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swordgrace · 3 months

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𝐀𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐘.

༺ aemond targaryen x fem!reader.

SYNOPSIS: in the aftermath of rook’s rest, you seek aemond out to inquire about his wellbeing. instead, you find him somewhere else — somewhere unexpected. (set after S2 EP4).

༺ FORMAT: one-shot — not requested.

༺ WORD COUNT: 5.2K.

༺ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni) , spoilers for s2 ep4, public sex / risk of getting caught, knifeplay, imbalance of power, rough sex, darkish!aemond, dom!aemond, p in v sex (unprotected), oral (f!receiving), fingering, brief tiddy sucking, groping, biting / marking, hair pulling, choking, fucking right in front of the iron throne, inaccurate high valyrian, brief dirty talk, lots of aemond’s inner thoughts, breeding kink if you squint, aemond is extremely possessive of the reader to an unhealthy degree.

༺ AUTHOR’S NOTE: to preface, I am working on requests, this just happened to make its way out of my brain before anything else did. This was inspired by the single shot of Aemond standing in front of the Iron Throne in the S2 EP5 trailer, you can tell how desperate I got as soon as I saw it. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy! There will be a Jace fic dropping tomorrow, too! ❤️

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐑𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐄 — a seat of power constructed by Aegon the Conqueror in the aftermath of a bloodied war, forged from thousands of surrendered swords.

In the days of Aegon the Conqueror, it was said that the Throne was sometimes too high to climb, a jagged labyrinth of blades melded by dragon’s fire, a throne fit for any ruler. Men impaled themselves upon one another’s blades for it, turned against one another, endless betrayals and treacheries ensued all for the sake of the endgame, to see themselves upon the Throne.

Brother turned against brother — you didn’t expect anything less from Aemond, whose desire to exact revenge boiled just beneath the surface. The Battle at Rook’s Rest had proved a slaughter on all fronts, between the decimation of both Cole’s armies and the castle they laid siege upon, to the death of the Princess Rhaenys and her dragon, Melys.

Whispers spread through the Red Keep in regards to King Aegon’s condition, bones crushed beneath the weight of Sunfyre, who plummeted from the skies in a ball of fire. His flesh was scorched, half of his body melded to the Valyrian Steel armor he wore, burnt beyond recognition.

If they were to be believed, King Aegon was gravely wounded — and if a fatality ensued, who would then bear the mantle of King?

A restless dusk gripped King’s Landing as the surviving soldiers from Cole’s armies arrived at the city gates, King Aegon amongst the wounded. In what you considered to be a mass panic and hysteria, Maesters rushed to diligently attend to their King, who seemed to be meeting a simmering grave inside of his armor — it would be his tomb if they weren’t careful.

Merely a handmaiden and servant to nobility, the antics of your masters didn’t interest you — you were wholly preoccupied with your own survival and self-preservation, amongst other things. It was said that Aemond and Vhagar had swarmed the battlefield and come to King Aegon’s defense, but by the time they had, Aegon had been swallowed by dragonfire.

Part of you had difficulty believing that Aemond truly attempted to save his elder brother, given Aemond’s embittered sentiments. Your relationship with the Prince had transcended all bonds of propriety — and if anyone were to find out, they would likely have your head for sullying his virtue.

Nevertheless, as chaos swarmed around you, you knew exactly who to seek out. Queen Alicent had little desire to be hounded by handmaidens while her eldest son struggled to hang onto his own life, something you could understand. Instead, you made for Aemond’s chambers, the route embedded into your mind.

You sought him — all of him. His lilac hue, a maelstrom of forlorn emotions, and his silvery tresses, like cascading silk, embedded themselves into your mind. His cunning countenance and beguiled expression were like hot-iron brands cast onto your thoughts, tormenting you with each waking moment.

As you stepped closer to the Throne Room, no longer guarded by Kingsguard, you saw the great door ajar — no King atop the throne. You wondered if he would live, Aegon — a drunken, broken man who preferred his cups and whores over ruling — or if he would perish.

You knew who would sit the Iron Throne, should Aegon fall.

A heavy darkness had befallen the throne room, fitting for the many tragedies, like the gloom of a shadow haunting all who dared to enter. Curiosity gripped you as you stepped inside, a place well above your station, yet you wondered if there was anyone inside.

The doors remained shut, save for the one you slipped through, the gap slim. Flickering braziers provided some illumination to such a grandeur hall, but it seemed so dour and lifeless without the presence of the day, without subjects fluttering in and out. Instead, it provided an ominous sense of dread, as if luring those inside with dark omens and false promises.

A familiar crown of silvery tresses stood at the very center, before the throne — he didn’t need to turn around for you to know who it was. He seemed entirely unscathed by the battle at Rook’s Rest, hands carefully folded behind his back, posture poised and dignified.

Aegon’s dagger flashed within his right hand, clutched tightly at his side. You wondered how he had acquired the blade so swiftly after a tragedy — but you knew. You had always known of Aemond’s nature, of his restrained resentment towards his brother, the King of the Seven Kingdoms.

“Aemond.” Your voice reverberated throughout the throne room, carrying a fair distance as you closed the door behind you. The studded mahogany groaned in protest, yet bent to your will as it closed with a noisy thud. Admittedly, you were surprised to see him here, and not in the comfort of his chambers.

He didn’t move, rigid and still as you quietly approached, dresses sweeping across the smooth stone beneath you. His violet hues remained transfixed upon the Iron Throne, a throne that would soon be his, if fate favored him. So many swords, so much strife and conflict that forged such a chair — so much bloodshed.

Aemond often wondered what the weight of the crown would feel like upon his brow — and even then, he knew he would wear it better than Aegon ever could. He had stood by the wayside for far too long, learned in his studies and a talented swordsman, wondering if it would all have some reward, some payoff.

Now, his opportunity was swiftly approaching.

Whatever anger he’d often kept leashed, it had struck out, like the bite of a poisonous viper, sinking into its prey with all its bitter viciousness. It was the same tempestuous rage that had lashed at Lucerys Velaryon, and now it had struck his brother, Aegon the Magnanimous.

A stupid sobriquet for a stupid man — a drunken fool. Aemond would simply pass it off as an unfortunate accident, with Aegon carelessly stepping into the line of fire whilst tangling with the Queen Who Never Was. Swift decisions had to be made on his part, his brother a victim of such action.

Any silver-tongued words that would placate his Mother, he was prepared to let them fly. Aemond knew enough to know that the consequences would be slim, and those of true action and cruel intentions would take Aegon’s place — men like himself.

Soft footfalls fell across black stone, and you called his name again, like a siren’s song luring the sailor into deeper waters. “Aemond.” It was saccharine, dripping with genuine warmth that the Prince was simply unaccustomed to.

The unexpected lull of your voice broke his fixation, and he looked to you with a gaze full of desire. It was a farcry from the frustrated, despondent man you’d encountered days prior following the incident at the brothel. There was a newfound fire within his eyes, a confidence restored — a sense of triumph.

Admittedly, you were rather perplexed by this invigorated side to Aemond — that wild gleam within his lilac eye only seemed to grow in intensity as you approached him. “I heard the news of what happened to your brother,” You began, pondering his reaction. “You have my deepest sympathies.”

The admiration he had for you only seemed to blossom, knowing that you were simply keeping up appearances for his sake. Aemond’s mouth tilted into the ghost of a smirk, feigning melancholy despite the truth of his own actions. “It was a horrible thing, what happened to the King,” He uttered, glancing toward the throne. “I wish for his swift recovery.”

A facade was a mere understatement — you could almost taste the smug bemusement that rested within Aemond’s tone. The slight quirk of his mouth, the manner in which he spoke — his sympathies for Aegon were nonexistent.

“As any good brother would.” You replied, stepping closer until you stood before the Iron Throne, gaze falling upon the thousands of swords swarming the seat, blades of many shapes and sizes. You wondered about the people behind each sword — who swung it, what their lives must’ve been like.

A brief hum escaped Aemond, who observed you hawkishly as you approached, violet hue greedily drinking you in as he had many times before. You had stood so faithfully by his side, never admonished him for the brash actions taken against his family, never deemed him pathetic for what happened at the brothel.

He cared little for your station, little for your status as a lowborn — if he sat the Iron Throne, he could have whatever he wanted. It didn’t matter if you were a commoner, Aemond could envision you as his wife, a Queen — no longer bowing to the whims of greater men and women who cared little for you.

“Did my Mother dismiss you this evening?” Aemond questioned, digits tense around the pommel of Aegon’s knife — now his. Seeing as he was no longer fit to carry the weapon, it was only just that it pass to his brother, his next of kin.

“She did,” A gentle exhale escaped you, one that allowed you to maintain your composure. Being in Aemond’s presence seemed to make you dizzy with desire with each passing moment — not a new sentiment, but an intoxicating one. “I was coming to find you, to see if you were well after the battle.”

Shamelessly, Aemond became quite aroused at the thought of you wandering about the Red Keep with the single-minded desire to see him. His blood ran hot after the battle — the surge of adrenaline did not lessen in your presence.

