. Nipples perked under your top, breasts full and spilling. You arch your back towards him and Jungkook drags his thumb from your bottom lip, to your chin, neck, the dip of your collarbones until he reaches the hem of your Tom and he tugs it down so harshly that you can’t contain your very own concoction of a gasp and moan. 

Lollipop in mouth, one hand propped by your head, the other squeezes your breast hard, nearing it, fingers pinching your nipple. Makes the flesh as red as your ass. You can tell he likes the view by the way he coos, but then he wipes all your thoughts away, when he sucks hard on the candy and swirls it around your stiffened nub, gaze flicked to yours to watch your reaction. 

The pleasure is so vivid, so dizzying—and for him, you let it paint your face in all its colors. Brows scrunched, bedroom eyes, mouth parted, puffing out desperate breaths. Jungkook sucks it again and smears his saliva around your other nipple, taking his time, slapping the ball once against it, making you hiss. 

“It feels so good,” you murmur, sinking your fingers into the longer length on the back of his hair, bringing his mouth to yours. You kiss him with a verve that causes him to groan. You swallow that sound, satisfied. 

He grins at you. “I bet.” 

Dips his head and envelops that sugar-coated nub with his warm lips, sucking it hard. His groan spreads there, deepens there and you arch your back even more, pulling his head to your other nipple so he can do the same thing. Join your other hand to his hair and do whatever you please—turn his head side to side, from one nub to the other—and he lets you, giving you, momentarily, his control. You feel your essence soaking the seat beneath you and you thank the heavens that the fabric is one of leather. You lift his head and try to push it down, but he won’t budge. Stares you down instead, lustfully. 

“Where do you want me?” he asks, a wrinkle between brows. “Be a good girl and tell me.” Pops the lollipop back in his mouth.

You sigh, kissing him once on the side of his neck, using your tongue. Make sure you’re looking at him as you reply, “On my clit.” 

He moans, eyes woozy, finger on the stick as he sucks the candy, clefts of dimples on either side of his cheeks. You palm his length, your own digits rounding across his tight balls and he whisks his irises back, grinding into your hand. “You want a lickie?” 

“Yes, so bad, please.” 

He hums and kneels before you, kissing your clit once in greeting. Then, he flattens his tongue and licks a fat stripe across your whole femininity—from your slit, to your swollenness. Hands on your hips, index curled around the lollipop, he holds you steady, prevents you from meeting him, as he stimulates you like this. Up and down, tongue rolling, eyes fixed on you, devouring you. And when he stops to suck your clit, he taps your mouth once with the ball of the lollipop. The act of sucking on something while you’re getting pleasured like this almost throws you over the edge, your body coated in a layer of sweat, but Jungkook withdraws in time. Presses the delight in the middle and rubs small circles, just to prepare you for the big thing. You become so whiny, so loud that his eyes grow in size, watching you in awe. 

To reward you for such beauty, he rapidly strums it from side to side, causing you to nearly levitate, but he pins you down. Wetting it and placing it back down, grunting at the aftertaste of you mixed with the sweetness. 

And he can’t resist. Can’t hold back. The wrinkle between his brows deepens when he tastes you, licking you all over, tongue stopping occasionally its feast to flick at your clit before he swallows you whole. Grunts, sucks, licks. Eyes closed to savor the taste. The pressure in your core heightens, even more so when he lifts your legs, greedy for the side dish in the form of your other hole. You’re so close that you might burst. 

“You taste so fucking good, baby. So sweet. Come on my tongue, please, I want more of you.” 

He wants more of your taste. 

You come so hard that your orgasm takes you to an open sea, your body floating on calm waves, to and fro, eyes rolled to the sky—to the sunroof—seeing nothing but the elegance of the twinkling stars and deep purple clouds. 

“That’s it, baby, so good. That’s my little girl.” He slaps the side of your thigh, bringing you back to him. “Listening so well, learning her lesson, coming so hard. I’m proud.” 

His words alone could make you come again, but you’re distracted.

Jungkook unbuttons his pants and pulls out his manhood. Stroking himself, he lines his tip at your mouth. He doesn’t even have to tell you to open up—you do it yourself. Holding it at the base, he stuffs your throat right away, a guttural chuckle emitting out of his mouth when you gag. He pulls out to where you’re comfortable having him and you begin to bob your head, like you did with the lollipop. 

“Yes, suck it like that, my love. Daddy loves it when you do that.” 

His precum on your tongue, the way he’s holding himself, the position and his words—you moan around him, so out of your mind, so fucked out. And when he fucks your mouth, it turns you on so much that you go cross-eyed. 

Jungkook pulls out quickly, as if the sight of it alone was about to make him come. A string of your saliva from his tip drips onto your chest and he slides into your mouth again just to poke your cheek, just to mimic what you did with the lollipop. You whine, liking it so much, to the point that he drills this tender place of yours until he can’t take it enough. 

“Turn around.” You try to, but your legs are jelly. He manhandles you to the position he wants—on your knees, tits against the leather, arms around the headrest, the formerly abused cheek against it. “Hold onto it. Too bad we left bunny at home, huh?” 

Jungkook runs his cock across your pussy and you grind against it, needing the friction after the way he used you. You whimper for him. “She’s probably wondering where we are right now and why we’re taking so long.” 

“I’ll make it up to her.” He presses his length against your clit, encouraging you to use him back. “Rub your pussy like that on me, fuck.” He moves so it’s his tip that stimulates you. You ride him harder, moaning loudly against the leather. “You can make it up to her, too. Can ride her like I know you can. With a vibrator between your legs and hers, hm? How you like the sound of that?” 

You’re so close you could come in a second, but you don’t want it like this. You need him inside of you. “Shut up, I’m literally gonna come like this. Fuck me.” 

He fists your hair. Pain shoots up your scalp and he ruts into your heat. Fully. Until his pelvis collides with your ass. You scream. 

Lips by your ear. “Is this how you talk to your Daddy?” He begins to pump into your little tight hole. Mercilessly. The leather squeaks, a horrible, rapid sound that you can only faintly hear because all that your senses can focus on is his cock. “Your Daddy that loves you so much?” 

You come, pathetically. Sea and waves, palm trees that sway. Your legs tremble, but he keeps going, mouthing the shape of your ear. 

He tsks. “I’m gonna tell bunny on you. Maybe I’ll be the one who gets to fuck her while you watch.” He gives you a hard stroke, one that is followed by rapid thrusts that scramble your brain. “She’ll be so disappointed to hear how bad you’ve been, but I’ll make sure to tell her how hard I fucked it out of you.” 

Lifting you from the leather, he kneads your breasts, placing the lollipop in between and holding it up by squishing them. 

“Come on, get your lollipop.” He bounces your tits in his hands, signalizing you that he wants you to do it with your mouth. 

But you can’t do it. You come, majestically, your senses leaving you and wafting in the stuffed air of the car. Boneless, you sag in his arms. 

Jungkook coos. “You come so well around me that I’ll be good to you. You’re just a cockslut, aren’t you, baby? You just can’t help it, hm?” He puts the lollipop inside your mouth, chasing his so-needed release. 

It doesn’t take long for him to find the footsteps into that bliss that you left in your wake. He holds you like this, against him, tits spilling over his forearms as he jackhammers into you so hard that your whole body bounces, shakes and reacts to each grunt, to each whimper, to each kiss he presses onto your skin. 

With the little of the brain you have left, you decide to talk him through it—because he fucks you so good. 

“Come for me, Daddy, yes, please, fuck. Fill me up with your cum. I want it so bad, I want to feel you—” His cock twitches in you, but he continues, sloppily. “Yes, so good. That’s it. Come for your little girl, Jungkook.” A loud groan. A tight hold. A spurt of his cum inside your walls. You whimper and he fucks it deeper into you, giving you more of his liquid stars. “Jungkook, oh fuck, Jungkook, oh yes.” 

And it’s that never-ending litany of his name that helps him chase his high to the fullest. He kisses your neck hard in gratitude for helping him come, marking you, marking this memory. 

You stay like this for a little while. Sweaty, sticky, spent, breathing hard—lungs synced. 

A warm announcement sneaks to your heart, one that screams it into the drowsy skies once Jungkook pulls out of you, turns you around and, stealing your candy, kisses you. 

An announcement that you’re deeply and irrevocably in love with him. 

“You sounded just like me.” He finishes your lollipop for you, chewing the small bulby head as he dresses you and his cum spills onto your panties. 

Your smile is dopey, satisfied and you’re ready for sleep to take you, but Jungkook gets out of the car for a smoke. You think you need one, too, after what you’ve experienced together, and so you follow him out into the night on wobbly legs. 

He leans against his car, a cigarette in his mouth, one hand cupping the fire as he flicks his lighter to life. You wait until he puffs out the smoke into the air before you fold into the side of his body, stealing his cigarette and inhaling it, giving it back to him. 

Jungkook pats your head, rubbing your scalp, chin propped on it. “I didn’t mean what I said. You were perfect. I’m not telling shit to bunny, I promise.” 

You smile, fondly. Didn’t take his words seriously, not at all, but you’re grateful for the reassurement regardless. It’s just role-play, nothing else. 

“I know, baby,” you say, softly, massaging his stomach, going as far as under his shirt to feel his bare skin—ever so innocently. 

“I wanted to fuck you the moment you sat down. You’re just my little helper and because of that I’m glad we’re going home with my cum in your panties,” he whispers, placing the cigarette on your lips, so you can take a drag. “You deserve every drop.” 

You feel that familiar ache rooting in your core again, but you don’t think you can take another round. Jungkook lifts your chin, making you look at him. Twinkles, bigger than the ones of the stars up above, living in his soft eyes. That cute nose. Those pouty lips. His silky, dreamy heart that looks out for you and puts you first. 

The three words that you’ve never told him before rise up your body and you think now is the perfect occasion to say them. 

“I love you.” 

Wetness coats his eyes and the twinkles broaden, saturating them with an unfathomable, fulging light. He flicks his cigarette away, presses you closer to him and with his now free hand, he cups your face. Kisses you. For a long, long time. 

“I love you.” 

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

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[chateautae]

hotter than hell | final. (m)

banner by the lovely solaris @jamaisjoons​​ <3

➵ summary: jungkook, lucifer and king of hell, has been cast out of the crimson underworld for a reason he’s unsure of. embarking on his journey for the answer should’ve been easy, if it weren’t for you, the human that nurses his wounded body in her home, and accidentally witnesses the truth of his identity. kickstarting a hellish adventure with the devil himself, you discover lucifer is the most infuriating company ever; and jungkook finds out that maybe his answer to returning home lies within his annoying human confidant.

↳ part of the namkook moonrise masquerade collab hosted by @jamaisjoons​​

➵ pairing: fallen lucifer!jungkook x human!reader

➵ genre: supernatural/fantasy!au, romance, e2l, road trip, angst, fluff, eventual smut

➵ rating: 18+

➵ word count: 19k

➵ warnings: swearing, semi-accurate biblical depictions of angels and demons, fantasy-based story-telling, mentions of fear, violence & injury, mentions of blood, aNGST, tragedy that leads to depression :(, light mentions of taking one’s own life (very very minor, please read with caution if this is triggering), morning after shenanigans, dirty talk, explicit sexual content, pussy-eating, heavy making out, petting, unprotected sex (wrap before tapping pls <3), massive dicc!jungkook, switch!reader, marking, scratching, cum play/tasting, rough sex, shower sex, multiple orgasms, missionary, hitting it from the back <3

➵ a/n: NAURRR it’s the final now :( I really hope you guys like this ending and please excuse me if it’s not my best, for those who don’t know I wrote this while recovering from heart surgery :]  please excuse any mistakes i don’t have a beta for this!! i hope you enjoy my lovelies 🥺💓 feedback is always appreciated <3

| 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | final. |

A light breeze dances across your cheek, causing goosebumps to freckle your skin. Your chest squishes into the mattress beneath you, splaying a hand across Jungkook’s brawny chest for warmth.

Except, Jungkook isn’t next to you. 

Your eyes flutter open, squinting as the morning light blindingly permeates the opulent bedroom. You clutch the sheets on Jungkook’s side with confusion, finding the imprint of his sleeping body, but vacant of him. 

Your heart drops to the bottom of your stomach. 

“Jungkook?” You immediately rise, anxiously surveying your surroundings for your king of hell. “Jungkook?” You call urgently, heart accelerating with each second he doesn’t reply. 

Nerves begin eating at you, your fretful mind jumping to horrendous conclusions that tear your heart out of your chest. You sit up and hug the sheets to your quivering, naked body, as though you’re protecting yourself from the worst. 

“Jungkook? If you’re playing a joke this isn’t funny.” Moisture floods your eyes, stressing your concern. Last night’s conversation only dawned terrifying thoughts, forcing yourself to avoid the worst possibility right now. 

He can’t be gone already, he couldn’t have had such little time—he wouldn’t have left without saying goodbye. 

Your breathing destabilizes, tone shaky when you cry out. “Jungkook?! Please, where are you!”

“Woah, woah, angel.” You hear his concerned, silky voice when he emerges from the bathroom, shirtless and wet. Every muscle in your stiff body relaxes, seconds from crumbling into pieces. 

“Hey, Y/N.” Jungkook coos, settling by your side and resting a palm against your cheek. “I’m here, hey. It’s okay.” 

“Jungkook… I thought—” You choke up, almost embarrassed you’re on the verge of crying. You hide your face to conceal the tears, but Jungkook unfairly knows you too well. 

“I’m right here, angel. Hey, I’m not going anywhere.” He kindly purrs, seating himself on the edge of the bed and tugging you into his warm chest. You bury into his neck, immediately throwing your arms around him—Jungkook squeezes you tightly, stroking your hair. “Wow, you really can’t last 10 minutes without me, can you?” 

His tone is playful, encouraging you to lighten up. You force a smile upon your lips, drawing away to find his beautiful chocolate orbs. Jungkook cradles your face, holding you dearly. “Are you okay?” 

You nod, inhaling a deep breath to calm yourself. “I’m sorry, I just jumped to the worst conclusion and thought you—” 

“Hey, you don’t have to say sorry.” He assures you. “You know I’d never leave without saying goodbye.” 

Your heart spasms inside your chest, feeling a sting upon hearing the word “goodbye”. It felt so damningly final. “I never want to say goodbye…” You trail, eyes solemnly focusing on the white sheets wrapped around you. 

Jungkook exhales worriedly, despising the misery on your face. The words weigh heavy on him, too, instead curling your hair behind your ear. “Did you sleep well?” 

You recall the memory of sleeping in Jungkook’s embrace, admiring the cozy heat of his body, the calming sensation of his skin pressed against yours—a small smile curves your lips. “Yeah, I did.” 

Jungkook’s face brightens, biting his bottom lip. “So, did you really miss me? I was only showering, baby.” 

It’s then you register a white, cotton towel hugging Jungkook’s scrumptious hips, droplets of water hanging from the ends of his wet, shaggy locks—he looked irresistibly sexy. You clear your throat and swiftly wipe at your eyes to appear unaffected. “Sh-shut up, I would never miss you.” 

“Mmm, I beg to differ.” Jungkook hums, cupping your chin to lift your face. “What did you dream about, angel? Did you dream about last night?” 

Flashes of the steamy session light hot fireworks inside you, your pussy inadvertently clenching. You nibble on your lip, squishing your thighs together to prevent yourself from gushing, avoiding his eyes. “I dreamt of you being less annoying, actually.” 

Jungkook tongues the inside of his cheek with a smirk, bringing his lips mere inches from yours—his spearmint breath deliciously kisses you. “You’re really cute when you deflect your feelings for me, did you know that?” 

Grumpy about his accuracy, you pout, shoving him away. “Whatever; bet you thought of me and my naked body with you in the shower the entire time, loser.” 

Jungkook cracks a mirthy, amused smile as he flicks a boobs of yours. “Oh, I definitely thought of that.” You giggle, but the scheming demon walks his hands across the sheets either side of your body, his gaze alluring. You nervously swallow as his lips dangerously skim your ear, whispering. “I also thought about fucking you senseless against the shower wall.” 

You shiver, feeling a current run through your spasming sex—you tightly seal your lips to surpress a moan, whispering. “Why didn’t you?” 

Jungkook laughs while drawing back. His veiny, beautiful hand lands atop your hair, smoothing it. “I didn’t want to wake you; you’re like a baby angel when you sleep.” 

“Stop being cute.” You roll your eyes, curling your hands over his sturdy shoulders to push him back—it was so tempting to snatch any opportunity to touch his deliciously-carved muscles. 

Jungkook falters back, a fond smile on his lips. You lean back and perch yourself on your elbows, letting the sheets fall from your boobs. 

You eye his body like a work of art, admiring each and every divot, every harsh line and impeccably crafted edge. The slabs of muscles hugging him are mouth-watering, unable to tear your greedy eyes away—especially not from the perfect v-line running along his abdomen that disappears behind his pesky towel. 

It’s impossible to not recall the same godly body moving on top of you, working himself hard to thrust inside you, glistening with sweat as he grunted and groaned, moaned and panted. Your skin automatically heats up, chewing your bottom lip again. 

Jungkook tongues his lip ring as he crosses his brawny arms—you feel sick watching the tattooed one flex. “So someone definitely didn’t forget last night.”

“Hard to forget when you get fucked by the devil.” You add a saccharine sweet smile to your words, eyes giving away your lustful thoughts. 

Jungkook cracks a smug side-grin. “Mmm, and how’d you like the devil fucking you? Was it mind-blowing? Earth-shattering? Life-changing?” He dramatically emphasizes with jazz hands. 

“Hmm,” you fake contemplate, drawing out your foot to skim across Jungkook’s knee just underneath his towel. You slowly graze your toes up his thigh, salaciously eyeing him. “More like eh, really.” 

Jungkook cocks a brow. “Eh? You’ve gotta be kidding me, right?” 

“Not really—I’ve had better.” 

Jungkook’s features immediately scrunch with resentment. “Hah, I know for a fact you’re lying because I already know your sex stories. Nice try, angel.” 

“Really?” You quirk a brow, his already apparent irritation amusing you, drawing higher up his quads. “Do you really think I’d tell you all my sex stories? What if I hid or lied about something?” 

Jungkook narrows his eyes. “You wouldn’t.” 

“I’ve been hanging out with the devil, Jungkook; I’ve become a sinner.” Your sultry timbre causes Jungkook to swallow, and your eyes gleam. You caress his muscular thigh high enough that you press the ball of your foot against his monster cock, and Jungkook growls like a beast. 

He pounces on you, giggling when he ensnares your wrists and pins you down to the mattress. “Take back what you said, or I’m giving you a sinful punishment, angel.” 

You smirk. “Awh, but I don’t think big scary Lucifer would ever punish me, would he? Aren’t I too precious to you?” 

“There are many ways to punish someone, and I’ve been thinking of specific ways for you.” He retorts, his eyes shimmering a cavernous red.

“Really? Like wha–” You nonchalantly wave him off, but your question is abruptly cut off when Jungkook glides his hands down your sides, hooks around your thighs, and lowers himself to your core—he tugs you flush against his face, diving head first into your pussy. 

The cry you let out is erotic—loud—joints liquiefying to the feeling of his strong, wet muscle licking a long stripe through your slit. 

“Jungkook, what the–fuck!” You moan out instead of reprimanding him, attempting to resist his tongue if it weren't so goddamn addicting. 

“Jungkook…” Your call is more of a sigh, moaning with pleasure when his tongue masterfully licks across your cunt, spreading your legs wide open. 

Your fingers weave into his messy, wet curls, gently tugging them when he supplies you your very own heaven. He licks and sucks about as he pleases, even teething your clit and erupting a high-pitched whine from you. 

He moans when your taste hits his tongue, snaking his hand up your quivering body to cup one of your breasts. He squeezes with delight, deftly rubbing tight circles over your nipple with his thumb—fireworks explode behind your eyes. 

Your hips buck into his gorgeous face, feeling his plushy lips lick your soul out of you. Lucifer’s tongue was surely the definition of sin, you thought, as Jungkook’s long and crafty muscle applied sweet pressure to your clit. He slithered the tip through your folds, jerking your back off the sheets, thighs closing around his head. 

“Fuck, Y/N, you’re so fucking wet.” He praises, pushing your thigh back to plunge deeper, to lick the cum he oozes out of you. “The dirtiest angel ever.” 

He’s driving you insane with his licks, with his hand on your tit, with his intoxicating stimulation that makes you see stars. Your cunt begins pulsing for more, for him to drive himself inside you until you’re full of his cum. 

Impatiently, you tug at his shoulders, forcing him to release your sex and crash his lips onto yours. You swing your arms and legs around his strong body to greedily kiss him, tasting your flavour on him. Jungkook groans once you do, a hand of his slipping underneath your head as the other grips your side, melding his hips with yours. 

The contact makes you shiver, harbouring no patience for foreplay. 

You shove him back, eyeing him with insatiable lust. Your hands quickly target his towel and toss the damn thing aside, Jungkook reading the room and removing the sheets from your body. 

He collides with your lips again for another messy kiss before grabbing his shaft, gently pumping his cock. It’d already grown hard as he ate you out, and now stands tall and proud as he’s seconds from splitting you open.  His face buries into your neck when he clambers over you, entwining a hand with yours in the sheets as he simultaneously sinks into your spasming hole.

Jungkook softly groans as he pushes into you, kissing your throat. “Are you okay… after last night?” 

You nod with a harsh breath, fingers gripping his wet hair for support. He grunts deeply once he’s entirely sheathed inside, curling an arm underneath your back to press you into him. He wastes no time in thrusting, your hands instantly gripping his back and shoulder, shuddering pleasurably as you adjust to the size of him. 

“Still so big, Jungkook… holy fuck.” 

“You drive me fucking insane,” he breathes, kissing your collarbone. “I can’t help it.” 

Your breathy moans and groans resound around the room as Jungkook drives into your sex, already rocking the bed with a sensual rythym. You scratch your nails into his meaty muscles, mouths and breaths melding harmoniously as he sensually drives himself inside you—the action sends Jungkook off the deep end.

“Fuck, I love when you do that.” He growls, gripping you harder. “Go harder, as hard as you can.” 

You worry for him, flashing him a concerned look until he kisses it away. “I’m Lucifer, baby, it won’t hurt—just let me feel what I make you feel.”

Heeding his request, you beg him. “More, Jungkook… fuck me faster.” 

Jungkook complies with a heady groan. He begins slamming into your fluttering pussy, eliciting needy sighs and moans from you. You harshly scratch your nails down his back, leaving red trails that must have drawn blood, but Jungkook only thrives off it. 

Throaty, guttural groans leave him as pure sin leaks into his movements, passionately speeding up. “Fuck, ah fuck…” He clutches you as closely as possible, roughly fucking you at high speed, relishing in the feeling of it until this position isn’t enough for him. Jungkook quickly draws out of your sex to flip you around, your breasts and stomach now pressed into the mattress.

“Jungkook—” You’re interrupted when the devil tugs you onto all fours, your battered pussy kissing his rock-hard dick. You yelp, surprised by his harsh movements until he sheaths himself back inside you, feeling every bone in your body melt with pleasure. 

Your face buries into your pillow, sighing into it, gripping it with all the strength you can muster. Jungkook begins sliding in and out of you, no doubt easier with the amount of essence you deliciously leak.

He fucks you hard and fast, gripping your hips as he plunges into you from behind. You cry out into your pillow, muffling the erotic cadence of your desire. It feels cosmically good like this, wantonly reaching your arms out to grab the bed frame. 

“Fuck, Jungkook… fuck!” 

“You like being fucked like this, angel? Like the dirty angel you are?” 

You pathetically whimper, tightly clasping the bed frame. “S’ good, Jungkook. More… I need more.” 

“Where do you need me, angel?” Jungkook coos, stroking your back affectionately—a complete contrast to his jackhammering hips. His voice is hypnotizing, alluring as he speaks. “Show me with my hand, baby, show the devil where you need him.” 

His words saturate your ears with liquid lust, your veins humming with pure rapacity. You reach out for his hand, Jungkook finding you in the middle. You relocate his fingers to your stomach, skimming them down until his digits press into your throbbing clit—Jungkook’s smirk is so wide you can hear it. 

“Mmm, my angel wants to come.” He hums, lowering himself so that his chest is flush against your back, his lips caressing your ear. “Hold on tight, Y/N, I’m giving you an orgasm so sinful, even hell won’t let you repent.” 

That’s the only warning you earn before Jungkook buckles down, curls an arm around your figure, and fucks you so hard you swear stars dance underneath your eyelids. The bed ceaselessly creaks, possibly on the verge of breaking as Jungkook hammers himself home inside you. 

His crafty tongue comes out to lick along your spine, your shoulder, your marked neck until your ear. He sucks on your lobe, whispering the rawest forms of filth. Paired with his fingers drawing tantalizing circles over your clit, it wasn’t long before Jungkook snaps the tight knot in your gut.

“Jungkook, fuck!” 

“There it is; cum for me, angel.” He ruggedly breathes. “Let me feel it, baby.” 

Just gently wraps his hand around your throat, choking the sides as he fucks you harder, faster, elevating your pleasure to mountainous levels until you finally reach Nirvana. 

With a cosmic thrust, your orgasm explodes inside you, chest inflating and deflating with heavy breaths. Jungkook momentarily slows down, his breath fanning your hair across your face. He’s throbbing violently inside you, loaded with cum he needs to release, and his lips move before yours can.

“Can I come… on your body?” He asks, breathily and with sweat glistening on his skin. “Your back… I’ve thought about coming on your back for weeks.” 

You shoot him a mischievous smile over your shoulder, still hazed over with post-orgasm bliss. “Want to paint me… like one of your french girls?” 

He smirks, far too attracted to your witty mouth. “I’d love to paint you and have you lick my cum off yourself.” 

His dirty mind intrigues you, granting him his permission. Jungkook picks up his pace again, sinfully rocking his hips into you until euphoria enters his veins. 

Jungkook’s pulls out of your sex in an instant to release his white hot seed all over your back, fascinated by the warm goops painting your skin. 

He decorates your lower back and even your ass, pumping himself until he’s left dry. He drinks you in with the most carnal look you’ve ever sensed, his eyes glowing such an intense red, he truly appeared demonic. He leans back down to swipe his fingers across your spine, gathering some of his cum—he brings his fingers before your mouth. 

Without hesitation, you lick it off, humming with satisfaction once the taste hits your tongue—who knew Lucifer’s cum could taste like stardust? 

Jungkook watches you enjoy it, watches your lips suck his digits as though they were his cock. He lightly groans before swiping up the rest of his seed to feed to you—he’s so sinfully filthy. 

Once you’d swallowed the majority of him, Jungkook pressed a kiss to your hair before he forced space between you, admiring his work on your back. You fall flat against your stomach, finding his eyes over your shoulder. 

“Shit, now I’m covered in cum—I’ll need to shower.” 

“Mmm,” Jungkook hums, tonguing his cheek. “Can I join you?” 

“You already showered, genius.” You playfully narrowed your eyes, swinging your legs.

Jungkook laughs before crawling back over you, pressing sensual kisses to your neck. “Please, I’m covered in sweat from fucking you. I’ll need to shower again, and joining you would save water and all...” 

“Ah, yes, because the devil is so interested in saving the Earth, right?” You jest, moaning when he licks your earlobe. “Totally has nothing to do with fucking me in there, now does it?” 

“Of course not, what if my angel needs help showering?” He sarcastically plays along, his lips now worshipping you underneath your jaw. “She must be sore from last night and this morning.”

You can’t help but sigh when he finds the sweet spot behind your ear, kissing it affectionately. You giggle when his hands slip around your sides, attempting to tickle you. “Fine, but we’ll only shower, correct?” 

Jungkook stifles his snort. “Oh yeah, of course. We’re just going to shower.” 

“Yes, you’re certainly not going to fuck me against the wall like you said you would, right?” 

“I wouldn’t dare.”

Once Jungkook hoisted you over his shoulder and scrambled inside the bathroom, it wasn’t long before your back was pressed against the shower wall, and you held onto him for dear life as he fucked you senseless, your two wet bodies rutting against the other with no desire to stop. 

After two more rounds of fucking in the shower and coming another three times, Jungkook still didn’t leave you even when you began your skincare routine. You laughed and playfully tried to nudge him off as he clung to your waist from behind, burying his face into your neck. 

“No, I’m never leaving you alone—you know I love your hair after you wash it.” 

You rolled your eyes, applying moisturizer to your face. “Ugh, who knew Lucifer could be such a mushy lover?” 

“Only for his soulmate, angel.” You giggled when his fingers danced over your sides, tickling you. 

You’d finally finished and spun around to kiss him, unable to tear yourself away from his delicious frame. His black dress-shirt from last night hugged your figure as he only sported a black Supreme t-shirt and matching boxers on his hips. 

You leaped into his arms as he grappled your legs around his waist. He led you back into your room, laying you across the sheets to shamelessly make out with you. 

“You know,” you begin, indulgently sighing out when he sucks his love for you onto your neck. “I think we’re kind of… obsessed with each other.” 

He smirks against your skin, his hot breath fanning across you. “That’s what happens when you’re primordial soulmates—I’ve been starving for you for an eternity, and didn’t even know it.” 

You brightly laugh as he pretends to eat at your neck, playfully mimicking the sounds of a hungry animal chomping you. Your panty-cladded core presses into his clothed crotch as you lock your legs around him, lazily rolling yourself against his abs—until something hits you. 

The word he just uttered; eternity. 

It suddenly snaps you back into reality, your mind weaving together what time Jungkook actually has left. Is it possible for him to never use his powers and still remain here? Is it possible for him to delay whatever will happen to him? If he never condemns your soul, he can remain here, can’t he? 

You gently clasp Jungkook’s shoulders and force space between you two, meeting his eyes with soft, curious ones. 

Jungkook’s eyebrows furrow, his thumb brushing your bottom lip. “Hey, what’s wrong?” 

You sit on the question, letting go of his shoulders to twiddle your fingers. “I… I don’t know if I should ask.” 

Jungkook visibly softens, rubbing his thumb across your lips. “You know you can ask me anything, angel.”

His supportive, kind tone melts your heart, scrounging up the courage to speak. “You need to tell me more, Jungkook, about what you found out last night.” You press, nervously approaching the matter. “Can’t you just not condemn my soul? Can’t you just conserve your power and not use it to remain here? With me?” 

Jungkook exhales weightily, supporting himself above you with a look of regret. “I can’t do that, angel. The terms can’t just be ignored like that.” 

“Why not?” You smooth your hands over his muscular chest, silently admiring the beat of his heart—that he’s still here. “Why can’t you stay, Jungkook?” 

He releases a deep, grievous sigh, gripping the sheets with a sense of frustration. It’s as though something dances on the tip of his tongue, but he refuses to share, shielding you from the pain of it. Your heart sinks, sliding a hand into his hair as the other holds his neck—you lift yourself to gently nudge his nose with yours. “Tell me, Jungkook, you can talk to me.” 

Jungkook disconcertedly meets your eyes, swallowing harshly—he begins very quietly, vulnerably. “If I don’t… if I don’t condemn your soul…” He strains to continue. You support him as much as you can, affectionately kissing him, caressing him. 

He exhales calmly with your unfettered love, gathering enough strength to continue. “If I don’t condemn your soul, Y/N, the Council will seize us and force me to do it, anyway.” 

Your eyes widen, stuttering. “They’ll—they’ll what?” 

Jungkook winces, clutching your sides. “They’ll force me to condemn you, angel. And it won’t be a simple arrest, either, they’ll detain us and even hold a hearing if they desire. They could potentially…” 

Again, Jungkook tenses, and your eyes fill with moisture, cradling his cheeks. “What is it?” 

“They could potentially torture me, torture you if I don’t condemn you—it’s how they do things, they won’t let this go.” 

Your heart cracks, bleeding the pain into your chest. “No way, it can’t be like that.” You begin to implode, tears collecting in your eyes. “How could they do that? I thought they were angels, I thought they were good.” 

“Y/N, you’re forgetting who we are.” Jungkook softly explains, brushing some strands from your face. “I’m the devil, and you’re my lover, baby—they’ll never allow anything good to happen to us.” 

Your heart constricts, lips trembling as a wave of emotion attacks, ensnaring your ability to think clearly. “Then we have to stop it, Jungkook. We can’t let them have you, we can’t let them have what they want. We’ll run—we’ll run forever and never let them catch you and—” 

“Y/N, it doesn’t work like that.” Jungkook coos, concern flooding him upon your panicking features. “Angels are supreme celestial beings, not human detectives. They don’t have to search for our whereabouts or investigate, they already know where we are—they know I’m not following through with their orders.” 

The thought of such omnipotent power overwhelms you, clutching your quivering hands to your mouth. The fear that cripples you is consuming, causing you to rise into a seated position to reel, to become terrified of what’s to come. 

Jungkook visibly shares your pain, his features devastated as he kneels before you on the ground and cradles your hands in your lap. Tears cascade down your cheeks, sucking in a miserable breath. “This can’t be… it can’t be like this.” Your voice breaks, your head spins—Jungkook cups your cheeks, wiping the tears that escape you. 

“It has to be, Y/N, we have no say in the matter.” He agonizes, his smooth and silky voice cushioning the blow. “So we only have one option to end this for good.” 

You lift your eyes apprehensively. “What?” 

Jungkook doesn’t answer, as though he’s fighting to accept it himself. His gaze is miserable—excruciating—causing your nerves to skyrocket. “What is it, Jungkook?” 

Silence again, his jaw tightly flexed with anger, his irises glowing with a damning sense of tenacity. 

“For fuck’s sake, Jungkook, spit it out!” 

“Our only option…” he struggles. “Our only option is for me to use the very last of my powers… and let myself die.” 

A freight train hits you, no, completely totals you as you stare at Jungkook, unable to respond. Denial is your only method of functioning, shaking your head. “No, no. Don’t you dare say that to me, you can’t die, Jungkook.” 

“What choice do we have, baby?” He sadly relinquishes himself to his fate, holding your jaw. “I can’t live knowing I have to condemn your soul—I can’t do that to you.” 

“So what, Jungkook?” You fight him, pain etched into your every feature. “Who cares about me? I won’t let you die!” 

“You don’t get it, Y/N. Condemining you means branding you as one of the wicked, it means subjecting you to the torture you’ll face for your indiscretions on Earth.” He explains seriously, vehement disapproval on his face. “I will never do that to you, I will never let you suffer to earn my freedom.”

“And it doesn’t matter, Jungkook.” You counter. “I’ll gladly endure whatever awaits me in hell if it means you get to live, if it means you’ll be able to reclaim your throne in hell—I’m the one who cast you out in the first place, it was my fault!” 

“No, that’s not an option.” Jungkook finalizes, gripping your hands with meaning. “This is the only way, Y/N, the only way you get to live a normal life without all of this crap. You don’t deserve it, I don’t deserve you; so please, let me do this for you—let me save you.” 

You can’t agree to this, vehemently shaking your head. “No, that’s not an option, you can’t do this for me.” You sniffle, connecting your sorrowful gazes. “You have to condemn me, Jungkook, it’s the only way.” 

“For fuck’s sake, Y/N, not it isn’t.” Jungkook has to release your hands in order to rise from the floor, pacing the room. You watch as he does so, determined to change his mind. 

“There’s another way, Jungkook, you just won’t stand to do it.” 

His features contort, scoffing with narrowed eyes. “You’re right, Y/N, I will never send you there, I will never do that to you.” 

“And why not, Jungkook?” You rise to your feet. “We can’t let the council reprimand us and there’s no way I’m letting you die, so you have to do this, you have to!” 

“I won’t let the woman I love suffer in hell!” Jungkook explodes, his rageful eyes burning with emotion.

You shatter, clutching your chest where a hole was punched through it. “But then you’ll suffer, Jungkook, you’ll suffer for me, and I can’t live with that.” 

Jungkook stares elsewhere with oblivion, scoffing before he swivels around, hands perched on hips. “Do you know what will happen if I condemn you, Y/N? Do you have any idea what’ll happen to your soul?” 

You sniffle, shaking your head. “What?” 

“You know you’re the reincarnation of Lilith, right?” Jungkook reminds you, to which you lightly nod. “Do you know what it means to be a reincarnation, Y/N? It means Lilith is reborn as you, a human. It means even after you’re gone, after your soul is condemned, this shit doesn’t end.” His eyes fill with moisture, watching him swallow it away so he can continue. “The punishment Lilith faced for disobeying Adam was to be repeatedly reincarnated as a human. But another part of her punishment was to face eternal loss. Lilith and I fell in love ages ago, but I lost her when she was forced to be reincarnated as the love of my life across human lifetimes. When I find you in each lifetime, I’m meant to be ripped apart from you—we’re never meant to be together.” 

The information is far too grand for you to absorb, drowning in it. “Wh-what? Across… lifetimes? But how… how?” 

“I don’t know, my memory of each lifetime is erased. But me still being alive clearly indicates that I never die. And I know I would never voluntarily choose to condemn you which only means the Council always forces me to, and you’re forced to suffer horrible, horrible pain until you’re reincarnated again.” He agonizes, spitting the words with distaste. “I cannot live knowing that, angel—I have to end your eternal suffering by dying.” 

Jungkook’s finalizing tone scares you, afraid of what all this means, afraid of what it means for you, for him. How could your life have gone down this path? How can you possibly be the reincarnation of a demon? It’s too much to stomach, feeling bile rise up your esophagus.

“This can’t be true… it can’t.” You choke on your words, sniffling back tears. “I can’t let you do that, Jungkook. You don’t get to sacrifice your life for me, I can’t let you.” 

Jungkook’s dark brows furrow. “I’m not asking for your permission, Y/N. I will end your suffering, I’m ending this for good.” 

You can’t believe him right now, blindly choosing to follow his own agenda without thinking about you. You’d never be able to handle Jungkook sacrificing himself in your name—it’s too much. “No you fucking aren’t, Jungkook. Don’t make my decisions for me, you’re not sacrificing yourself for me and that’s final!” 

“And you don’t get to make that decision for me, either.  Who I sacrifice myself for is my choice, and I won’t let anything happen to you!” Jungkook shouts back, stepping closer to drive his point home. 

“Why are you doing this? Why are you choosing this when we can work this out, when we have other options?” 

“Options that include subjecting you to eternal suffering, Y/N?  I won’t let that happen because I love you, can’t you understand that?” He searches your eyes to share his truth, to help you see what lies within him for you—your tears only grow. 

“And it’s because you love me you’ll die, Jungkook, do you understand that?” You sharpen your tone, decreasing the space between you two. “You won’t just die, either, you will cease to exist, as in there’s nothing left for you after. You'll never come back, you’ll never be reincarnated or magically saved, you won’t exist anymore.”

Jungkook swallows painfully at that, needing to look away from you—your voice breaks as you continue, lightly pressing your fist into Jungkook’s chest. “That’s what it means for you to die, Jungkook. It means our story, whatever we have, ends forever, and I can’t…” You choke up, agony clogging your throat. 

It catches Jungkook’s attention, who lifts his eyes with insurmountable misery. 

“I can’t live like that, Jungkook. I can’t live without you… I can’t live in a universe where you’re not… where you’re not…” You can’t continue, you can’t say the words anymore; sobs wrack your entire figure as the reality of your doom drowns you, wraps its macabre hands around your throat and reminds you of your endless cycle of pain. 

Your chest constricts, weeping into your hands, seconds from collapsing until you feel Jungkook’s arms embrace you, tightly hugging you into his chest, cradling the back of your head. You completely crumble, pieces of your heart stabbing your lungs, unable to breathe. 

Jungkook squeezes you tighter, no doubt tears spilling from his eyes as he listens to your wails, listens to the pain in your voice. “I can’t live without you, Jungkook. You can’t leave… I just met you, you can’t say goodbye to me, you can’t…” 

“I know, Y/N.” His voice shakes, exhaling brokenly to level his tone. “But I can’t let you suffer, I can’t live knowing my baby’s suffering because of me, because I couldn’t choose her over myself—I can’t be selfish with you.” 

Your sobs grow louder, finally allowing the reality of this to sink in, to swallow your soul whole and leave you hollow. “You can’t leave me, Jungkook, you can’t leave. We’ve barely done anything together, there’s so much left for us, there’s still so much…” 

“I know, Y/N, but you’ll be able to do it with someone else.” Jungkook gently explains, stroking your hair. “Someone human, someone who won’t make you cry like this, someone who won’t leave, someone you can have kids and grow old with.” 

“No, I don’t want that, I don’t want any of that.” You deny him, blubbering like a child into his chest. “You’re all I want… you’re all I want, Jungkook.”

You feel him wince against your hair, never ceasing his affectionate strokes. “I love you, Y/N…” He whispers, voice quavering with pain, squeezing you as tightly as he can. “I love you, okay?” 

You shake your head, refusing to say it back because it feels like the end, it feels like he’s building a wall between you two to soften the inevitable blow, to make you accept this horrible fate, and you refuse to. 

You push him away. “Don’t say that, don’t say that, Jungkook!” 

“Why not, Y/N?” Jungkook sounds weak, and it’s then you realize tears are flooding his eyes, too, piercing your heart with sorrow. “It’s the truth; I love you, and it’s because I love you that I’m doing this.” 

“No, no!” You stride away from him, inhaling sharply as your head begins to pound, pain seeping into every joint in your body. He can’t do this to you, he can’t. 

How can he say he loves you when he means to leave you? He’s lying to you again, yet again he’s breaking his promise, annihilating it, you thought. He doesn’t love you, he wouldn’t put you through losing him if he did. 

“I‘m not lying, Y/N, it’s because I can’t be selfish with you that I’m doing this, because I do love you.”

You pause, bewilderment etching into your features upon hearing an… answer to your thoughts. Your lips move slowly, furrowing your brows. “Wait… I didn’t… say that aloud.” 

Simultaneously, Jungkook’s eyes horrifyingly widen, swallowing as though he’d been caught. 

“I… I thought that in my mind… I didn’t say that aloud.”  You repeat, steadily turning to face Jungkook, who strictly stares in front of him, avoiding you. 

“Jungkook… can you… can you hear my thoughts?” Sheer shock is your only emotion, watching him grow antsy. “Can you fucking read my mind?” 

Jungkook opens his mouth, but closes it. He stammers repeatedly until he sharply sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with agitation. “I… it’s a Lucifer… thing. I can hear people’s thoughts to detect sins in them.” 

Shock is an understatement; you’re gob-smacked, utterly flabbergasted. Jungkook can read your mind… your fucking mind… “Wait… how long have you been able to read my mind? To hear my thoughts?” 

He swallows, flexing his jaw. He wets his lips before clearing his throat. “Since the moment I met you.” 

“So you have been able to hear… every single thought I’ve had since I met you?” 

He grimaces, conveniently drawing his eyes towards the bright, sunny skyline of Chicago. His silence angers you, sharpening your tone. 

“Jungkook, answer me—have you been able to hear every single thought I’ve had since I met you? Including the ones I’ve had of you?” 

Jungkook blinks, pressing a hand to his temple with a stressed sigh. “Yes; I’ve been able to hear every single thought you’ve had ever since I met you, including the ones about me.” 

Your gut horridly twists, reeling. Jungkook has known? He could hear your feelings grow for him? Develop for him? He could see inside your head? You suddenly felt grotesquely violated, like he could’ve weaponized anything you’ve thought of against you, like he could’ve easily played into your desires and entertained whatever personal mind games for his own satisfaction. 

Jungkook watches the realizations flash through your eyes. “Y/N, wait, I promise I didn’t purposefully do anything with whatever you thought. I can’t swim around in someone’s head, I can just hear thoughts, okay? And since my powers have been fading recently I can barely hear anything anymore, I promise.” 

“You could see inside my fucking head, and all you can do is make excuses right now?” 

“Y/N, no, wait. I promise—” 

But it didn’t matter what Jungkook was going to promise, because you’re both suddenly interrupted by the sound of a blaring, high-pitched screech. 

The sound batters your ears, the blood-curdling trumpetting in your head causing you to falter to the ground, Jungkook in tow. It seems to affect you more than it does him, however, because he’s not as phased by the ground that appears to shake, almost equivalent to an Earthquake. You feel his large, warm hands form to your writhing figure, comforting you. 

“Y/N, hey, are you alright? Y/N!” 

The sound is so loud you shout in agony, piercing your eardrums until it's followed by a bright, white light emerging into thin air in the main area of Jungkook’s suite. Your pairs of eyes follow the nearly blinding, unnatural beam, almost cracking open the universe itself. 

Not long after, three figures dressed in impeccable white with angelic, empyrean features present themselves—your eyes widen at the sight. The sound becomes quieter, but you feel fluid seep down on the sides of your face. A touch from your fingers reveals blood, freezing with fear when the figures step out from the portal-like door. Jungkook beside you even seems to stop breathing, and his fearful eyes clue you into exactly what’s going on. 

They’re here to take you. 

“Brother,” the one on the right, Raphael speaks up, regretfully regarding his brother. “I told you there would be consequences.” 

“Told you he wouldn’t listen, Raphael—always the overly moral guy.” Gabriel on the left chides his brother, leaving the most menacing looking one in the middle to be the one and only… 

“Michael…” Jungkook whispers in shock, his petrified eyes unable to tear away. 

“Lucifer, you haven’t followed through with your orders.” Michael’s deep, imposing voice flatley regards Jungkook, his stare intimidating enough to kill a man—literally. “You must come with us, refusing will only worsen your punishment.” 

Jungkook’s body stiffens next to you, hardening with denial. “No, I’m not coming. I won’t let you condemn her and keep this horrendous cycle of her pain alive.” 

Michael barely moves a feature on his face, stoically replying. “Then we’ll take you by force.” 

In seconds, all you register is the malice in the three angels’ faces before they lunge towards you and Jungkook. You squeeze your eyes shut and cower into his chest, until you fail to feel anything—instead, you sense the heat of the sun itself before you.

Opening your eyes, you find Jungkook shielding you two with the same ring of fire he manifested in Las Vegas, his eyes glowering an orangey red, as though the flames of hell were in there. 

“Don’t you dare touch her.” He demonically growls, emitting raw, unfettered rage. You watch as the three angels pause before Jungkook’s flames, reluctantly on the defensive. The use of his power immediately worries you, however, clutching his jaw with panic. 

“Jungkook, don’t–ah!” Touching his skin literally scorches you, reeling as your blistered skin reveals a legitimate burn. The sound of your cry snags Jungkook’s attention, his fiery red eyes revealing worry. 

“Y/N, angel, holy shit, I’m so sorry.” He deeply apologizes, straining to maintain his shield. “I’m so so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” 

His concern even at a time like this melts you, shaking your head. “It’s okay, Jungkook, I’m okay, but don’t use your power, you can’t go!” 

“It’s the only way!” Jungkook shouts, increasing the size of his shield, the flames raging brilliantly as they ward off the angels. “It’s the only way I can save you, run, Y/N. Run as fast as you can and don’t look back!” 

“No, you said you’d say goodbye, don’t do this!” 

“I’m sorry, I have to, it’s the only way.” He insists, guilt radiating in his irises. “You need to leave before I scorch this entire place, go!” 

“No, Jungkook!” 

Your screech is so painfully loud, it causes the angels on the other side to come to a realization. Raphael urgently turns to the others. “He’s channeling enough power to kill himself. Michael, we have to stop him!” 

“Kill himself? What do you mean, why would he do that?!” Gabriel yells over the ear-piercing whooshing of fire. 

“To end her suffering.” Michael intuitively answers, his cold, distant eyes sliding in your direction. “He’s willing to kill himself to end the cycle of her punishment. What an impudent, cretinous brother we used to have.” 

Jungkook strains himself as he forces out more power, watching the veins in his arms not only bulge, but reveal trails of scorching hot lava. It sears his skin, his eyes fiery red, the vessels around them lit with a bright orange as he remains determined to end this, to end everything.

“Y/N, run, please run!” He roars, the ferocity of his flames growing into a vicious inferno, terrifying you when he grunts in pain. 

“Jungkook!” 

“Michael, we must do something, now!” Raphael urges. 

“Brother, we can’t let him kill himself, we can’t!” Gabriel piggy-backs. 

Michael exhales a calm breath, even shutting his eyes to do so. Without even so much as a bat of his eye, Michael opens his palm, as though grasping something, and slowly closes it, straining to squeeze the life out of something. 

It’s immediate the piercing you feel, as though your windpipe is being crushed by a pole of reinforced steel. You scratch at your neck, attempting to pry something off you but finding nothing restraining you, struggling for air. 

The sounds of your violent choking caution Jungkook, snapping his fearful eyes in your direction. “Y/N!” He reaches out for you, desiring to help, but that single second Jungkook loses focus, Raphael and Gabriel counter him with their pure energy, snuffing out his ferocious flames. 

Jungkook cries out in pain as he collapses, and faster than your human eyes can detect, you and him are both snatched by your angelic pursuers, vanishing into the white beam they’d come from. 

“How could you do this to her? She’s human!” 

“Just let her go, she has nothing to do with this.” 

“I’ll face any punishment, I promise, just please, let her go!” 

Your head pounds, groaning as the weight in your mind lifts. Your eyes fight to flutter open, pierced by the nearly blinding white colour of the outside world. 

“I swear, I’ll break out of this cell and murder every single one of you if you touch her.”

Your conscious slowly resurfaces hearing such a familiar voice. Jungkook? Did he say cell? Why can you hear the violent clanging of metal against metal? 

Your curiosity forces you awake, inhaling sharply as you come to. Lifting your head, it’s hard to adjust to the scene before you. A holding cell, chains and restraints around your wrists and ankles, the pure, luminous white covering everything around you. 

Or perhaps, nothing is covered in white, but everything is white. You survey your surroundings, panicking once you find yourself isolated. 

“Why the hell did you nearly choke her to death? I thought you were one of the good ones, Raphael, you liar!” 

Swiveling to your left, you find that your cellmate is your one and only loud, obnoxiously cute hot-head. “Jungkook!” 

His doe eyes snap in your direction, relief flooding his features. “Y/N!” 

He crawls over to you, reinforced bars separating your cells. The smile that plasters across your face is radiant, excitedly shuffling towards him to be near him, to feel him. You reach out to clasp his hand through the bars, but the minute you do, it's as though your meninges are being torn apart, the world's most excruciating migraine plaguing you. 

“Ah!” 

“Y/N, Y/N, what’s happening?” Jungkook worriedly rambles, reaching through the bars to comfort you, only to be stopped by his chains. He curses, grinding his teeth harshly before his head whips in Raphael’s direction. 

“What the fuck are you doing to her, huh? Hasn’t she suffered enough?!” 

“I told you, Brother,” Raphael defends himself, lifting your head to catch a weary sight of him. “Hurting her in Chicago was not me, it was Michael.” 

Jungkook scoffs, murderous eyes matching his tone. “You’re still the one who let it happen, asshole.” 

“I warned you that not following through with your orders would lead to this, Lucifer.” Raphael stresses. “You neglected them. You knew this punishment was inevitable.” 

“No, what I knew is that my brother would at least try to understand that you are hurting a human, an innocent human!” Jungkook rages. “Fuck your primordial cycle of endless punishment, Raphael. She is human, she’s not Lilith, she’s not a demon!” 

“But the essence of a demon resides in her,” Raphael sharpens his tone, clearly in no mood to play games anymore. “How else could she feel pain right now?” 

Jungkook’s dark brows furrow before settling his eyes on you, concern washing over him. One look at his face indicates that he knows exactly what’s going on, scrounging up enough strength to speak. 

“Jungkook… what’s happening to me?” 

Your fragile, broken voice causes Jungkook’s irises to glisten, sniffling away his tears as his expression hardens—Raphael’s the one who answers your question. 

“Demons cannot withstand being in heaven; the pure energy here is damning to them, enough that it can kill them.” He robotically states, even if there’s a modicum of concern in there. “Only powerful demons are able to withstand it. It weakens them—causes horrible pain—but they can endure it.” 

The realization crashlands on you, tears flooding your eyes as you swallow dryly. “I’m… I’m a demon?” 

Raphael straightens his face, failing to show his emotions now. “Humans do not feel pain in heaven, but if you feel pain…” 

You shudder out the weight crushing your heart, a gruesome chill crawling up your spine.  

Your world turns upside down, but Jungkook grovels with frustration, shooting daggers at Raphael. The righteous Archangel swallows, shaking his head as he regards Jungkook. “You could’ve avoided this, brother. Your greatest sin was falling in love with her; remember that.” 

Raphael stalks his way out of whatever detainment center this is, its pristine, unstained white almost daunting, serving as a reminder that it can only be sullied by your inferior existence. 

Heaving for air, your hands begin to tremble, your entire body wracked by violent shivers. Jungkook’s face becomes riddled with sympathy, gripping the bars that divide you two. “Y/N, hey, talk to me. Are you okay?” 

“No, no I am not okay, Jungkook.” You raise your voice, which only causes the echo to splinter your head, whimpering. 

Jungkook winces, eyes flickering with worry. “I get it, I understand, Y/N, but you need to talk to me. What’s going through your head? What are you feeling—” 

“What’s going through my head? What’s going through my fucking head?!” You shout. “What’s going through my head is where the hell are we?! Why are we here?! Why does everyone keep telling me I’m a fucking demon?!” 

“Woah, hey, hey, calm down, baby. You’re fine, okay? Just look at me, you’re fine.” Jungkook attempts to pacify you, which only embeds more misery in you. 

“I can’t calm down, Jungkook. I can’t… I swear… I’m not a demon. I’m just a human; a stupid, measly human that gets B’s in her classes and worries about her future and goes home for the holidays. I’m not a bad person… I’m not a demon, I’m not a demon!” 

“I know, Y/N, I know,” Jungkook swallows thickly, his eyes shimmering with regret, guilt, every negative emotion he had the capacity to feel. “I’m so sorry this happened to you, Y/N. You don’t deserve this, you don’t deserve any of this. You’re right; you’re a good person and you’re not a demon.” 

“I’m not a demon,” you feebly deny, really to yourself. You clutch your knees to your chest and borderline hyperventilate, repeating to yourself. “I’m not a demon… I’m not a demon, Jungkook. I promise, I’m not a demon, I’m not a bad person.” 

When tears prick your eyes and you bury your head into your knees, it’s like a blackhole swallows Jungkook’s insides, leaving him empty—in despair. 

“I know you’re not, Y/N. You’re not a demon, you’re not a bad person. You’re not Lilith—you’re you, Y/N. You’re you in the most annoying, yet adorable way that makes me wanna wrap you up in a warm blanket and snuggle you to death; either to cuddle you or to shut you up.” 

His playful words actually invite you to laugh, the sound only lasting a mere second before it's replaced by painful sobs, tears cascading down your cheeks. “Where are we… Jungkook, why are we here?” 

“We’re in the infamously overrated paradise.” He jokes at first, before biting back his own tears watching you cry. “We’re in Heaven, angel. And it’s just like I said; they arrested us. We’ll be having our hearing whenever they decide we’re worthy of one.” 

Your horrified eyes flash in Jungkook’s direction, his expression softening with empathy as he regards you. You lean back against the pure white wall behind you, staring at the endless ceiling, wondering how things could’ve gotten this screwed up. 

It’s been hours now, or what you think to be hours. The lack of a clock and being in a celestial realm must’ve hijacked your sense of time. You and Jungkook sat in silence for much of it, certain that he was allowing you the time to digest all of this, to provide you the space you need. 

“Why don’t you feel pain?” 

The sudden sound of your voice rejuvenates Jungkook, his beautiful eyes flickering towards you. “Hm?” 

“The pain that I feel, why don’t you feel it, too? You’re the devil.” 

Jungkook deeply inhales before exhaling, his eyes kind once he turns towards you. “It doesn’t hurt me because I was formerly an Archangel; technically still am, so I’m not really a demon, just estranged from this place. It’s more like… coming home after running away.” 

You absorb that information, letting it distract you from the constant ache behind your eyes. “Good to know.” 

You dip your head back again, breathing through the incessant pain. Your mind swirls with numerous thoughts; last words, last conversations—what is one meant to do when they’re steps away from a death sentence? 

“Y/N… we never got to finish our conversation.” Jungkook’s silky, beautiful voice dances in your ears. It feels like an anchor, something to hold onto despite your impending doom. 

“Which one?” 

“About me being able to hear your thoughts.” 

You swallow dryly, turning away to conceal your grimacing expression. 

“Listen, I’m sorry I never told you. I just knew it was useless because it’d be impossible for you to hide your thoughts from me, and you’d be under constant stress and anxiety trying to.” He explains himself, turning the entirety of his body to face you. “I swear; I was never trying to play mind games with you. I never… used something you thought to gain my way. Your thoughts were like something special I got to have with you, like always getting to hear my favourite song.” 

Your heart throbs hearing that, the gentleness laced in his words easing you.

“It helped me understand you, it helped me realize that I never wanted you to hide the dark parts of yourself from me—that you’d be safe with me, and it’d be okay to have those thoughts.” You want nothing more than to see his face right now, slowly turning towards him to find the sweetest shimmer in his eyes. 

“It just… feels a little weird, is all—you could hear all the dark, sinful thoughts I had.” You inhale sharply, clearing your throat, warmth flooding your cheeks. “You could hear all the dirty things I thought about you.” 

Jungkook chuckles, bouncing a brow. “Oh, trust me, that was the most entertaining part.” 

Your mouth falls agape. “You’re obnoxious.” 

“Please; the amount of times I’d hear you wondering whether I’d let you ride my back or not. The answer is yes, angel, I’d totally let you.” His saccharine sweet smile prompts laughter out of you, becoming sentimental. This is what you loved most about Jungkook, you loved that he could make you laugh, that even in the face of an unavoidable death, he could crack jokes that surrenders even some of your pain. 

“How… are your powers now?” You hesitantly query. “You said you couldn’t really hear me anymore, and you used a lot trying to fight off the Archangels.” 

“They’re still there; I can feel them. If anything, I don’t feel as weak and fragile.” Jungkook tugs at his chains to demonstrate his strength. “I think I regained my angel form by being in a celestial plane, but I can’t use my powers at all.” 

“Of course; it’s Heaven and you’re Lucifer.” You sigh, knocking your head back. Jungkook hums in agreement, mirroring your action. You hate the silence that befalls you two; it only causes your mind to swim in a sea of dismaying thoughts, eventually drowning in them. 

“What’s going to happen to us, Jungkook?” Your cadence trembles, poorly attempting to contain a fresh set of tears. “What are they going to do to us?” 

Jungkook fails to react, merely staring before him. His shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath, shaking his head. “I don’t know, baby. I don’t know…” 

The hopelessness in his tone incites your tears again, sniffling them away before they tip over. Jungkook’s eyes slide over to you, concern bleeding into his features. He grips the bars to shuffle closer to you, reaching out his hand. “Come here, come to me.” 

You crawl towards the bars, tightly grasping his extended hand. He cradles you meaningfully, entwining your hands together as firmly as he can, warm eyes set on you. “Listen to me, Y/N, I won’t let anything bad happen to you—I promise. I’ll do whatever I can to make sure you’re safe.” 

The sincerity in him brightens the darkness clouding your heart, forcing a smile. “You don’t have to, Jungkook.” 

“No, I want to, and I will save you; no matter what it takes.” Your gazes lock to enter a boundless world where only you and him exist, fighting back your misery. You lean you forward, and Jungkook finds your forehead in the middle through the space between the bars. He delicately runs his thumb over the back of your hand, turning upwards to plant a long, deep kiss to your forehead. 

“You remember that I love you, Y/N.” He says.. “That’s all you need to do for me; just remember that I love you… that I’ve loved you through lifetimes, and I always will.” 

You swallow thickly, refusing to succumb to another breakdown. “What Raphael said… about loving me.” Jungkook silently dotes on you, lifting his chained hand to smooth your hair. 

“What?” 

“He said that loving me was your greatest sin.” You rehash the agonizing statement, squeezing his hand. “Is that true? Is loving me your greatest sin?” 

Jungkook slowly exhales, tilting his head as he admires your eyes—the unadulterated love that pours out of him is enough to grip your heart. “There’s nothing I would change about loving you.” 

You feel joy for all of five seconds before your ribs crack with realization, chest cavities filling with the pieces of your broken heart. “But it would’ve been easier, wouldn’t it? Not loving me?” You sniffle, tears shaking in your eyes. “You should’ve never loved me in the first place.” 

You can see Jungkook’s heart shatter in his face, his eyes revealing his wounded soul. “Do you regret it?” He asks, cradling your jaw, running his thumb over your bottom lip. “Do you regret falling in love with me?” 

“No, Jungkook, I don’t regret falling in love with you.” You embrace his hand that holds you, conveying your words with undeniable truth. “I just wish it could have lasted forever.” 

Subsequently, you and Jungkook are interrupted by the door swinging open, followed by three burly, guard-like angels stomping in. Their size intimidates you, cowering away as they stalk towards your cell as though they must complete a task. They unlock your door, infiltrate your space and suddenly stand before you, Jungkook immediately protesting. 

“Hey, what are you—” 

Rapidly, you’re grabbed at by two men, resisting your number one course of action. “What the hell? Let me go!” 

You kick and bat at them, but the pain knocking around inside your entire body is disconcerting, forcing your limbs to give up much earlier than you desire. You're lifted up against your will, attempting to snatch your arms back while Jungkook spills endless profanities. 

“Why are you assholes manhandling her? She’s already chained up!” 

The silent angels refuse to say a word, merely shooting Jungkook a menacing look before the third angel settles before you, reaches inside his coat, and maliciously plunges a dagger into your stomach. The pain that pierces you is indescribable, screeching with agony as blood begins staining Jungkook’s black shirt on your body. 

“Y/N! Holy shit, Y/N!” Jungkook ceaselessly shouts, his voice cracking with horror once the crimson red trails down your skin and spills on the floor. “What the hell was that for? Why did you stab her?!” 

“She must be weakened before she is taken to see the Council—she must not be a threat.” The one holding a dagger with your blood speaks—his voice is so lethally calm, you’re quite literally terrified. Your breaths quicken, increasing the gut-wrenching ache of your open wound, whimpering in pain. 

“Are you fucking serious? She’s going to bleed to death before she even sees them!” 

“This is Heaven, you forsaken angel. She cannot die.” The angel belittles Jungkook before nodding towards the two seizing you. They release you and you tumble to the ground, clutching your stomach as you cough out heaps of carmine blood, excruciating pain spreading across your body. 

Jungkook’s worry is mountainous now, thrashing at his chains and the bars of his cell. “For fuck’s sake, I’ll smite all of you before you touch her again, let me help her!” 

“There is no need, Lucifer; they’ve decided.” The angel’s sickeningly relaxed tone sounds daunting, causing Jungkook’s eyes to widen. “They’re ready for your hearing now.”

Simultaneously, you’re apprehended yet again by the same guard dogs, twitching in pain as your own blood stains the pristine white of everything; the angels’ clothes, the floor, the cell’s bars as you feebly reach out to connect with Jungkook, but you’re brutishly denied. 

Jungkook causes an ugly scene once two more guards invade his cell, shouting and resisting with all his might, tossing around threats to anyone who dares hurt you again, but he’s unwillingly apprehended too. Both of you are dragged out of the detainment area into a long, white corridor that seems to stretch for miles. 

Droplets of your blood spill all over the floor, your bloody handprints staining the walls as you weakly fight for your freedom. Jungkook still rages on, refusing to go down quietly—you’d expect no less from your favourite hot-head, your only positive thought in a horrifying moment like this. 

By the time your vision is becoming hazy from blood loss and your muscles lose their strength, you come face to face with an enormous, intricately embellished door that stretches far and wide. You’re only able to feel the fear pumping in your veins before the doors open, and you’re hauled into your own personal judgement day. 

Collapsing to the ground, you’re harshly forced to stand upright, your spinning head able to at least determine Jungkook being tossed onto a podium in the center of everything, restrained with an unnecessary amount of chains. 

You’re far from him, off to the side in whatever could be considered a jury’s box, except vacant of any jurors. It’s only yourself and your two ruthless guard dogs who bludgeon you to stand, subjected to observing four walls in a daze. 

The room is vast and wide, housing what you assume is a prestigious, empyrean audience in the form of a coliseum. All eyes fall to Jungkook, their hushed, incessant whispers indicating exactly what Jungkook had divulged to you once—not many angels have ever seen Lucifer. 

Your line of sight falls to the tall benches in front of him then—extremely similar to a judge’s bench—with three very familiar angels behind; Raphael, Michael and Gabriel, in that exact order, with Michael’s slightly elevated in the middle. 

How predictable. 

Your cough suddenly draws the Archangels’ attention towards you, including Jungkook. He grits his teeth with a fed up expression, before his eyes glow their angry, fiery red at his estranged brothers. 

“You better get on with this damn hearing so I can help her.” He scolds them, and a collective gasp from all the angels circulates in the room, indicative of their innocence towards cursing—Jungkook rolls his eyes. “I’m fucking Lucifer, what did you angels expect?” 

More hushed whispering, and Jungkook grits his teeth. “I don’t need the theatrics, ‘brothers’; start this shit already.” 

“Very well,” Michael blankly proceeds, straightening his already firm posture. “I’m sure you know what you’ve been brought here for today, Lucifer.” 

“Well, I’m sure you’re gonna enlighten everyone and make me sound horrendously evil, anyway.” Jungkook’s saccharine sweet smile lathers his words with contempt. 

Michael sighs, pitifully looking down at his brother. “You have been brought here today for your indiscretions not only in Hell, but on Earth as well.” Michael’s damning voice booms around the room, truly baffled by how much raw power he contains. “Lucifer; your journey of sin began in Hell with your ill-natured fixation on a certain human.” 

“‘Ill-natured?’” Jungkook’s face scrunches. “I was in love with her, but you ripped her away from me and—“

“Moving on,” Michael overrides Jungkook, who seals his mouth shut and indignantly listens. “Your fixation caused sloth to compromise your duties. You had begun neglecting your mandatory tasks and relinquishing your role as Lucifer for a mere human, one who houses a demon at that.” 

The little whispers here and there were irritating, even causing you to grind your teeth—it was hard managing the pain in your stomach as you struggled to listen. 

“This is why you were banished from Hell and onto Earth, where your lesson was to meet the very same human that compromised your duties and condemn her wicked soul to hell as she houses the vicious demon Lilith.” Michael practically spits, and the entire room of angels collectively gasp at the information. You couldn’t stand their theatrics either—if only they knew the truth. 

“Not only did you refuse your duties, but violated our most absolute rule regarding the secrecy of our celestial identities on Earth, and wrongfully utilized your powers. Subsequently, rather than reaping the consequences of your actions, you disregarded our rules and fell in love with an evil incarnate.” 

The imposing Archangel speaks his piece so convincingly well, he effortlessly riles up your fighting spirit. How could a “good” being be so vindictive? “Considering your crimes, Lucifer, this human is to be banished to Hell for her harbouring of a demon, while you will have your memory erased of her existence as punishment for your improprieties and to ensure you continue your role as Lucifer as dutifully as you can.” 

“What?!” Jungkook exclaims, straining at his chains as anger visibly seeps into his bones. “You can’t do that to her, you can’t! I won’t remember her and she’ll be horribly punished by me!” 

“For that is exactly what must happen, Lucifer.” Michael confirms. “You of all beings should be aware of what punishment sin invokes.” 

Jungkook clamps down on his teeth with rage. “This is unfair; it was never her fault the soul of Lilith was reborn in her, that’s your fault!” Jungkook accuses. “Do these angels here even know the real story? The real reason why you’re punishing Y/N and I?!” 