His jaw tensed slightly as he appraised you, taking a step closer, brazenly closing the distance between you both. He could smell your perfume, the warm bouquet of flowers and a touch of honey. “How thoughtful.” His voice dropped to a low purr, dripping with the first inklings of lust.

Your breath hitched, words turning to ash upon your tongue as your fingers curled into your dress. Aemond enticed you in ways that no man had before — and he saw you, a woman beneath the gowns of a servant. The hammering of your heart within your chest had stirred something powerful — your want for him consumed you like a tidal wave.

Before you could utter his name, he descended like a starving wolf to kiss you, open-mouthed and bleeding lust. You shivered, wanting to coax him into returning to his chambers before things became heated. His hand dropped to seize your hip, hauling you closer to him until no space was left between your bodies.

You reciprocated his kiss, able to hear a faint growl of approval building up within his throat. It was fiery and hot, with little concern of who might see you. Aemond was growing emboldened, brazen knowing the power he now held within his grasp.

“We should return to your quarters,” You whispered, a strained whimper tearing past your lips as Aemond kissed your jaw, sucking at the flesh of your neck. “Aemond, we can’t — not here.” Your breathy pleas fell upon deaf ears — what better place to claim you than before his new throne?

“We can,” Aemond murmured, pushing your tresses aside as he claimed your throat, laying waste to your flesh in his rabid kisses and hungry bites. “The rest of the Keep is preoccupied.” His reassurance was threadbare at best, but you were beginning to slip off of the deep end, fingers clawing at his tunic.

“What if someone sees?” Fear trickled into your voice, a subtle fright that Aemond found to be enticing. You worried for your own skin — he could understand that. A moan escaped you as Aemond nipped at your jugular, squeezing at your hips.

You failed to comprehend that he would protect you, shield you if needed. He did not need to justify his obsession for you, just as Aegon never offered any justification for his nightly whore hunts. Aemond seemed quick to soothe your worry, hand clasping at the nape of your neck.

“Then I will have their head,” His delectable purr dropped an octave, scratching the itch within your head. “You needn’t worry, ñuha dōna. I can do whatever I wish.” Aemond assured you, a great fire burning within his lilac hue. The leather of his eyepatch concealed the listless sapphire beneath.

He only needed to serve himself — his family cared little for him, and the world was often against him. He looked forward to facing Daemon whenever the time came, should he be bold enough to challenge him. Aemond dismissed it all — Aegon, his mother, Criston Cole — the only thing that mattered were the both of you.

Aemond’s streak of possessiveness had grown into something uncontrollable, a festering desire to keep you close, spiraling into obsession. You were many things to him, many things he coveted for himself.

After a moment of hesitation, you decided to make things tempting for Aemond, loosening the bodice of your dress. His breath hitched, the noise subtle if one wasn’t observant enough. He seized the back of your head once more, hungrily pressing his lips to yours, consuming you in another heated kiss.

A dour portrait of dusk hovers around the Red Keep, its shadowy tendrils slinking into the throne room. Only moonlight and dying braziers are your guide, and Aemond is at his prettiest whenever he’s touched by the silvery rays. It strikes his narrow visage, paints his silky tresses in pale light.

He is closer to a god now than he is a man — fortunately, you were willing to return to religion if it meant that Aemond was who you worshiped. As much as you liked to believe it was the foundation of your relationship, he thought of it alternatively, the roles reversed.

Your digits slip beneath the overcoat he wore, marred by speckled dirt and brimstone. His broad, sinewy shoulders are concealed by his tunic, and he seems vastly overdressed compared to you, still wearing your servant’s clothes. Aemond had gotten you a dress to wear with him before — you never wore it otherwise.

There is a certain intensity in the way he kisses you, as if each embrace might be your last. In the aftermath of a battle, you understand such sentiments, given the fate of the King and the Princess Rhaenys.

A growl reverberates within the depths of his throat as he pries his mouth away from you, gesturing toward the flight of obsidian steps that ascend toward the Iron Throne. “There,” He uttered, more of a command than a suggestion. “Lay down.”

A shudder rolls down the length of your spine, followed by an onslaught of goosebumps that snake across your flesh like a fever. Your stomach churned with anticipation, filling with the sensation of sloshing heat, burning brighter as each moment passed.

Without question, you step toward the throne, noticing the sharpness of some blades, the dullness of others. You find your footing upon the last step, feeling Aemond stalk closer. The rustling of his belt makes you shiver, only to find the steely chill of the Conqueror’s knife pressed against the dip between your shoulder and neck.

Aemond closes in behind you, caging you against his chest, like a predator swarming hapless prey. His narrow nose brushed along your soft tresses as he dragged the tip of the knife from your shoulder to ribcage. “Shall I cut this from you?” He uttered, digging the Valyrian steel into the fabric of your dress.

Swallowing the growing lump within your throat, you brace yourself for the bite of the knife, for the unruly tear of fabric, but it never comes. Instead, Aemond’s mouth pressed vigorous kisses against your neck, hand seizing you by the throat.

“Ao sytilībagon naejot nyke.” Aemond purred, feeling you turn within his grasp. Desire oozed between you both, an onslaught of carnality soon to follow. His lilac hue flickered over your countenance, drinking in your beauty with unrestrained rapture. You belong to me.

From what little High Valyrian you’d learned in the time you’ve been with Aemond, you strung enough of the sentence together to know what he meant. “Iksan aōhon.” A soft whimper emerged from between your parted lips, noticing the way his pupil dilated with amorous intent.

I am yours.

A flame of obsession roared within his gaze, enough to burn you alive where you stood. Aemond reveled in your submission to him, drank in your devotion — a devotion that would prove fruitful, should he ascend the throne. The tip of the knife prodded into your sternum, and you absentmindedly leaned forward.

Aemond captured your mouth once more, laying claim to you — his paramour. There was nothing sweeter than your desperate mewls and reciprocated passion, the succor of your mouth, the saccharine scent of your perfume.

The both of you descended to the floor, icy and stony as it prodded into your back. He knelt between your legs, gaze momentarily flickering between the shadow of the Iron Throne and your mesmerized visage. Aemond kissed you again, nipping at your lower lip before rucking up your skirts, pushing them toward your hips.

With one knee, he bullied his way in between your thighs, breaths heavier, wrought with anticipation as he lowered his mouth to your collarbone. In one smooth tug, he loosened your bodice, wrestling with the coarse material as he buried his face into your silky skin.

The throes of passion filled the air — short gasps and labored pants accompanied by the constant shuffling of fabric. “Aemond,” You moaned, watching as he bit the leather of his glove, removing the garment in one jerk of his head. Flesh to flesh, he moved to drag his digits along your weeping slit. “Aemond.” Urgency crept into your voice, strung-out by need.

“Hm,” His cajoling hum sent shivers down your spine, heat sloshing around within your stomach. Arousal pooled between your thighs, nectar sticky and gathering swiftly. “What a delicious gift you’ve given me.” Aemond uttered, slender digits continuing to stroke at your cunt, his pace agonizingly slow.

Lifting his fingers to his lips, he let them rest upon his tongue, gathering your juices to taste. A satisfied grunt of approval escaped him, one that made you meld into the floor. It was an uncomfortable surface, yet any thought of discomfort dissipated the moment Aemond’s lips pressed against the inside of your knee.

Instinctively, your hands flew toward his crown of silken tresses, digging in with an ironclad hold. Aemond released a low hiss of satisfaction, pressing hot kisses along the inside of your thigh. He dipped lower, breath fanning across your cunt.

His tongue raked hot embers across your aching core, delivering a series of deliberate strokes that were sure to make you squirm. Aemond preferred to savor you, consuming every drop of your nectar as if it were the finest of wines.

“Aemond!” Your voice rose above the cacophony of lewd noises ensuing below, noisy enough to reverberate throughout the throne room. It worried you, the potential of someone finding you with the Prince-Regent between your legs, but pleasure began to outweigh logic.

His name felt sweet from your mouth — if Aemond had it his way, he would make you say it a thousand times over. The sharp bridge of his nose buried itself into your mound, cock twitching within the leather of his breeches.

Another breathy moan left you, stomach pooling with a rush of molten heat. It oozed between your legs as your arousal fell upon the Prince’s tongue, much to his delight. He did not waste a drop, mouth traveling wherever he pleased, lapping at every inch of your cunt.

The Iron Throne overshadowed the both of you, a jagged mess of swords surrounded by dusk. Slats of moonlight trickled in from the stained glass above, falling across his visage, violet hue sparkling with lust. His lips greedily kissed at your clit, causing your hips to lurch forward.

“Look at me.” A pointed demand spoken from an edged tongue, one that commanded your attention without wavering. With a strangled moan, you turned your head to him, furthering the fire within your belly. Your doe-eyed stare locked onto him, lips falling apart.

As your eyes flickered over his poised features, your hand tightened within his tresses, coaxing him closer toward the apex of your thighs. Aemond wasn’t sly at suppressing the delight he felt in that moment, greedily lapping at your cunt.

You watched, enthralled by the ministrations of his mouth, the flick of his tongue, the tantalizing efforts made to draw you back in. His features were carved like marble, by the steady hand of a sculptor — godly, in the best way possible.

Aemond hoped that your blissful cries would alert the guards — perhaps, all could bear witness to his carnal delights, know that you belonged to him and him alone. His lips crawled to a sluggish pace, made only to torment you as he peppered feather-light kisses against your clit. The lack of pressure nearly made you wretch, digits curling into a fist.

Every fiber of your being felt as if it had been set ablaze, washed within the fires of his affection. He knew your body well, as well as he knew his own, tongue dipping to have a taste of your core as it lightly jutted against your entrance. You whimpered, the noise pathetic and pitiful, yet overwhelmingly eager.

“Please,” You moaned, breathy and clawing for some shred of release, canting your hips forward. Aemond retreated, just enough to leave you writing upon the steps before a sly chuckle reverberated between your thighs. His torture of you was playful and intimate, intended to make you beg. “Please, Aemond!”

How could he deny you when you sounded so sweet?

With a soft hum, Aemond returned to devour your cunt, drink from the nectar that oozed between your legs. His hands situated themselves against your thighs, nails digging in enough to leave behind traces of angered crescent marks.

The heat between your legs intensified, arousal stinging your bones, body bent underneath Aemond’s will as he lapped at your core. His lips were accompanied by his spindly digits as two fingers prodded at your entrance, feeling the crescendo of your whimpers before sinking themselves into your tight cunt.

Squelching intermingled with that of brazen pants and your myriad of moans, a cacophony of lust that permeated the throne room. It felt sinful, to defile the steps of a seat of power, but that shame swiftly contorted into bliss — it felt good.

It felt good to be desired, for Aemond to feel not an ounce of regret or remorse for being with you or for the carnage his actions wrought. The darkness that festered within his eye only grew, once a flickering shade, now growing into something sprawling.

At last, his lips pursed around your clit, stimulating that sensitive clutch of nerves. Your back arched from the stone, thighs rattling like falling leaves as he brought about your ruin. His digits viciously pumped in and out of your cunt, preparing you for the act that was to follow.

His tongue lashed across his lower lip, not wasting a drop of what sweetness you provided him with. Aemond’s mouth hastily abandoned your cunt, yet the curling of his fingers seemed to make up for the loss of pleasure. You felt his wet lips purse around the pebbled peak of your breast, suckling like a greedy babe.

Aemond’s senses drowned in desire, cock throbbing within his trousers, desperate to be inside of you. It wouldn’t be much longer now as he bit and kissed your chest, letting the work manifest as love bites, evidence of his carnal want for you.

“I need you, Aemond. I need you inside of me.” The suddenness of your words left him reeling, a snarl stirring within his chest as his teeth gnashed into the soft flesh between your breasts. You longed to feel his cock lay waste to your cunt, for him to fuck away his anger, his frustration.

Hastily, his hand flew to the ties of his breeches, loosening the threads of leather. You grabbed the front of his tunic, enough to effectively grab his attention as you pulled him in for a hot kiss. Passion bled through, and you could taste yourself upon his tongue as it danced with yours.

The warmth of his cockhead prodded against your folds, already slick with your cum and his own. It was messy, an entanglement born of desire, of the will to possess one another — a claim eternal. Aemond’s hand snaked toward your hip, the other keeping himself afloat before he snapped forward.

His cock invaded your cunt without any sluggishness to it, the deliberation gone entirely. A wild shimmer glistened within his eye, a domineering edge that seemed to wrestle with itself. Aemond wanted to submit to you, but in the wake of Rook’s Rest, adrenaline and a desire for power simply wouldn’t allow it.

As he fucked you like a hound, as Aegon had colorfully put it, Aemond could see you seated beside him, a crown upon your brow, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. A commoner, crawled from dirt and from nothing, into his arms — into a seat of power that none would dare challenge.

Fantasy consumed him, making him mad with lust. He wanted to crawl beneath your flesh, reside there, hear your heart hammering within your breast. He seemed pleasantly surprised when you claimed his mouth, your tongue advancing past his parted lips.

With your skirts having fallen to the swell of your hips, you hitched one leg around him, hand clawing at his back, between his shoulders. “Aemond,” You moaned, overwhelmed by his barrage of erratic thrusts. His stamina was something to witness as he kept a rather vigorous pace. “My King.”

A low growl stirred within his throat, a stark warning not to continue with your current line of thought. Aemond bit at your lower lip, prompting you to moan into his mouth, but you surprised him again when you reciprocated. Things were intense, far more fiery than they ever had been before.

Battle made him hot — such a sensation wasn’t aided by your presence, intensified tenfold. With Aegon wasting away inside of his chambers, steel melting into his flesh, swarmed by flocks of Maesters, Aemond felt no remorse — none at all as he fucked you before the Iron Throne.

He felt no remorse when he ordered Vhagar to burn his brother, he felt no remorse when he brought you into his bed — and he would feel no remorse when he ascended the throne and made you his Queen.

His cock furiously battered away at your cunt, the lewdness of flesh and intermingled breaths being the only sounds that mattered. That lilac hue of his studied your countenance, the devotion and rapture that rest upon it, your complete and utter joy. Aemond had been blessed with the loveliest creature — you.

The stretch you felt as Aemond invaded your nethers was a pleasant one, your walls tight around his length as he continued to fuck you. Face to face, chest to chest — there was no room left for deception, nowhere left to turn to. With a groan, Aemond kissed you yet again.

“Kesan mazverdagon ao ñuha dāria.” I will make you my Queen; he growled into your ear, biting at the shell, the act enough to make you whimper. He filled your cunt with his cock, the only one that it would ever take. In the heat of the moment, he bit at your neck, hand gripping your thigh so hard that it was bound to leave bruises.

Darkness swallowed the hallowed halls — braziers flickering out completely, leaving only moonlight. Even through the silvery haze, Aemond’s face remained a picture of living perfection, his brow creased with concentration.

The fervor of his pace began to slow, cock throbbing with an onslaught of arousal, one that flooded his body with waves of bliss. He wasn’t neglectful of your needs, swiftly placing a hand between your bodies, thumb rubbing circles around your clit.

Heavy footfalls of guardsmen resonated from outside of the sealed doors, a nightly patrol, prompting you to shiver from worry, but Aemond did not stop — and he wouldn’t. His blazing eye bared down upon you, glistening with the sheen of lust, of obsession, a man starved of the love and devotion he so desperately chased.

Your lips felt swollen, a byproduct of Aemond’s biting, of the many shared kisses that had turned into hunger. You were ravenous for him in ways that you had little knowledge of, scraping the surface of what desire truly meant.

Silky, pale tresses fell through your digits as you threaded them within his hair, gripping it in fistfuls as you continued to kiss him until every wisp of air was stolen from your lungs. Aemond did not relent, continuing to adopt a rhythmic pace of fucking you, cock halfway out before he thrust forward again and again.

As the both of you approached the precipice, falling into a white-hot abyss, you could hear him murmuring something in High Valyrian, strings of sweet praises and compliments. His thumb continued to circle your clit even after you had your release, milking his cock with an onslaught of your nectar.

Aemond grunted, forehead nudging against yours as he snapped forward one final time, cock sheathed inside of you as he found a warm place to spill his seed. The recklessness of it was of little consequence to him — an herbal tea could remedy it, yet the thought of filling you with an heir became tantalizing.

Not yet — not now.

If his seed were to take, it would sow discord across his house, and there was enough of that already. Aemond huffed, gathering his composure as your whimpers dwindled into soft pants. His claws sank so deep into you, talons wrenched into your heart, your body, everything.

He placed a kiss upon your brow, a subtle gesture that reminded you of his lingering duality. Aemond pulled himself out of you with an onslaught of stickiness, a mess that would only be remedied by a long soak in the bath — something he would need you for.

Your chest felt tight, both from exhilaration and the intensity of it all. As you adjusted your skirts back into place, Aemond gently coaxed you to your feet, pressed close against you as he stared at the throne. “Perhaps, once I ascend, we will have to make use of the throne.” His salacious purr made you shudder.

“There is no law forbidding us from acting upon that now,” You challenged, and Aemond had to restrain himself from acting upon such a lascivious impulse. For as coy as you could be, you were just as lustful as he was at times, a quality that he greatly adored. “Your Grace.”

As much as the teasing title seemed to provoke him, Aemond grabbed your hips, lips twitching into his familiar smirk, a near-permanent expression. “Aemond,” He corrected, pressing a kiss against your jaw. “For now, I will need assistance with drawing a bath.”

The Throne’s harrowing shape cast its shadow as the both of you abandoned the dark halls and into the light of Aemond’s chambers.

copyright @ swordgrace ; please do not attempt to steal or translate my works onto other platforms or claim it as your own.

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blackleatherjacketz · 1 year

Text

Mouthy

Miguel O'Hara x Female Reader

Summary: Miguel has been watching you, and is willing to do anything it takes to get you to join his team.