Michael swallows, sharpening his eyes. “There is no other story, Lucifer. She is a demon and cannot be allowed to freely roam Earth.” Michael then directs his attention to the coliseum of angels, speaking with an elegance that funnily contradicted his immoral doings. “This, my fellow angels, is Lucifer. The traitor, the iniquitous being that dared defy his angelic nature to maintain his royal stature, to relish in the power he was gifted rather than be thankful to his creator. He will say anything, do anything of the sort to gain your sympathy, to manipulate you and allow sin to defile you. He will lie, he will cheat, and he will remain greedy for more power; you are to never feel sorry for him.” 

Anger was an understatement, pure white hot fury pulsed through your veins. How could Jungkook be painted to be such a malevolent existence when his duties are forced upon him? When he didn’t choose this life nor to have his own brothers turn their backs on him? You couldn’t keep your mouth shut—your blood ragingly boiled. 

“How dare… you?” You cough, breathing through the pain searing your stomach. “How dare you keep the real story from them? How dare you fail to mention the truth and punish him for simply falling in love?!” 

Michael’s cut-throat gaze nearly harms you, and a bitter laugh escapes him. “Of course, his lover would say such a thing.” He announces, motioning towards you and Jungkook. “In this woman resides a demon who is in love with this wretched devil. She is blind to the atrocities he commits and has been corrupted by his sinful lies.” 

“Atrocities? You’re saying I’ve committed atrocities? You’re the one who harms humans!” Jungkook shouts, the echo of his words causing the chittering angels to hush. “Have you told them that, huh? The way your angels chased and terrorized me and Y/N on Earth? Have violently abused her and nearly killed her? A human?” 

“She is not human, she is a demon, and she will continue to be a demon that will rein terror on Earth. She is to be banished and punished!” 

“She’s not a demon, she only has the essence of one because you’re the one that put it there in the first place! Look at her, fucking look at her!” Jungkook insists, hardening his murderous eyes and blood-boiling features. “All of you, look at her. Don’t you see her blood? Don’t you see that she’s bleeding?” 

Michael scoffs. “I do not care for her blood—” 

“No, you need to listen.” Jungkook grits, now flashing his tenacious eyes at the wide-eyed, quiet angels around him. “You all know what blood means. Blood means that she is human, a living, breathing human. A demon can’t bleed, only humans do.” Jungkook pleads, pouring his soul into his words. “It’s only because she’s in heaven that she hasn’t bled out, but if she were on Earth? She would’ve died 10 minutes ago. When the Councils’ people came for her on Earth, they nearly shattered her spine, crushed her windpipe, and abused her knowing she’s human. She only survived because of my powers. What do you think would’ve happened if I wasn’t there? If this happened to any other human?” 

Jungkook’s words permeate the dense, thinking room, slowly digesting his point. “Don’t you know what that means? It means these people were willing to kill a human. She’s an innocent human just like the beings you’re all meant to protect, the souls that you are meant to nurture, guide towards good, and yet you’re going to sit there and let Michael tell you otherwise? Condone the near killing of one? Let him banish her to hell under the accusation that she’s a demon, when she isn’t?” 

“Save your speech, devil.” Michael shuts down Jungkook. “You have still violated our rules by revealing to her you were Lucifer and using your powers. The essence of a demon still resides in her and you will do anything to defy us—” 

“No! This isn’t about me saving myself, I don’t care about myself at all. I wouldn’t have violated any of those rules if you didn’t cast me out in the first place and threatened to harm her—how else could I fight off your minions trying to hurt a human without my powers?” Jungkook speaks with resolve, enough that you watch the angels’ faces change in regards to his words, all deeply thinking.

“This is about her; her name isn’t Lilith, her name is Y/N Y/L/N. She was born in Inglewood, California, she’s a Psychology major that eventually wants to become a therapist who helps people. She hates modern music and loves listening to classics. Her favourite food’s shawarma and she’s a horrible cook but makes a mean breakfast with her favourite purple frying pan every morning. She has a million cushions because she can never stop herself from buying them, can’t swim to save her life, and she’s an absolute baby with pain. She also drives the most beat-up Prius on the face of planet Earth.” 

Your eyes water with a smile listening to Jungkook, wondering when he retained all this, heart throbbing at the fondness in his tone. 

“She’s stubborn, and loud and obnoxious and has this witty mouth that makes me want to duct tape it shut sometimes,” Jungkook laughs, glistening eyes focusing on his audience. “But she’s loyal, and fierce and kind and caring. Her favourite things in the world are butterflies, because she believes their beauty is similar to the beauty of humans, and she still believes in pinky-promises. She’s the only person that has ever looked at me and not seen something evil, something to be neglected and thrown away. She understood me; she understood that helping me meant putting her own life in danger and she did it anyway.” Jungkook sentimentally recalls, sniffling away his tears. “These aren’t the traits of a demon, they’re the traits of a good human. She’s a fighter, she’s pure and good and she may be imperfect, but she’s imperfectly human. So please, don’t let Michael brainwash you. Understand that you will be punishing an innocent human soul; it’s not her fault that the essence of a demon resides in her. It’s forced upon her, it’s involuntary, and there’s absolutely no justice in condemning her.” 

The room has fallen into a reflective silence, all by the eloquence of Jungkook’s touching words, the raw emotion their doused in. “So I’m asking you as Lucifer, even as the ruthless ruler of hell and the nefariously-known devil, to make your choice; either blindly send an innocent human to Hell… or help her.” 

The angels hesitantly turn and discuss matters with each other, hearing a myriad of speculations. 

“He is Lucifer, he must be lying.” 

“But she is bleeding; he is right, demons do not bleed.” 

“But the essence of Lilith still resides in her, it may be a matter of time before she turns evil.” 

“But it is true she’s human; angels are not meant to harm humans.” 

“Michael is hiding something, there seems to be more to the story. We musn’t decide without the details.” 

Michael’s frantic eyes shoot around, observing everyone’s chatter. “Fellow angels, do not believe a word out of his mouth; he is a sinner, a defiler—” 

“Hush, Michael.” Raphael eases his brother. “You must let the angels decide; may I remind you they are the voices of Heaven, we do not act irrationally without the say of our companions and every being brought before us must be granted the fairness of discretion.”

“Seriously, Brother,” Gabriel cuts in. “Great haste makes great waste; we must listen to their verdicts.” 

Michael grinds his teeth with indignance, seating himself rigidly with murderous side-glances in your direction. The angels relentlessly chitter away, causing Raphael to lift his hand and order their silence.

“Lucifer,” he begins, folding his hands over his bench. “Y/N may be human now, but who is to say she will not be consumed by the essence residing within her? How can we be sure that setting her free will not be unleashing a known, merciless demon on Earth?” 

Jungkook chews on the questions, strengthening his timbre. “I’ll personally make sure of it; I’ll keep an eye on her since I would know exactly when she’s being taken over by Lilith—no other demon or regular angel would be able to overpower her, anyways.” 

“And who’s to say you won’t hide the truth from us?” Gabriel queries. “We may be willing to hear you out, but you do not have our trust, Lucifer. Unless you can provide a surefire method that proves her innocence will stay intact and that you won’t act irrationally because of your feelings for her, we cannot discuss negotiations further.” 

Jungkook violently grinds his teeth, the gears in his head turning, spiralling as he formulates a plan. “I’ll… um…” He hesitates, a troubled expression etching onto his face. 

That moment of silence serves him the second he needs to collect himself, shutting his eyes with a deep breath, until he opens them, assured of his answer. “If you grant me my role back in Hell, I’ll erase the memories she has of me; if I erase them she won’t remember any of this, she’ll live her life as a regular human none-the-wiser, and therefore will remain innocent. It will eradicate the consequences of me revealing myself and my powers to her as well, and keep the demon Lilith at bay.” 

The loudest gasp in the room must’ve been yours, tears flooding your eyes within seconds, fighting against the two guard dogs restraining you. “No, no! Jungkook, don’t you dare, don’t you dare do this!” 

“Again, how can we be sure your feelings for her will not compromise your actions?” Raphael queries, while Michael brews with anger and Gabriel wonders the same. 

“Me removing our memories of each other should be enough proof, no?” Jungkook miserably replies. “I’m willing to return to my duties, do whatever you tell me and erase all traces of myself from her life; I’m willing to let her go for her vindication despite my feelings for her, and you can instead punish me all you want in return.” 

“No, Jungkook, no!” You incessantly scream, not caring for the physical pain anymore; the tearing of your heart out of your chest felt more excruciating than anything. “You can’t do this, stop it!” 

“Brother, are you truly willing to do this?” Raphael seriously asks, a small sliver of concern in his tone. “You are to erase everything she knows of you, everything you have shared, while you are to remain with your memories and have that pain be a part of your punishment. Are you certain your feelings for her will not compromise this negotiation?” 

Jungkook weakly laughs, exhaling deeply. “I’d never do anything to put her in danger; so yes, I’m willing to do this and never see her again; to keep her safe.” 

Your screams must’ve been loud, and yet Jungkook ignores each and every one of them, watching everyone discuss his words. They ruminate about his offer until Raphael silences the room, even Michael tamed enough to let Raphael take the lead. 

Raphael straightens his posture, projecting his voice. “You’ve heard what he’s offered, fellow angels. If you are in favour of banishing Y/N to hell where she is to suffer for her transgressions with Lucifer and the potential threat she poses on Earth, lift your hand.” 

You watch a good handful agree to that; you couldn’t tell how many angels were in this room, but even a handful appeared to be a lot. 

“Now, those in favour of taking Lucifer’s offer and allowing this girl to live freely as a human?” 

You’re shocked; at least 70% of the room raises their hands, indicating which solution as the victor. But even if that meant sparing your life, you couldn’t bear to endure what came next. 

“No, no no no, don’t let him erase himself from me, don’t let him take my memories!” You screech to nobody in particular, voicing your piercing pain. “Please, Jungkook, don’t do this. You can’t suffer because of me, you can’t!” 

All you hear in that moment is Raphael announcing the final verdict; you’re to live as long as Jungkook erases your memories, and he regains his throne in Hell so long as he’s allowed to endure whatever punishment the Council sees fit. 

Your teary eyes connect with Jungkook during the announcement, conveying a million things that beg him to stop this, to take it all back, to just find another way. But his kind, sweet eyes indicate he’s not going to do such a thing—you feel every vessel in your body cease to function when you see him mouth the faintest, most miserable two words as his only response. 

‘I’m sorry.’ 

You’re hurled into another shady, white room, heaving from the impact on your pierced stomach. The door’s shut before you can even beg to see Jungkook, spiraling from what’s going to transpire. 

You’ll fight, no, you’ll use absolutely every ounce of adrenaline within you to stop Jungkook. He can’t erase your memories of him, he can’t simply steal the memories that mean everything to you. 

Yes, at one point, you would’ve craved losing all traces of him within yourself to live a sound, peaceful life. But you’re tethered to him now, boundlessly, as though your soul was made for him—to love, cherish and fight for him. Even if it means enduring excruciating pain, you’ll do whatever you must; it’s undeniable what lengths you’re willing to go for him now. 

In your sea of misery, the sound of the door clicking open alarms you, finding an unrestrained Jungkook sneaking his way in. You can hear the incessant drone of the commotion outside, knowing the coliseum of observers must be in a tizzy. 

“Jungkook!” You breathe, forgetting about your bloodied stomach and leaping into his arms. Jungkook swiftly catches you, embracing you as dearly as he would a treasure. His hand weaves through your hair as the other cradles your back, his face burying in your neck. 

“Y/N,” he breathes, basking in you. He draws away to analyze your face, frantic eyes revealing worry. “Are you still in pain? Did they hurt you again?” 

“No, no,” you quickly shake your head, holding his jaw. “Jungkook, please tell me you lied. Tell me you lied and you’re not going to take anything from me. I don’t want to forget you, I don’t want to forget us; I won’t let you.” 

You couldn’t bear how pathetic you sounded, but who wouldn’t be in a situation like this? You couldn’t believe half of whatever transpired in the last 24 hours, but all you truly believed was the way you felt about Jungkook, this one man who’s holding you like you’re his everything and more, who’s thrown away his entire life for you.

“I know, I’m sorry… I’m so sorry.” He apologizes, running his thumb over your cheek. “But I promise, I’m doing this for us, I really am.” 

You notice the deflection in his words, sorrow flooding your alreasy miserable features. “You’re still going to do it? You’re going to take everything we had away from me?” Anger replaces your sadness soon, unbelieving of him right now. You touch your feet to the ground and force space between you two, refusing him. “No, you can’t do this, you fucking can’t!” 

Jungkook approaches you carefully, holding a finger to your lips. “Y/N, shh, let me explain, okay? It’s not what you think.” 

Opening your mouth to counter him, you’re interrupted by the door opening again, revealing a furtive, distraught Raphael. 

“Brother,” he urgently calls Jungkook, rapidly shutting the door behind him. “Michael nearly had my head for suggesting I visit you rather than him. Do you truly understand what you are to do? Erasing her memories will not absolve her of her eternal punishment, she will still be reborn into another lifetime. You are only delaying the inevitable.” 

“No, Raphael, I’m allowing an innocent human to live out the rest of her life without the burden of me.” Jungkook reasons. “I understand the consequences, I understand everything; just please, let me do this. Hold off Michael for now and I promise I’ll hold up my end.” 

Raphael grits his teeth, taking one good look at you, then at Jungkook, his eyes burning with a myriad of emotions; the only distinct one is exhaustion. “Fine, I can only grant you five minutes.” 

Raphael turns on you both and disappears in the blink of an eye, leaving you and Jungkook alone again—you regain your ability to fight. 

“Jungkook, don’t you dare—” 

“Shh, shh,” Jungkook coos, taking your face in his palms. “Angel, listen to me, I’m not going to take away your memories.” 

Your eyebrows furrow, struggling to speak. “Wh-what?” 

“I’m not doing it. I’m not taking away what we had to appease those fucks, okay? I won’t bow down to them, especially when they think they’re right when they’re wrong.” Jungkook seethes, his eyes more sincere than ever. “I’m going to pretend like I erased them from you, we’ll have you sent back to Earth while I find a way to undo your eternal punishment.” 

Your head practically spins, the room far too small for you to breathe in. “Wait… you lied? You won’t erase my memories? Won’t they figure out—” 

Jungkook, despite the situation, actually cracks a devilish grin. “I’m Lucifer, angel, I can do anything, and I will for you.” 

You digest everything slowly, holding a stressed hand to your forehead. “But I’ll be sent back to Earth, I’ll be without you, Jungkook. And I’ll be human; one human life on Earth is nothing compared to your immortal, celestial one.” 

Jungkook’s face softens. “I know, I know it won’t be the same. But please, let me do this, okay? I promise, I pinky-promise I’m going to find a way to undo your punishment, to make sure you live a long, happy life without me.” 

“There’s no guarantee you’ll find anything, Jungkook. This has been going on for entire lifetimes… who knows how long you’ll take to find something?” You exasperate. “You can’t say goodbye… you can’t say goodbye to me like this.” Your grip his hands on your face, shaking your head with vehement denial. “Don’t send me back, please don’t send me back without you, Jungkook, please.” 

Jungkook breathes in strongly, composing himself. “I’ll make sure angels never bother you, but if they do, act like you don’t know me, okay?” He explains, choosing to neglect the way you beg him to come with you, and continuing. “I know it’s going to hurt, which is normal because even if I did go through with erasing myself from your memories, you’ll still feel like something’s missing. So it’s alright if you’re sad for a bit, but don’t think of me, Y/N. Don’t cry over me, don’t dream of me or miss me. Make yourself forget me and meet someone new, build a life for yourself and live the way you choose.” 

“Stop it, stop!” You attempt to shove him away, even whacking his chest, but Jungkook goes on, silently enduring the pain while maintaining a calm facade for you. 

“Accept yourself, all of you—even the dark parts you hate. Don’t apologize for who you are to anyone, don’t hide your beauty because you doubt your self-worth, and don’t ever let anybody cage you in.” Jungkook declares passionately, holding you desperately. “You’re my angel, baby, you’ve got wings… and I know you’ll fly only if you let yourself.” 

Jungkook leans down to seal your lips for a deep, consuming kiss. He endearingly connects your foreheads afterwards, even entwines your little pinkies together to bind his promise, and all you can do is cry and plead, devising ways to run from this room, to valiantly refuse him, to tear down his house of cards, but you’d only cause Jungkook more harm—puts all his efforts to waste. 

So you cry. You cry, wail and sob as Jungkook presses a meaningful kiss to your forehead and whispers to you one last time, “I love you, Y/N,” he softly says, your heart wrought with despair, your chest collapsing with unbearable agony. Your body is overcome with a bright, bright light, and you can’t do this, you can’t. 

“Jungkook!” 

His silky smooth voice serenades you before you feel every particle in your body slowly fade away, his last words your only salvation. 

“Y/N… Fly.” 

“Bitch, you need to come out more. This Halloween party is going to be huge and you better show up in something slutty.” 

“I don’t know, Mads, I’m not really up for a party.” 

“Please, you haven’t been up for anything for months, Y/N. Seriously, what the hell happened to you over the summer? It’s really worrying me, babes.” 

“Nothing… I… just… my night terrors. I haven’t been getting much sleep because of them and I’m too tired for a party.” 

“Awh, well, alright then. You know I value your health over anything. If you need someone to stay the night with you you’ll call me, right?” 

“Of course, Mads, thanks.” 

You abruptly end the call, leaning back on the maple bench you warm up as dried, orange leaves scatter around your feet. Inhaling a deep breath of the fresh, autumnal air, you steal a moment to enrich your lungs with much-needed oxygen. 

Only a single moment, though, before the hole in your heart reminds you of how hollow you really are, and no oxygen will remedy that.

Heartless; that’s what you were. As though somebody had torn out your heart and you now merely survive as a husk, unable to feel anything. Agony wasn’t a strong enough word, not even excruciating. The kind of pain you’ve felt for the last three months left you numb; numb to sensation, to feeling, to anything. 

You barely noticed when the season changed, let alone retained a single article of academic knowledge when your classes restarted. The semester blurred, much like everything else around you as it began to rain outside, and it dripped all over your hair and face, your jacket and shoes. 

You didn’t bother drying yourself or ducking under a building; nothing bothered you much these days. You grab your bag, rise up from your seat, and steadily stalk towards your car you’d parked somewhere on campus. 

Climbing in, you toss your bag in the passenger seat, simply sitting behind the wheel. You don’t turn on your car, don’t reach inside for your keys. You merely… sit, wallow, exist, things you do often these days. 

It’s in your sitting that your radio suddenly turns on, playing a static version of ‘Devil In Her Heart’ by The Beatles—a miserable smile paints your lips, gripping your steering wheel. 

“One of your favourites, isn’t it?” You ask, swallowing the lump clogging your throat. “Is it because of the actual song or because you remember it played the first night we met?” 

You don’t get an answer, you never do. But you know he’s there, you know it’s him, you know he communicates with you sometimes. 

It’s been three agonizing months since you had to leave Jungkook. For the first month, losing him obliterated such a large part of you, you didn’t leave your bed for weeks. 

After waking up soundlessly in your apartment once you’d been casted out of heaven, it was as though your life hadn’t changed at all since you left—except that Jungkook was gone. 

The loss of him was so agonizing, so soul-crushingly debilitating, basic human function wasn’t in your vocabulary anymore. You neglected your family and friends’, ignored their concerns, drove yourself into the ground by refusing to stand on your feet and feed yourself, let alone find a shred of happiness in anything. 

Your night terrors even returned, haunting you nearly every night, recalling the ghastly scenes of your blood staining the purity of heaven, the traumatizing image of Jungkook handing over his freedom and autonomy to his despicable brothers. 

Jungkook’s words constantly ran through your head, his words that angered you and yet kept you from ridding yourself of the pain forever. He envisioned so many passionate, enriching things for you—to saturate your life with all the possibilities he convinced himself his absence would grant you. 

Turns out he was wrong. 

But you couldn’t waste the chance he gave you by taking the easy way out. You had to live, you had to endure this—that didn’t ease the pain by even a sliver. 

It started in the second month, when your appearance had severely changed, when you couldn’t recognize who stared back at you in the mirror anymore, when you could barely catch a single night of sleep with the amount you screamed yourself awake. Your parents had even visited you, fed up with your lack of communication, devastated by your mental health compromising your physical health. You returned to your bedroom where your mother slept in your bed, finding some feathers scattering it, contemplating when you or she possibly tore one of the many cushions Jungkook claimed you had. 

You paid it no mind, chalking it up to your mother or depressed delirium. 

Another day, you found the milk already taken out of your fridge when you scavenged inside it for breakfast. You’d convinced yourself you’d simply forgotten you ever took it out. 

The next time, when your phone buzzed with a notification, revealing that you’d been tagged in a photo by an unknown user and clicked on your screen, you found that it led to a dead end. You constantly refreshed wondering if your Wifi simply died, but your lights all of a sudden flickered, and you nearly screamed when the cushions on your couch tore open, launching feathers in every feasible direction. 

You watched as the fluffy white things slowly cascaded down to the ground, wondering what could possibly be happening to you… until it all came crashing down. 

The feathers… when you and Jungkook first tussled in your bedroom and he tore your pillow open, causing dozens of feathers to litter your room. 

There was only one answer—it’s him.

Soon after, it was your car randomly playing his favourite songs. It was suggestions to his favourite restaurants open on your laptop, being drawn to his favourite places in town. Then it was the playful, harmless pet names etched into the steam on your bathroom mirror, ‘human’, ‘angel’, ‘my baby’. They were little signs of him, little anecdotes that he was real, that he can see you, maybe even hear you. 

Does he watch you? From his throne in hell? Is he still looking for a way out of your punishment? You wonder millions of things constantly. Is he being punished right now? Is he suffering for you? Has he been caught and everything you’re hoping for has already been taken away from you? 

You lean back in your car seat, fighting the violent tears threatening to spill. “I’m not going to that stupid party, Jungkook. I’m not fucking going.” You deny him, knowing that he wants you to go, that he wants you to live your shitty life as though there’s any happiness to be found in it. “I’m not going to fucking live my life when you’re not here, you asshole. There’s nothing happy in my life without you, okay? I’m not gonna cram myself into some slutty angel costume and grind against sweaty womanizing frat boys; they’re not you, Jungkook, they’re not you!” 

Your outburst causes you to smack your dashboard, faltering your head on your steering wheel and wallowing in your self-loathing. Everything felt as though it was imploding from inside you, as though your soul would never find peace or joy. 

The sound of your window being etched into catches your attention, seeing the text ‘go’ inscribed in Jungkook’s impeccable hand-writing. You sigh, nibbling your bottom lip to keep your emotions at bay. “Nothing good will come from me going, Jungkook.” 

Again, your window reveals a new message. ‘For me?’ 

Swallowing thickly, a bitter laugh spills out of you, draping your arms over your steering wheel and using every ounce of your strength to not smash your head against it. You feel insane, borderline lunatic communicating with Jungkook like this, but it oddly fills you with even a semblance of comfort, wiping at your mascara-smudged eyes. 

“Fine,” your voice cracks, sniffling again. “I’ll go, but only for you.” 

‘Pinky promise?’ 

That, is the only thing that festers a hint of a laugh from you, recalling the precious night you taught him how to make one. If only you could go back…

“Okay, pinky promise.”

Inhaling a deep, shaky breath, you stare at the unnecessarily gargantuan frat house from its porch. The music bumps far too loudly, its bass practically vibrating the floorboards. You endlessly fidget with your fingers, impatient feet wiggling in your pearly heels. 

Your costume feels too tight; its corset-style top accentuated your breasts and showcased your shoulders, your knee-high skirt frilly and embroidered with crystals. Large wings decorate your open back, and a halo sits pretty atop your head on a headband. 

This is too much, you shouldn’t have done this. You shouldn’t have called Madison and let her handle your costume, because the pit in your stomach regarding meeting new people after being anti-social for months only grows deeper and darker inside you. 

You nearly make a run for it until Madison catches you, scolding you with her prettily coloured and gem-ridden eyes that match her faerie costume. 

“Oh no, missy, you’re getting in there before I kick your ass with my faerie magic.” 

You wince, recalling a certain conversation. “Angels actually outrank faeries, Mads.”

She scrunches her features. “According to who?” 

“Nevermind.”

“Whatever, you’re getting inside and having the time of your life, no excuses!” 

 Anxiety fills you at every possible turn once you’re submerged in the dancing, bustling bodies. The smell of weed and vape are so pungent you grimace every two seconds, and everyone reeking of alcohol or sweat doesn’t improve your experience, either. 

“C’mon, have a drink!” Madison encourages you once she’s dragged you to the kitchen, offering fruit punch very obviously spiked with copious amounts of alcohol. 

“Oh, no–I don’t think so.” You deny her, attempting to be polite, but a little voice in your head tells you otherwise. 

‘He wanted you to live your life… to unapologetically be yourself.’

Inhaling a nervous breath, you grab the red solo cup from Madison’s hand and down the entire thing, feeling the alcohol burn your throat. You falter against the counter behind you, chest inflating and deflating as you let the liquor invade your system. 

You suddenly feel… lighter, almost calmer. Your head storms less and the party appears livelier, not scarier. You fish yourself another cup of the fruity, boozy concoction, chugging it as though it were water. You take another drink, and another, before your brain begins pirouetting, loopy enough to actually smile at Madison when she comments on you finally earning a fun bone back in your gloomy body. 

Every muscle is suddenly enriched with energy, a buzzing desire to move, to sway around, to dance. Madison practically reads your mind, hauling your ass onto the dance floor with a hoot and holler that genuinely excites you. 

The raunchy music becomes your only muse, alcohol keeping your mind empty and your body swinging. You can’t believe how wasted you already feel, can’t believe the fun you’re having. You catch yourself laughing, smiling, singing—all things you’d lost the ability to comprehend ever since… 

Your favourite track suddenly blares from the gigantic speakers, whooping along to the body-grinding lyrics with Madison as she hypes you up. 

“Hell yeah, Y/N! Dance that shit out!” She cheers, smacking your ass when you spin around for her. “I’m so glad to see you having fun, this is exactly what you needed!” 

Far too lost in yourself, you don’t even register Madison introducing you to a random guy, who happens to be smoking hot. Your drunk mind conjures up something to say to him; a botched introduction, a shitty pick-up line, frivolous questions, you’re not sure, but this man knows how to touch you, and his hands are tempting. 

You cling around his neck, focusing on the dancing more than flirting with him, drowning in the beat of the blood-pumping music. It isn’t until you feel the guy’s hands moving elsewhere, and his face suddenly closing in on your lips, does your brain decide to finally work. 

He’s going to kiss you, and your system… rejects that; it feels wrong. You instinctively push him away. 

Clutching a hand to your forehead, it’s as though your alcohol-haze clears up, finally unearthing the rational part of your mind. Your eyes dart around you, unfamiliar with the scene. What are you doing? Why are you partying at a random frathouse with people you don’t even know? Why were you letting a random himbo run his hands all over you? 

Just when the thought crashes down on you, the frat boy wraps his hands around your waist and invites you back, attempting to plant his lips on you again. You panic, frantically forcing him away. 

“I’m sorry, I can’t do this. I’m sorry.” You profusely apologize, shoving your way through the crowd for space, air, something. You practically claw your way to the entrance, not even caring about Madison or where your other friends could be. 

You shouldn’t be here, you shouldn't be having fun and indulging in alcohol, greed and lust. This isn’t you, none of this erases or fills the hole in your heart, none of this remedies the permanent black hole your soul was lost in. 

This only proves exactly what’s haunted you for the last three months; you’re a sinful person that has a demon residing within her. 

Your mind spins with thoughts of Jungkook, wondering what he could be thinking seeing you like this, seeing you enjoying yourself without him. Maybe it was fun for five seconds, but you don’t deserve that. You don’t deserve anything after the chaos your mere existence has caused, the trouble and grief you’d brought upon him. 

He could be suffering for you right now, and that thought makes you sick to your stomach, fighting the bile crawling up your throat. 

Heart racing and lungs desperate for air, your frantic feet carry you out into the streets, pacing God knows where. You just need to clear your head, you need to grasp what the hell you’re doing and who you think you are, barely recognizing the person you just were. 

In all your thinking, you don’t consider checking both ways before stepping out into the road, attempting to flee the party, to get so far away nobody could chase you and beg you to be somebody you’re not, to convince you you’re deserving of anything good when really, you aren’t. 

Unexpectedly, all you hear is a blaring horn, see the blinding headlights of a speeding car before you can sneak a glance at it. The second you do, you know it’s over, only a few feet between yourself and the racing vehicle. 

You inhale a deep, shocked breath, limbs too frozen to move. You want to move, or do you? Do you perhaps deserve this? Is this really all you’re meant to amount to in life? Is this how it miserably ends? 

You decide to… accept that fate, accept that this impact will most likely shatter your spine or crack your head open on the pavement below. 

You shut your eyes, inhale a deep breath, ready to meet your end… but the impact never comes.

Instead, you feel arms wrap around your body and swiftly turn you out of the way, clutching you to their much larger body. The movement felt as smooth as butter, prying your eyes open to observe your saviour, and nearly collapsing. 

Fear floods your system, knowing you must be seeing things, or must be in some sort of limbo between life and death, because there’s no way… no way in Hell you’re... 

“Hey, angel.” 

You swallow harshly as you peer up at Jungkook, still snug in his arms. He feels reals, he feels like flesh and bone and your initial reaction is to shove him away, taking several steps back. “No… impossible. This is impossible… this can’t be you… you’re an angel, aren’t you? I’ll kick your ass!”

Jungkook wets his lips, slowly tucking his hands in his black jean pockets with a laugh; a black shirt and matching leather jacket hug his brawny frame, too. His gaze is soft as he regards you, lips slightly curved into your favourite smile. “It’s me, angel.” 

Blinking once, twice, three times doesn’t erase the image of him. For a second, you think you’re sincerely hallucinating, chalking this up to whatever hardcore crap somebody dumped in the fruit punch. Another minute goes by, and he doesn’t vanish, simply standing there as he patiently waits for you. 

All of a sudden, tears wet your eyes, throat swelling with powerful, undeniable emotion as the realization hits you. “Jungkook?” 

He shows off that bright, sexy grin of his, tonguing his lip ring. “Yes, angel?” 

Your entire system is overwhelmed with pure rapture, feeling ten times lighter. Your heels clack over the pavement as you break out into a sprint, Jungkook happily holding out his arms for you. His joyful grin only brings more tears to your eyes, immediately hopping into him and feeling him effortlessly catch you. He squeezes the life out of you as sobs escape you, completely drowning in the disbelief that he’s actually here… he’s here.

“Jungkook… Jungkook…” you cry into his neck, attacked by all the familiar things you couldn’t bear missing anymore. His scent, his warmth, his strong body, his cold piercings, his protective hands that hugged you as though he’d been in the same pain as you. 

“Yeah… it’s me, Y/N… it’s me.” Jungkook breathes as he cradles you tightly, stroking your hair, his voice thick with emotion, too. He inhales the fragrance of your hair, feeling his tense body relax before he draws away, smoothing his thumb over your cheek. 

“How… how are you here? How can you be here?” A barrage of questions wreak havoc on you, only sated by Jungkook shushing you. 

“Shh, let’s talk somewhere else, yeah?” He suggests, and you nod vehemently with a sniffle, not wasting the opportunity to tightly embrace him once again as Jungkook walks your entangled bodies down the street.

Jungkook lets your feet touch the ground after strolling the streets with you, taking his offer to seat yourself just outside a park, where he, too, takes his seat on a bench—his eyes never leave you. 

“You know, I know I call you an angel, but I never thought I’d actually see you looking like one.” He comments as he leans back, crossing his leg over the other with an amused gaze. “A hot one, too.” 

You muster the strength to laugh, sniffling away the last of your ugly tears. You slowly bite your lip, eager eyes flickering all over his unchanged, sinfully hot appearance. His hair wasn’t long anymore, rather cut shorter and styled impeccably, his ears showcasing pretty earrings that dangled deliciously by the sides of his face, maybe even sporting thicker muscles.

“You look different,” you note with a forced smile, skittish next to him. You weren’t sure how to act, too in awe of his current presence to care about your behaviour. 

“You too, angel. Good different.” He returns the compliment, leaving you to pick at your nails, unsure of what to say. 

“Jungkook…” You begin, clearing your clogged up throat. “How… how are you here?” 

Jungkook clicks his tongue, contemplatively tapping the back of the bench he drapes his bulky arms over it. “Well, it’s a long story, but I basically used my good looks and undeniable charm to get my way through.” He flashes you a pearly white smile, causing you to laugh, ignoring the moisture flooding your eyes. 

“I’m serious, Jungkook. How are you here… how can you even talk to me right now?” 

Jungkook weightily sighs, leaning his head back to stare at the star-less sky above. “I was able to make a deal to come see how you were doing, look for signs of Lilith coming out, observe whether your memory loss is still ‘in-tact’.” Jungkook air-quotes, his expression falling. “But really… I just wanted to see you… I needed to.” 

The ache in your chest burns you deeply, grinding your teeth to subdue the pain. “Why?” 

Your whisper is so quiet, Jungkook faces you, his doe eyes just as beautiful as you remembered. “Y/N… I’ve been seeing everything; I knew you were going to let that car hit you.” 

Embarrassed, you clear your throat, breaking eye contact with him. “Everything?” 

“Everything.” He confirms. “I thought you’d eventually heal, that time would treat you right and you’d forget about me. But I couldn’t see you so upset anymore, I had to see you. I convinced the Council and the Big Man upstairs that I was just checking up; that they at least owed me that for the shit they’ve put me through.” 

Your lips threaten to tremble, uselessly picking at the end of your dress to contain your emotions. “What did they do to you, Jungkook?” You tentatively ask, sniffling. “How did they… punish you?” 