Warnings: 18+ Only!, NSFW, Explicit Smut, Teasing, Flirting, Kissing, Biting, Blood Drinking, Licking, Thigh Riding, Undressing, Voyeurism, Female Masturbation, Finger Sucking, Hair Pulling, Cunnilingus, Vaginal Sex

Word Count: 2.6k+

Other stories of mine

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You didn't have to look up, just the way the door slammed open was enough of a sign for you to know - Daemon was pissed. He entered without knocking, his armour clattering against itself.

In a mixture of snorts and grumbles, your husband strode into your chambers. As you lifted your gaze, your warm hazel eyes met the captivating intensity of his purple eyes, sending a shiver down your spine. Your curious gaze wandered further, discovering the mess of dirt and the almost macabre pattern of dried blood clinging to him. Uncertainly, you put aside the book you were engrossed in and approached Daemon, who was already in the process of freeing himself from the constricting confines of his armour. But before you could approach him, a piece of his armour flew into the far corner of the room.

"It will not improve your mood if you damage your armour," you say gently and help him to open his armour.

He just looks at you and his gaze makes you shiver a little again.

"What do I care about this fucking armour?" he hisses.

You look at him and your hands continue to work on the buckles and remove the chest piece.

"You want to tell me what happened?" you ask quietly.

There is a brief silence in your chambers and you use the time to admire his muscular chest, visible under his shirt. His body does not fail to bring you to ecstasy.

You look into his eyes again as he begins to speak.

"None of these idiots in this council understand the importance of cleansing our city of these filthy criminals! Not one!" he hisses.

You nod at him and try to concentrate on his words and not let his body distract you.

Your hands continue to work on the buckles of his armour.

"The city is full of disgusting creatures. They steal, they kill, they rape and none of those cunts at that council table give a shit!" he continues to hiss.

"But you do," you say softly and his eyes meet yours.

"I will teach these people to fear the golden cloaks again," he says in his deep voice.

You smile slightly and take off the last piece of his armour. Your fingers begin to take off his shirt.

"First we have to clean you up," you say gently.

Daemon's soft chuckle, markedly different from his previous behaviour, resounds through the air as he spreads his arms and asks you to release him from his shirt. His shimmering silver lengths fall over his shoulders, framing the network of scars etched into the skin of his neck and nape. These battle-scarred marks, created by victories and fire, are revealed in all their glory.

Your fingertips run tenderly over these well-deserved scars, your soft olive hue a striking contrast to his pale skin. You relish these imprints of his commanding prowess on the battlefield, each scar telling its own story, a testament to his unwavering leadership qualities. Daemon watches the movements of your fingers and notices how your gaze is fixed on his chest, unable to avert your gaze.

"Are you sure you just want to bathe me?" he murmurs, and your gaze jumps to his eyes.

You smile slightly, "Yes, I do," you say seriously and take his hand, leading him into the adjoining bathroom. Daemon grunts in disappointment, but lets himself be led along. The bath is quickly prepared and warm steam rises from the tub.

Daemon stands next to the tub of hot water and begins to open his trousers. As they slide down, you can see his already hardening arousal, but you avert your gaze and go to a small dresser in the corner of the bathroom.

Daemon watches you, a grin on his lips.

"Oh come on... You can't ignore my needs like that..." he says, but you interrupt him.

"Into the warm water with you," is all you say as you look through small bottles on the dresser to find the right one. You have these little vials from your home in Dorne, filled with different elixirs, and this time you want to put him in the right, stimulating mood.

Daemon grumbles something unintelligible, but obeys and gets into the tub. His gaze is fixed firmly on your back.

"Will you at least keep me company?" he asks, and you can hear in his voice that he is getting impatient.

You turn to him and smile, "No... at least not in the water," you say softly.

With two bottles in your hand, you stride to the bathtub. In the soft, flickering light created by candles, Daemon's gaze fixes on you and you can see an unspoken desire in the depths of his eyes to just grab you. But instead of giving in to temptation, his hands grip the edge of the tub. He leans back slightly and lets you pleasure him, a sign of trust he has only in you.

You kneel behind him, set the vials aside and carefully remove the hair ribbon from its silken lengths. As the ribbon gives up its hold, his hair falls gracefully over his shoulders. The once shining silver strands, now clouded with dirt and sweat, literally crave your touch. You gently begin to work water into the lengths, and the soothing rhythm elicits a contented murmur from Daemon as his eyes are gently closed.

Your hand wanders to a vial, its lid giving way with a soft, melodic pop at your careful touch. At this slight disturbance, Daemon's eyes flicker open to take in the unexpected intrusion.

"What's that?" he murmurs. You smile slightly, "Lavender oil... I like it when your hair smells fresh," you say soflty.

Daemon reflects your soft smile, "All right... If my Dornish princess wants me to smell like a silly bush from the garden, I don't think I could refuse," he mutters. With a smile, you apply a few drops of oil to his shiny silver locks and enjoy the feel of his long strands gliding through your fingers as the accumulated dirt runs effortlessly down.

After pampering him with your grooming, you rise and hand Daemon a towel. With a synchronised movement, he accepts the towel, and as he dries himself, you return to the bedroom with the other vial of elixir. Daemon follows you silently, his shapely form wrapped in the loosely hanging towel.

"Now you're going to take care of my needs?" he says to you, a cheeky smile around his lips. And at that moment you notice the bulge under the towel. You smile, "Lie down on the bed," you say.

Daemon's smile widens, like that of a child who finds an unexpected, delicious treat. He complies with your request and lies down in your marital sanctuary - the very bed where he makes you squirm and beg every night. But this night it will be different.

With an expectant gaze, Daemon watches your every move. How you slowly take off your dress and walk towards the bed. You crawl onto the bed and his hands reach out longingly to pull you close.

But you push them away, "Hands by your side," you say and move to sit astride him. Daemon looks irritated, but he obeys. You take the bottle and open it while Daemon watches you closely.

"More lavender oil?" he asks, "You know I'll have trouble commanding my men if my whole body smells like a flower bouquet" he says.

With a soft chuckle, you murmur, "Not a hint of lavender..." as the delicate scents of osmanthus and patchouli dance around you, washing you with their stimulating embrace as you place a few drops of the oil on your warm palm. Daemon's eyes remain fixed, transfixed by your hands as you set about the task of massaging the oil into his powerful chest.

"And I don't think you'll have any problems commanding your men.... No matter how you smell..." you say softly.

Daemon can only growl slightly as he slowly feels the effect of the scents and his arousal presses harder against you. You can feel a slight movement of his hips as he tries to grind against you. You stare into his eyes as your hands continue to glide over his skin.

"Don't move," you say to him. Daemon grunts, but he obeys - again.

You hear his breathing become more irregular as your hand turns to his belly. Slowly you massage the oil into the muscles of his belly, but your hands are unstoppable. You sit up a little and release him from the towel and his hot length springs free. It twitches wildly as you begin to rub his pubic hair with the oil. It twitches even more wildly as your hands turn to the shaft of his cock, which almost invites you to let yourself sink onto it. Daemon grunts impatiently, wanting to move his hips again, to somehow get close to your cunt.

"Don't," you just whisper, and your hands begin to wander up and down. You hear him gasp, see his hands gripping the sheet beneath you tightly. Your hands slide faster as his member literally pulses. Daemon breathes faster and faster as he chases his climax and you can already see the first drops of his release coming from the tip of his cock. You lean down and lick them away and hear him hiss.

"Woman, you will be my death," he whispers breathlessly. You just look up at him, grinning a little, and bite your lip. Your hand slides up and down faster.

It also increasingly excites you that he could just grab you, push you onto the bed and thrust into you, but he does not. He lies there and lets the feelings and actions wash over him.

When suddenly you feel a strong twitch in his member and Daemon spurts his hot seed onto his belly. He grunts loudly and watches you pump the last drops of cum out of his cock. He breathes heavily and closes his eyes briefly. His head falls back on the pillow.

"I think I need to take another bath..." he mumbles.

But you only smile, "I'm not done with you yet," you whisper. Daemon opens his eyes and looks at you in irritation.

You notice how he slowly softens in your hand, but it is not over for you yet. Slowly you slide further down and push his legs apart. You kneel between his legs and your hand gently moves along his shaft again. Daemon hisses slightly as you lean down.

You take his softening member into your mouth and begin to suck. The remnants of his cum unfold their salty taste on your tongue, but you love the way he tastes.

Daemon gasps, "What are you doing?"

But you just grin slightly and push him all the way down your throat.

"Gods...", Daemon gasps, but you notice that he is getting hard again.

But then, with a pop, you release his cock from your mouth. He is breathing heavily and still looks irritated, his cock hard again and standing in all its glory.

Daemon's heavy breath echoes from the walls of your chambers. You move and lie down beside him. You bite your lip gently and lean forward, kissing his neck softly. Your tongue is like pure fire that hits his skin and could cause new scars. A hot, arousing fire. His hips rise again with arousal and his hand reaches for the back of your head to move your head down. But you stop caressing his neck and look at him. You shake your head resolutely and Daemon pulls his hand back grumbling.

His voice fails in his throat and nothing more leaves his mouth as he slowly loses control. A growl sounds from him and his back arches slightly as your hand begins to caress his chest.

A moan escapes him as your nails leave light marks on his skin.

"Stop it, love," he murmurs. "You're driving me crazy" But you see his cock twitch wildly and you know he doesn't want you to stop. His hands reach into the sheet again and you know, that it's taking all his will not to grab you. Gently your lips graze over his neck as your fingers gently move down, teasing him. You feel the remnants of his previous climax and you see him bite his lip as you slide through it. His eyes are closed and you can see him enjoying this. Your fingers gently caress his abdomen, following the light hair to your destination.

A moan escapes him again. His hand suddenly reaches for your arm and you gasp softly, feeling his fingertips dig into your arm, showing you how much you're already teasing him. But you are not finished yet.

Daemon tries to concentrate on staying calm for your sake.

Once again, you can't stop your fingers from stroking his pubic hair as your smile widens. You watch his expression as you caress him.

A sharp intake of breath comes from his throat. He feels nothing but your touch. His fingertips dig further into your arm, but he finds it hard to stay still. You feel his muscles twitch and he just wants to pull you closer to him and take control of the situation so he can use your body as he wants.

But he forces himself to stay still. He forces himself to enjoy the passive role for once.

Your fingers gently graze the tip of his hard manhood. You bite your lip as you feel it twitch. As you close your fingers around the tip and the twitch shoots through your fingers.

"Ops...", you say softly, with an air of innocence, but Daemon knows you are not innocent and it's impossible for him not to react to that – a soft hiss escapes him.

His back arches slightly upwards and he grips your arm even tighter. His head turns towards you. His eyes are still closed, but you feel his lips seek yours. But you let him suffer. Let him feel what it is like to be on the receiving end of something like this.

"Is this what I put you through every night?" he suddenly asks softly, still keeping his eyes closed. You hear a slight breathlessness in his voice.

You smile again, "Yes... Every time you tease me..." you whisper.

You feel at your fingertips how his arousal continues to make itself felt, and the drops wet the tip of his cock.

"You like that, don't you?" you whisper.

He responds with a low growl, as if he's too busy enjoying it to reply with words.

His fingers disengage from your arm and sink to the bed, holding them still. It works up to a point. But you see his fingers clench into fists again and again.

You lean forward again and gently kiss his neck. Lightly you let your teeth sink into the skin. Again you hear a slight growl.

But still your fingers do not touch his hard member. Teasingly you only stroke his tip, refusing to embrace it completely. You feel it twitch violently again and again. Almost desperately it wants you to touch it. And again a moan escapes Daemon's throat.

You notice his breath quickening, and your own smile turns into a wicked little grin.

His fingers clutch the sheets on the bed as his muscles tremble slightly. You can feel the tension building inside him.

"Stop it... stop..," he murmurs, his voice strained by the desire to just grab you.

You continue to nibble on his neck. Your fingers, meanwhile, are stroking his pubic hair again, your caress growing rougher.

"Would you like me to touch you?" you whisper. With this question you have sealed his fate.

You see him contort his face almost painfully, trying to resist his urge. It would be so easy for him to give in, to just turn and take you as he wants. You see the inner struggle in him. The Rogue Prince who never begs, never bows to any command. The dragon who needs control over every situation. But still you see his breathing quicken, his muscles tremble slightly, he moistens his lips.

"Yes..." he whispers after a while, almost defeated.

But then his fingers move to your hips, wanting to grab you and force you closer to him. You slap his hand away.

"No, Daemon. Get your hands off me," you whisper warningly in his ear. You underline your momentary power and nibble lightly on his earlobe.

Your fingers now find their way to his balls, your fingernails gently scratching the now taut skin and he hisses again.

It's a struggle for him to take his hands off your hips. He doesn't want to. But he obeys.

You continue the torment, your fingernails almost driving him mad.

"You know you'll pay for this, you little pest," his voice sounds a little hoarse.

But with each word his voice grows softer and is now just a low murmur as his body continues to tremble with desire. You have the power over this moment, and you know it. You smile just slightly, knowing you will pay for this, and a feeling of anticipation spreads through you.

"Please," he murmurs suddenly. His breathing is quick and heavy. Right now he is nothing more than your plaything. The Rogue Prince on the verge of begging.

You bite his neck again, "Please, what, my love?" you whisper as your fingernails continue to tease his balls. He hisses again. His hips jerk a little, desperate for a touch.

His mouth opens and closes as he tries to find words to say what he wants. It's all gasps and moans and deep, animalistic noises now.

"Please... I need more...," he finally murmurs weakly. He can't say much more, he wants you too much. You know it. He knows it. You both know it.

A low grumble escapes his throat as he hisses again. He clenches his teeth as you grab his balls. He tries to take a deep breath to keep his voice low, but he can't stop his voice from shaking. "Touch me...", these are the only words he manages to say.

Your hand continues to grip his balls, squeezing them gently.

You kiss his neck, "My Rogue Prince...", you whisper.

He is silent now, looking at you with half-closed eyes, his breathing heavy.

You continue to kiss and nibble on his neck as your hand holds him tight, enjoying this newfound power over him. "If you keep this up, I swear we won't leave this bed for at least twelve hours. And I will make you suffer,“ he hisses, his last attempt at exuding dominance.

You smile at him, your fingers now slowly stroking along his shaft.

"I wouldn't mind," you whisper.

His hard manhood is dripping with precum. Your hand wanders along his hard manhood. It twitches violently as you rub the pecum over its tip. He gasps and grunts.

"Oh, you like that, don't you?" you whisper as you nibble on his neck again.

"Yes...!" Daemon suddenly groans. You're playing with fire and you know it. Your teasing only drives him closer to his climax without you actually touching him. But you embrace him fully now, and the sudden rough touch makes him grunt loudly. Your hand wanders up and down, your other hand starts massaging his balls again.

"Then come for me, love...", you whisper. You are also breathing harder by now as your hand slides along his hard manhood. He is moaning uncontrollably by now, his manhood twitching. His eyes are closed and his hips are twitching.

His fingers dig deep into the sheet as he makes sounds you didn't think he was capable of. But his moans turn into hisses as your hand works faster.

He pulls your head towards him and kisses you fiercely, almost desperately. He holds nothing back now and you let him.

"My wife. My Dornish princess. My queen. I am yours. Only yours.", Daemon gasps and you feel the twitch move from his balls up into his cock.

And then he comes. Again his seed spurts onto his belly, while your hand does not slacken in its movement. You're still kissing him and he moans and whimpers into your mouth.

Daemon releases the kiss, still breathing heavily, his eyes closed. Softly he whispers your name, smiling.

"You're cruel, you know that? Cruel and beautiful," he whispers.

You giggle softly and watch the movements of his face. After a few deep breaths from him, he suddenly moves. So suddenly that you gasp slightly. Your eyes grow wide as he suddenly hovers over you. You stare into his violet eyes, his cum dripping onto your soft, olive skin, creating a complete contrast. Daemon slides his finger through it as it continues to drip, just as you did on his skin before. A dark grin on his lips.

"I'm going to make you pay even more cruelly for this..." he murmurs and before you can say anything, his lips meet yours and his hand finds its way between your thighs. Your whimpers echo through your chambers as his hand grips your cunt roughly.

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Tag list

@aemonds-wifey @hoshi-miharu-blog @arryn-nyx @aemonds-eyeball @praline357 @melsunshine @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @lauftivy @valeskafics @dreamlandcreations @hopelesswritergall @wetbitchlibrary @sylasthegrim

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shogunish · 10 months

Text

𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗴𝗼𝗷𝗼𝘀 & 𝗶. [𝟬𝟮]

synopsis. satoru knows you're the closest thing to a mother megumi will ever have.

contents. reader battles with a kitchen stove (it was funnier in my head), a lil' bit of megs/reader bonding, soft and tired toru

words. 1.1k

note. pls lmk what you think bc i feel like my writing has gone 📉📉📉 but anyways, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE LOML, THE APPLE OF MY EYE, MY GLORIOUS BLUE EYED KING 💕

comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! <3

previous || next

as promised, you're watching over megumi for the day. he's a quiet and somewhat shy kid who doesn't talk too much, but you're certain the little guy will warm up to you once he sees you around more often. you can't blame him; after all, you're basically a stranger in his home who's suddenly spending time with him until he passes out and satoru comes back home from work. you'd be a little reserved as well if you were in his shoes.

“so megumi, what would you like for dinner?” you kneel down to megumi's height and flash him a kind smile, head tilted to the side and hair framing your face.

megumi regards you for a moment as if he doesn't really want to say what he wants, but the smile on your face, the warmth you exude is enough for him to speak up. if he already gets to choose, he better make it count. “..macaroni.” he says, a pout on his lips.