Jungkook swallows at that, hardening his expression as he stares elsewhere—his desolate, traumatized eyes are enough to tell you his story. “You don’t want to know.” 

The information shatters you, sobs collecting at the back of your throat, fresh tears staining your cheeks. 

When Jungkook sees you, sympathy overwhelms him. He carefully reaches out his hand, slowly clasping yours in your lap—you jolt at first, but the sensation melts you, tentatively clutching him back. 

“I also came because… I wanted to tell you that I’ve tried everything, Y/N.” Jungkook speaks seriously, softly admiring how your stunning features are like stars creating the gorgeous constellations that is your face. “I had one of my best investigative princes of Hell Hobi look into it. I searched and searched myself… and there’s no way out of this for us, angel. There’s no way for me to stop your eternal punishment.” 

That truth pierces your chest, but it’s already hollow, leaving you to simply nod, simmering with the news. “I had a feeling.” 

Jungkook runs his thumb over the back of your hand, softening his voice. “I’m sorry… angel. I’m so sorry, I promised you.” 

“It’s not your fault.” You shrug him off, wiping away a stray tear. You build up the courage to connect your eyes, plastering a small smile on. “It’s okay.” 

Jungkook slightly smiles, but it’s sad too, releasing your hand to smooth over your hair, affectionately stroking it. He simply looks at you, his eyes communicating millions of things, unable to decipher what he feels. You remain quiet, too, only left to fall deeper into his abyss, no matter how macabre your fate. 

“I’ll never be okay with this.” He says, struggling to maintain his composure. “I’ll never be okay… being away from you… watching you suffer so much that you’d contemplate ending your own life.” 

You lean into his touch, breathing in his scent. “Me neither.” 

Jungkook traces a strand of your hair, skimming down to play with your earring instead, his look full of longing. “I spent everyday in my own personal hell… watching you.” 

You yearn to be closer to him, shuffling slightly, setting your hand over his toying with your jewelry. 

“I couldn’t bear to watch it, I couldn’t… I couldn’t accept it. I knew I’d told you to forget about me, to live as if I never existed, but I also knew you were hurting, and I couldn’t watch you suffer. I sent messages to help you, to help ease your pain—I wanted you to hold onto the hope that you weren’t alone.” 

Taken by his words, you understand them, nodding for him. Jungkook hesitates cupping your jaw, but does it anyway, caressing your bottom lip with his thumb. His sorrowful look, his pleading eyes tell you enough; he missed you just as much as you missed him, and the pain he felt was identical. 

Nearly moving to fit into his arms, Jungkook winces, hesitantly retracing. His expression is riddled with contempt, grinding his teeth. “I’m not… I don’t know what to do. I can’t change anything, and I know I have to leave you again, but I can’t… I can’t move on without you.” 

His troubled face floods you with sympathy, his clenched fists and rigid body pushing you to speak. “Then just… don’t, Jungkook.” 

He furrows his brows. “I have to… it’s the only option.” 

“It isn’t,” you whisper, capturing his attention. You feel incredibly vulnerable, but wear your heart on your sleeve, bearing all there is behind your ribcage; a tattered heart and broken soul that still loves him. “Condemn me, Jungkook, and we can see each other… we won’t have to be apart.” 

“Y/N—” 

“Jungkook,” you call him, grasping his hand with both of yours tightly, sending him a reassuring smile. “We’ve already had this argument, but we’re not meant to be apart. Our story, I know it’s not ideal, but it’s still ours. We get to relive our story as much as we want. Even if it means we start over, even if it means suffering the same fate and pain over and over again, none of it overpowers the gift of getting to love each other.” You speak passionately, searching his eyes deeply. 

“We get to fall in love so many times, and getting to love you is the best thing I’ll ever do. So it’s okay, it’s okay if we’re destined to be ripped away from each other, because there is something so powerful about being able to find our way back, to fight for our love and what we have. I don’t care if I’m reborn several times over, I don’t care if we suffer in each lifetime, because it just means our love transcends that—it transcends space and time and even the workings of the universe. It means we’re unbreakable, and if that’s the case then I’ll gladly keep living in an endless loop of punishment, Jungkook, just to fall in love with you.” 

Jungkook’s awestruck, his face etched with shock before he softens with realization, eyes glistening with emotion. “Do you mean that, angel?” 

“Of course I do,” you laugh despite your tears. “You’re worth the cycle of punishment, you’re worth that and so much more; and if I get to spend an eternity proving that to you, loving you, then I wouldn’t want anything else.” 

Jungkook decreases some of the space between you two, his tone grave. “But your life, Y/N. Your home, your family, your friends… you’ll lose it all.” 

“All I need is you, Jungkook.” You assure him, leaning forward so that your foreheads connect, soaking up every ounce of his comforting presence. “Only you, nothing else.” 

Jungkook inhales a deep breath as he absorbs this moment, too, intertwining your fingers together. “I’ll get us time,” he swears. “I promise, I’ll get us time in Hell together before anyone finds out you’re even there.” 

You smile warmly, nibbling your bottom lip. “Don’t worry; I may be wrong in trusting the devil but I trust you, Jungkook. Any day.” 

Jungkook’s grin is utterly gleeful, adoring the way his lip piercing curves along with his mouth. He suddenly holds out his hand, wiggling his littlest finger. “Pinky promise?” 

Giggling with wet eyes, you nod, entwining your pinky with his. “Pinky promise.” 

Jungkook happily seals the vow, sliding his hand over your cheek and minimizing the space between your faces, teasing you with a hot breath. You wait for his kiss, diving in for it. Jungkook touches your lips together for a faint second before skimming past, whispering by your ear. “Close your eyes, angel.” 

And in that moment, you clear your heart and your mind, completely handing over yourself to Jungkook, because nothing would ever mean more to you than he does. Your life was more than college parties, a plain-jane job and the holidays now; your life was Jungkook and the irrevocable bond you shared with him. 

Your story was a symbol of something profound, something so invincible and everlasting, even time and space couldn’t destroy it.

So, fluttering your eyes shut, you clutched Jungkook’s hands for dear life, feeling a warm light envelope you before you felt the gentlest, most delicate peck to your lips by his own. Smiling, you disappeared into oblivion before you could return the kiss.

EPILOGUE. 

Jungkook watches the hum-drum of boring human life in his unnecessarily large throne room, tapping his foot in an agitated rhythm. The sound echoes throughout his dark chamber of sin, his cheek resting in his palm with his legs spread out in his royal seat. 

A knock to his door disrupts his regular flow, annoyingly sighing. “Whoever the hell that is, it better be something good.” 

Upon his words, Jungkook’s shocked to hear his doors open, scoffing at whatever form of gall his visitor dares to possess. Jungkook rises from his seat, turning around to reprimand the low-life, until his expression is caught with immediate surprise, his eyes completely blown out. 

“I think I’m much better than just something good, demon.” 

Jungkook scoffs again, but this time with no malice. He tongues the inside of his cheek, feeling an insurmountable amount of pride and joy flood his chest. An insatiable wave of lust washes upon him seeing the sinful dress and gorgeous face in his doorway, eyes too playful for their own good. 

“Well well well,” He smirks, perching his elbow on his throne, completely, and utterly taken by you. “If it isn’t my one and only angel.” 

[caelesjjk]

blueberry haze | jjk

⟶title: blueberry haze

⟶ au: strangers to lovers

⟶ trope: one night stand

⟶ pairing: drummer!jungkook x f. reader

⟶ rating: 18+

⟶ genre: smut

⟶wc: 6.6k

⟶warnings: little bit of dom!jk, mentions of drug use (marijuana), smut in the forms of: some breath play, choking, oral ( m & f receiving), lots of praise, some bondage type things, touch denial, unprotected sex (don’t do this, be smart)

⟶ summary: he had been eye fucking you from the stage all night. but you never expected anything to come of it. but when you run into the beautiful blue haired drummer after the show, you decide to let him show you some of his other talents.

⟶ authors note: this was supposed to be a quick little thing but you see where that’s ended up lol. This is some very self indulgent smut yall, not much plot for real. But it’s blueberry koo, and he’s my fav. Hope you enjoy, and as always send the feedback my way!

What was his deal?

The ridiculously good looking, blue haired drummer on stage was looking right at you. And he had been most of the night. You couldn’t help but stare back at him, it was impossible not to.

“He’s eye fucking you.” Your friend said into your ear as the band came back on stage for their finale.

“Is not.” But you knew he was. He was looking at you again already as he sat down on the stool behind his drum kit.

Big, veiny biceps gripped the drumsticks in his hands, slinging them around between his fingers effortlessly. You watched as he pushed the blue hair off of his forehead once more before the song started and he became immersed in the music. He was a sight to see.

“Whatever you say.” Your friend teased and you elbowed her side in hopes of making her shut up while you enjoyed the last song of the night.

Any small ounce of hope you had that the sexy drummer was going to pull you backstage after the show was quickly doused when the lights came on and the venue staff was ushering everyone outside. You wanted to punch yourself for even thinking it was a possibility. He was somewhat famous. He could have whoever he wanted, why on earth would he want you?

“I’m far too tired for any parties.” You tell your friend who has been tirelessly trying to convince you to go to the bars downtown. “You should call Mina or Cher, I’m sure they’re already there.” She pouts but finally agrees to let you head home to sulk.

You pull your jacket a little tighter around your body as you walk past some shops and restaurants. They’re all mostly closed at this point in the night, but some of the displays in the windows are comforting to see.

Dexters Diner comes into view just up ahead, the yellow lights on top flicker in and out as you get closer to the small building. You could suddenly smell coffee drifting into your nostrils, and without a second thought, your hand is on the door handle of the diner, pulling it open.

There’s hardly anyone inside. A few tables of rowdy drunks from the bars and a few night shift workers having their first meal of the day. You smile at the older woman behind the front counter who’s wearing a pikachu tshirt and her hair in braids.

“What’ll it be, sweetheart?” She says as you sit down on one of the stools.

“Coffee. And maybe one of those cinnamon rolls from the case, please?” You take off your coat when she nods and heads off to gather your order.

This is just what you needed to wind down. And in most cases coffee would do the opposite, but you know the warmth of it will make you sleepy in no time.

You smile again when she sets down the chipped coffee cup and oversized cinnamon roll in front of you. The two things together smell like absolute heaven. You breathe it all in once more before picking up the cinnamon roll and bringing it to your mouth for the biggest bite you can manage.

“What are the odds?” A voice says behind you, making you freeze mid-bite. You turn around, cinnamon roll still in your mouth to face the voice.

Oh no. Please no.

Blue haired drummer boy is standing right in front of you in all his beautiful glory.

“H-hi.” You mumble, realizing you have the huge cinnamon roll in your mouth, your eyes shoot open wide and you quickly scramble to turn back and sit the pastry on its plate and wipe your mouth.

“You’re adorable.” He says, his hand gently touching your shoulder and turning you back around to face him. “Didn’t think I was going to see you again.”

“Here I am.” You say stupidly, internally facepalming.

“Here you are.” He smiles and tilts his head curiously. “I’m Jungkook. What’s your name, cinnamon roll?”

“It’s _____. Nice to meet you, Jungkook.” You can’t believe this is actually happening.

“How’s the coffee?” He asks, sitting down on the stool next to you.

“Good I think. I haven’t actually drank it yet.” You turn back to face the counter, taking the coffee cup in your hands.

“Don’t let me stop you.” Jungkook slides his leather jacket off his shoulders, revealing a clean white shirt underneath, the sleeve of tattoos looking so stark against the white of the shirt.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting when you started talking to rockstar Jungkook, but it wasn’t this. The conversation was flowing so nicely. He was surprisingly funny and full of all kinds of useless facts. The kind that were so ridiculous that they were interesting. He seemed sweet surprisingly…sweet.

“Did you know it takes 700 grapes to make just one bottle of wine?” Jungkook says, popping a grape into his mouth from the fruit bowl he had ordered.

“You don’t say?” You start to laugh, but then feel one of Jungkook's feet rub against yours. Was he playing footsie with you?

You take the hint, crossing your legs and letting your foot glide up the side of his calf. You can tell he’s pretending not to notice, but the tattooed hand that was resting on the countertop is now ghosting over your own calf.

“Did you know a group of bunnies is called a fluffle?” Jungkook lets just his finger tips softly run over your knee.

“That doesn’t seem true.” It barely comes out a whisper. Your thighs squeeze together as he continues his touches.

“Do you want to get out of here?” He asks after he notices the change in your voice. You look at him blankly for a moment before responding.

“Y-yeah. I mean sure, what do you have in mind?” You sit down your coffee cup with a shaky hand. Jungkook stands up from his seat, then leans down to cage you against the counter, his mouth coming to your ear.

“Each and every thought I’ve had about you since the moment I saw you in the crowd tonight, have been completely improper. And I would very much like to take you to my hotel room so I can show you what I’ve been thinking.” His words melt into your skin and find their way directly between your legs where they start a burning need.

“Okay.” Is all you can manage to say, eyes fluttering closed when you feel his tongue brush the shell of your ear.

“Good girl.” Jungkook whispers in your ear, thousands of goosebumps blanketing your skin in an instant. “Let me grab my stuff and we can head out.”

The jeans he’s wearing must have been painted on and he could not possibly be wearing any underwear with them, which was breath stealing all on its own.

“Jesus Christ.” You don’t mean to say it out loud, but of course he heard you.

“Like what you see?” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively and you can’t help the ridiculous giggle that escapes you.

“I’ve had worse views.” You try to play it cool, taking another drink of the coffee that was lukewarm at this point. Jungkook laughs, then pulls his sweaty blue hair up into a messy bun on the back of his head. It should not be legal to be this hot.

“Come on then pretty girl, I’ve got other views to show you.” He quickly puts on his jacket and offers you his hand. You let him help you up and into your jacket as well.

There’s a sleek black car waiting around the backside of the diner and the two of you slide into the back seat. You aren’t sure what to do, so you reach for your seatbelt.

“What are you doing?” Jungkook reaches across you to stop your hand, suddenly in your space.

“Buckling my seatbelt? You know…safety.” You let him take your hand off of the seatbelt while he laughs.

“You’re adorable.” His eyes hold yours while his hand slips onto your thigh, gripping it tightly so that he can then slide you across the leather seat and closer to him. “But I have other ideas for the ride home.” You hope he doesn’t see how harshly you have to swallow, your throat feeling so tight.

“What ideas?” You let one of your hands rest on his thigh, touching the frayed strings of the tears in his jeans.

“First things first.” Jungkook places his pointer finger beneath your chin and lifts your face up to look at him. “Can I kiss you?”

Your cheeks heat up immediately. He’s so unexpected. He radiates that cocky rockstar vibe, but he’s also sweet enough to ask permission before he kisses you. The whiplash might be your undoing.

“Yes.” You instinctively lean forward and he meets you halfway with that angelic smile of his on his face.

His lips are too soft. Too perfect. But they mold to yours and steal the breath from your lungs. His presence engulfs you and takes over all of your senses. Right now, there’s nothing else but Jungkook.

Coffee flavored tongue swipes against your lips and you want to taste it again so badly, dipping your tongue into his mouth until he hums in satisfaction. His tattooed hand slides up your arm and onto your shoulder until it reaches your neck, his thumb sliding up and down the column of your throat.

“Tell me something, pretty girl.” His mouth stays close to yours, lips still brushing as he speaks. “How do you feel about my hand around your throat?” His words take you aback for a moment until you realize what it is he wants to do.

“I’m okay with it.” You wrap a hand around his wrist and move his fingers into place at your throat.

“You’re not so innocent, are you baby?” Jungkook smiles wickedly and swallows your reply with his mouth. Kissing you roughly, noses and lips smashing against the others, tongues licking sloppily.

Jungkook applies a bit of pressure with his hand on your throat, testing to see how much you like. It doesn’t hurt, it feels amazing. You take his wrist again pushing harder and with more pressure, his fingers tightening and gripping the skin.

“More.” You whine into his kisses until he pulls back to look into your eyes.

“You’re getting me so hard right now.�� You chance a look down at his denim covered crotch, eyeing the plentiful bulge forming there.

Of course his dick was huge, there couldn’t be any flaws with this man.

Jungkook begins tightening his hand again but doesn’t kiss you again. He wants to watch your face while he controls whether you take a breath or not. You swallow, barely able to get the saliva down your throat before your eyes start to roll to the back of your head. Jungkook moans and removes his hand, his mouth immediately devouring yours as you take in a long breath.

“You’re going to be so much fun.” Jungkook kisses down your neck, paying attention to the spots where his fingers just were. “Did I hurt you?”

“No.” You answered too quickly, but he seems to find it amusing, smiling and pressing a kiss to your lips once more.

Your pussy is absolutely dripping. You can feel the stickiness between your legs and it’s almost embarrassing how wet you are after just a little breath play. What was going to happen once he was inside you? You shiver at the thought.

The car comes to a stop around the back of one of the nicest hotels in town. You’ve never stayed here, but you know this is where important people stay all the time. You start to feel the nerves creep back in at how famous Jungkook might actually be.

Jungkook opens the car door and starts to get out but notices that you haven’t moved to do the same.

“You know, I can have the driver take you home. We can stop right now.” He slides back into the car and brings your face around to look at him. “Because if you come upstairs I’m going to ruin you. I won’t stop until I’m convinced you’ve been so thoroughly fucked that you think of me every time you even think about being with another man.”

You take a deep breath, eyes fluttering shut when he presses a feather light kiss to your jaw.

“I don’t want to stop.” You’re barely able to muster out the words.

“Good girl.” He laces his tattooed fingers through yours and helps you out of the car. You expect him to let go of your hand as you walk inside, but he doesn’t. He holds your hand until you reach the elevator.

Once inside and the doors have sealed shut, Jungkook pushes you against the mirrored wall. You gasp out loud when his hips roll against yours, the hard outline of his cock more prominent than before.

“So fucking hard.” Another harsh roll of his hips, almost lifting your feet off the ground. Your breathing is rapid and uneven, the anticipation absolutely killing you. “Tell me how wet you are, baby. Please.” The words pour into your ear, all warm and inviting.

“Soaked.” You manage to croak out. Jungkook groans and slowly rolls his hips so that his cock rubs against your clit that was begging to be touched.

Just as you’re about to beg him to touch you, the elevator dings and the doors slide open to the floor jungkook had selected. You suddenly realize that anyone could see the two of you and you start to move out of his hold. But he has other ideas.

Jungkook grabs beneath your thighs and hoists them around his waist, making you squeal in the process. He walks out of the elevator with you in his arms towards his hotel room at the end of the hall.

“Jungkook…put me down.” Your eyes shoot open wide when you notice an older couple walking towards you. “Jungkook!” You gently push against his chest but he doesn’t let go.

“You think they care if I’m holding you? They were probably crazy back in their day.” Jungkook squeezes the globes of your ass in each hand as you pass the older couple, they don’t seem to care but you still feel blush rush to your cheeks. “Should we ask them if they want to watch?” He wiggles his eye brows and you smack his chest.

“No way! Are you crazy?” You half laugh.

“Not into sharing? That’s cool pretty girl, you don’t have to share me with anyone.” Jungkook props you up against the hotel room door while he digs for the key card in his pocket.

“You can put me down.” You say again.

“Hmm. No.” He finds the card and opens the door, lifting you higher in his arms before he carries you into the room. You roll your eyes, but let him continue to do it.

You look around at the room when he finally sets you down in front of the unmade bed. There were two open suitcases in front of the window, clothes scattered about. Some empty beer bottles and ash trays sat untouched on the night stand on one side of the bed. Typical hotel room of a traveling rockstar.

What wasn’t so typical though, were the comic books laying around in the rumpled blankets on the bed. You tilt your head with curiosity and pick one up, gently flipping through some of the pages.

“You like to read comics?” You ask Jungkook, who has started trying to shove things into his suitcases.

“From time to time. Something to keep my mind busy on tour.” He shrugs a little as he roughly moves the suitcases around. You smile to yourself and sit the comic back down before turning to sit down on the edge of the bed.

“You don’t need to do that.” Referring to him trying to clean up the mess in the room. Jungkook seems to listen, stretching his arms above his head before coming to stand in front of you where you sit on the bed.

“I need a shower. How about you, pretty girl?” His tattooed hand gently wraps around the back of your neck as he bends at the waist to be face to face with you.

“You want me to shower with you?” You realize how stupid it was to ask, but it was too late to take it back now. Jungkook laughs quietly.

“Amongst other things.” He smiles, lips the perfect color of pink, silver hoop pierced through the corner. “For example…” His hand slides up and around to your face, cupping your cheek and ghosting his thumb over your jaw. “I’d like to see your lips wrapped around my cock…fuck, that would be a sight to see.” He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and groans under his breath.

Jungkook stands up straight, but keeps his hand cupping your jaw, watching you as you think about what to do next. You keep your eyes on his for a moment, but then almost on their own, your hands find his denim clad thighs. You rub up the front of them a few times, but not touching his crotch that was getting harder by the moment.

“Be good, baby. Don’t tease me.” Jungkook sighs, thumbing at your bottom lip.

You take the opportunity to wrap your lips around his thumb instead, keeping your hands on his thighs. You suck his digit softly at first, tongue licking the length of it. You’re practically drooling around his thumb in anticipation of having his much bigger cock in your mouth.

Your hands move up his thighs to the button and zipper of his jeans, undoing them both. When you bring your eyes down to his waist, you can see that your earlier assumption of Jungkook not wearing any underwear was indeed correct. Fuck, he was too hot.

Just as you’re about to pull his jeans off of his hips, he stops you, and instead leans back over to kiss you roughly.

“What’s wrong?” You ask when your lips part from his with a wet smacking noise.

“Shower first. I’ve been sweaty, baby.” He kisses you again, almost making you fall back against the mattress with its force. He makes you absolutely dizzy with lust. “Come with me?”

“You want to shower before sex?” You ask.

“We can take one afterwards too, if you want.” He smiles and helps you up off of the bed.

You follow Jungkook to the bathroom, stupidly nervous. He was going to see you naked one way or another, why did this feel so strangely intimate? Too intimate for a one night stand.

There’s an ashtray with some half smoked joints sitting on the bathroom counter, along with some hair products and skin care type things. You’re almost too distracted to notice Jungkook pulling his shirt over his head.

“Do you smoke?” He asks.

“I have…it’s been awhile.” You watch as Jungkook picks up one of the joints and puts it between his lips.

“Nothing better than a shower joint. Except maybe a shower beer.” He laughs and digs for a lighter in his pocket. Once he’s retrieved it, he lights the joint and takes a very long drag.

“Can you smoke in here?” You ask, knowing you must sound so cringey for asking. Jungkook merely shrugs his shoulders and holds the joint up to your lips.

“It’s blueberry haze. One of the best strands I’ve had.” Jungkook lets you take the joint, then casually shoves his jeans down to his ankles, stepping out of the denim and kicking them to the corner.

“Blueberry haze, you say?” Your words are distracted by his naked form. Broad chest and big arms. Tiny waist and…really big dick confirmed.

“Give it a try, pretty girl.” Jungkook watches as your eyes make their way back to his face, blinking so adorably.

You refocus your thoughts long enough to bring the joint to your lips and take a drag. The smoke fills your lungs and makes you cough, immediately handing it back to Jungkook, who rubs your back soothingly while you catch your breath.

“That’s…kind of strong.” You struggle to get the words out.

“You’re not naked enough.” Jungkook touches the hem of your shirt at your hip.

“Being naked helps with smoking weed?” You raise a questioning eyebrow, already beginning to feel it’s effects.

“I like to think so.” Jungkook slowly drags your shirt up and over your head, being delightfully met with the sight of your bare chest. “I’d love to have my mouth all over these.” Your shirt is long forgotten and so is your shyness.

“Why don’t you?” You take a step up closer to him, barely hearing the groaning noise he makes.

“Get these off.” He sticks his pointer finger just inside the waistband of your jeans, pulling at the material until it softly snaps back against your skin. You obey far too willingly, the blueberry haze in your mind making you feel extremely pliant.

You remove your jeans and underwear in a quick motion, kicking away the clothing and immediately reaching for Jungkooks skin, touching his shoulders and meeting his eyes with yours.

“You kind of look like a blueberry…a beautiful blueberry.” You giggle, fingers toying with the strands of his blue hair. Jungkook giggles too, big arms wrapping around your waist.

“You’re so fucking cute.” He kisses you a few times, then moves your body back towards the shower door. “Let’s get you wet.” He whispers into your mouth. You want to tell him that you’re already dripping wet between your thighs, but instead you step into the steamy shower with him right behind you, closing the smoky glass door.

The hot water immediately hits your skin and makes your muscles relax. You almost forget for a moment that a beautiful man is also in here with you, until his hands are on your hips and turning you around to face him.

“Don’t you need to get cleaned up?” You ask, Jungkook's hands sliding up your wet skin to cup your breasts in his hands. You whimper, not realizing how desperate you were to be touched.

“Mmm, I do.” His thumbs flick over your nipples, and then his touch is gone, making your eyes shoot open.

Jungkook is taking another drag from the joint, breathing it in deeply and holding it in his lungs. He grabs the back of your head, fingers gripping your wet hair and pressing his mouth onto yours. You feel the smoke slowly creep from his mouth into yours. You breathe it in like he wants you to, then let it out through your nose so that you can keep kissing him.

“I think…I think you should get cleaned up…quickly.” You say between kisses and strokes of his tongue.

“Tell me what you need, baby.” Jungkooks mouth travels from your lips to your jaw, nipping with his teeth as he goes.

“Can I show you?” The high you’re on is making you feel so bold.

“Please.” He pecks your lips and pulls away from you, he knows what you want.

You put a hand to his chest between his very defined pecks, sliding it between the muscles and down over the hard planes of his stomach until you reach his cock, hot and hard in your hand. You watch his face for any dislike, but he only put his hand over yours and makes you tighten your grip.

You don’t want to waste time, you want to hear him fall apart with his cock down your throat. You lean forward and lick one of his nipples, sucking it gently. Jungkook lets his head fall back against the shower wall, pulling his pierced lip between his teeth.

You lick up some water drops on your way down his body. His perfectly sculpted body that you most certainly take note of, gently getting to your knees in front of him, looking up to meet his eyes one more time before opening your mouth to take his cock inside.

Jungkook hisses through his teeth when you start to suck. Gently at first, short, shallow motions as you bob your head. You look up to see the muscles of his stomach tighten over and over the deeper you take him. It’s when you add your tongue that he really starts to make noise above you.

“That’s so good, baby. Keep going, just like that.” Jungkook touches your jaw and your cheek his fingers, wiping a stray tear away with his thumb.

You let him start to move his hips and thrust into your mouth and throat. You gag a couple of times, but you don’t want him to stop. The pretty moans and whimpers he’s making are too perfect to stop, so you dig your nails into the backs of his thighs and hold on for dear life when he starts move faster.

“Oh fuck, you’re gonna make me cum.” Jungkook smoothed back your hair and brought your face up so he could see your eyes. The eye contact seems to do him in. “Shit, shit, baby. Gonna cum…” He throws his head back in a long drawn out groan just as hot spurts of cum start to fill your throat.

You close your eyes and take everything that he gives you, slowing the motions of your head bobbing until he’s done, lazily licking the tip of his cock until he stops you.

“Was that okay?” You look up at him innocently, knowing that he’s wrecked at the moment.

“You’re fucking perfect.” His head is back against the shower wall as he laughs quietly.

You start to feel the ache in your knees, quickly wiping your mouth with your hand before you feel Jungkook wrap an arm around your waist to help you up. He smiles, then grabs some soap from the shelf behind you and scrubs himself clean with it, all you can seem to do is stand there in awe.

The desperation to be touched was becoming almost unbearable, but you try to keep your composure, letting Jungkook turn off the water and hand you a white fully hotel towel to dry off with. You both quickly take another drag from the slow burning joint on the counter, then move back into the bedroom area.

Jungkook has his white towel ties low on his slender hips. He’s walking around the room as if he’s looking for something and you aren’t sure what it could possibly be.

“Did you lose something?” You ask, taking a few steps closer to him.

“I had a necktie that I wore to dinner last night…” He tosses some things around in his suitcases.

“What do you need a necktie for?” The words left your mouth before your brain could catch up. But it suddenly dawns on you what he might be wanting to do with the necktie. “Oh…”

“Are you comfortable with that?” Jungkook gets down on his knees in front of the bed, flipping up the blankets and bed skirt to look beneath it.

“It would be…new, for me.” You tighten your hold on the towel wrapped around your body.

“All you have to do is tell me to stop, and I will. No questions asked, if you don’t like it.” Jungkook reaches under the bed and pulls out a red necktie. “Found it.”

“Yeah…I can try it.” You nibble on your bottom lip and nervously cross the rest of the space to the bed.

“So good for me.” Jungkook closes any remaining space between the two of you and kisses your waiting lips. His kiss draws out all the nerves and turns them into lust. “Lay down with your hands above your head, wrists crossed.” The smallest bit of authority in his voice makes your pussy ache in such a delicious way. “And get rid of this.” He undoes the loose knot of your towel and lets it fall to the ground around your ankles.

You let him gently touch your bare hip before he’s moving to the other side of the bed. He watches intently as you climb onto the oversized bed, laying your head on the fluffed pillows with your arms above your head and wrists crossed, just as he asked.

“I’m ready.” You release a long breath, eyes coming back to Jungkook, whose eyes are shamelessly roaming your naked body.

“I can’t stop thinking about your mouth.” Jungkook says, wrapping and unwrapping the silky red material around his knuckles. “But I’m ready to have a taste of you.”

You shiver, watching as Jungkook kneels up onto the bed, raising his hand above your body and letting the silk tie just barely ghost over your skin. He starts at your ankle, moving it up your calf, over both thighs and purposely avoiding the ache between your legs.

“Please hurry up, Jungkook.” Your body arches away from the mattress when the silky material brushes over one of your nipples.

“You’re a needy little thing, aren’t you?” Jungkook coos, having mercy and wrapping your wrists up into the tie, attaching it to the headboard. “If you want me to fuck you, you’re going to have to be patient.”

You can barely take your eyes away from the sight of his naked body, until his mouth is suddenly on you. His mouth and tongue are having absolutely no mercy on your breasts and nipples. He groans each time he pulls a bud between his lips. The tie around your wrists is a torture you didn’t know that you needed.

“Jungkook…” You moan his name and he absolutely adores the sound of it. So much so, that he takes mercy and moves his body down the bed and settles between your thighs, his mouth quickly buried between them. “Oh fuck…” You pull at the binding, wishing your hands could lace into the blue strands of hair bobbing between your legs.

The mercy you thought you were receiving before is long gone. Jungkook is relentless with his tongue and lips. Long strokes of his tongue offset by quick sucks to your clit. It’s absolutely maddening.

You’re pulling at the tie so hard that you know you’ll have bruises on your skin in the morning. But the thought of it quickly passes when you feel Jungkook bury his mouth in your pussy, his nose brushing your clit as he moves his head back and forth in quick succession. You manage to look down between your legs just in time to meet his lust filled eyes, seeing him devouring you sends you over the edge hard and fast.

White flashes pop in and out of your vision as your body tries to recover from the insane orgasm you just experienced. Jungkook hums low in his chest as he licks up everything you’ve given him, kissing the insides of both your thighs as he stands up from the bed to look down at you.

“Do you think that you deserve my cock?” Jungkook stands at the end of the bed, tattooed hand wrapped around his cock, stroking it lazily.

“I’ve been good, haven’t I?” You pant and squirm against the satin sheets, hands and arms still above your head. He watches your face carefully.

“The things I want to do to you…” He bites into his bottom lip as he continues to touch himself in front of you. “But I have to get my cock inside that pretty pussy of yours before I explode.”

Your chest heaved up and down at the thought of him finally fucking you. You were so desperate that you knew you would do anything he asked of you.

“Can you please untie me now?” You needed to touch his body…his skin…his muscles….feel his hair. All of it.

“Look what you do to me, pretty girl.” He ignores your request, making you whine at the lack of attention to what you wanted, but also at the way he’s spreading pre-cum up and down the length of his cock.

“I want you so badly, Jungkook. Please.” You move your hips up as he climbs back onto the bed and kneels between your open legs. His eyes saunter down your body until they get to your pussy, big hands pushing your thighs further apart so he can get a better look.

“You’re so wet. Thinking about my cock made you drip like this?” He scoots closer, the head of his cock so close to where you want it. You pull at the tie on your wrists again.

“Untie me…please.” You beg again.

“Here’s what I’m going to do.” Jungkook ignores you again, making you want to cry. “I’m going to give you what you want. I’m going fuck you hard and fast. And I want you to tell me how good it makes you feel. Make sure the people in the room next door know how badly you wanted my cock.” Jungkook kisses your stomach and then your hip. It’s so gentle compared to the way he then reaches down and roughly grabs the globes of your ass, lining you up with his cock just the way he wants you.

“Please…” You can’t bear it anymore, the build up has been so intense you can feel tears start to leak from the corners of your eyes.

“Be loud for me.” Jungkook doesn’t wait anymore, he impales you on his cock, easily sliding inside with how wet you’ve become. But you still feel the ache of the stretch as you try to accommodate all of him at once.

You moan loudly, just the way he wanted. Pulling at your binds and cursing yourself over and over for agreeing to be tied up. Jungkook keeps his hands on your hips as he starts his ruthless pace.

You can feel sweat forming on your forehead already as your stomach begins to tighten with another orgasm. His perfect cock finds that spot inside you with ease and abuses it over and over again.

“Untie me…god Jungkook please…please.” Your face is wet with tears from pleasure as well as frustration.

“You’ve been so good, haven’t you? I think I can do that.” He bends down to kiss your mouth, something he hadn’t done for what seemed like hours. While he kisses you, he moves one hand from your hip to the red silky tie on your wrists and pulls the knot free.