“macaroni it is, buddy.” ruffling megumi's hair, you're quick to move through the kitchen, finding the noodles, preparing two pots and filling one of them with the right amount of water. everything goes as planned until you're faced with that fancy kitchen stove that does absolutely not work like the one you own.

damn satoru and the salary he uses to buy expensive shit like this.

you know it's a touchscreen model, but whenever you do put your finger down and the thing beeps..nothing happens. the stovetop doesn't even turn red to indicate that it's on and so you put your finger down a couple more times only for nothing to happen.

a lump sits in the back of your throat, cold sweat coats the tip of your finger. your heart skips a beat. if you can't even figure out how to operate your newfound nemesis of a stove, megumi would go to bed hungry and satoru would definitely be severely disappointed in you!

you can't let the attractive single dad think you're useless.

you cannot let megumi starve.

stuck in your own panic, you fail to notice how megumi has watched your..conflict by peeking over the countertop. even his dogs give you a somewhat confused look as if they could sense your emotional distress over a stove of all things. the boy walks over, nudges himself between you and your self-proclaimed nemesis and brings his finger down on the touchscreen of the stove like he's never done anything else in his life.

beep. beep, beep.

apparently, it's that easy to get the water to cook.

dumbfounded, you stare at megumi, then at the stove and back at megumi. you have to look hilarious with your lips parted into an o-shape and your eyebrows almost shooting up to your hairline if megumi's little laugh is anything to go by. “..that's amazing..how did you–”

megumi shrugs his shoulders, his usual deadpan expression back on his face. “i always watch dad when he cooks. it's not..that hard.”

you groan out loud, but a little chuckle laces into the sound. “..i'm too old for this stuff.” with pouted lips, you let megumi explain how to increase and decrease the heat, how to turn the stove off and on. it really is a lot easier than you initially believed.

when satoru finally comes home, the skies are already darkening. hues of dark blue and a hint of purple are slathered across the vast canvas, birds roaming through the air and seemingly returning home to their nests or whatever place they consider home for the night. for a moment, the bustling life of the city ceases to exist – at least until satoru would have to leave for work again.

no emails, no phone calls, no meetings.

clad in suit and tie, buttons opened and tie loosened, a sigh of relief sneaks past his pale lips when the warmth of his apartment welcomes him home. a place which was usually silent, almost void of any life since megumi would be in bed by now. but now, the scent of food lingers in the air, soft snores echo from the living room down the hallway and the tv dimly illuminates the cozy space. driven by curiosity and a grumbling stomach, satoru finds a plate of macaroni on the dining table. in front of it, a note is placed.

“i figured you might be hungry after work. all you have to do is warm it up :]”

cerulean eyes soften behind pitch black shades as they skim over the carefully written note and the silly smiley you drew at the end. you didn't have to do this. satoru could take care of himself, he's been doing it for as long as he can remember, but..in a way, it's nice to be thought of, cared for, even in such small ways you probably didn't put much thought into.

he likes it. likely, a lot more than he should.

satoru trudges over to the sofa in the living room, wanting to thank you for the food, but when he sees you passed out on the cushion, megumi cuddled up to your chest and the two dogs snoring at your feet, the ghost of a smile dances on his lips. you look absolutely exhausted, a bit of drool leaking from the corner of your lips and red crayon smeared on your cheek, but it kind of looks cute on you, satoru thinks.

the sound of disney's bambi on the tv is nothing but white noise as satoru's gaze shifts towards his son, his little bundle of joy. the boy who never had a mother appears so content with his little arms clutching his favorite plushie and his little face buried in the warmth of your chest, snoring just as loudly as the dogs. the kid is beat, just like you.

satoru has to shake his head. ever since megumi was born, satoru wanted nothing more than for him to experience the love of a mother. someone who would offer him unconditional love, attention, would care for him and his happiness in ways that only a mother can, but you are not his mother. you never will be.

in the end, you're still the cute neighbor next door who offered to lend him a hand out of pity and not someone who could act as megumi's mother.

and yet, satoru knows he made the right choice by accepting your help.

this is the closest thing megumi will ever have to a mother.

a sigh, heavy enough to be conflicted but quiet enough to drown into the late hours, slips past satoru's lips. with quiet steps, he fetches a blanket from his bedroom and tosses the soft fabric over megumi's and your sleeping form.

"thank you." he breathes out, voice barely above a whisper.

taglist. @torusmochi, @ayanominitrash, @erigaur

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #fic. the gojos & i

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tsumuus · 3 months

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Years had passed since UA High, where heroes were forged and futures decided. Bakugo Katsuki had emerged as one of Japan's top pro heroes, his fiery determination and explosive quirk propelling him to success. Meanwhile, you had carved your own path, Denki Kaminari's twin sister, without a quirk but with a sharp mind for business. Fate, it seemed, had intertwined your lives once more when you became Bakugo's PR manager.

In the bustling heart of the city, Bakugo's agency was a beacon of heroism. You navigated through the chaos of press releases and public appearances, your days filled with strategic meetings and late-night brainstorming sessions. Bakugo, ever the hero of action, relied on your expertise to shape his public image, to smooth the rough edges without dulling his fierce persona.

From the beginning, there was an unspoken tension- a current of something unsaid between you and Bakugo. You knew him from UA, where your brother and Bakugo had been classmates. Back then, you admired his unwavering determination from afar, a quiet observer in the background of heroics. Now, in the present, the dynamics had shifted but the unspoken remained.

Bakugo's office was a reflection of his persona- bold, unyielding, with trophies and accolades adorning the walls. On evenings when the city lights painted the skyline in hues of orange and gold, you found yourself poring over strategy documents with him, discussing the next big campaign or handling the fallout of a recent skirmish.

He was intense, passionate about his work, his heroism, and his agency- but there were moments when you glimpsed another side of him. A rare smile when a child asked for an autograph, a fleeting softness in his eyes when he spoke about training the next generation of heroes.

Yet, beneath the surface, Bakugo struggled with words that didn't involve battle plans or heroics. And you, with your own hidden admiration for the hero who dared to dream bigger than anyone else, navigated the delicate balance of professionalism and unspoken feelings.

One crisp autumn evening, after a particularly grueling day of interviews and photo shoots, you found yourselves on the rooftop of the agency building. The city sprawled beneath you, a tapestry of lights and life stretching into the horizon.

"You're doing good work," Bakugo said suddenly, his voice softer than usual, eyes fixed on the cityscape.

You smiled, a small, genuine curve of your lips. "It's what you hired me for."

He glanced at you then, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. "Yeah, but..."

The words hung between you, heavy with meaning that neither dared to voice aloud. There were boundaries, unspoken rules that governed your professional relationship, and yet the heart was seldom obedient to reason.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and the unspoken grew louder in the silence of shared moments. Bakugo's gestures were subtle- a coffee brought to your desk when he knew you were burning the midnight oil, a spare jacket offered on a chilly evening when the wind whispered through the city streets.

One night, as you watched him train in the agency gym- an inferno of determination and raw power- you realized how deeply intertwined your lives had become. The hero, the same boy she once admired from afar, and his PR manager, navigating the uncharted waters of unspoken words and silent glances.

In the quiet of your own thoughts, you wondered if he saw beyond the professional facade you wore, if he sensed the echoes of admiration and unspoken longing that mirrored his own.

But for now, beneath the city lights and the weight of unspoken words, you continued to navigate the complexities of heroism and heart, finding solace in the silent understanding that bound you together.

a/n my first writing for mha so be nice. i wanna get around to writing for more series in addition to haikyuu, so if you'd like to send in some requests about what you'd like me to write i'd be more than happy to because im lowk running outta ideas🫠

masterlist

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thefifthmarauderstuff · 10 months

Text

|| “I've got you“ ||

Bakugou Katsuki x Fem!Reader Fluff!!

A/N: It's been a long time y'all, so here's a short Bakugou fluff. I hope you like it!!

Once upon a time, in a bustling city where quirks and heroes reigned, there lived a fiery hero-in-training named Katsuki Bakugou. Known for his explosive personality and powerful quirk, he was fiercely determined to become the greatest hero. Yet, amidst battles and training, there was one person who could make his fiery heart flutter like no other—Y/N, a fellow classmate from the Infamous Hero School called U.A

Y/N was an aspiring hero-in-training with a heart of gold, her unwavering support and kindness touching everyone around her, especially Bakugou. Despite his gruff exterior, Bakugou found solace in Y/N's presence, drawn to her quiet strength and unwavering belief in him.

One sunny afternoon, as cherry blossoms painted the city in hues of pink, Bakugou found himself training in the park with Y/N and while Y/N watched from a distance, admiring his dedication, A stray villain's attack caught them off guard, which made Bakugou swiftly jumped in to protect Y/N, shielding her from harm with his explosive quirk.

"I've got you," he muttered, his voice filled with both concern and determination. Y/N's heart raced at his closeness, feeling the warmth of his protection.

Later, under the fading sunset, they sat on a bench, the cool breeze tugging at their hair. Bakugou, usually not one for words, turned to Y/N, a rare softness in his eyes.

"You know, you're annoyingly important to me," he grumbled, a faint blush dusting his cheeks.

Y/N chuckled, feeling her heart swell. "I feel the same way, Katsuki."

With a huff, Bakugou looked away, trying to hide the way his heart skipped a beat. But then, he tentatively reached for Y/N's hand, his touch gentle yet firm, intertwining their fingers.

"Idiot," he muttered, but his grip tightened, expressing what his words couldn't.

In that quiet moment, amidst the city's chaos and heroism, Bakugou and Y/N found a different kind of strength—in each other's presence, in the unspoken emotions, in a bond that bloomed like the cherry blossoms, painting their world with love and warmth.

Days flew by after the Incident and Their bond grew stronger with each passing day, as they navigated the challenges of hero training together. Bakugou found himself opening up more to Y/N, sharing his fears, dreams, and vulnerabilities that he had never shown to anyone before. Y/N, in turn, became his pillar of support, always there to reassure him and boost his confidence, even during his most trying moments.

One rainy evening, after a particularly grueling training session, they found themselves taking shelter under a canopy, raindrops creating a soothing melody around them. Bakugou, usually reserved about his feelings, spoke softly, "I don't know how you manage to put up with me."

Y/N smiled, reaching out to wipe away the raindrops from his cheek. "Because underneath that tough exterior, there's someone truly remarkable."

Their gazes locked, a silent understanding passing between them. Without a word, Bakugou leaned in, pressing a tender kiss on Y/N's lips, a gesture filled with a depth of emotion he struggled to express verbally.

As time passed, their relationship blossomed, becoming an anchor amid the chaos of their heroic endeavors. They found solace in stolen moments together, amidst the city's constant need for heroes, often sharing quiet evenings atop city rooftops, watching the stars glitter above the urban skyline.

Their classmates at U.A noticed the change in Bakugou—how his demeanor softened, how he'd unconsciously seek Y/N's presence in a crowded room, and how a genuine smile graced his lips more frequently.

Their love story became a whispered legend among the hero students, a testament to the power of finding someone who complements and supports you in ways no one else can.

And as they stood together, facing the challenges of a hero's life side by side, they knew that their love was a strength that would endure through any trial, a beacon of hope in a world that often needed saving.

#_kyozume #bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo fluff #bakugou fluff #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo x y/n #bakugo x you #bakugou self insert

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sgtgrunt0331-3 · 8 months

Text

Two U.S. Marines carry a wounded buddy as they exit a building they had cleared of NVA forces and were using for cover, during the battle of Hue on February 6, 1968.

(Photo by Bettmann Archive via Getty Images)

#usmc #us marines #infantry #grunts #hue city #battle of hue city #tet offensive #vietnam war #vietnam #military #history

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keehomania · 2 months

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underground (지하) — jeon jungkook (전정국)

✧.* 18+

money was an art form, a masterpiece woven from the fibers of power, greed, and survival. it was a delicate ballet, an intricate dance where every note mattered, each step carefully orchestrated. In this world, money was not merely a means of transaction; it was the lifeblood that fueled dreams, ambitions, and the very essence of existence. without it, the colors of life dulled, the vibrant hues of possibility faded into shades of gray. yet, the privilege of earning it through moral channels was a luxury not afforded to all. for some, the paths to financial stability were darkened by the shadows of necessity and desperation, forcing them into a world where the lines between right and wrong blurred into obscurity.

you stood on the edge of that world, teetering between the stark contrasts of legality and the underground. as the night cloaked the city in its velvet embrace, the secrets of this hidden realm whispered through the streets, carried by the cool breeze. the city was a living entity, pulsing with an energy born of a thousand untold stories, where money talked and everything else listened.

the underground world was a realm of its own, hidden beneath the city's polished surface, where neon lights cast eerie glows on crumbling walls and the air was thick with the scent of sweat and adrenaline. it thrived in the forgotten spaces, the abandoned warehouses and derelict buildings, where society's outcasts gathered to find solace and spectacle in the brutal dance of fists and fury.

the boxing ring stood at the center of this world, a rough-hewn platform of blood-stained canvas surrounded by a chain-link fence. dim, flickering lights cast harsh shadows, illuminating the ring in a spectral glow. the ground was littered with the remnants of past battles—torn tape, discarded gloves, and dark stains that bore silent witness to the violence that had taken place. crowds formed a living, breathing entity around the ring, a mass of bodies pressed together in fervent anticipation. faces painted with a mix of excitement and dread peered through the gaps in the fence, eyes wide with the primal thrill of the fight. the spectators came from all walks of life—street hustlers, high-rolling gamblers, and those simply seeking an escape from the mundanity of their daily existence. the air buzzed with their collective energy, a low hum of voices rising to a fever pitch as the fighters entered the ring.

jungkook moved through that world with a confidence born of survival, his every step a testament to the power he wielded within these confines. the crowd parted for him, their eyes following his every move, a mix of reverence and fear in their gazes. he was both king and gladiator, revered for his skill and feared for his ruthlessness. in the underground arena, he was more than a fighter—he was a legend.

six years ago, the underground boxing scene was a world defined by its brutal intensity, where raw ambition clashed with the harsh realities of the ring. the air was thick with the acrid smell of sweat and adrenaline, the dim lighting casting elongated shadows over the makeshift ring. the clamor of distant fights, punctuated by the occasional grunt or shout, created a cacophony that seemed to pulse with its own rhythm.

you had ventured into the gritty realm with nothing but a fierce determination and a burning desire to carve out a place for yourself. unlike the other candidates who had come to vie for the position of jungkook’s manager, you were unpolished and inexperienced, a stark contrast to their sleek resumes and confident demeanor. the other hopefuls were draped in tailored suits, their composure reflecting years of honed skill and practiced charm. in contrast, you stood out with your unkempt hair and the nervous energy that radiated from you.

as you waited for your turn, the raucous environment seemed almost suffocating. you could hear the thud of fists against flesh and the murmur of a crowd that was both eagerly anticipating and derisively scrutinizing. namjoon, his mentor, stood at the edge of the ring, his imposing figure and critical gaze adding to the already palpable tension. his reputation was that of a seasoned fighter with a no-nonsense attitude, a man who had seen it all and demanded nothing less than excellence.

when it was finally your turn, you stepped forward, heart racing, to face namjoon. his eyes were cold, assessing, as he took in your disheveled appearance. “you’re here for the manager position?” his voice was a low rumble, laced with disbelief. “yes,” you replied, trying to steady your voice despite the tightening of your throat.

his lips curled into a scornful smile as he glanced at the other candidates, who were watching with barely concealed amusement. “you don’t look like much. do you even understand what it takes to manage someone like jungkook?” your face flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and indignation, but you met his gaze squarely. “i may not have the experience, but i’m willing to learn and work harder than anyone else here.”

his laughter was harsh and unforgiving, echoing off the walls of the dimly lit room. “hard work? this isn’t some corporate office where dedication alone gets you by. this is the underground. you need guts, strength, and the ability to handle whatever comes your way.” he turned to jungkook, who had been observing with a contemplative expression. “why are we even entertaining this?” his gaze was unwavering as he replied, “because i want to.”

namjoon’s surprise was evident, his skepticism momentarily giving way to astonishment. “you can’t be serious.” jungkook’s expression was resolute. “let’s see if she can handle the ring.”

with that, the room fell into an expectant silence. namjoon’s eyes softened slightly, a trace of reluctant respect mingling with his skepticism. “you don’t have to do this,” he said, his tone almost gentler. but you shook your head, your resolve firm despite the tears threatening to spill over. “yes, i do.”

the fight that followed was a harrowing testament to both your physical and emotional fortitude. as you climbed into the ring, the atmosphere seemed to grow thicker with tension. namjoon wasted no time, his movements swift and precise as he tested your limits. every punch he threw was a reminder of how far you still had to go, and each time you hit the mat, the sting of failure was accompanied by the disheartening laughter of the other candidates. yet, with every fall, you stood up stronger. the pain was excruciating, each bruise and scrape a reminder of the battle you were waging not just against him, but against your own self-doubt. your breaths came in ragged gasps, sweat mingling with tears as you pressed on.

in a moment of clarity, the world seemed to slow down. the pain, the exhaustion, and the criticism faded into a singular focus. you dodged a particularly powerful punch of his and retaliated with a flurry of strikes that caught him off guard. the crowd’s murmurs shifted to gasps of surprise as you landed a series of blows that drove him back. his formidable figure staggered, and with a final, decisive move, you brought him to the mat.

the arena fell silent as namjoon lay on the ground, winded and defeated. he looked up at you with a mixture of shock and grudging respect, his usual veneer of confidence cracked. you stood over him, breathless and battered, but triumphant. the realization of what you had accomplished began to sink in, and the tears you had fought to hold back now flowed freely.

jungkook stepped into the ring, his eyes alight with an emotion you hadn’t seen before. he helped his mentor to his feet, his gaze never wavering from you. “congratulations,” he said quietly, his voice filled with a quiet intensity. “you’re hired.”

the other candidates were left stunned, their expressions a mix of disbelief and envy. you had achieved what they could not: you had proven yourself not with words, but with action and resolve. jungkook’s faith in you had been well-placed, and you had earned not just the position of manager but a bond of trust and respect that would shape the future of both your lives. from that day forward, you were more than just his manager. you became his ally, his confidante, and an integral part of his journey through the unforgiving world of underground boxing. the fight in that ring had forged a partnership that would define your path together, built on the foundation of mutual respect and unwavering determination.