As soon as you feel it loosen, you rip your hands away from the head board and dig them into his blueberry colored hair, pulling him closer and kissing him deeper. Jungkook smiles at the desperation. He loves it in fact.

You move your hands down and let your nails dig slightly into his skin as he continues to piston his hips against yours. Jungkook groans at the feeling.

“Come here.” He practically growls, sitting up on his knees and bringing you with him. Your arms wrap around his neck and your legs wrap around his waist, putting you in a somewhat riding position. Jungkook is able to fuck up into while on his knees, but keep you close. “You’re so fucking perfect.” His mouth is sloppy as it moves along your neck and collarbones.

“I’m going to cum again…you’re so deep.” Your mouth finds his, kissing him and breathing him in.

“You don’t need my permission, I want you to cream my cock. I want all of it.” Jungkook leans back on his hands, making the angle of his hips hit you even deeper than before. Your hands grip at his shoulders and hold on for dear life as he fucks you through another mind shattering orgasm. “You’re squeezing me so tight baby.” Jungkook's voice breaks off in a moan as you clench around him over and over.

“Please cum, Jungkook. I need it.” Your body feels boneless, but you can feel how close Jungkook is starting to get to his own end. “You’re fucking me so well…but I need you to come.”

“Your pussy feels too good…gonna cum.” Jungkook buries his face in your neck and buries his cock as deep as he can get as he finishes inside you. You feel warmth full you up and drip down your thighs as his thrusts come to a halt.

You both stay still for a moment, sweaty skin against sweaty skin. Your fingers mindlessly playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“You’re okay?” He finally asks, bringing his face out of your neck to look at you.

“I’m great.” You laugh quietly. Jungkook smiles, then reaches behind his neck for your hands, bringing them around so he can look at your wrists.

“Does it hurt? They look like they might bruise…” His thumbs gently brush over your skin.

“I think I’ll be okay. It doesn’t hurt now.” You watch him bring your wrists to his lips, pressing kisses up down each one.

“Do you want to sleep here?” He asks, softly lifting you from his lap and letting his softening cock fall from inside you, he looks at you concerned when you whimper.

“I can just…I can go home.” You scoot back on the mattress when Jungkook stands up from the bed. You didn’t want to overstay. You wouldn’t ever see him again, there wasn’t much point in staying.

“Are you sure? I can have my car take you home in the morning…or now. Whatever you prefer.” He then disappears into the bathroom and brings back a washcloth for you to clean up with.

“I’ll just get dressed.” You awkwardly clean up with the washcloth before heading to the bathroom to put it in the hamper and find your clothes.

You dress in a daze, but once you’re ready you back out into the room to find Jungkook in a pair of underwear sitting on the corner of the bed with his phone to his ear. You rub your hands on your thighs while you wait for him to finish.

“My driver is ready to take you home.” He pushes his blue hair back and tosses his phone onto the night stand.

“Thanks.” You continue to stand there without a clue what to do or say. “I’ll just…go.” You point at the door and start walking towards it.

“Wait!” Jungkook says just as you turn the handle. “At least leave me your number? If you’d be interested in seeing me next time I’m in town?” He grabs his phone again and crosses the room to stand with you. You wish you could stop the smile on your face.

“Sure.” You tap your number into his phone and hand it back. “See you around, Jungkook.” You kiss his cheek, but that is apparently not what he had in mind.

Jungkook grabs your chin in his tattooed hand and kisses you on the lips. It’s a kiss that tries to trick you into thinking that maybe he’s actually serious about seeing you again one day. It feels too complex.

“Goodnight, Y/N. I’d like it if you texted me when you made it home.” He pecks your lips once more, then releases your chin and takes a step back.

“Yeah, I can do that. Goodnight, Jungkook.” You open the door and step into the hallway, looking back just once more to see him smile down at the floor before the door closes.

[armysantiny]

Out in the rain – JJK

P: Jungkook x female reader | G: fluff, drabble | Inc: playing in the rain, fever, Bam mention, Jimin mention, Namjoon mention, Yoongi mention, grad student!Jungkook, dance teacher!Jimin, y/n's also a grad student, sleepy Kookie my beloved | Wc: 980| W: food cw| R: G

Summary: Jungkook initially thinks nothing of spending hours in the rain with Bam; it’s fun, and he likes spending time with his Doberman. Y/n gets her I told you so moment when a fever descends upon the grad student.

Min's notes; This was cute <33 the ending feels a lil rushed tho, but eh- I like where I left it

In hindsight, Jungkook knew spending hours in the rain with Bam wasn’t the smartest idea. He’d woken up feeling like several trains ran through him. He ached. Blinking through the brain fog, he groaned; lethargy, shivering and a sore throat? He would be an idiot to deny the facts – he was sick. Very sick, if the lead weight in his limbs were anything to go by.

How absolutely wonderful.

Flopping back into the comfort of his sheets with little resistance, Jungkook shifted around, overly uncomfortable. Everything was off-kilter, and he couldn’t help but whine in pain when his head throbbed from the squirming. Wishing for the pain to go away without actively getting up to find painkillers wasn’t doing much to help either.

“Love? Good morning— Jungkook?” Walking towards the boyfriend-shaped lump on the bed, y/n frowned, concern knitting her brows. “Are you okay?”

“…’m sick. Everything hurts.”

“Am I allowed to say it? A nod. “I told you so baby, it was pouring with rain yesterday. You stay here, I’ll go and get the thermometer.”

Luckily for y/n, Jungkook hadn’t planned on moving at all. In fact, he was quite happy to melt away underneath his duvet.

Peeping his head over the covers, Jungkook squinted as light poured through the gap in the door, exceedingly grateful that he invested in a good pair of blackout curtains. Saved from looking at the sunlight any longer once y/n re-entered the room, Jungkook returned to the comfort of being under his covers completely. He was shivering – nothing like being smothered under his covers couldn’t fix.

And then his precious duvet was torn away from him.

“Hello there~” y/n snickered as her boyfriend whined, “ can you lift your head for me bun? I need to check if you’re running a fever." Ruffling his sweat-damp hair, y/n hummed as she stuck the device in her sick boyfriend’s ear. Jungkook was definitely running a fever; he was a full two degrees above the human average. With a sigh, y/n set the device aside, wrapping her arms around Jungkook to help him sit up.

“How bad?”

“Very. Think you can make it to the living room?”

“Mhm…” Throwing his legs over the side, Jungkook hauled himself up, taking a grand total of three steps before wobbling, leaning into y/n’s open arms. Determined, the grad student blinked back the bout of dizziness as he tried to steady himself, huffing out an exhale. The fever wasn’t going to keep him down if he had anything to say about it.

Nursing a thermos of green tea with Bam curled up on the sofa, Jungkook read through his thesis for the third time that afternoon. As sick as he was, grad student responsibilities came first; his thesis needed to be worked on, whether he wanted to work on it or not. Coughing into his arm, the student read over his notes, content with simply editing the work he had already done. Alone in the apartment, he had no plans to move from his spot, risking his fate by leaving his front door unlocked.

He was a student, if someone decided to barge in, he’d welcome them in. Anything to escape university.

There was someone tapping his shoulder.

“…Kookie? Earth to Jeon Jungkook?” Opening his eyes only to immediately squint through the brightness of his overhead light, Jungkook made a noncommittal hum. “Oh thank fuck, you’re alive.”

“Jimin hyung?” Blinking as the blob in front him nodded, Jungkook hauled himself up with a weak groan, his vision swimming just that little bit more before it cleared up. His skin boiling, Jungkook made a frail attempt at fanning himself with his shirt, too exhausted to react to the way it clung to him and the sweat on his body. What he did react to, however, was the lack of Bam’s presence on his sofa – they were laying together, right? Turning his head from side-to-side – with all the grace of a ragdoll – Jungkook still couldn’t tell where his canine companion had gone.

“Hyung..?” Jimin hummed his response from the kitchen. “Where’s Bam? I thought he was here on the sofa with me?” Accepting the bowl of soup while he waited for Jimin’s answer, Jungkook let the bowl rest on the table.

“Namjoon hyung came by and took him for a walk, like, half an hour ago? Probably still with him. Anyway, eat up; Yoongi hyung brought this over and you need to get your strength back.” The older of the two answered, gently flicking the brunet’s forehead. Laughing when Jungkook huffed, whining about not hurting the patient, Jimin turned his head and followed the sound of knocking at the front door.

There was quiet, and then Jungkook paused when he heard laughter.

Y/n was home! He’d live!

“Hello to you too, Mr I Have A Fever~” Y/n cooed, ruffling her boyfriend’s hair as she deposited her bag and coat off to the side. Waving Jimin off when the dance teacher eventually needed to leave, she went on about her day, filling Jungkook in about everything happening outside the confines of his front door. It sounded fun. Pausing her description of a boring media lecture when she finally noticed Jungkook watching her with ever-so-adoring curiosity, y/n’s features softened.

He was just too cute for his own good.

“Anything you want, baby? You’ve been looking at me like that for a while now.” There was a pause as y/n waited for her answer, more than content to return her boyfriend’s gaze.

“Just a nap,” Jungkook yawned, shifting around until his head was settled in y/n’s lap. “You’re here now… so ‘m gonna sleep now~” A smile on his face when he felt the soft press of a kiss to his temples, Jungkook let his eyes shut again that day, the heaviness of fever-induced sleep soon taking over. He welcomed it.

“Sleep well my love.”

© copyright work of armysantiny 2023-2024

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[aquagustd]

whipped - JJK

↣ another day, another trend that you’re forced to participate in with your boyfriend. It was his idea but he somehow gets sidetracked, with his head between your thighs.

pairing — tiktoker!jungkook x reader

genre/rating — R | fluff, smut, crack, pwp

word count — 5K

warnings/tags — college au, sorta established relationship, strong language, barista!reader, thigh kink (ofc), kinda famous jk, explicit smut — big dick jk, manhandling, exhibitionism, dirty talk, biting/scratching, hickeys, fingering, oral (f & m), hair pulling, clit biting, degradation, spanking, pussy slapping, squirting, deep throating, cum eating, choking, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, doggy style, unprotected sex, cum on chest?, aftercare

a/n — if you don’t watch tiktoks, that’s fine, he kinda explains it in the fic. I couldn’t get tiktoker!jk out of my head.

∞

Rubbing at the itch on your forehead, you’re scrubbing down the counter with tired arms, switching from one to the other while your co-worker sits at one of the tables, giggling at her phone screen now and again. If it was any other day, you would ask her to help but you’re not in the mood for another argument. Today had been one of those days, the kind that made you regret ever begging for a job here at the café. You were forced to deal with two elderly woman who chewed your ear off about not having oat milk. Despite you telling them – multiple times – that you don’t handle inventory.

Then you messed up two orders, which was entirely your fault. But you know that it could’ve been avoided if Mina got off her phone for a minute and remembered that she had a job to do instead of taking advantage of the free Wi-Fi here.

“You’re so lucky,” she whines, face lit by her red screen.

Rinsing out the cloth, you untie your apron, finally, then set it in the drawer. You would ask her what she’s talking about if you haven’t heard complain about it a million times.

“He’s like…perfect,” she sighs dreamily, the same song replaying in the background as she drools at the screen, “how does it feel to have a famous tiktoker, who’s not only hot, but rich too, as your boyfriend?”

You didn’t think she was expecting an answer until she slots herself in front of you, eyebrow lifted in question.

“Did you know that he just hit ten million followers?”

You sigh, throwing on your jacket before fitting the grey beanie over your head, looking around her to find your scarf.

“I know.”

“How does it feel to have the JK as your boyfriend?”

Shrugging, you brush past her and switch off the lights, grabbing the keys from the counter. This is what you have to deal with every evening after work. Once she mistook your anger for insecurity, so you decided not to entertain her.

“Have you seen the girls in his comments? Don’t you ever feel even a bit intimidated?”

You shrug again, much more tense this time, “I don’t. To me, he’s just Jungkook.”

She chuckles, manicured nails tapping at her screen, “I find that hard to believe.”

“Well,” you begin, gritting your teeth, “I don’t care if you believe that or not. Here.”

Clumsily, the ring of keys slip through her fingers when you toss them in her direction, she scrambles to pick it up from the tile.

“See you on Monday.”

Hearing her curse under her breath, you laugh to yourself as you step out into the cold, shoulders hiking up when a particularly frosty breeze hits the back of your neck, through the thick material of your scarf. Perhaps you are nettled by the fact that Mina nags you about the same thing all the time. What does she want from you? To admit that deep down, you’re really insecure and threatened by Jungkook and his fans? Most of the time, you don’t keep track of what he posts. Except when he asks if you could make a video with him.

And he doesn’t mind. He knows that you’re a busy woman and have other things to see to before spending hours on an app you don’t understand. But you try to understand, for his sake.

Like the calm before the storm, you drag your weight up the quiescent stairway, knowing that it won’t be long before your dorm would be vibrating for the start of the weekend. You come to an abrupt stop at the end, seeing a black, hunched figure sitting against your room door. Heartbeat accelerating at your boyfriend’s bunny smile.

“Hey,” you grin, falling into his embrace when he rises to his feet. You giggle when he lifts your beanie a bit to kiss your forehead, hands clasped behind your back.

“Hi, I brought the noms.”

You inhale deeply, pulling away to see the brown bag in his hand, “what is it? Thank you, baby.”

He follows you into your room, shutting the door behind you while you set down the bag and unroll your scarf, scratching at the little dents it made in your skin after you wrapped it a bit too tight.

“I was feeling for curry, so I got that for us,” he replies, coming up behind you to prop his chin on your head, “but we can order something else if you like.”

Lifting the small container from the bag, you moan when the steam wafts over your face, jowls tingling when the spicy fragrance hits you.

“No, it’s just what I needed.”

He chuckles, helping you offload the rest of the containers.

You lick the side of your thumb, shrugging off your jacket before you get any gravy stains on the white collar.

“I’m gonna shower first,” you inform, peeling off your socks, “I feel gross.”

He nods, already digging into the rice, “okay, it’ll be warm by the time you get back.”

You hold your index finger up threateningly, “hey! Don’t start without me!”

He pokes his tongue into his cheek, closes the container slowly then flops down on your bed with a sigh. One of your plushies bounce onto his chest.

“I was just tasting.”

You share a look when your stomach growls, crying for food.

“Better make it snappy.”

By the time you’re done eating, you’re too full to move an inch, sprawled across the bed with Jungkook’s head in your lap. He’s scrolling through Tiktok while you’re attempting to round up your paper. But it’s proving to be a difficult task with your energy running low and his lack of earphones. You’d just have to complete it sometime this weekend.

When he hears your laptop close, he turns his head to the side, doe eyes gleaming.

“You’re done?”

You shake your head, “I’ll just finish it tomorrow.”

With a pat to his hand, you help him under the blanket with you, cozying up to him with a blissful sigh. But he continues to fidget, and you feel your heart speed up with lack of sleep, the beginning of a headache stirring. Did you fall off to sleep that quick?

“What’s wrong?”

He tugs you closer to him, nose nudging yours when he sets his head on your pillow.

“Did I wake you?”

“I don’t know,” you laugh, rubbing at your eyes, “was I asleep?”

Goosebumps trail the line his index finger draws on the side of your face, creeping down over your back when you breathe in his heady scent.

“I think so,” he whispers. You lean forward to slot your lips over his, hiking one leg over his waist when his palms slide under your t-shirt.

“Missed you,” he mumbles against your lips, “are you tired?”

You smirk, “why?”

His gaze flits somewhere behind you, then to your chest as he props himself up on his elbow. You mirror his action, swiping across his chin with your thumb.

“If you’re not tired…there’s something I wanted to do.”

“Well, I’m not tired anymore. What is it?”

He rubs the back of his neck, not quite meeting your gaze, “it’s for a tiktok.”

You open your mouth to protest but he cuts you off, grabbing at your hands.

“We don’t even have to do much! Just sit here on the bed and cuddle. That’s all. It’s like seven seconds too!”

“Jungk—”

“It won’t take long. Please,” he continues to beg while you snigger at the way he’s behaving, “you know how much I like having videos of you on my page.”

You fiddle with the aglets on his hoodie, “I know, I just…don’t feel like…I spent the whole afternoon working on my paper. And then work was shit.”

He coos when you pout, bringing you into his arms.

You melt into his embrace, burying your nose in his hoodie to inhale his comforting scent, “can’t we just cuddle?”

Shivering slightly when his fingers run under the band of your panties, you tip your head up to look at him, chin pressed into his toned chest.

“Hm?”

He sucks his lower lip into his mouth, little beauty spot under his lip disappearing briefly.

“Of course we can,” he smiles, lips grazing your nose, “after we’re done making this tiktok. It involves cuddling.”

You blink, mildly confused. “Fine.” As if you could say no to that face.

Goofy grin reappearing, he grips your head in both his hands and smashes his lips to yours. Before you can even attempt to kiss him back, he pulls away. Grabbing his phone and scooting up on your bed.

“Okay, you’re supposed to sit here,” he points at the pillow, fluffing the frills a bit then fits his hand in yours, directing you to sit against the headboard, “and…wait—”

You follow his gaze to your black Nirvana t-shirt, “what? God, Jungkook. I am not changing—”

“No, no,” he interrupts, lifting the hem of your shirt which has your cheeks heating just a bit, “you’re not wearing any pants under.”

Narrowing your eyes in his direction, you smack his hand away, “should I…put on pants?”

He looks to be contemplating for a while before he nods, “yeah.”

Sighing deeply, you walk the short space to your chest of drawers. By now, you should be accustomed to Jungkook and his weird requests. But this isn’t even the worst one. At least you don’t have to leave your dorm room this time.

“Yeah,” he whispers behind you, chest hitting your shoulder as he reaches over to pull out your black gym shorts, “these ones.”

You cock an eyebrow, “are you sure?”

He examines the clothing, smiling stupidly to himself, “these are the ones. Put them on.”

Yanking the flimsy material from his hands, you sit at the edge of the bed as you pull the shorts up your legs. He stands at your side like a puppy holding his leash, waiting for you to take him out on a walk.

Even if you are a teensy bit annoyed, you really can’t be mad at him for too long. With his big, doe eyes, messy hair and puffed-up cheeks. For him, you try to keep up with the latest trends on Tiktok but you don’t have enough time. Even if you say that you’ll spend some time on that confusing app before bed, you’re exhausted by the time you’re home from work and end up visiting his page only, then falling off to sleep.

You know that he has quite a large following, girls thirst over him in the comments, even if he posts a video of his right hand alone. But at the end of the day, he’s your man and you’re in some – most – of his videos.

Bending over to pick up a ball of socks that had fallen out of your drawer, you yelp when he smacks your ass cheek. Spinning around to glare at him.

“Couldn’t help myself,” he smirks, black eyes flashing, “I love it when you wear that. But then again, your ass looks good in everything you wear.”

You clear your throat, glancing at the bed behind you, “let’s get this over with.”

He nods, unlocking his phone as he sits in front of you on the bed, “the Wi-Fi here sucks.”

You chuckle, running your fingers through his silky hair as you peek over his shoulder.

“So, what am I supposed to do?”

“Well,” he begins without lifting his head, “I already filmed the first part this morning and then it’s gonna transition to me and you sitting here.”

You nod, “okay, and do I have to like…say anything?”

“Yeah,” he says softly, “I’m gonna be sitting like this…but between your legs. I’m just waiting for the audio to load.”

Yanking his head back with your grip on his hair, your eyebrows pinch together, “didn’t we already make a Tiktok like that?”

He wiggles out of your grip, nudging your thighs apart for him to get more comfortable, “yeah, but this is a different one.”

“Hmm…okay.”

He holds the phone up to your face, “this is the first clip.”

‘Wake up in the morning brush my teeth before I see my queen—’

It’s a video of him, you can tell that he just woke up by his tangled hair and half-lidded eyes, holding his toothbrush before it pans to the side and cuts off.

“And that’s where we come in. I’m supposed to say this bit—"

‘Wow. Who are you?’

He points to you, “and then you say—”

‘Bitch I’m two-phone Baby Keem.’

Your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline, “that’s the song?”

He nods eagerly, “mhm. See. It’s just a short video.”

You stare at each other for a while. He’s waiting patiently for your answer before you nod and move up on the bed, smiling to yourself at how excited he is when he slides down and sits between your legs. Resting his head just below your crotch, he holds his phone up while you prop your thighs over his shoulders, fitting your fingers in his hair once again.

You’re familiar with this position, so he didn’t need much direction but it’s not like you could pretend as if his whole head is not…there. In that region…The region he claims to love so much.

He reaches up to knead your thigh, the other hand occupied by his phone, “it’s taking so long to load again.”

“It’s—” The words die on your tongue when he tilts his head to mouth at your inner thigh, tattooed fingers running over the delicate skin slowly “—it’s okay.”

Suddenly, you’re feeling all the pressure of his head between your legs, even more when he lifts his head up to look at you menacingly.

“I know you like it when we sit like this.”

Maybe. But you prefer other positions.

You try to hide how his fingers pinching at the meat of your thigh isn’t affecting you. Hoping you aren’t soaking through your panties and shorts because it feels as though the apex of your thighs has gone numb but too sensitive at the same time. Air a little warmer despite the window being left open a crack.

“Did it load yet?”

Shivering when he starts to nip and tug at the skin, your fingers twist in his hair.

“Did what load?”

You crane your neck to look into his phone, masking your arousal with anger, “idiot. The audio?!”

He flings his phone to the side which misses the edge of the mattress and clatters to the floor. You’re about to yell at him when he spins around and begins to kiss the junction between your leg and thigh through the fabric of your gym shorts. Your hands fall to your sides, mouth hanging open.

“What are you doing?”

He hooks your legs over his shoulders once again, adjusting his position on the bed to lie flat on his stomach, “what does it look like I’m doing?”

“What ab—” your eyes scrunch shut when he drags his nail down the centre of your folds, finding the outline of your puffy clit with ease.

“Fuck that. You smell so fucking good.”

Of course. He was that close. Obviously, he’d smell you. And it’d be easier for him to recognize your scent after he spent hours trying to suffocate himself between your legs. You should’ve known this would happen. Are you angry? No.

“Jungkook…wait, did you lock the door?”

He doesn’t respond, just lifts an eyebrow when he tugs on the band of your shorts. You raise your hips as he pulls the material over the globes of your ass, flinging it in across the bed to find his phone lying somewhere there. Abandoned.

Lip caught between your teeth, your fingers curl around the blanket when he lifts the band of your panties and it tugs on your folds, sticking to your pussy which clenches around nothing. One thing you always seem to forget about Jungkook, is that he starts off slow, takes his time at first before he loses his patience. By the time he’s done with teasing you, your mind becomes fogged with nothing but lust.

He mouths around your pussy, licking and sucking everywhere except where you need him the most. And he continues to grab at your panties, pulling it up, as high as it can go as you squirm with the friction that’s not enough. Grinding into the flimsy fabric while he paints your thighs with his teeth.

You hips fall to the bed pathetically when he clicks his tongue, spreading your thighs further apart for his greedy stare. He taps your clit once and you jolt, a whimper spilling from your lips while you feel your juices seep through your panties.

“Please…Jungkook.”

Feeling his hot breath penetrate the sodden material of your underwear, your hips jerk up reflexively when he taps your clit again. Harder this time.

“What?”

“Touch me. Please. Want your mouth, your fingers. Anything.”

He chuckles darkly, “why?”

You groan, “why? Fuck Jungkook. Because—”

A gasp gets caught in your throat when he tears at your panties and pinches your clit. Caught between his fingers lightly, but the sensation has more arousal dripping down your folds, slipping between your ass cheeks.

“Watch your mouth.”

He draws his hand back and slaps your clit, dragging his thumb along your slick folds.

“S-sorry,” you choke, tugging on the sheets so as to not grind into his hand that’s running down your pussy deliciously, gathering your slick on his hands before coming up to rub tight circles on your clit.

“Such a slut,” he says clearly, voice calm as if the hand on your cunt doesn’t belong to him, “you seem to forget your place.”

Your nails pierce into your palms as he drags two fingers up and down your inner folds, moaning at how good it feels when he presses down harder, nearing your pulsating hole.

“Take off your shirt,” he orders, lips grazing your clit, “let me see those pretty tits.”

Swallowing thickly, your breath stalls in your chest when he sinks two fingers into your heat at once, tongue curling around your clit while you’re trying to remove your t-shirt from around your head. You collapse onto the bed, resisting the urge to play with your nipples with his vigilant eyes on you, waiting for you to make the wrong move.

“Jungkook, yes…”

He swirls his tongue around your clit, fingers thrusting in and out of your cunt until he finds your sweet spot, hooking his fingers against it when you cry out his name.

The loud squelching of his fingers pushing into your pussy is embarrassingly loud, slick dripping down his hand while he continues to roll his tongue against your clit. His hot breath, paired with the skilled movements of his fingers and tongue sends a spark up the length of your spine. You feel the knot build in your abdomen, back arching off the bed when he picks up the pace, reaching up with one hand to push you back down.

You’re buzzing with desire, thrashing under him as you hear him slurp up your juices sloppily, grinding his fingers into you with vigor. Pressing into that spot until you feel yourself reach the edge.

“I’m gonna fu—”

All you hear is the sound of the door handle clicking before you sit up on your elbows to see Hana and her group of friends standing at the doorway.

“Oh fuck.”

They stand motionless, and you’re trying to yank Jungkook away, shame washing over you as he continues to lap at your pussy, watching them from his periphery. You can hear them whisper, and you’re wondering why the fuck they aren’t going anywhere until you grab your penguin plushie and throw it in their direction.

Still gawking at your boyfriend between your legs, they make their way out and until the door clicks shut do you fix Jungkook with a shocked stare.

“Why didn’t you stop— Shit!”

He flicks his tongue over your clit at breakneck speed, adding a third finger to the mix as he sinks in and out, matching the pace of his tongue to have your thighs shaking around his face.

“I know you liked it,” he growls, the sound reverberating through your core, “I felt you clenching around my fingers when they came in. Such a fucking slut.”

He wiggles his hand, crooking his fingers against your walls, spurred on by his filthy words. The knot builds again, eyes watering while you jerk your hips up. Grabbing at the sheets, you spill onto his hand, screaming out his name as he continues to stretch you out. Heat washing over your body. He licks at your folds noisily.

“That’s it. Let them hear you. Let them know who’s making you feel this good.”

He suctions around your hole, drinking up every last drop while you twitch, still coming down from your high. You watch through blurry vision as he hops off the bed, the front of his hoodie drenched with your cum. You would’ve been embarrassed, if it wasn’t a regular thing with him.

Milky skin exposed, he balls up his clothes and sets it down on your desk, tugging at your hand to signal for you to sit at the edge of the bed. You feel desire recollect in your abdomen as you see him take off his watch. The sound of his rings hitting your nightstand is something you love hearing, knowing what’s about to happen next. You’re already salivating, core throbbing all over again when you see him roll his palm over his girthy length.

Delicately, he pulls your hair over your shoulder as you lie down at the edge, parting your lips immediately when he lines his cock up with your mouth.

You stick out your tongue, tasting the precum smeared across the tip before he nudges it against the corner of your mouth. Hissing when the wet muscle rubs against his frenulum.

“Look at you,” he grits, thrusting into your mouth experimentally before pulling out and gripping the base, other hand fitted tightly around your throat, “worried that your friends might see you but you’re still letting me fuck your throat. Knowing they can walk in again.”

You mewl, eyes flying shut when he pushes his hips forward, balls slapping into your face as the tip hits the back of your throat, causing you to grab his thighs with the burn. He draws his hips back, giving you some time to breathe before you open your mouth again and take him further, relaxing your throat as he grabs your hands in one of his. Holding it to the side.

“Fuck, just like that.”

Lips sealed tightly around his cock, your tongue presses into the veins on the side, eyes prickling with tears when he takes control and rocks against your face, throwing his head back while his fingers press into the sides of your throat. Your spit dribbles down your lips, hitting the rug beside his toes which curl with pleasure.

“Such a pretty little slut, letting me use her mouth however I like,” he grunts, gaining momentum as he presses down on your sternum, thumbing at your nipple before hunching over your form.

You can feel the sweat collecting at the back of your neck, jaw beginning to ache when he holds his cockhead deep inside your throat, tears slipping down the side of your face. Whining around his length, your eyes fly open when his calloused fingers slide below your navel, stopping over your clit. Thighs trembling as he spreads your folds, pressing his index and ring finger into your heat while he grinds the heel of his palm into your clit.

“C’mon,” he growls, voice strained as you feel his balls clench against your nose, “give me another.”

You plant your feet on the bed, taking mangled breaths through your nose while he stretches you open on his fingers once again, still sensitive from your first high, you squirm and moan with his cock lodged in your throat. Burning when you feel your second high splatter against your thigh, messing your sheets once again.

His heavy cock hits your cheek when he pulls out of your strained mouth, dragging you by your ankle to pull you further down on the bed. The only thing you see before he spins you around and raises your back to an arch, positioning your ass against his cock, is the sweat glittering on his skin, hair dripping as it lays flat against his head.

You’re still buzzing from your first high, holding yourself up on tired limbs as he spreads you open with the tip of his cock, sighing out your name before you feel his hand meet your ass. Hands giving up while your cheek presses into the blanket, drool slipping out when his cock rubs against your folds.

“Good girl,” he pants, and you can tell by his prolonged thrusts that he’s trying to drag out the sensation. Feeling each vein press into your walls once he sinks into your cunt.

You’re babbling, hair sticking to your shoulders with how much you’re sweating, mouth hanging open as he splits you open on his cock. He twists you around harshly, pressing your knees into your chest as you both watch how his cock disappears into your creamy cunt, air creeping out of your lungs.

He directs your attention to his face with a hand around your throat, taking your bottom lip between his teeth.

“Such a greedy little cunt,” he grunts, eyes not leaving yours, “still want more? Want me to fill you up with my cum? Hm?”

You nod, rubbing your lips together to prevent yourself from screeching, eyes rolling to the back of your head when his big cock goes deeper and deeper with each ruthless thrust.

If you weren’t so fucked out, you would notice that he’s quiet once he’s close to the edge, eyebrows knitted together as he concentrates, rolling off the last bit of energy as he chases his high. He whimpers when your walls close around him, hissing when your nails draw lines down his back.

“Fucking hell,” he groans, cock twitching inside you as his thrusts become shallow. His eyes lock with yours, wet hair brushing your forehead before he kneels on the bed and sets down your legs, index finger flicking at your clit twice before your mind goes blank for the third time tonight.

“I’m cumming, fuck—“

He thrusts into his fist, directing the hot spurts of cum onto your chest with a drawn-out groan of your name. You gasp when some hits your chin, dripping down your sides filthily.

You’re lax in his arms, reaching up half-heartedly to help him clean you up and change the beddings. Sitting at your desk, you watch as he struggles to fit on the sheet. You would’ve helped but he insisted that he could do it himself. Smiling tiredly, you thank him as he tucks you in, leaving the blanket folded over so he can join you in bed.

“Are you feeling cold? Do you want me to close the window?”

Humming, you roll over onto your side under the blanket, unable to fight the exhaustion any longer, especially when the fresh sheets feel so good against your skin. Behind closed lids, you sense the change in lighting after he settles in behind you, pecking the skin of your shoulder. You’re about to fall off to sleep when you realize that your roommate and her friends saw you butt-naked with your boyfriend’s mouth on your—

“Jungkook,” you call, nudging him with your shoulder, “are you awake?”

“Yeah, what?” He croaks. You melt after hearing his whiny, sleepy voice, turning around in his hold to poke his cheek.

“Hana and her friends saw us.”

His mouth quirks to the side, eyes remaining closed, “so?”

“So? Are you kidding? I was naked and you were…I’m pretty sure they’re all fans of yours!” You whisper-shout, smacking his arm lightly when he pinches your ass.

He speaks around a yawn, cuddling you closer to his chest, “so what if they’re my fans?”

You blink, “I don’t know…What if they tell everyone and you lose followers…or something like that?”

His eyes crack open, face going blank for a split before his eyebrow jumps.

“Everyone knows I have a girlfriend. Why would I lose followers if everyone knows that my girlfriend and I fuck? Which they probably already know.”

Your cheeks heat at his crude words.

“Besides, I could have one billion followers but only one would matter to me,” he says nonchalantly, shutting his eyes as if dismissing the conversation.

Pulling away to get a better look at him, you slide a hand over his tattoos, stopping at his shoulder.

“Oh yeah? Who would that be?”

His arms encircle your waist, sharing body heat as your form melds to his. Heart fluttering in your chest at his boyish grin.

“You.”

a/n — if you liked this, please consider leaving a like/reblog/comment or an ask if you’re shy <3

⤺masterlist

© aquagustd 2021-2022 do not copy/repost/translate

[bluewhale52]

Promise

Summary: Post-Busan concert, with major announcement heavy in his mind, Yoongi reflects on what's to come.

Pairing: Yoongi x female reader

WC: <1k

Genre: idol!au, established relationship, domestic Yoongi, fluff

Rated: PG-13

Warning: indirect mention of enlistment

A/N : this is just a love letter to BTS and Army's special bond.

~Part of the Domestic Yoongi Series~

You enter the hotel room quietly, fully aware of the late hour. The dim light greets you, and you remove your shoes carefully. Your legs are sore from the standing and walking, but you are on a high from the concert. You tip toe to peek at the adjoining room to find your kids sleeping soundly. Glad that you don't have to deal with their night routine, you walk further into your room to find your husband in a chair, with a glass of whiskey, facing the floor to ceiling window with the beautiful Busan skyline beyond.

"Hey babe," you hug him from behind. He smells so nice and fresh, but he also feels tense. You kiss his cheek.

He turns slightly to kiss you back, and that's when you see it- the pensive, almost melancholic expression on his face. Deciding that your own shower can wait, you settle to hug him from the back.

"Had fun?"

"Mm hmm," you murmur. You met up with your friends for the Live Play at Haeundea Beach, and it was nice to enjoy the festivities simply as a fan. However, when you saw the close ups during Spring Day, you knew the significance of the emotions in your husband's and his brothers' faces.

"Sorry it took me a while to get back, traffic was a nightmare."

Your husband hums and pulls you so you sit in his lap. You want to protest that you're all sweaty and gross, but you bite your tongue, knowing he needs to have this moment with you.

"It was a really good concert, Yoon. Army and non-Army really enjoyed it." You tuck his hair behind his ear. You have always declared his undercut era is the sexiest, but this long hair is definitely moving up to take over that title.

He chuckles in response, so you continue. "That Run BTS performance really did us in. Everyone went wild. I'm sure our daughter will be bothering Hobi in no time to teach her the choreo."

You feel his shoulder shake from the little laughter he lets out.

"And, UGH! and Cypher Pt 3 was out of this world. When Joon just went off with his line, you have no idea how electrifying it was."

You feel his arms wrapping tighter around your waist. "Everything will be okay, Yoon." You kiss the top of his head.

"I know," he finally speaks, his voice hoarse no doubt from the concert. "But still, I wonder."

You gently cup his face. "They won't go anywhere. They'll stay, you know that."

"I know, I know," he sighs into your neck. "but, you know how the thought is there, and I just... post-concert depression, I guess."

You run your fingers through his hair, silently encouraging him to continue.

"It felt so good to be on stage again, and fuck, Cypher Pt 3? Felt so fucking good to do it tonight. Then it hit me that it's going to be a while till we can go back doing all that. It's just a weird feeling..." he swirls his whiskey. "Do you think they know?"

"Well," you answer carefully, "your ending moments were a bit of a giveaway, but I think Army right now are just basking in the pride that you all performed so well and so beautifully."

Yoongi tuts. "So diplomatic."

You both chuckle softly and let silence take over while the Busan night skyline flickers and glimmers before you.

"They've always trusted you, and you asked them tonight to trust you again."

Your husband nods.

"So you should trust them too."

A gummy smile slowly makes its way on his face. "Yeah," he says softly, taking a deep breath and snuggling further against you.

"Yoon, I need to shower."

His hold around you tightens. "Later."

"I'm gross."

"I don't care," he insists. "Just sit here a bit longer."

You smile fondly at his request.

"Everything is going to be okay," you assure him.

"Yeah, everything is going to be okay."

They're my best friends for the rest of my life.

Thank you so much for reading! Did you enjoy it? If so, please reblog! Reblogging will help my fic reach a wider audience.

Published on 25102022. Crossposted to my ao3.

[threeletterslife]

31 | Legends of Darlaria

⨰ summary: You wake up in yet another unfamiliar place. This time, however, these strangers seem to recognize you. With your previous judgments and aspirations thrown out the window, you're now forced to face where your loyalties really lie. Who will you betray? And which General will you choose to stand by his side?

⨰ pairing/rating: yoongi x reader & jungkook x reader | PG-15

⨰ genre: 70% angst, 30% fluff | war!au & magic!au

⨰ warnings: profanity, mentions of death

⨰ wordcount: 21.1k

⨰ join the taglist! (pm/send in an ask/reply/reblog)

⨰ previous | series m.list | next

⧖⧗Many, Many Circas Ago⧗⧖

The 11th city was a familiar place. Not so homely, but pleasant in its own way. Mostly inhabited by scholars and instructors of prestigious academies, it was quite the busy city. Yet there were no merchants who crowded the streets as they did in the 3rd city and no boisterous children running about as they did in the 10th. Your earliest memories were of adults heel-to-toe racing to their destinations with their noses stuck in their books. Your parents fit right into this crowd as divinist scholars, themselves. And if there was one thing in your life that has stayed constant from birth to the present, it was books—which you never minded. It was natural for you to take up reading when it was all that your mothers ever did. And besides, your home’s numerous reading nooks made it easy to cozy up with a nice fairytale and some thick, fleece blankets, listening to the soft crackling of candles and the pitter-patter of rain against the window panes.

When you were younger, possibly around six years old, your parents kept your birthstone in a little tin up on the top shelf of the tallest bookshelf in your home. It was a precaution most parents adhered to when their child was young. You were allowed to play with your birthstone occasionally but, of course, under supervision. Darlaean magic was never something to be messed with. And often, children did not understand the ramifications of this great power. Yet you were aware of it for as long as you could remember. Too often, you read (or really, looked at pictures) about antagonists in your fairytale books consumed by their greed and their thirst for control, attempting to break the limits of what their birthstones could achieve. There were those who tried to bring back the dead, those who attempted to force others to love them, and those who wanted to live forever. In the end, they would always spiral into mania or be forced into defeat by the protagonist. It went without saying that power came with handling the Darlaean birthstone, and that much sheer power always scared you—even as a child. 

But you were still fascinated with your birthstone. It was a beautiful, white diamond—so tiny, so easy to lose, that you always felt the need to guard it with your life. You loved the way it would glint in the sunlight and cast small rainbows on your palm. You loved the way it felt when you carefully rolled it around in your hands, memorizing its shape and size. You even adored that it wasn’t a perfect sphere and had a little characteristic black carbon spot near its surface. You used to tell your parents that you could tell your birthstone apart from an entire heap of other diamonds. They’d always laugh and pat your head as if you were telling a joke, but you were always serious.

Your birthstone became your most prized possession. You polished it, sang to it, treated it as your doll, which your parents also found quite humorous. Though you weren’t familiar yet with how to use your birthstone to channel magic, you could already feel the sheer energy coursing through your veins every time you picked it up. It was such a good, intense feeling that you would often beg your parents—whoever didn’t have her nose stuck in a book—to reach for the tin hidden on the bookshelf so you could hold your birthstone in your hands again. 

As you grew in age, your parents became more lenient with their household rules. They allowed you to eat sweets before bedtime. They began letting you sleep in during the weekends. They no longer kept the tin can far out of your reach. You realized only years later that they’d simply forgotten to hide it away once their research began picking up and their schedules became hectic. But you didn’t mind so much that your parents could no longer read to you before bed every night and were no longer present during dinnertime. Living in the 11th city, where you were practically the only child in a place bustling with well-read adult scholars, forced you to appreciate your own company.

You continued reading your adventure-filled fairytales, living vicariously through the topsy-turvy lives of legends and heroes. The best tales were always the ones with happy endings. And happy endings came when the protagonist was strong enough to defeat the villain. It made you starry-eyed and hopeful. When the world became doused in flames one day, you dreamed of being the one to extinguish them. Or, at least play a small part in it. And what better way to prepare for this moment than to practice your magic?

You spent hours hunched over on the floor of your living room, experimenting with your birthstone. The familiar smell of eucalyptus, the emerald green carpet underneath your legs, the wax candles lining the edge of the room (a total fire hazard amongst all of the books surrounding it)—they’re all sensories so familiar to you. Of course, on some days, patches of that emerald green carpet would be a bright shade of orange or clashing stripes of yellow and magenta. Sometimes the beige wax candles would flicker green for a moment. Other times, the eucalyptus leaves would turn a bright shade of pink.

You liked this natural ability to make changes. It started off small as color-shifting, temporarily changing the colors and patterns of any household item you could find—once even the grass patch outside your house, which nearly gave your good old neighbors a heart attack. But your abilities soon developed into size-shifting as well. Once, with a bit of luck, you managed to shrink an entire stack of books and in your excitement, displayed your fine work to your parents. Yet instead of being proud of you, your parents had a joint mental breakdown, for the stack of books you shrunk had been their lifelong research. Lucky for them, however, your alchemy skills lacked the finesse to make permanent changes, and in seconds, their research reverted safely back to its normal size in a few minutes. Even still, from that point forward, you avoided experimenting on books for your parents’ mental sake.

On your tenth birthday, your parents surprised you with a gift. You remember looking at the slender, mahogany box, excitement bubbling inside of you. Gifts on special occasions weren’t very normal in your household; birthdays usually passed uncelebrated, which you never really minded, but that only made this gift so much more special.

Yet inside the box was an ugly, gray quill, and right before the plumage began on the stem, your precious birthstone sat studded. You stared at it with a confused look on your face.

“It’s your trinket, dear,” Ma said with an excited smile. “Go on, take it out!”

Mother was also smiling, though she wasn’t as enthusiastic as Ma. “Quill trinkets are all the rage these days, Y/N.”

“It’s perfect for a scholar-to-be like you, honey,” Ma said.

Though you should’ve been grateful that your parents went out of their way to give you a trinket—something you’ll likely have until the rest of your life—it was hard to be happy when it was so… ugly. Though you never exactly had a dream trinket as many others do (you’ve always been more interested in the birthstone itself), nothing about a quill trinket sounded desirable to you. It was forgettable. Drab-looking, too. And you could already picture yourself running after it flying away in the wind.

Your mothers quickly caught on to your distaste.

“You don’t like it,” Mother said, her eyebrows furrowing just slightly.

“Eunbi, I told you you shouldn’t have asked Kihoon of all people for trinket suggestions for little girls!” Ma said accusingly. “What would a forty-year-old man know about what a child would want?”

“She’ll grow into it, Sura,” Mother said. “She’ll appreciate it when she’s older.”

“Face it, Eunbi. We fucked up. What ten-year-old would want a damn quill as her trinket?”

“I said, she’ll grow into it.”

“I like my trinket,” you lied to ease the tension in the air. “I really do like it, Ma. Please don’t be angry.”

She looked at you, shaking her head, her dangly earrings swaying back and forth. “Honey, I’m a divinist. You don’t need to lie.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Don’t lie to Ma,” Mother said.

“I’m not!”

“We can get you a new trinket,” Ma said. “Something that you like.”

“We have a conference next week,” Mother reminded Ma. “We won’t have time.”

“That’s okay,” you told them. “I like this one already.”

They were skeptical, but you proved to them that you did, in fact, like your trinket by carrying it around everywhere, keeping the gray thing pinned to your hair, behind your ear. But on particularly windy days, you always opted to stay home. 

Yet never once did you ever consider getting a new trinket; your parents would be devastated. And even with your lacking relationship with them, you never wanted to be their source of trouble. Besides, the heroes in your fairy tales told white lies to save others’ feelings, anyway, and you looked up to these heroes, so it was only natural for you to mirror their behavior. After a while, the quill trinket became a part of you, and you learned to cherish it—but only after you found a way to temporarily color-shift it into more appealing hues.

Your parents didn’t interfere with your life too much, but perhaps that was a good thing. You had more time for yourself. They did, however, occasionally ask how your grades were in school, being scholars and all. It made you feel a degree of pressure to perform well in academia. And for a while, you believed you would one day become an alchemist scholar, which would break your parents’ hearts if you told them, so you never did. They always believed you’d become a divinist as they were, which made sense considering there weren’t many moments where you sat down to discuss with them. So you continued to keep to yourself and read your fairytales as a source of company.

These stories quickly became your solace. On your short walks to school, you liked to pretend you were one of the busy adults, sticking your nose in your books and beelining to your destination. Except, while you were reading tales of great courage and empathy, they were reading their serious manuscripts. 

But your childhood wasn’t spent completely alone. You had plenty of friends from school, but they all lived in the 10th city, and you never wanted to bother your parents’ frequent silent reading times to invite them over to your home in the 11th. Besides, you preferred being alone. Other children sometimes tired you, though you never understood why. Perhaps it was because you quickly realized that there was a disconnect.

“My ma said that Pa’s gonna come back this winter! Maybe he’ll bring back some gifts!”

“Where did your pa go?” you’d asked, genuinely curious.

“Don’t you know? Jisun’s father went to war.”

“War?”

There are gasps.

“Y/N, you don’t know that there’s a war?!”

“How do you not know?”

“Why do you think we’re not allowed to go to the 1st city anymore?”

“O-Oh… I…” You had no excuse other than the fact that you were never taught that there was a war. Your parents never mentioned it, and you assumed the wars in your fairytales were always fiction. 

“That’s funny, Y/N. I always thought you were gonna fight in the war.”

“Me too!”

“Me?” you asked, bewildered.

“You always carry your trinket with you,” Jisun said, pointing at the pink feather behind your ear. “My ma says only soldiers carry around their trinkets everywhere.”

“I-I just like having it near me…” The heroes in your fairytales carried their trinkets everywhere, to be able to react swiftly when problems occurred. 

“My ma won’t even let me leave the house carrying my birthstone,” Jisun continued. “Do your parents want you to become a soldier?”

“No…”

“Oh.” There is a slight pause. “Wanna grab pastries at the bakery? It’s in the 10th city, though.”

“I’m okay,” you said. “I have to go home.”

You’d quickly left that day, locking yourself in your room and staring up at your ceiling in deep thought. A week later, you finally built up the courage to confront your parents.

“Mother, Ma, is there a war?” 

Both of your parents looked up from their readings in shock.

“Oh, honey…” Ma said. “Yes… the war…”

The ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ got caught in your throat, but it didn’t matter that you didn’t say it because they seemed to glean it from your expression, anyway.

“We didn’t want you to panic,” Mother said. “But the war has been going on for decades. Over a century, even. It’s a stupid game of power, anyway. The only thing affected by it is the lives of pathetic soldiers.”

“Eunbi!” Ma said. “She’s a child. Let’s try to have some filter, please.”

“She needs to face the reality of the war,” Mother said. She turned to you. “Don’t waste your time and breath on it, Y/N. We’re all above it.”

“My friends told me that they thought I wanted to be a soldier.”

“What?!” Mother said, clearly offended for you. “How?”

“Because I always carry my trinket around.”

“They… don’t carry their trinkets around?” Ma asked.

“No, Ma, they don’t have trinkets yet,” you said.

“What do you mean they don’t have trinkets yet?” Mother frowned.

“Well… It’s just that they’re not allowed to leave the house with their birthstones,” you tried to explain.

Ma turned to Mother, her earrings swaying to and fro. “Did we give her access to her birthstone too early?”

“...Mayhaps,” Mother said. “But it’s too late now.” She made eye contact with you. “Don’t listen to them, Y/N. They don’t know what they’re talking about. You’re all children,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re not going to be a soldier. That would simply be preposterous.”

“Yes, Eunbi is right,” Ma said, nodding her head. “You’re our destined little scholar, sweetheart.”

Your interactions with your parents were sparse, but that never meant that they didn’t care about you. They found their own ways to show you love, which would have baffled your friends, but your mothers’ peculiar parenting was what you were used to and what you found comfortable. They would often leave new books on your desk. These books were never fairytales—mostly divinist research. But there were occasional alchemy books, too, which you would read over and over again when you were looking for something heavier than your usual fairytales. On weeks when your parents were away to attend conferences, they left you a few extra notes to spend at the mini-markets in the 8th city. They would also leave your thick peacoat out on your chair before you left for school in the mornings if they foresaw the weather taking a cold turn later in the day.

They simply didn’t have time to show it much, but they loved you. And strangely, all you wanted to do was to make them proud, which made you hide away the side of you that longed to become a hero, a successful alchemist—for their sake. 

But there were still parts of your parents that you never quite understood.

They often talked about the 12th city, where the castle grounds lay.

“Oh, Eunbi, wouldn’t it be so nice if we could continue our research as royal divinists?”

“Yes, Sura, that does sound quite nice.”

But these conversations never amounted to anything. All your parents ever did was read; you seldom ever saw them write or conduct an experiment to back their claims. But they were divinists, and they were often blinded by their version of the future, no matter how idealistic it was. You didn’t like that they did this, of course. The heroes in your stories set off to make change; they would save entire towns and cities and kingdoms—sometimes even the world. You didn’t understand why your parents were so content with being stagnant on research that could allegedly impact so much. 

As you grew older, your patience with your parents grew thin. Maybe there was a little bit of resentment there as well, for how could you flourish and become the best version of yourself if your own two parents had made no progress at all? You wanted to make them feel proud, but you began wondering if they would even care if you achieved anything. It was a horrible thought to have. And maybe it was because you were 12 and your rebellious pre-teen phase was kicking in; you were at that age where everything your parents advised you to do sounded stupid or like a mere suggestion. Or maybe this was how you should have always felt, instead of forgiving them and loving them unconditionally. These thoughts and feelings bubbled up inside of you until one day, they burst.

“Alchemy?” Mother said with a frown on her face. “You never showed any interest in it… Sura, what do you think?”

Ma was also frowning. “I don’t know, sweetheart,” she told you. “Why such a sudden change?”

“There was never a change,” you tried to clarify. “I’ve always been interested in alchemy.”

“I don’t know, Y/N,” Mother sighed. “We always assumed you were going to be a divinist.”

“But how?” you said, growing frustrated. “Did I ever read your canvases with you? Did I ever play with your runes? Have you ever seen me pick up your research manuscripts?”

“Well, no, but honey, interests change,” Ma said gently. “Divination… Well, it’s in your blood, sweetheart.” Her nose ring seemed to twinkle as she said this, along with her dozens of other piercings. They did that a lot when she was deep in thought, which was just about every second of the day. Usually, you thought the light was pretty; today, you found it annoying.

“We don’t want you to go down an unfamiliar route,” Mother said.

“Yes, Eunbi’s right. You could get yourself hurt without our guidance.”

You had to resist the urge to ask them, ‘Guidance? What guidance?’ But you swallowed those words. It didn’t matter; they probably knew what you were thinking. “You wouldn’t understand,” you told them instead. “Alchemy is what diamonds are good at. Divinists wouldn’t get it.”

“Oh, honey, your birthstone doesn’t dictate what type of magic you decide to specialize in,” Ma said. “There are plenty of diamond holders out there who don’t practice alchemy.”

“But I’m not one of them!”

“How would you know, Y/N? If you’ve never tried divination?” Mother asked. You could tell she was starting to lose her patience. And Ma looked ready to end the conversation.

You wanted to scream. ‘How would I know? I’ll tell you how I know! Because I’ve seen how consumed the two of you have become with divination! Because it’s all talk and no action! Because pattern-recognizing and intuition-honing isn’t real magic, and I want to do something that can make a difference!’

You didn’t say a single word but you swore you saw Ma wilt a little. That’s another thing you’ve always hated about divinists. It’s like they’re always in your head.

After this argument, your parents became even less attentive to you—if that was even possible. They stopped asking about your grades in school, stopped giving you extra allowance when they left for conferences, stopped gifting you books altogether. It made you feel unloved and unwanted, though you tried to give them the benefit of the doubt. Maybe their research picked up once more. Maybe they were hurt by your unsaid words and wanted some distance from you to sort their feelings out. Maybe you should apologize.

But the other part of you couldn’t understand why you should apologize for something you never said. And besides, if their love for you had purely been because they thought you were going to follow in their divinist scholar footsteps, then maybe you didn’t want anything to do with them anymore. And in that moment of sadness, confusion, and anger, you impulsively applied to the most prestigious academy in all of Darlae—in part of honing your alchemy skills but also to escape your parents, for the dorms in Botswana Agate Academy were rumored to be as lush as the chambers in the castle grounds. You didn’t think you were going to get in, but miraculously, an acceptance letter appeared in your mailbox one day. Welcome to Botswana Agate Academy, the title read. You nearly cried when you saw it. 

You told your parents, of course, and they congratulated you, as any reasonable parents would, but they weren’t so happy when they realized you were accepted into their alchemy division and that the academy required a hefty tuition fee. But attending Botswana was like a dream. They sent you a beautiful uniform, one that was as elegant and pristine as the school, and they even offered to embed your birthstone in a new trinket that was easier to carry around. You considered it, of course, but ultimately decided against it. The quill trinket was really the last thing that tied you and your parents together. And as much as you resented them, you still occasionally felt homesick and longed for the good days when they used to read to you in bed. Besides, you’ve grown quite attached to that ugly gray quill, and as impractical as it was, it was still yours. Like a little quirk. Many heroes in your stories had something that made them special, too. 

But ostensibly, you would’ve been considered special even without your unconventional trinket. Botswana taught you that you had a knack for magic. A “natural talent” was what your instructors were calling it. But they never realized how many hours of practice you put in to get this far.

You were adept in putting your skills into action, which showed that externally, you were, in a way, “talented.” But Botswana also emphasized the internal mechanisms of Darlaean magic, which included unfamiliar jargon and technical terminologies. You tried your best to keep up.

“The objective of today’s study,” Instructor Shin began, “is to delineate the differences between our two branches of magic and its three distinct types. Y/N?” she said, pushing up her silver-rimmed glasses and looking at you expectantly. With her thin eyebrows, even thinner red lips and pristine outfits, she was a respectable (and sometimes feared) instructor. Students often tried to impress her, for she was known to write excellent letters of recommendation to get into Botswana Agate’s sister academy for older students: Aven Quartz. 

You sat right up when you heard your name, your heart already thumping in your chest. Unfortunately, it was normal for instructors in Botswana to cold call, and while it wasn’t your favorite thing about the academy, you managed to survive by simply overpreparing. “If you could be so kind as to start off the lesson this morning,” Instructor Shin said in her rather soothing voice, “please give a general description, as per the assigned reading, of the two branches for the class.”

Your throat felt parched, but you spent three hours last night hunched over your textbook General Knowledge for Botswana Agate Students (the one that Instructor Shin herself wrote), reciting every line in the 50-page reading, committing it to memory, then doing it over again and over again with your own words until the chapter showed up in your dreams. Still, your mind teetered on the line of going completely blank—public speaking had never quite been your forte—but you also couldn't let your efforts go to waste. “I… I believe the two branches of magic are light and dark,” you said a little hesitantly, fiddling with the quill behind your ear. “Colloquially, we call them rational and emotional magic, but those terms are misguided and outdated. Um… dark magic, if I’m remembering correctly, is the kind of magic that requires deep focus, objective reasoning and logic to cast. If the caster is successful, we would call that charm, a hex. I believe that dark magic is said to be reliable and consistent but can behave unpredictably when attempted to be cast with emotion. And um, light magic… it’s the kind of magic that requires channeling one’s emotions to cast what we call a whim. Its range of abilities tends to fluctuate, depending on the caster’s emotional state, so it has the potential to be extremely powerful—arguably even more so than any dark magic.”

Your hands were shaking by the time you finished speaking, and it didn’t really help that Instructor Shin’s facial expressions were always unreadable, her red lips pressed together eternally. But you must’ve been correct because she gave you a small nod, thanked you for sharing and called on another student to answer another one of her questions about the reading. “Tell me, Joonhee, why are we discouraged to use light magic here in Botswana?”

Joonhee was charismatic and confident, and he never looked nervous when cold-called. “It can be dangerous,” he said without missing a beat. “We want our magic to be reliable and consistent, like Y/N said. Light magic is unpredictable and may go terribly wrong if say, the caster’s emotions are extremely negatively charged. It’s only really condoned for our soldiers to use in the war.”

“That’s correct, Joonhee,” Instructor Shin said, nodding. “Though light magic is a useful branch in the face of danger or chaos, it does not mesh well with our everyday charms. Of course, you will be naturally inclined to one of these two branches,” she told everyone, “but to do well in Botswana Agate, you must learn the importance of dark magic. Now, Jangmi, can you tell us if our birthstones dictate the branch of magic we naturally gravitate toward?”

“Our birthstones do not,” Jangmi said confidently. “But I think they do dictate the type of magic we are the best at.”

“To an extent, yes,” Instructor Shin said. “But the general consensus is that anyone can excel at either branch of magic and every type of magic. I, for one, am a so-called destined divinist,” she said, holding up her black pointer, adorned with an emerald at the top, for the entire class to see. “But I teach alchemy at Botswana. Some of you may know me as your instructor for Introduction to Alchemy, and I would like to think that I am fairly skilled at it. So, students,” she said, “never feel limited by your birthstone. Now, Donghoon, what are the three different types of magic and which birthstones are associated with what?”

But poor Donghoon looked like he forgot to do the reading yet again. “I-I… uh, a-alchemy,” he stuttered, “...and healing… um…” He struggled to recall the last one. 

“Divination,” Jangmi whispered next to him.

“Divination!” Donghoon magically remembered. “A-And… the birthstones associated… Uh…” He desperately looked down at the little pocket watch he always carried around—not to check the time, but to stare at the shining green peridot inside the glass. It seemed to make things slightly easier for him because you watched his eyes light up for a second. “For alchemy, there is peridot…” he trailed off, already stuck, but when he made eye contact with you, his eyebrows rose in remembrance: “Oh! And diamond…”

Instructor Shin was becoming impatient, however, so she interrupted him. “Let’s do our daily readings on time, Donghoon. Haeyun, could you tell us, please?”

“Yes, Instructor Shin,” Haeyun said. “There are four birthstones associated with each magic type. For healing, they are aquamarine, garnet, ruby and opal. For alchemy, they are diamond, alexandrite, peridot and citrine. For divination, they are amethyst, emerald, sapphire and zircon.”

“Correct,” Instructor Shin said. “Well, Donghoon, do you think you can enlighten us with your definition of alchemy?”

“I actually know this one!” Donghoon looked excited. “It’s the study of matter and small particles and using that knowledge to reshape our perceptions of them! The basics include color and size-shifting. More difficult charms include masking and true alchemy, which is just turning material into gold. Also, you can technically create things out of thin air, but it’s near impossible. But I’ve heard it’s been done before!” Donghoon sat back in his chair a little too smugly for someone who always neglected to do the readings. But his father was Head Instructor, so nothing could be done. 

“Very good, Donghoon,” Instructor Shin said, issuing one of her rare compliments. “You’re correct. While gold has no monetary value in Darlae, in the past, and before the blockade, we profited from our gold trade, thanks to our alchemists. You’ll learn more about this with Instructor No in Darlaean History. It is also nearly impossible, as you’ve said, to create something out of nothing, but it has been done in the past. Our head instructor, fifty years ago, accomplished this. Head Instructor Jeon was his name. He created a small wine glass from nothing, and we still have it in memory of him. It is displayed in our dining hall if you would like to see it after class,” Instructor Shin said quite proudly. “Now, who would like to explain healing and divination in their own words?”

Even though there was the constant fear of being cold-called, you quite enjoyed Instructor Shin’s General Knowledge course. It was one of those courses that every first-year Botswana Agate student was required to take—like Darlaean History—and you could see why. Though the class was often densely packed with information and the readings never seemed to end, it was also enlightening and put much of your early experience with magic into words. Some struggled with it more than others.

“Hell, I totally fucking blanked in there,” Donghoon said as he scratched his head and nearly spilled the contents of his book bag as he adjusted the shoulder straps. You helped him steady the bag and he shot you a grateful look.

“Are you sure you didn’t just forget to do the reading?” Joonhee snorted as he walked past you and Donghoon, not even giving him a chance to answer. It’s a little rude, but Joonhee’s always been like that: confident, charismatic and cocky.

“Don’t worry about him,” you told Donghoon as the two of you began to walk to your next class, which happened to be an unpopular elective called Fashion Studies. You were only placed in it because you enrolled late—your parents didn’t have the time to sign some papers that would’ve made you an official Botswana student. And Donghoon was only placed in it because he forgot to enroll in half of his classes.

“I don’t really worry,” Donghoon said. He just shrugged good-naturedly. “He and I are in different leagues. He’ll probably become the damn General of the Darlaean Army one day. I’d be lucky if I even pass a single class here.”

You frowned. “Don’t say that.”

Donghoon shrugged again. “I’m only here because of my father. Everyone knows that. I’m just waiting to be kicked out so I can achieve my lifelong dream of starting a tea shop. I don’t need alchemy for that.” He suddenly looked around to see if anyone was watching. Then, he leaned in with a mischievous look on his face. “I wouldn’t even need Darlaean magic. I’d need Solaria’s.”

You raised your eyebrows. Why was he telling you this? Was it a test to see if you agreed? He was his father’s son after all, and there was an extreme backlash in the scholar community against Head Instructor Kim for so openly supporting the Darlaean Army when Botswana instructors were to remain neutral about the war. You decided to tread carefully. “Really? With the elements and stuff?”

“Yeah,” Donghoon said. “I’d need fire to boil the water and earth for the tea leaves.” He looked at you strangely. “You’re not going to tell on me, are you? You don’t seem like the type.”

“N-No, of course not. I’m just… surprised.”

“My father and I are different people,” Donghoon said with a shrug. “He can eat shit for all I care. I don’t support the war. It’s just stupid. People dying left and right. And for what?”

“People die out there?” you asked incredulously.

“What did you think they were doing? Playing tea party? Of course they die out there—our people, their people. We just don’t hear the stories because we’re so far in, you know, being in the 11th city most of the time. Most of our parents are rich enough to keep us sheltered. And we sure as hell don’t learn about it in Darlaean History ‘cause ‘neutrality’ and all that bull. But we might start this new curriculum focusing solely on Solarian war crimes. Courtesy of my father, you know. He thinks it’ll help with showcases, which are military propaganda by the way.”

“Oh…” This conversation surprised you. Donghoon was often characterized as stupid and ditzy by others. He’s the spoiled, stuck-up brat who leeched off of his successful father and had rocks for brains. But that most certainly wasn’t correct. It simply looked like he cared about things outside what Botswana could offer.

“Anyways,” Donghon sighed, “you’re smart, so I’m sure you’ll make correct judgments.” When he caught you frowning, he grinned. “You act humbly, but you’re top of your classes.”

Your face heated up. “Oh, I… I still don’t understand why they publicly post the class rankings…”

“It’s ‘tradition for excellence,’” Donghoon mockingly quoted while holding in a laugh. “And it’s supposed to motivate people like me. Obviously, it’s not working. Anyways, you know, you’re really good at alchemy. Really, really good.”

“O-Oh,” you said, feeling bashful. “Thanks. But I’m not naturally good or anything. I just put in a lot of effort.”

“Mhm sure. There are people like Jangmi who put in the effort but still can’t cast charms successfully, you know. She’s within the top ten in every class except Intro to Alch—the only class that doesn’t use a textbook. Magic doesn’t come so intuitively for others.”

Donghoon was strangely observant. You looked at him in surprise. “I didn’t know…”

Your response must have not been so satisfactory. “Hmph. You’re pretty shy, aren’t you?” Donghoon said. “I feel like every time we talk, well, I’m the one who’s talking.”

That made you crack a smile. “I enjoy listening.”

“Well, I enjoy talking.” Donghoon mirrored your smile. “Anyways, let’s go make some damn clothes while people die on the battlegrounds!”

From that point forward, you and Donghoon became close friends. He was easy to be around and didn’t see you as a competition as many of the other students did. He also always declined your offers to study with him, saying that it was only a matter of time before his father would have no choice but to let him drop out of the academy. “I’m aiming for failing grades in every single class,” he told you on your way to Introduction to Alchemy with Instructor Shin.

“Your tea shop dream would be closer than ever,” you said with a smile.

“You get me, Y/N,” was his enthused response as the two of you found your seats in the classroom in the second row.

Today’s class focused solely on color-shifting. Instructor Shin handed out red apples and told everybody to turn them blue. She gave no further instruction, stepping back and simply watching. For you, this was a simple task; after all, you’ve been color-shifting for more than half of your life now. First, you must become extremely aware of the feather behind your ear, feeling the power emanating from your birthstone. Then, closing your eyes, you imagined a world where apples were blue. They’ve always been blue! It was quite the norm. Blue apples growing on trees, blue apple pies, blue apple jam—you’ve all seen it before. Every time you’ve bitten into an apple, its skin has been a beautiful, shiny, navy blue. Why should the apple in front of you be any different? 

When you opened your eyes, sure enough, the apple sitting in front of you was blue—the same deep blue you’d imagined in your head.

Instructor Shin’s eyebrows rose, but she didn’t say anything.

Donghoon laughed. “Y/N, in three seconds?!”

You could feel the heat crawl onto your cheeks as you felt every students’ eyes on you. Particularly, you felt Joonhee’s glare at the back of your head. And for the next several minutes, you watched the students around you try their hand at color-shifting for the first time. Most of them were able to change the color of their apples, but it was rarely ever blue. You saw a lot of purples and oranges. And Donghoon, who by habit only practiced light magic, accidentally cast a frustrated whim, which made the apple rot rapidly before your shared desk.

He snorted at his own failure and turned to you. “See?” he said. “I told you that you’re good.”

“I’ve just done this before,” you said.

“How?” Donghoon asked. “Didn’t your parents restrict your birthstone access until you were accepted to Botswana? I know a lot of families who did that in the 10th city.”

“Not really,” you said. “They let me carry it around since I was ten.”

“Hell, they really trusted you.”

It was always a little more like they didn’t trust themselves with you, but Donghoon didn’t have to know that. And besides, now you were partly thankful for your parents’ negligence. It looked like strict parenting stanched magical growth. But thinking about your parents made you feel a little guilty inside since you knew full well that you partly applied to Botswana to escape them after your horrible argument. Still, you tried not to show your inner turmoils and shrugged.

“I guess they did,” you said. “You need me to shift that back? Temporarily, though. I don’t think I’m good enough to do it permanently.”

Donghoon’s eyes widened. “You know how to do that?”

“I’ve never tried, but all I’d have to do is imagine a world where nothing ever rots. And that it’s always been that way.”

“Dark magic, huh?” Donghoon said. “I didn’t pin you for that type, but you’re good.”

You shrugged, and in a few seconds’ time, the apple looked ripe and red again—at least for the remaining class period. You and Donghoon fell into deep conversation after that, mostly Donghoon complimenting your skills and you becoming embarrassed. The two of you failed to notice Instructor Shin looking straight at you with an unreadable look on her face.

Every circa, Botswana Agate Academy invited each student’s parents to what they called Consulting. This entailed the student’s instructors reviewing the student’s standing in their classes and offering the student potential career pathways or advice to excel in the future. Most parents who sent their children to Botswana wanted to know anything and everything about how their money was being used. Your parents, unfortunately, had to attend a last-minute divination conference with their fellow scholars. So last-minute that in fact, rescheduling your Consulting was impossible.

So you sat awkwardly before your three instructors, nervously playing with your trinket behind your ear. “I’m sorry,” you said, embarrassed. “I told them the date three weeks ago… And reminded them frequently…”

“It’s no matter,” Instructor Shin said. “Consulting only concerns you, Kwang Y/N, so you’re all we need to begin.” She shuffled the small stack of papers in front of her and her two co-instructors. “Your rankings are considerably high,” she began. “In the top fifty for all four of your classes. Number one for Introduction to Alchemy, among 600 other students. You’re off to an excellent start.”

You’ve never been able to take compliments well. “Thank you,” you squeaked, awkwardly looking at your hands.

“You naturally gravitate towards dark magic and you were accepted into our alchemy division, so I assume you are also alchemy-inclined.”

You nodded.

“I have a question for you, Y/N,” Instructor Shin suddenly said, which surprised you, for she was always the kind of person who knew everything. “Your parents are divinist scholars, yes? Did they also teach you the ropes of alchemy?”

You shook your head. “No, Instructor Shin. They didn’t.”

“Self-taught?”

“Well, I read many books,” you said. “Um… fairytales, really. But a lot of the… um, a lot of the heroes were alchemy-inclined, so naturally…” It felt so stupid to admit.

Instructor Shin nodded. “I am impressed,” she said, to your surprise. “I have not met many students who have taught themselves the ropes of dark alchemy so well in quite a long time. I want you to audit my Advanced Alchemy course, and if that feels like a better fit, I want you to take it instead of your introductory course and skip the intermediate course entirely. How does that sound?”

Your eyes widened. “A-Amazing,” you managed to whisper in awe. “T-Thank you. Thank you, Instructor Shin.” 

It almost felt like a dream. You? How could someone like you impress someone so skilled and intelligent as Instructor Shin? Not only did she want you to skip one course level but also two? How highly did she think of you to suggest such a thing? You would be sitting in class with students two or three years older than you!

It was the dream—to be able to hone your alchemy skills and actually be challenged in class. And yet… You nervously began to play with the feather behind your ear. Why did you suddenly feel an empty pit in your stomach? It was that feeling of dread, which was the last thing you should be feeling with all this good news. But you couldn’t help it. The thing about good first impressions was that there wasn’t much room to be better. (The charismatic villain in your fairytales always gave off a great first impression!) So how long would it take for Instructor Shin to be disappointed in you? How long would it take before you simply became another student in the crowd for her? How long would it take for you to lose the only support you’ve ever had?

You were no prodigy. You were definitely not a genius, either. What Instructor Shin didn’t know was the amount of time and effort you’ve put into your craft. You didn’t wake up one day able to color-shift in the blink of an eye. You worked your way up to it with much trial and error and sleepless nights in your living room. Your peers simply weren’t given access to their birthstones as early as you were. If they had, they’d probably be at your skill level or even higher. So what if you weren’t able to keep up? What if Advanced Alchemy ended up being too advanced for you? How disappointed would Instructor Shin be?

She seemed to sense your uncertainty, which was so palpable that even a non-divinist could feel it. To your surprise, she smiled, her thin red lips curving slightly upwards. You’ve never seen her do such a thing. But her smile was kind and warm and softened her eyes, and it alone almost made you feel a little better.

“My care for my students is never conditional,” she said gently.

Your head jerked up as you met her stare with startled eyes.

“No matter what you achieve and don’t achieve, I will always wish you the best,” Instructor Shin said. “But you don’t need to worry too much. I believe your accomplishments will stretch far beyond what Botswana Agate can offer. I don’t have to be a royal divinist to see it.” 

An unconditional support system. It felt almost unheard of—something you’ve only ever seen in fairytales. You’ve tiptoed around your parents for years in fear that they would treat you differently after you confessed to them that divination in your future wasn’t likely. In fact, they did treat you differently after your confession, which you supposed subconsciously taught you that maybe their care was somewhat conditional. 

So to have an adult tell you that they would never retract their care for you��� It defied everything you’ve known up until now. 

You could feel the emotions swelling in your chest. On the one hand, you were grateful. You’ve always dreamed of having a mentor in your life who truly, absolutely cared for you, and you’ve finally found one. But on the other hand, what about your parents? How was it that an instructor you’ve known for one circa understood you better than your parents ever have? They couldn’t even come to your Consulting! Couldn’t make a thirty-minute slot in their schedules for you. But here you were, hearing from Instructor Shin that you were an excellent student. They would never know of it. Nor did you think they’d care. Or maybe they would. Maybe they were still waiting for you to apologize for that day. A small part of you wished that was true. Because them being angry at you would be infinitely better than them not simply caring. But deep down inside, you knew what was really the case.

Before you knew it, tears streamed down your face.

At first, they were tears of sadness, for you couldn’t help but pity yourself and feel horrible that you continued to push your parents away from your life. But when Instructor Shin took a sheet of paper from the stack in front of her and masked it into a handkerchief, handing it to you with a look of endearment on her face, your tears of sadness turned into tears of joy.

You wanted to achieve great things—not for fame, not for recognition—but for a cause bigger than yourself. Instructor Shin believed in you, so what was really stopping you? You wanted to leave a mark, an impact. Just like the heroes in your fairytales. Every great hero had a mentor who pushed them to be better and inspired them to be resilient. While dabbing your tears away, you vowed that you would work harder than ever before, for now, you had Instructor Shin, who was willing to give you unconditional support. Your dream of one day becoming a hero—of any scale—felt closer than ever before.

Surprisingly enough, Fashion Studies was quite interesting. There were no required readings, no required magic skill set. All you had to bring to the class was a creative mind and a penchant for aesthetics. There, you learned about different fabrics, textures, colors, and the latest fashion trends in Darlae. At first, you and Donghoon couldn’t care much about clothes, but by the end of the second circa at Botswana, the two of you were speaking in common fashion parlance, going on frequent shopping trips in the 8th city and finding the school uniforms to be restricting your artistic freedom. 

In your second Consulting at Botswana Agate, your Fashion Studies instructor, Instructor Yang noted that he never met students like you and Donghoon who were so excited to take his measly fashion course. Most students took electives that required “a little more brain-power” as Instructor Yang put it. You thought it was hilarious to hear that Donghoon was at the top of the class for Fashion Studies, which was the complete opposite of what he wanted.

“I got a little carried away,” was his excuse when you told him the news. “Hell, I’m gonna need to start slacking for my ultimate plan to work. There’s no way I’m going to let this class be the single piece of evidence my father uses to force me to stay here.”

With Donghoon trying to come up with more and more creative ways of getting expelled (refusing to wear the school uniform, never doing his homework, arriving to exams an entire hour late), your first year at Botswana was never dull.

Your Advanced Alchemy class was the perfect fit for your skill level too. You were being challenged (but not so much that you felt like you were behind), and the older students didn’t really see you as a competition but respected you as one of their peers. They also told you everything you needed to know about Botswana Agate—the good and the bad. But mostly the bad. 

“Did you know there are rumors that the curriculum at the academy will change soon?”

“They’re going to make it pro-war, those bastards.”

“Head Instructor Kim is going to run this place to the fucking ground.”

“I heard they’re going to be making courses centered around light magic.”

“That’s bullshit!”

“I mean, you’ve seen how often soldiers have been patrolling the corridors and listening in on our classes, right? They’re totally trying to recruit for the army.”

“Yeah, I heard they’re going to start making showcases mandatory.”

“The next thing you know they’re going to make military enlistment mandatory.”

“I heard it’s like that in Solaria.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, they just knock on your door, drag you out and force you to fight.”

“Where did you hear that from?”

“Well… To be honest, from our soldiers. So it could also be stupid propaganda. I mean, since we’re on a volunteer-based enlistment and our army would do anything to look better than the Solarians. But who knows? Things are changing.”

“I wouldn’t put it past them. If I were them, I’d be embarrassed that the war’s been dragging on for this long. It’s crazy that neither side has agreed to a truce.”

If there was one thing you knew very clearly about Botswana students it was that most of them hated the war. It must be some sort of scholarly instinct. But, of course, there were always outliers.

Joonhee and his band of friends were as pro-army as one could get. They saluted every soldier they passed in the corridors, straightening up their posture and pressing two fingers to their forehead with their other arm glued to their side. You knew Donghoon was joking when he said that Joonhee would one day become the General of the Darlaean Army, but it didn’t really seem like a joke anymore. 

“He’s batshit crazy, that one,” Donghoon told you, shaking his head. “He has to be the dumbest genius alive to waste his talents in the army.”

“Do you really think that they’re going to start to make showcases mandatory?” you said, brows furrowing.

“The parents would never approve,” Donghoon said. “Except my father. Even your parents don’t support the war.”

“So who the hell supports it?”

“Unfortunately, just about every other city,” he said with a shrug. “It’s just that scholars don’t believe in violence to solve problems. That and we don’t have that much hatred in our hearts.”

“I don’t get why your father can support the war, then.”

“Honestly, I think he’s after the money. You know, we get paid just to let the soldiers walk around our campus. The army thinks it’s ‘good exposure’ since they’re looking to recruit top talent.”

“Top talent, huh?” You sighed. “Your father must be getting paid one hell of a lot to let them change Botswana’s curriculum.”

“How do you think we bought our new summer home?” Donghoon laughed but soon stopped when you didn’t follow.

“I don’t get it,” you said. “Why would anyone want to go to war? Don’t you die out there?”

“Maybe they like the thrill,” Donghoon said. “I don’t get it either. You should ask Joonhee. He looks like he’s ready to enlist any day now.”

“But we’re only 12!”

“The younger the better,” Donghoon said. “We’re more malleable that way.”

“Malleable…” you repeated. 

For someone who claimed they never read, Donghoon had quite the vocabulary. He cursed like a sailor, too, which you’ve unintentionally begun picking up. But besides the influence of linguistics, the more time you spent with Donghoon, the more you became impressed with his character. To you, Donghoon was the protagonist in your fantasy novels—a little bit of an outcast but with a set purpose in life and a passion that never seemed to dull. He may be thought of as goofy by his peers and instructors, but it was all calculated. He was a lot smarter and wiser than people thought. And you liked that he knew so much more than you. You had a lot to learn.

“You know, the soldiers have been looking at the class rankings these days,” Donghoon told you, giving you a meaningful look.

“The rankings?” you said, a frown creasing your forehead.

“Yeah. I’d say expect to be harassed by them very, very soon,” he said. 

Sometimes it seemed like everyone except you was a divinist.

Donghoon’s prediction came true in just two days when three soldiers barged into your classroom, swinging the doors open so violently that they banged raucously against the walls. Their jet-black uniforms (even with the silver and purple stitchings) made them look like soot against the pure white interior of the room—like they didn’t belong here. And they didn’t. You could think of at least five other uniform designs that would’ve looked less intimidating, but perhaps intimidation was what they were going for. 

The loud noise interrupted Instructor Shin mid-sentence and she glared at the intruders for a split second before continuing her lecture on Darlae’s 12 cities as if nothing had happened at all. 

“Ahem.”

Instructor Shin ignored the soldier clearing his throat.

“Ahem.”

At this point, most if not every student had turned their heads toward the three soldiers at the back of the class, wondering if anyone was in trouble. Soldiers often audited classes but they never interrupted or drew attention to themselves. So this was quite new.

“If you could so kindly clear your throat outside so my students could continue with their lesson,” Instructor Shin sighed, looking up to glare at the soldiers. They looked unfazed, however.

“We’d like a word with a few of your students,” the soldier who was having problems with his throat spoke. 

“Then it must wait until after class,” Instructor Shin said, swiftly. She pointed at the door with her black pointer. “Please kindly leave.”

“This is an order,” the soldier said, not moving one bit.

“Oh, yes, from who?” Instructor Shin asked, her eyebrows raising as they did when she believed one was lying.

“From Head Instructor Kim.”

Instructor Shin didn’t miss a beat. “I don’t take orders from that individual,” she answered, and before he could retort back, she continued: “You are walking on the territory of scholars, soldier. We do not follow orders from anyone here. We question and we think for ourselves. You may suggest and you may discuss, but you do not order—especially not in my classroom.” She paused, still glaring at the three soldiers. “You may leave now.”

The atmosphere in the room grew tense when they didn’t. 

“I’m under the impression that you’re merely suggesting we leave,” the soldier said, crossing his arms over his chest. “And we are suggesting speaking to some of your students.”

Donghoon gave you a look from right next to you, and you can read what he meant as clear as day. ‘Can you fucking believe the nerve?’

“I will not allow my students to follow you out of my classroom and away from my supervision,” Instructor Shin said. “What you need to say to those students, you will say to everyone in this room.”

“You’re difficult, aren’t you?” the soldier said.

“As are you,” she replied. “Well? Don’t waste our time, now, soldier. Share with the class what was so important that you had to interrupt precious class time for.”

Another soldier stepped up, as if on cue, and pulled out a list from inside her stiff coat. “Lee Joonhee, Kwang Y/N, Choi Jangmi,” she read off in a monotone voice. Your eyes widened when you heard your name. “You have been selected as the top students in this cohort of the General Knowledge course. The Darlaean Army recognizes your excellent academic standing and would like to extend an offer to join our rigorous training program for adolescents. This is a valuable opportunity to strengthen your magic with future leaders of the army and prepare to fight for your nation to defeat our common enemy. Congratulations on your selection and we await your decision to accept.”

You could almost hear the ‘I told you so’ that Donghoon didn’t say but was most definitely thinking. 

There was also a deafening and painfully awkward silence that followed after the soldier’s speech. It seemed like everyone was staring at you, Joonhee and Jangmi. The other two were practically bathing in the spotlight, but you suddenly felt the need to duck down and hide from the unwanted stares.

The bigger issue, though, was the fact that the soldiers still hadn’t left the classroom. Did they expect the three of you to decide whether you would accept on the spot? And if so, how would you let them down politely but firmly? It was really no question that you didn’t want this. Why the hell would you want to uproot your perfectly fine life at Botswana to join some training program that would inevitably make a soldier out of you? The last thing you wanted was to become involved in the war. So why were they acting as if this was a wonderful opportunity for you? War was where you went to die. How could you set yourself up for death when you had yet so much to accomplish?

“I accept!” Joonhee announced, interrupting your thoughts. “I happily accept, sir.” He saluted dutifully. “Thank you!”

You and Jangmi glanced at each other.

“I’d like some more time to decide,” Jangmi finally said.

You could feel your heart beating in your head. Now all eyes were on you, awaiting your answer, and you hated it. You didn’t owe the army anything, so why was it so damn hard to say no? You could also use Jangmi’s answer to stall for some time, but that would mean they’d hunt you down later to get a definitive response. Should you keep your rejection short and simple? Or did you need to explain yourself to keep them from getting offended? But then again, why would you care that they’ll be offended? They were clearly not-so-great people, disrespecting Instructor Shin in front of her own students! Yes, you should simply reject them. They’re used to curt replies, you assumed, taking orders from right and left, so it couldn’t hurt them if you declined their offer.

With a deep breath, you collected the strength to finally give your response. But it came out as a loud, flat, echoing, “NO.”

The sound of your own voice startled you; it also seemed to startle many others as your classmates stared at you in what you thought looked like disbelief. But it made sense. You usually never spoke so curtly, and you surely never had a reason to raise your voice. You were immediately scrambling to explain yourself. “I-I mean, no thank you… sir. I mean, sirs. I-I would… I would like to focus on my studies.”

“Very well,” the throat-clearing prone soldier said. He didn’t sound disappointed, though he did still look mildly annoyed from the encounter he just had with Instructor Shin. He and the two other soldiers saluted to no one in particular, and they finally exited the classroom. 

When the heavy white doors slammed shut, loud chatter uptook the room. You and Donghoon watched as everyone else began to swarm around Joonhee.

“Why did you accept so quickly?”

“Are you going to drop out of Botswana?”

“Do your parents know?”

“Your parents are going to kill you!”

“Quiet!” Instructor Shin yelled in a voice so loud it echoed in the commodious room. Silence. Everybody scrambled back into their seats. Instructor Shin sighed as she gripped the edges of the marble podium. “I apologize for the distraction and for my harsh behavior. As you may already be aware, things are shifting here at Botswana Agate Academy. The army is looking to expand, and they would like to join hands with Darlae’s brightest. You will learn more about the war once some new courses are approved. I’m afraid it won’t be anything like Darlaean History, for those of you who enjoy that course. Things are changing, indeed…” She sighed again, shaking her head. “But for now, we will continue our lesson, students. And Joonhee? I’d like to see you after class.”

Everyone ooh-ed.

Donghoon rolled his eyes but you frowned. 

“What do you think she held him back for?” you asked Donghoon as the two of you walked out of Instructor Shin’s class.

“Probably to warn him about the army,” Donghoon said, shrugging. “Let him go for all I care. He’ll become General one day.”

“Do you think Jangmi’s going to end up declining the offer?”

“Maybe,” Donghoon said. “I’m not sure. Her parents are scholars like yours, though, so they’ll probably never let her go.” He turned to you with a smile on your face. “But good for you for yelling their rejection to their faces.”

“I didn’t mean to yell!”

“Well, you did, Y/N,” Donghoon laughed. “They’re delusional if they think you’d ever join their stupid little fistfight club.”

“I just think it’s crazy they singled us out,” you said. “It must be some sort of strategy. You know, to make us feel special and accept their offer. They made it sound so grand, too.”

“It’s all bullshit,” Donghoon snorted. “Let’s hope they don’t follow you around, though. I’ve heard they’ve been doing that to a few upperclassmen.”

Donghoon’s hopes, unfortunately, didn’t come true. By the time you were back home from the academy for winter recess, your parents had a stack of letters from the army waiting for you in your bedroom. 

“Honey?” Ma asked, a crease on her forehead. “Have you been getting involved with the army?”

“No,” you said, sighing as you threw the letters in the trash. “I’m just on their radar.”

“Their radar?” Mother said, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s that pathetic Head Instructor of yours. Money-hungry pig.”

“Eunbi…” Ma said gently.

“It needs to be said,” Mother replied curtly.

“I’ve just been… Well, I know you haven’t been able to be there for my past Consultings, but I’ve been doing well at the academy,” you said, though admitting it feels a little strange. “I received an invitation to join their rigorous training program for adolescents. But don’t worry!” you quickly added after seeing your parents’ faces. “I declined.”

“They don’t take rejection well, it seems,” Mother snorted. “A couple of soldiers have been showing up at our doorstep and asking for you.”

“They have?” you asked in shock. 

Ma nodded. “But once we move, we should be left alone for a while. ”

“Not unless they’re so desperate they find our new address,” Mother said, shaking her head.

“Move?” you asked, eyes widening. “Why are we moving?”

You’ve lived in this home for as long as you can remember. How could you let go of the cozy living room with its infinite number of reading nooks? The tall windows, the emerald green carpet, and the security of your room—you didn’t want to leave it.

You caught Ma giving Mother a worried look, and Mother cleared her throat. “Well…” She sighed. “Y/N, as divinist scholars, Sura and I make sacrifices to continue our research. You know that, don’t you? Recently… we have realized that our finances have been…” She searched for a word. “Bare.”

“Bare?” you repeated. Are we poor? you wanted to ask. 

Ma answered anyway. “We’re not poor yet, sweetheart. We’re just a little in the rough, that’s all.”

“Sura and I have got it under control,” Mother said. “We’ll sell this home and move into a smaller one.”

“Nothing to worry about,” Ma said with a smile. It looked strained.

Your heart sank.

It was something to worry about. Your parents had been researching their entire lives, but they had never been close to bankruptcy. It dawned on you rather quickly that the only reason they were struggling now was you. You and Botswana Agate Academy. 

“I can drop out,” you offered. As soon as the words left your mouth, you regretted it. What if your parents agreed? What if they did pull you out of Botswana? The palace-like architecture, the beautiful classrooms, dining hall, dorms… The endless knowledge in the grand libraries… Hell, it was like a second home to you. Your very own fairytale. Donghoon would also be absolutely livid that you were able to leave before him. And what about Instructor Shin? Your unconditional supporter? She would be so disappointed.

“That’s not an option, Y/N,” Mother said, to your surprise. “You will finish your education—whether it’s in divination or not.”

“Yes,” Ma agreed. “We couldn’t ask you to make sacrifices, honey.”

You didn’t argue against that—you didn’t want to.

But it still hurt a few circas later when your parents greeted you at the new doorstep of a significantly smaller home. The roof was battered, the walls a little tattered. There were no more bookshelves, so the books stacked up like pillars supporting the low ceiling. It was a one-room home, with no more reading nooks, no more windows and barely any natural light. The emerald green carpet where you’d taught yourself color-shifting was nowhere to be found—sent off to the 8th city to be sold for extra notes. 

Your parents acted as if nothing had changed, however. And by that, you meant they were still a little distant, their noses buried deep in their books. It was almost as if they didn’t notice the change in the surroundings. But it was evident that they had lost weight. And it was hard to watch them hunch over and squint to read the small text in their manuscripts in the dim windowlessness of your new home.

If you were more adept in alchemy, you would’ve helped them remodel the home, but permanent shifts to larger items were something that even the best alchemists struggled with. It was also around this time when you realized that even after the argument you had with your parents earlier this year, they really, truly loved you. They wouldn’t be starving themselves, living in a small shack with no lights and bedrooms if they didn’t care. It pained you inside to think that you ever doubted them. How could you ever think that Instructor Shin was your only unconditional support when your parents had splurged the entirety of their finances on you? The guilt ate at you alive, and momentarily, your performance in the academy dropped as you processed your revelation. 

“Something is bothering you,” Instructor Shin said, pulling you aside after the Advanced Alchemy lecture. Her face was stoic, yet her tone was gentle. “Are the soldiers harassing you?”

You shook your head. The soldiers have already moved on from you and Jangmi, having found older and more talented students to prey on.

“You haven’t been paying attention,” Instructor Shin said, but it was without disappointment—as if she was merely stating a fact and delicately probing you to answer why.

“I’m sorry, Instructor Shin,” you said, looking at your shoes.

Instructor Shin gave you a look that you could not discern. “Final examinations are approaching,” she said. “Try your best.”

You nodded, though you were unsure how you were going to concentrate on your studies in the lavish libraries of Botswana Agate when you knew your parents were at home skipping meals to fund your schooling. When you made it out of the classroom, the grand doors shutting behind you, Donghoon was immediately by your side. He must’ve been waiting for you.

“What was that about?” he naturally asked. “Did she tell you off because your rank dropped twenty places?”

You shook your head. “It wasn’t really a telling off…”

Donghoon raised his eyebrows. “Really? Not even a little scolding?”

“No… She seemed worried.”

“Well, did you give her something to worry about?”

How could Donghoon, the son of the rich Head Instructor of Botswana Agate Academy, understand the financial struggles of a meager divinist scholar family? And besides, if you told him that you were poor, he might try to help, and you would never want to burden him in that manner. 

So you shook your head again, forcing yourself to smile. “I think you’re rubbing off on me, Donghoon.”

He snorted in laughter. “Thanks,” he replied, though he didn’t look like he fully believed your lie. “I’m on a mission to become the worst student ever admitted to this damn academy.”

Then three days later, two weeks before final examinations, Donghoon managed to drop out. 

Well, dropping out wouldn’t be quite the right words; he was expelled. It took Donghoon almost one entire school year to realize his horrible marks weren’t enough of an excuse to convince his father to allow him to quit the academy. So he simply took another route and threatened to obliterate the most important artifact in all of Botswana: past Head Instructor Jeon’s alchemy miracle, the wine glass created from nothing. Donghoon was just seconds away from smashing the glass in front of everyone in the dining hall when his father ran in, completely red and breathless and expelled him on the spot. Donghoon left swiftly, having already packed his bags a week prior. It stung just a little that he didn’t really say goodbye, but maybe that was a good thing. You didn’t think you could’ve handled any more sadness. 

Losing a friend took a toll on you, and that, stacked with worrying about your parents, stressed you so much that you missed an entire week of classes. It was only two days before your first final exam when you realized that moping around pitying yourself was something that the hero of your fairytales would never do. How pathetic! What happened to the girl who wanted to make an impact? The little girl who one day wanted to be a hero? Why was she crying over a friend who was now much happier? Why had she stopped studying when her parents sacrificed so much to put her in this academy? 

You realized then and there that doing your utmost best in Botswana would be one of the biggest ways in which you could repay your parents—at least attempt to, for you could never truly repay what they’ve sacrificed for you. And so, in less than 48 hours, you crammed circa’s worth of information into your brain and practiced your alchemy skills until no end, forgoing sleep to do so. You managed to do decently on your exams, though not as amazing as you would’ve done had you never gone through a slump, but the recovery made you proud of yourself. 

And as if there had been no hiccups at all, life ambled on. 

Your third year at Botswana was much busier than the last two. You were juggling more difficult classes, along with two part-time tutoring jobs and another one as Instructor Shin’s Intro to Alchemy teaching assistant. The pay wasn’t outstanding for any of your odd jobs, but it allowed you to alleviate a bit of the financial burden off of your parents’ shoulders. You still managed to find the time to visit Donghoon occasionally, too. He had set up a nice little tea shop in the 8th city and loved to serve you his newest loose-leaf creations. Sometimes, he’d make his assistant watch over his shop and take you shopping around the 8th city—the two of you had never lost your penchant for clothes since Fashion Studies. You rarely bought anything, though you one day dreamed of owning closets filled with an assortment of fancy gowns and elegant petticoats.

You didn’t quite need to purchase clothes, either. You owned two pairs of the academy’s uniform, which was sufficient enough. And fabric was cheap in the 8th city’s mini-markets, so you purchased those in increments and shifted them into your desired designs. The shifts for larger pieces of clothing were only temporary, considering the expanse of the fabric and the complexity of the design, but after some trial and error (and an embarrassing number of sleepless nights), you were able to permanently shift scarves and gloves for your parents just in time for the winter.

Little by little, your alchemy skills grew. 

Color-shifting and size-shifting were now considered elementary in your more advanced courses, and it was now expected of you to be able to shift the colors and patterns of items permanently. Examinations often tested the longevity of your color-shifts, which was at times nerve-wracking because it took days of waiting to see whether your charms worked the way you intended them to. Size-shifting from small to large items, and vice versa, was still a difficult task, and it was tested less often as even more experienced alchemists struggled with turning a pencil into the size of a bed. And masking was not tested at all, for it was out of the scope of what Botswana Agate could teach its young students. But that never stopped you from attempting to master it; you would inevitably learn it in Aven Quartz, anyway—hopefully, you’d have the finances for it.

So you began small, masking quill pens into tulips, masking goblets into bowls. The masking never quite lasted, but the fact that it worked in the first place was a miracle. You sought extra guidance from Instructor Shin, who was more than delighted to help. And by the middle of your third year, you were comfortably able to mask smaller items for an hour (or two if you were lucky). It wasn’t good enough for you, but it was good enough for your instructors, who informed you of your high rankings time and time again during your Consultings.

What always fueled you to push yourself further was the memory of your mothers when you first visited your new home two years ago. Their thin faces, the cramped single room, the missing furniture, the low ceiling, their backs hunched over, them huddling over dim candlelight to read their books… You were determined to get them out of the situation that you had caused them. It felt like it was your duty—a noble thing to do as their only child. And it would require you to be quite an accomplished individual.

Your alchemy skills weren’t the only thing going through rapid changes in your life. There was also Botswana Agate, though you weren’t too sure if these changes were for the better. Head Instructor Kim approved several new courses, if you could even call them that. No true knowledge was being dispensed in those mandatory classes—only military propaganda. A new academy uniform made its debut as well, looking suspiciously similar to the dark attire of the Darlaean soldier uniform: jet-black with silver and purple stitchings and a belt that cinched in the waist. It became difficult to differentiate between student and soldier, and now everyone looked like soot against the pristine, white walls of Botswana Agate. The changes were only slightly irritating, especially when you happened to run into Joonhee in one of those indistinguishable uniforms and you were unsure whether he dropped out of the rigorous training program for adolescents or if he became one of those annoying soldiers patrolling the halls of the academy.

“Hey! Y/N!” he said, a little too amiably for someone who was never too kind to you before. “Hey!” he said again, jogging over to catch up to you. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

You wondered why he was greeting you so warmly. But upon closer look, you realized that he was, indeed, wearing the Darlaean soldier uniform and was probably looking to recruit you for the damn training program once again. You could come up with an excuse and run away or pretend you didn’t even hear him, but that felt a little mean. What if he genuinely wanted to catch up? Maybe he volunteered to be here because he missed Botswana and his friends. But you were never his friend, so why was he seeking you out? Nevertheless, you could never be so rude as to turn a person away.

“Hi, Joonhee!” you said with a smile. Upon closer look, Joonhee seemed a lot older now, although it had only been two years. He was taller, obviously, nearly towering over you in stature, and he had his hair slicked completely back, which accentuated his high cheekbones. He’d lost the chubbiness in his cheeks and had a heavier look in his eyes. But perhaps that was due to the dark circles. You wondered if he spent many sleepless nights in the army. You would imagine so, with all that death and treachery around you, how could you go to bed? “Um, how’s the program going?”

“Really well,” Joonhee answered, shoving his hands in his uniform pockets. “I volunteered to station here for a circa or two just to say hi to everyone before your commencement next year. I’ll be busier then, so might as well visit now. Plus, they don’t let us soldiers in at Aven Quartz just yet.”

“Oh, busier, how?” you asked.

“I did well on my last several showcases,” Joonhee explained. “So they’re going to step up my training. I’ll be fighting in the war by the time I’m 16 or 17.”

“Fighting in the war…” You couldn’t comprehend how casually he said it. In just a few years, Joonhee would be risking his life for Darlae, but you simply couldn’t understand why. He was a perfectly fine student with a bright future in academia ahead of him. Why did he choose to leave? It was a question that you would likely never know the answer to—you simply weren’t close enough to him to ask, and you didn’t see yourself growing closer to him anytime soon.

Joonhee nodded with a solemn look of duty on his face. “Fighting in the war,” he repeated. “Hey, listen. I’ve been trying to find Donghoon around here. You’re still close with him, right?”

Immediately, you tensed up. “Do you… need to tell him something?”

“Yeah. I was going to apologize,” Joonhee said. “I was only 12, and I was a fucking ass to him and a lot of other people. I know better now. Gotta represent my nation and everything.” He said this very proudly, jutting out his chest. 

You’re pleasantly surprised. “Oh, that’s really nice of you, Joonhee. I can relay the message to him since he’s not here anymore. He dropped out. Er, I mean, he was sort of expelled.”

“By his own father?” Joonhee raised his eyebrows.

You nodded. “Yeah, it happened two years ago, a bit after you left, actually. A lot’s changed.”

Joonhee agreed. “A lot has…” There was a bit of an awkward silence before he decided to speak again. “Anyways, are you going to the showcase later this circa? I won’t be one of the judges, but I’ll be somewhere in the audience.”

Was this his smooth way of getting you to think about joining the army?

You shook your head. “They’re not mandatory anymore, and I’ve been busy with classes and my part-time jobs…” It was the truth, although it also sounded a bit like an excuse. But around three circas ago, the showcases were briefly made mandatory, until the fourth years refused to attend classes for two circas. Head Instructor Kim had no choice but to reverse the decision. If he hadn’t, you and the rest of the student body would have been forced to sit through nearly four to six hours of showcasing every circa, which meant watching every single Botswana Agate student put on a display of their skills in front of a row of Darlaean soldier judges, only to be given a numerical score. You would much rather get ahead in your classes or help Instructor Shin grade a few more papers in that time.

“Oh, that’s fine,” Joonhee said. “I wasn’t trying to pressure you or anything. But if you ever have time… You know, just check it out. They’re offering money to high-scorers now.”

“Money?” you asked, though a little too eagerly. Embarrassed, you tried to play off your interest in surprise. “I mean, that’s crazy. I didn’t ever think you guys would offer compensation.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty new,” Joonhee said. “It’s a good amount, too. About 50 jungs.”

Your jaw dropped open. “50 jungs???” That’s enough to fund half a year’s worth of tuition! If you scored well on two showcases, that would mean you would be able to attend your fourth year at Botswana without financial worry. If you scored well on three showcases, you would have a profit! The image of your parents hunched over in their dimly lit home, thin and weary, flashed in your mind. 50 jungs would not be enough to buy a new home, but it would be enough to take care of several hearty meals. Possibly a few bookshelves as well. 

“Yeah,” Joonhee said. “You should think about it. You were always good at alchemy. I bet if you walked in and showed them some of your masking, they’d be sold.”

You weren’t sure how he found out about your masking practices, which meant somehow, the Darlaean soldiers were still watching you, but it didn’t really feel like it mattered in the grand scheme of things. You now had a shot at winning a generous sum of money, which would solve most, if not all of your problems. And besides, your participation in these showcases was not binding whatsoever. You were never going to enlist, no matter how many showcases you happened to attend.

“Thanks,” you told Joonhee. “I’ll… yeah. I’ll definitely keep that in mind.”

“Tuition at Aven Quartz is more expensive, you know,” Joonhee suddenly said, which made you raise your eyebrows. “And they haven’t allowed showcases there yet; possibly never will. Just something to think about.” Before you could even react to his words, Joonhee saluted you. “I’ll see you around, Y/N. Talk to Donghoon for me, will you?” 

He marched away, leaving you slightly conflicted and confused. Just how much did the Darlaean army know about you? You thought you were off their radar, but it seemed that they were quite well-versed with your financial situation, which was strange because you never told anyone about it—not even Donghoon. You weren’t sure if you could trust them, but money was money and you needed it. Your parents would thank you, right? You were only doing it for them.

With the next showcase almost an entire circa away, you had more than enough time to prepare. And you did so in secret, hoping that none of your friends would find out—in fear that they would get the wrong idea. If the Darlaean soldiers knew you were capable of masking, they would naturally want you to showcase it. So you stayed overnight in the academy’s libraries, reading up on the extensive possibilities of masking, which led you down the rabbit hole of alchemy’s origins. Most of it was a reiteration of what you learned in Darlaean History in your first year, but your research enlightened you with some new information as well. The term alchemy used to refer to the transformation of chosen items into gold, which was the reason Darlae became the prosperous nation it was today. Before the war and the blockade, Darlae’s 2nd city was dedicated entirely to alchemists, and they would spend day and night turning things into gold, which would then be sent off to the 1st city to trade with vendors from other nations. Now, the 1st city was a base site for the army, and the 2nd city was where talented alchemists resided to create nasty charms for the war. As Darlae developed, alchemy became a broader type of magic, which encompassed all things transformation, and the true act of alchemy—turning things into gold—grew obsolete as gold became monetarily useless. But true alchemy was a difficult task regardless, as documented in every book you got your hands on, which made you want to achieve it more than ever.

You practiced relentlessly in the privacy of your dorm. When you weren’t studying or working your part-time jobs, you were exploring the works of true alchemy, which was even harder than you knew it would be. There were many failures, and many points where you wanted to give up and showcase something much simpler. But when you reached those low points, you mentally scolded yourself. How could you be so selfish, thinking about giving up and living in such a lavish dorm with your parents having sold their beds and now sleeping on the hardwood floor? You were doing this for them; you only wanted them to live comfortably, as they had done before your rash decision to attend Botswana Agate Academy to escape them. And perhaps this was the impact you were meant to make in the world—to care for your parents when they forgot to care for themselves.

It sounded rather selfless, yet deep down inside, you wondered if saving your parents from their financial burden would finally get them to look your way. If this showcase was going to be a pivotal moment in your complicated relationship with them, you were certainly not going to dawdle. You were going to perform with no regrets.

And so you did.

After nearly a circa’s worth of sleepless nights, of sacrificing a minor bit of study time to practice your showcase, you gave an unforgettable performance. At least, you assumed it was unforgettable. The theatron went completely silent the moment you turned that metal spoon into a golden one, and not a single person in the audience clapped. You stumbled off the stage, your ears ringing and your legs feeling wobbly. It had all happened much too quickly, the judges announcing your name, the shining lights in your face, perspiration dripping from your brow and making your hands all clammy. It was only after you were halfway down the hall from the theatron’s exit that you heard the roar of applause. 

It made you nearly trip over the air.

You had done it.

After so many failed repetitions, you had managed true alchemy! Your ears were still ringing, and the world felt as if it was spinning. Your accomplishment didn’t feel believable. Even up on that stage, you remembered, though it was hazy, that you would’ve been simply content with turning that silver spoon into bronze and hope those in the audience had bad eyesight. 

You had to tell Instructor Shin! She was always the first person you sought when you reached a new alchemy milestone. But… that didn’t feel too right today. If you told her about your success, she would question why you had been dabbling in true alchemy in the first place (since it was such an obscure practice), and unable to lie, you would tell her you participated in one of the showcases. You could imagine the disappointed look on her face. She would lose her trust in you! Another one of her students lost to the Darlaean army! And oh, if she found out you were convinced to participate because Joonhee recommended it… You might as well never return to your assistant job.

But despite your worries, you still somehow ended up in Instructor Shin’s office, where she offered you a nice glass of iced water mixed with fresh mint leaves. 

“A hot day today, isn’t it?” she said.

She must’ve been referring to your hot and sweaty face.

“Y-Yes,” you agreed, though she didn’t know that you had to imagine you were in a hot, pressurized inferno to transform the metal into gold. That, and the fact that you were nervous to talk to her, in fear that she would find out what you had done.

“I’m glad I ran into you in the hallway, Y/N,” Instructor Shin said, sipping on her own chilled glass of water while sitting at the edge of her marble desk. Your heart began to beat faster in your chest. Was she going to ask why she spotted you coming from the direction of the theatron, where the notorious showcases were held? You began to come up with all sorts of excuses in your head, though you knew that your execution would be horrible and you might as well have told the truth from the beginning. But before the worst of your thoughts could consume you, Instructor Shin continued. “I wanted to tell you”—you held your breath—“that I recommend that you apply to Aven Quartz Academy now, one year earlier than normal.” The glass in your hands nearly slipped. “I’ve discussed with your past and current instructors, and we have come to the consensus that Botswana does not have much to offer you anymore, Y/N. I—we— would rather that you move further along in your academic journey than stay here in classes filled with material that is review. I am more than willing to write your recommendation letter.”

Of course you’d love to apply early! That was all you ever wanted—to follow the natural scholar’s pace and study at Aven Quartz. You didn’t need to think much harder. “Oh, thank you!” you exclaimed, unable to contain your excitement. “Instructor Shin, I—”

Tuition at Aven Quartz is more expensive, you know.

You froze momentarily.

And they haven’t allowed showcases there yet; possibly never will.

Oh no. 

Just something to think about.

Thanks to Joonhee, it was something to think about, indeed.

If you applied to Aven and were possibly accepted, that would mean your parents would have to pay the impossible tuition, more than double what they currently paid for Botswana. Your parents would have to sell the shack and live on the streets of the 11th city, foraging or begging for food! And there were only two more circas left until the end of your third year, which meant that even assuming you excelled in the rest of the showcases, you would still barely be able to afford half a year’s worth of schooling at Aven Quartz. 

If what Joonhee told you was true, and Aven would never have army showcases, you would never be able to help your parents pay for your tuition. Even if you stayed one extra year at Botswana, forgoing Instructor Shin’s offer to apply to Aven early, you still wouldn’t save enough money to comfortably pay for schooling at the sister academy.

“You’re in doubt,” Instructor Shin said, her red lips pressing into a thin line.

You hung your head low. “I… I’m just…” You didn’t know how appropriate it was for you to tell Instructor Shin about your financial situation, especially if she wouldn’t be able to change anything about it.

“Talk to me,” Instructor Shin said. “There must be a reason for your hesitation.”

Of course there was a reason. But you had never been one to divulge others of your private matters. 

“Y/N,” Instructor Shin tried again. “I cannot help if you do not tell me what is wrong.”

She did make a fair point. But how could she possibly help? This was between you and your parents! Yet Instructor Shin had helped you along at the academy for nearly three years now. She was practically your mother in Botswana. And what if she could help? What if you were underestimating what she could do?

“My family…” you began, your voice coming out much smaller than expected. You sipped your water, clearing your throat afterward. “My family is tight with money,” you told Instructor Shin. “My parents have been working hard just to pay my tuition here in Botswana, and I… Even I’ve been trying to work odd jobs to help. Aven Quartz is so much more expensive, and Instructor Shin, I… I don’t know what to do.”

For the second time in nearly three years of knowing Instructor Shin, her stoic barriers melted away, and she looked genuinely sorry. “I understand,” she said sympathetically. “Thank you for sharing, Y/N. Though I believe no amount of words and wisdom could convince Head Instructor Kim to lower the tuition at Botswana, I do believe it is a possibility at Aven Quartz. I am in good relations with the head instructor there, so I may pull some strings.” She paused, seemingly thinking of the right thing to say. “It would certainly be a pity for our nation to lose another talented scholar. I’ll do what I can. Meanwhile…” Instructor Shin trailed off, and you could sense that she was heavily debating on whether to say something. Finally, she sighed, tapping her fingers against her desk in deep thought. “But tell me, what do you want to do with your future, Y/N?”

You momentarily panicked. You hadn’t expected her to ask such a broad question! It felt like some sort of test—as if your answer would dictate how much effort she would put into helping you. But then another, possibly worse thought, occurred to you.

What if she knew? What if she knew that you were coming back from a showcase? What if she thought you were considering the army? Was that why she suddenly asked you to apply early to Aven Quartz? Was that why she was willing to go as far as to contact Aven’s Head Instructor to reduce the cost of your tuition? Was that why she was asking what you would like to do with your future?

When you hesitantly looked up at Instructor Shin, her sharp eyes pierced right into yours, and in them, you saw inexplicable omnipotence—as if somehow, she held all the knowledge in the world. For a second, it almost felt as if she was a divinist. But of course she would find out what you’ve done. Her words rang in your ears: it would certainly be a pity for our nation to lose another talented scholar—and her unspoken words as well—to the Darlaean Army. How could you ever think you could hide it from her?

And your future? Nearly three years ago, hell, even as a young child, you had it all figured out. Just like those protagonists in your novels, you were going to make a change, leave a mark somewhere, anywhere. You were supposed to extinguish the flames once the world was doused in them. Only now, that desire to make a change, that desire to be a hero, has manifested in your desire to change your parents’ living situation. 

“It’s all right if you do not know,” Instructor Shin said in your silence. “Not many of your age are sure of their futures.”

“But I think I do know,” you said, though it came out as more of a whisper. “I want to make a change.” You were painfully aware of how naïve that sounded, but it was the truth. This was what has motivated you for as long as you can remember. 

If Instructor Shin found your future aspiration to be callow, she did not show it. Instead, she nodded. “I will support any direction you decide to take,” she told you. “And I trust that you will make good choices.”

Her words echoed in your head even after you left her office, and they followed you as you slipped under your plush covers in your dorm. 

I trust that you will make good choices.

But what if every choice felt like a bad one?

A single day after your showcase, there was a knock on your dorm door. You weren’t exactly expecting anyone, so it was an interesting surprise to see two students—no, two Darlaean soldiers—standing before you. 

“Hello,” you said, unsure of what to expect.

They saluted in response, which puzzled you even more.

“Kwang Y/N,” the shorter one said while saluting, “you received a near-perfect score at your showcase the other day.” 

Your eyes widened. In your own daze at accomplishing what you believed was nearly impossible, you had completely forgotten to stay to hear your score! Were they angry at you for leaving without dismissal? Did they come to scold you and tell you that your showcase was now invalid? “I’m sorry for leaving so abruptly,” you said, but it came out a little desperate. “I-I was nervous and I—”

“No need to apologize,” the taller soldier said, shaking his head. “We would like to let you know that the judges believed your performance was exceptional. And once again, the Darlaean Army would like to extend you an invitation to join our rigorous training program for adolescents.”

Oh.

They weren’t angry at all. 

They only wanted to recruit you… Again.

Your mind began drowning in your options.

Either choice felt like a bad one: applying early to Aven Quartz and putting your parents in deeper debt (despite a reduced tuition) versus staying in Botswana to make more profit from the showcases and still putting your parents in debt. Yet, joining the training program was possibly the worst choice out of them all. How could you make the change you wanted to make when you were dead? What could you possibly get—what would anyone possibly get—out of you being in the army? Nobody in your life—except perhaps Joonhee—would approve. The idea itself was so preposterous that you couldn’t even consider it an option!

You’ve rejected the offer before. You could surely do it again, and this time, it would be easier as there would be no crowd of curious peers staring at you. 

“I’m sorry,” you said with a shake of your head. It felt good to stand your ground. “Unfortunately, I’m not interested.”

“But—” the taller soldier began, yet he stopped himself. “Very well, then,” he said with a sigh. You were partly surprised at how easily he relented. “But our army has never seen a showcase like yours before. Just wanted to let you know.”

The two soldiers left you in peace, which was what you wanted since you opened your door and saw them. You thought that was a done deal, and you could go on your merry way to figuring out what the hell you were going to do with the two options you had left. But it turned out that you weren’t completely off the Darlaean Army’s radar. Exactly 24 hours after your encounter with the soldiers, there was that same knock on your door. 

Were they back to convince you to join? Were they going to threaten to not give you the money from your showcase? 

You were slightly nervous but a little irritated too. Why couldn’t they respect your decision? It wasn’t like you—a single 14-year-old—could really make a difference in the entire Darlaean army, so why were they being so persistent? Was it due to ego? Did they believe that no one could possibly resist an invitation to fight for Darlae? 

The thought increased your irritation, and you swung your door wide open, ready to somewhat politely give these damn soldiers a piece of your mind. But your plans dissipated when you made eye contact with a serious-looking man outside your door. He was older than any soldier you’ve seen so far and was tall and slender, with a high nose, downturned lips and glinting eyes that seemed to stare into your soul. His army uniform was uniquely adorned with silver shoulder epaulets, and a beautiful round opal decorated his belt buckle. The man exuded a quiet confidence, and that, coupled with the fact that his uniform looked high-ranking, suddenly made your brain turn to mush.

“Hello,” he said, his voice much deeper than what you expected. 

You stared.

Then, realizing you were being rude, you squeaked a delayed, “H-Hello.”

“I am Lieutenant General Son,” the man introduced himself. “Pleased to meet you, Y/N.”

You weren’t very familiar with army rankings, but his title contained the word General, which was enough to make you realize you were face-to-face with a very powerful individual. Your palms began to accumulate sweat, and you nervously fiddled with your trinket behind your ear. “N-Nice to meet you too. Sir,” you added in haste. Your eyes glanced behind the man and to the hallway, hoping that none of your peers happened to walk past in fear of rumors spreading that you were beginning to consider joining the Darlaean Army. You weren’t sure if you should invite the man into your dorm; that felt a little strange, for he was a complete stranger. It was also exceedingly peculiar that the Lieutenant General of the Darlaean Army personally sought you out. You decided to keep the conversation where it started, the door frame creating a border between you and the army official.

“I was told you have now twice refused to be a part of our training program for adolescents,” the Lieutenant General said. “Why is that?”

Your eyes widened. “Oh, I-I… Sir, I…” How could you respectfully tell him that you want nothing to do with the army?

“Your parents are divinist scholars as I understand,” the Lieutenant General continued, saving you from responding to his own question. “I suspect you’ve been conditioned to think quite poorly of the army.”

You stuttered, unsure whether to accept or deny his statement.

“And that is fine,” the Lieutenant General said. “I do not care what the scholars think of us. A nation cannot develop properly amidst a war. I’m sure you already know. Darlae may be rich in resources, but our scholars’ research will never see the light of day until the blockade is over and our 1st city is restored.” His eyes pierced into yours. “If you choose the army, Darlae will thrive from your contributions and your accomplishments will be tangible.”

Of course he came here to sell the army to you. That much was expected. What was unexpected, however, was the fact that he brought up quite a good point. It was true that scholars’ research was not the nation’s priority. Your work—if you did become an alchemist scholar—would be buried amongst the hundreds of other research manuscripts until the war was over. But then again, there also wasn’t much longevity in becoming a soldier, and you wanted accomplishments that would last. If you died on the battlefield, the only contribution you’d make would be becoming fertilizer for the soil. It was an overwhelmingly dark thought—that Donghoon would often joke about—but there was truth in it. You’d rather die knowing your work could be uncovered someday, instead of being a casualty count in a textbook decades later.

The Lieutenant General nodded in your silence. “I will save my compliments and further persuasion. I’m sure you’ve heard enough. Allow yourself time to ponder. I want an answer in three days.”

With that, he handed you a crisp envelope from inside his uniform jacket, and before you could ask what it was, he turned and walked away. You stared at the back of his head, processing the encounter in your mind. It didn’t seem like he was trying too hard to convince you to join the army—if that was his plan. He had left relatively quickly too. But perhaps he was busy. If he had given you the opportunity, you would’ve refused him on the spot. Now you had three days to come up with a kind way to reject the offer.

Sighing, you closed the door, sliding up against it and staring at the thin envelope in your hands. It was shut with a dark violet wax seal with the royal emblem stamped on it. It was no secret that the army was heavily funded by the royal family, but you never thought they’d make it so obvious. Carefully, you tore the seal open, half-expecting to see the money you won from the showcase. But instead, you found a single sheet of creamy paper and on it were a few words handwritten in black ink. You frowned. What had to be written that could not be said out loud?

Y/N,

A payment of five thousand jungs and ownership of a new home in the 12th city will be contingent upon your agreement to continue with the program. Consider it wisely.

Lieutenant General.

Your jaw dropped open. 

Five thousand jungs was more than enough to buy a new home from your parents. But they were offering a new home for you regardless! And in the 12th city! This was everything your parents had ever wanted. One could only be invited to live in the 12th city, and this was the invitation! Your parents could officially become royal divinists. Their lifelong dream would come true!

But… at what expense? This was obviously a bribe, which you were unaware that the Darlaean Army was capable of doing, for you’ve never heard of a story like this. Perhaps they were better at hiding things than you thought. Still, you didn’t understand. You’ve rejected them twice before. Why would they come back to you a third time? Was your showcase truly that remarkable? You would be but one single soldier! They probably sacrificed hundreds of soldiers per week, so why did it matter that you joined their training program? Wouldn’t you simply be a casualty to them sooner or later? A number reported to the higher-ups? 

Accepting the offer would mean doing away with all of your parents’ problems. It would also mean creating new problems for yourself. You would have to give up becoming an alchemist scholar. You’d have to give up Aven Quartz. Hell, you could kiss your friends goodbye; no sane Botswana student would accept the fact that you’d seriously consider joining the army. And though Instructor Shin told you that she would trust any decision you were to make, she would still be disappointed. 

You were in desperate need of brutal wisdom, to help you snap out of delusion—if you were in it—and there was only one person who you knew you could count on.

“Y/N!” Donghoon greeted you as soon as you stepped into his tea shop. He rolled down his sleeves and jogged toward you with a grin on his face. “Fancy seeing you here! It’s been an entire circa!”

He was right. The last time you saw Donghoon, it had been to tell him Joonhee’s message, and he had simply shrugged it off, saying he never cared too much about Joonhee anyway. 

“Hey!” you smiled, though it was a little hard to with so much on your mind. “Is this a good time?”

“Did something happen?” Donghoon asked, raising his eyebrows. He knew you too well.

“Um… kind of,” you replied.

“Let’s hear it, then,” Donghoon said. He pulled up an extra wooden stool to the coffee table and sat down, gesturing you to do the same across from him. So you did, unsure of how you should start your story at all. “Whatever it is, it’s giving you frown lines,” Donghoon snorted. “Spit it out. You know I won’t judge.”

Somehow, you felt like he would. 

“It’s about the army,” you said.

Donghoon sighed. “Those bastards are still harassing you? Here, I’ll help you come up with effective ways to make them regret ever messing with y—”

“N-No,” you said, shaking your head. “It’s… Well, you know about the training program, right? The one they wanted me to join back since you were still in school.”

“Yeah…” Donghoon said, cocking his head. You could tell he was unsure where you were going with this. It made you want to tread lighter than before.

“Um… I…”

“You’re not actually thinking of doing it, are you?” Donghoon accused. His tone was sharp, and you were immediately struggling to defend yourself.

“N-No! I’m… But I’m just… I don’t know, I feel like I should consider the option at least.”

“Why?!”

You struggled to remain calm. “They’re offering me a lot of money. And a home in the 12th city.”

“All for you?” Donghoon frowned. “They told you that they’ll give you all that if you join?”

You nodded, pulling out the letter for proof.

Donghoon glanced at the words on the cream paper and shook his head. “You can’t do it, Y/N. You can’t become one of those bastards. Your life will be filled with blood and gore and death! Do you really want someone else’s guts on your hands?”

Even the thought made you want to hurl. “Of course I don’t! But…”

“This can’t possibly be about your parents, Y/N. They’re shit people!”

“They’re not!” You didn’t mean to yell, but it hurt to think that someone who had such a horrible father still believed your parents were just as bad. “They’re just busy!”

“That excuse works from time to time. Not every year since you were born!” Donghoon exclaimed. “They’re trying to bribe you, Y/N. Don’t you get it? You’re probably the most talented scholar they’ve ever seen. Why else would the fucking Lieutenant General come to see you himself? But you can’t bargain with your own life to make your parents happy! Let’s face it, Y/N, what have they done to deserve it?”

Anger flashed through you. “They’ve been living in a shack for two years to pay for my tuition!” You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. “I’m sorry for yelling, but they care more than they let on, Donghoon.”

“So you’re just going to waste your talents in the army so you can repay your parents?”

“I’ll never be able to repay them. I was off frolicking in the fancy halls of Botswana while they were starving and sleeping on hardwood floors, Donghoon.”

“I don’t get it.” He shook his head. “You could’ve asked me for help. I can still give you the money you need.”

“You know I hate being a burden.”

He sighed. “I know… But don’t do it. You’ll figure out a way. Do you want to work part-time at my tea shop? The pay’ll be amazing.”

“Donghoon, I just need advice. Is it really such a bad idea? Maybe… I don’t know, maybe I’ll be able to make an actual change if I’m in the army. Even if I did become an alchemist scholar one day, my work would probably be buried because of the war.” You didn’t know why you were starting to defend the idea of joining the army. It felt wrong, especially to do in front of Donghoon.

“Of course it’s a bad idea,” he said as expected. “It’s a fucking horrible idea, that’s what it is. They’re going to turn you into a killing machine. They’re going to make sure violence is ingrained in your body. You won’t ever be the same again. They’ll have you become their puppet! You’ll fall for their propaganda! They’ll have you thinking that the Solarians are the scum of the earth!”

“But is that true?” you asked.

“Why the hell are you asking if it’s true, Y/N?” Donghoon said, exasperated. “How can you question common sense? Have you actually fallen for their propaganda already? How long have you been considering joining their training program?”

It hurt that he was accusing you of these things, and the pain caused you to react before you could think. “You don’t understand how it feels to not have money! You don’t understand how humiliating it is to even think about asking others for help. You don’t even understand the stress I’ve gone through just to keep myself in school. You wouldn’t get it at all because you’re fucking rich and you dropped out!” As soon as those words left your mouth, you regretted it. “Donghoon, wait. I didn’t mean—”

“Go fucking join the army, then.”

“W-What?”

“If money is more important to you, then go throw away your dignity. I don’t care. Go be like Joonhee and waste your talent.”

“Donghoon…”

“Maybe you’ll become the General of the fucking Army one day.”

“It’s not money that’s more important… This is about my parents.”

“You don’t owe them anything.”

“How can I not owe them anything?” you said. “Look, Donghoon, I’m not saying I’m going to join the army. I just… It’s a lot of money. That plus the new home in the 12th city… And I’ll be learning alchemy during that training program, but I’m being paid to do it! You have to understand that logically, all signs point to me at least contemplating the offer.”

Donghoon shook his head. “It already sounds like you know what you want to decide.”

“No, I—”

He abruptly stood up, cutting you off. “I would never even consider accepting an offer like this. But maybe it’s meant to be. You’ve always liked carrying your trinket around.” He glanced at the baby blue feather pinned to your hair. “If you’re going to be directly involved in the perpetual circle of violence between the two nations, then we should go our separate ways.”

Your heart sank. “Donghoon…”

“I don’t serve soldiers in my tea shop,” he said. “You can leave.”

Tears began to well up in your eyes. “I never said I was going to do it…”

He gave you a look that questioned your words.

You shakily stood up, lingering at the coffee table, unsure if you should really leave. If you went now, you would most likely never come back again. Donghoon has never tolerated anything involving the war; as soon as you even so much considered the idea, he’d already pulled away. But Donghoon seemed content with breaking up your friendship as he had already rolled up his sleeves and had begun working behind the counter again. It was as if the two of you hadn’t had a conversation at all.

Confused and hurt, you slowly stepped out of the tea shop, vision a little blurry from your tears. The more you thought about your lost relationship with Donghoon, the faster you began to walk, hoping to leave the sadness behind you. Before you knew it, you were running, though you could barely see ahead of you. Your quill trinket threatened to fall out of your hair, so you ripped it out and held it in your hands, not caring in the slightest that you were wrinkling the feather.

A sob left your mouth as you sprinted across Botswana’s empty corridors. Maybe you shouldn’t have yelled at him. Maybe you should’ve thought before reacting. Maybe you should go back and apologize. But your legs refused to stop, and you continued to run—though you didn’t know where—until you ran into somebody, nearly losing your grip on your trinket. If they hadn’t grabbed your arm with impressive reflexes, you would’ve tumbled back. When you looked up, hastily wiping your tears away with your uniform sleeve, you saw Joonhee. 

He frowned, letting your arm go once you regained your balance. You were too out of breath to apologize. “Are you okay?” he asked.

All you could do was shake your head.

He didn’t ask any more questions. Instead, he offered you some water and a handkerchief, which you gladly accepted. By the time you finally calmed down, you and he were sitting at the edge of Botswana Agate’s marble fountain—the same one that was trashed in protest when Head Instructor Kim announced the curriculum changes (that were really just army propaganda). Your trinket, though a little wrinkled and now its original shade of ugly gray, was safely pinned back behind your ear again. Joonhee sat silently, waiting for you to speak, though he most likely had hundreds of other tasks to attend to. Starting to feel a little guilty that he was wasting his time in silence with you, you blurted out a question that happened to cross your mind at the moment.

“Why do you want to fight in the war?” 

Joonhee turned to you, eyebrows raised. “That’s a loaded question. Have you got the time?”

You nodded. “Three days, in fact.”

He looked confused, but he didn’t question it. “I mean, I hate the Solarians, so naturally, I’d want to… you know, do away with them, I guess. But it’s a lot more than that, too. As a soldier-in-training, I get to represent Darlae. I get to fight for our beliefs and our pride, and I would die trying. You know, besides the 10th and 11th cities, people are actually proud to be Darlaeans. I think it’s because they don’t have their damn noses stuck in books all the time. They live in reality. They right the wrongs and take action when needed. That’s how I see it. I’d rather be out there fighting for my nation than fester in research that’ll be forgotten about when I’m dead.”

Death… You felt too young to be contemplating it. Sometimes it didn’t even feel real that you could simply cease to exist. The thought was terrifying, and you didn’t know how Joonhee was so content with it.

“But won’t you be forgotten about if you die on the battlefield?”

Joonhee thought for a moment. “Have you ever read The Wisdom Tree?”

Though you were confused why he offered such a topic change, you nodded. “I think I read it once when I was young, but it was a little too dark for me.” 

“Well, I grew up with that story,” Joonhee explained. “The main character sacrifices his life for someone he loves, yet he is never forgotten. His lover makes sure his name is never lost in history. Plants a sentient tree in his honor, and the townspeople forever seek advice from that tree when faced with difficult decisions. Hence, the title. But yeah. I trust my comrades to carry on my legacy if I die, and they trust me to do the same. You can die and still be a hero,” he said. “I’m willing to put my life on the line for a chance at a warless Darlae. Shouldn’t that be our priority? Ending the war? 

“You know, when the blockade’s over, I want to explore the world. See what else is out there. Think of all of the books of different cultures and languages that I would find. I could go back to learning. Real learning. Not being cooped up and being fed outdated information because the nation doesn’t have enough funding for the academies. Who knows? Maybe one day I’ll even publish a book of my own.” He turned to you, an amused look on his face. “Shocked?”

Of course you were shocked. You always assumed he volunteered for the sake of fighting, though you realized now it had been a horrible misconception. It was hard to believe that Joonhee’s the same age as you (a few circas older, though) when in fact he was starting to sound like the damn Wisdom Tree himself. You wondered if he gained this wisdom in the army. 

You can die and still be a hero.

Why did you never consider this? What was this odd comfort that washed over you?

Has the scholar community been wrong all along? Maybe soldiers didn’t crave violence. Maybe they craved to be heroes. And what was so wrong with that? Wasn’t that who you wanted to be?

“People die out there,” Joonhee said. “We all know that. But it’s never a waste. No one dies without purpose. Every soldier who falls on the battlefield brings us one step closer to winning the war.”

“You’re not afraid?” you asked.

“Afraid of dying?” Joonhee shrugged. “Not really. But maybe my sentiments will change when I go to battle in a few years. I’m pretty stubborn, though. I think I’ll survive.” He turned to you with no particular expression on his face. “You’ve got three days, huh?” he said. “I’d say let everything sink in. You’re smart. You’ll make the right decision in the end.”

What do you want to do with your future?

Come to think of it, you’ve never really had a clear dream. It was always about being a good person—someone undeniably altruistic and kind, who helped anyone in need, like the heroes you grew up with. For years you believed that to be a hero, you were required to be present for whatever big change you ignited. To be a hero, you believed that you were guaranteed to survive. 

But that didn’t have to be the case. 

You can die and still be a hero.

Of course death was still an opaque subject, but this realization gave you another option. If you were really going to make a difference in the world, if you were really to become some sort of hero, you were going to have to make sacrifices: first for your parents, then for the future people of Darlae—for the scholars who dreamed of a real education, for those who wanted to explore the world, for those who wanted a peaceful kingdom. If those sacrifices led to your demise… Well, it didn’t seem like the end of the world anymore. I’m willing to put my life on the line for a chance at a warless Darlae.

What brave words. You wished you could say the same thing with even half of Joonhee’s confidence. The truth was, you were still terrified. The war always felt like it was an untouchable force, something that no matter what you did, would never go away. But things were different now. You could make a difference. Every soldier who falls on the battlefield brings us one step closer to winning the war. Those words stirred something inside of you. 

Perhaps it was a sense of responsibility, a sense of duty. A real hero would die trying to fight for what would help their loved ones. A real hero wouldn’t care if their fight ended in death, as long as something was changed. A real hero would be selfless and brave and kind.

Gone was your prejudice against those who volunteered for the army. They were human too, not just violent people who joined for a taste of blood. They were aspiring heroes. Just like you. They wanted to right the wrongs, even if they ended up dead because they trusted their comrades to carry on their lives. It was so valiant, such a grand gesture that it made your heart beat faster thinking about it.

And the more you thought, the clearer your future became.

It was obvious the choice you had to make.

So when the Lieutenant General came knocking on your door three days later, you were prepared. There was not a waver in your voice, not a single doubt when you uttered the words:

“Yes, sir. I accept.”

You didn’t know what to expect as a reaction, but you should’ve known it wouldn’t be very reactive. The Lieutenant General only nodded, his expression unreadable. “Welcome to the Darlaean Army, cadet.” His dark eyes glinted. “You will begin in one week.”

In a singular week?

That didn’t leave much time.

You only hoped your parents wouldn’t be too angry.

“I believe we’ll be reacquainted on the training grounds,” the Lieutenant General said. “When that time comes, cadet, I expect you to salute when you see me.”

You nodded, standing up straight and half-ready to salute him now. “Yes, sir!”

You nervously entered your single-room home in the 11th city. Your parents were sitting in the dark, hunched over their books again, right where you had left them circas ago. You felt a little sick. If they reacted the way Donghoon did, you wouldn’t know what to do with yourself. 

“Mother? Ma?”

Your parents turned around, their hollow faces half-obscured by the darkness of the room. Ma was the first to speak. “Welcome back, sweetheart!”

“Did we miss the end of the school year?” Mother asked, setting down her book and blinking heavily as if the light that streamed in when you opened the door blinded her. 

“No, I came back on my own accord,” you said. “Actually, I, um…” Already, things weren’t going the way you imagined. You struggled to find the right words. “There was a showcase at Botswana several days ago,” you began carefully.

“Showcases are military propaganda, Y/N,” Mother said, standing up with wobbly legs. Her back never stood straight and she stared at you behind full eyes. “I hope you didn’t participate.”

You gulped. “T-They were offering 50 jungs for the best performance.”

That seemed to put Ma out of her weary trance. “They were? Oh, honey, did you do it?” There was a hopeful lilt to her voice, and you hung onto it, in hopes that they would forgive you for making a choice without their input.

“Of course, Ma. I, well, they liked my performance so much that they um, once again offered me a spot in their training program for adolescents.” The information spills out of you quickly, before your parents can even react: “They’ll be paying us five thousand jungs and have already invited us to live in the 12th city.”

“Five thousand?!—”

“Live in the 12th city?!”

Mother shakes her head. “Y/N, why would they offer you so much?”

Even you were unsure of the exact reason. 

There was a bit of silence. It seemed like neither of your parents knew what to say.

Finally, after what seemed like a very long time, Mother spoke. “Is this… Is this what you want, Y/N?”

“Yes, honey, do you really want to become a soldier one day?” Ma chimed in.

They didn’t seem angry or upset, just puzzled. 

“I do,” you said. “I really do.”

“Well…?” Ma looked over at Mother, who had harsh frown lines all over her forehead. 

“You’ve already accepted, haven’t you?” Mother asked.

You began to play with your trinket in your hair. “I-I did… Are you mad?”

“No,” Mother said. “Only surprised.”

“You’d finally be appointed as royal divinists,” you told your parents, worried that they were still wary of your decision. “And we’d get to move out of this home and into a much nicer one in the 12th!”

“Yes…” Ma said. 

Your parents looked at each other, and maybe it was because you weren’t very close to them, but you couldn’t discern what they were wordlessly saying. You weren’t a divinist, after all.

If they suspected that you only accepted the offer for their sake, they didn’t make it obvious. They never even asked what you performed for your showcase. Didn’t even ask why you had such a sudden change of heart. Instead, they rather quickly packed up the little belongings that they had and moved one city over to the castle grounds—as if they couldn’t wait to get out of the 11th city. Soon after, your parents became appointed as royal divinists, their lifelong dream coming true, and you became a young soldier-in-training, your dream of attending Aven Quartz long forgotten.

Everybody at Botswana was surprised when you left. Some even questioned the sanity of your parents, for what kind of scholars would selfishly allow their only child to die in the war so that they could work for the royal family? What kind of pathetic parents would use their children to achieve their dreams? 

But your parents never had to hear these talks, and neither did you after a while. Soon, you and your parents settled into your new, magnificent home in the 12th city. The ceiling was unreachable, mahogany bookshelves towering over the other delicately-crafted furniture. Even the emerald green carpet was back, though it wasn’t the same one you grew up with. But the countless windows, reading nooks and candles brought you nostalgia, and you cherished the homely feeling along with your parents, who gained back the weight that they lost and looked much happier than before.

By the time you left for the castle grounds, it felt as if you’d lived in the 12th city all of your life—as if you left behind all of the bitter feelings towards the army in the 11th, where the scholars sat, forever reading their books and doing nothing about anything. 

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⨰ a/n: behold the LONGEST lod chapter yet!! it took me over three months to write and edit :') hopefully you enjoyed this quick look at her early life! don't worry, jungkook will show up soon

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