the night was electric with anticipation, the arena packed to capacity. the air buzzed with a feverish energy as spectators pressed close, their eager faces illuminated by the harsh, flickering lights that barely pierced the dense haze of smoke and heat. the roars of the crowd reverberated through the space, creating a rhythmic thunder that seemed to pulse with the heartbeat of the night.

you stood ringside, eyes fixed intently on jungkook as he faced his opponent. the crowd’s fervor only heightened the tension of the match, and you could feel every beat of adrenaline as if it were your own. the opponent was a formidable figure, broad-shouldered and intimidating, his presence alone a challenge to his dominance.

the first round began with a blinding flurry of motion. jungkook moved with the fluid grace of a seasoned fighter, his every movement precise and calculated. his opponent, a hulking man with a vicious reputation, countered with brute force and aggression. the clash of fists and the thud of each impact resonated through the arena, making the ground seem to vibrate with each powerful blow.

as the round progressed, the sheer intensity of the fight left no room for hesitation or error. jungkook’s focus was evident, his eyes narrowed and unblinking as he assessed his opponent’s every move. yet, despite his skill, he wasn't impervious. the opponent managed to land a few solid hits, and his face bore the marks of the encounter: a split lip, a bruise forming along his jawline. the bell rang, signaling the end of the round, and the roar of the crowd surged with a mix of excitement and apprehension. you were quick to spring into action, your heart pounding as you rushed to jungkook’s corner. the moment he was within reach, you grabbed the damp towel and began to clean him up, your hands moving with practiced efficiency.

“jungkook,” you said, your voice firm but steady as you dabbed away the sweat and blood from his face. “listen to me. you’re doing great, but you need to focus. he’s strong, but he’s not faster than you. use your agility, stay light on your feet.” he looked at you, his breath coming in heavy gasps, his eyes reflecting a mix of fatigue and determination. “he’s hitting hard. i’m feeling every punch.”

“that’s exactly why you need to stay sharp,” you responded, applying a cool compress to his bruised face. “you can’t let him dictate the pace of the fight. you’re the one in control. remember why you’re here. remember what you’ve worked for.” he nodded, his gaze locking onto yours with a renewed intensity. “i won’t let you down.”

“good,” you said, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before stepping back. “get in there and show him what you’re made of.”

the bell rang again, and he sprang back into the ring with a renewed sense of purpose. the second round began with a changed dynamic. his movements were more deliberate, his eyes sharper and his attacks more focused. He danced around his opponent with a fluidity that was almost mesmerizing, his every punch landing with precision. the earlier mistakes were gone, replaced by a controlled aggression that put him back in command of the fight. with each round, jungkook seemed to grow more confident, his strikes more powerful, his footwork more graceful. the crowd was enthralled, their cheers growing louder with each successful hit. you watched from the sidelines, your heart racing as you witnessed the transformation. the energy of the arena, the cheers, and the tension all seemed to meld into one intense wave of emotion.

by the time the final round approached, the opponent was visibly faltering, his stamina waning under the relentless assault. jungkook pressed his advantage, his focus unerring, his movements a blur of calculated strikes and evasive maneuvers. the final bell rang, and the crowd erupted into a thunderous roar as the referee raised jungkook’s hand in victory.

you rushed to his side, your heart swelling with pride as you wrapped him in a congratulatory embrace. “you did it,” you murmured, your voice filled with a mix of relief and exhilaration. “i knew you could.” jungkook, though exhausted, wore a triumphant smile. “thank you. for believing in me. for pushing me.”

you nodded, your own smile reflecting the satisfaction of the moment. “it was all you. you made it happen.” as the arena began to clear and the crowd’s excitement faded into a hum of post-fight chatter, you and jungkook stood together, the bond between you stronger than ever. the fight had been more than just a test of physical prowess; it had been a testament to the trust and dedication you both shared.

as the final echoes of the crowd’s cheers faded into the night, the once-vibrant arena began to empty. the air, now cooler and more relaxed, replaced the earlier frenzy with a calm that seemed to blanket the space. the spotlight that had illuminated the ring now dimmed, casting long shadows across the bleacher seats and leaving behind the scent of sweat and victory.

you and jungkook, along with namjoon, made your way to a corner of the arena that had been cleared for post-fight celebrations. the makeshift bar area, a row of tables cluttered with half-empty bottles and discarded cups, was a welcome sight after the intense atmosphere of the ring. namjoon had procured a selection of beers, and as he cracked open the first bottle, the familiar hiss of carbonation was a sound of relief. you took a beer from him, feeling the cool glass in your hand, a tangible reward for the night’s efforts. jungkook, still riding the high of victory, accepted his drink with a grin that spoke of his satisfaction and relief.

the three of you settled into a more relaxed atmosphere, the weight of the fight now replaced with the casual ease of celebration. you took a swig of the beer, savoring the crisp, refreshing taste as you glanced around the nearly deserted arena.

“not a bad way to spend the night,” jungkook remarked, leaning back against the table, his posture relaxed but his eyes still sharp with the thrill of the fight. “definitely not,” you agreed, your own mood buoyed by the shared sense of accomplishment. “you were incredible out there.”

namjoon, always the realist even in moments of triumph, watched the two of you with a thoughtful expression. he took a long pull from his own beer, his gaze wandering over the remnants of the crowd and the emptying seats. the celebration was marked by a certain levity, but there was an undercurrent of concern that seemed to cling to him. “there’s something i need to talk to you both about,” he said, breaking the easy camaraderie. his tone was serious, a stark contrast to the celebratory mood. “the cops have been sniffing around lately.”

jungkook’s smile faltered slightly, but he quickly masked his concern with a shrug. “we’ve been keeping things tight. nothing’s gonna come of it.” you nodded in agreement, the confidence in your voice masking the unease you felt. “we’ve been careful. we’re not giving them any reason to dig deeper.”

namjoon’s expression remained troubled as he took another sip from his bottle. “i hope you’re right. but i've got a bad feeling about this. they’re getting closer, and it’s not just a feeling. i've heard things.” jungkook leaned forward, his gaze steady. “we’ve handled things before. we’ll handle this too. we’ve always been a step ahead.”

you put a reassuring hand on jungkook’s shoulder. “we’ve got a solid plan. we just need to stay vigilant and keep our heads cool.” namjoon shook his head slowly, his unease palpable. “it’s not just about being vigilant. it’s about being prepared for anything. i’ve seen things go sideways before, and i don’t want us to be caught off guard.”

the atmosphere grew tense, the celebratory mood momentarily eclipsed by the reality of the situation. the weight of namjoon’s concern was a reminder of the risks that came with their world—a world that thrived in the shadows but was always at risk of being exposed. jungkook’s gaze softened as he looked at him. “we appreciate the heads-up. we’ll make sure we stay ahead of any trouble.”

he gave a reluctant nod, though his expression didn’t fully ease. “just keep your wits about you. we’re in a dangerous game, and the stakes are high.”

you raised your beer, trying to restore some of the lightness to the evening. “to a victory well-earned and to staying one step ahead of trouble.” jungkook clinked his bottle against yours, his smile returning. “cheers to that.” namjoon hesitated but eventually joined in, the clink of his bottle against yours and jungkook’s a small gesture of camaraderie amidst the underlying tension. “cheers,” he said, though his voice carried a trace of lingering concern.

the arena, now nearly empty, became a place of reflection and camaraderie, a brief respite before the inevitable challenges ahead. the victory was sweet, but the reminder of the ever-present dangers served as a sobering counterpoint. as the last of the crowd dispersed and the arena grew quieter, you, jungkook, and namjoon remained—a small island of celebration amidst a sea of uncertainty, fortified by trust, shared triumph, and the unspoken acknowledgment of the risks yet to come.

“do you have anything on them yet?” the voice on the other end of the line was crisp and authoritative, carrying an edge of impatience that contrasted sharply with the subdued tones of the post-fight celebration.

you glanced around the now nearly empty arena, the echoes of the earlier excitement still hanging in the air. jungkook and namjoon were engaged in animated conversation, their laughter a faint background noise as you stepped away from them to take the call. the light of the arena’s exit sign cast long shadows on the walls, a stark reminder of the night’s end and the reality that awaited outside.

“no solid leads yet,” you replied quietly, making sure your voice remained steady. “i’ve been keeping a close watch, but nothing concrete.”

the chief’s response was immediate, his tone sharp with urgency. “you need to understand how high the stakes are here. this isn’t just another bust. we’re talking about a network deeply embedded in the underground scene. your role is crucial, and we’re relying on you to gather the evidence we need.” you swallowed hard, the weight of the chief’s words settling over you like a heavy cloak. “i'm aware of the stakes. i've been working to gain their trust and get close, but it takes time. i need to be careful not to blow my cover.”

“time is a luxury we don’t have,” the chief said. “the longer this drags on, the harder it will be to make a solid case. keep your focus, and remember why you’re there. every detail counts.”

“i understand,” you said, trying to convey both confidence and frustration. “i'll continue to gather information. i'm doing everything i can to get closer to the core of their operations.” the chief’s voice softened slightly, though the seriousness remained. “we’re counting on you. just remember, the risks are high. you’re dealing with people who won’t hesitate to protect their interests, even if it means turning on you.”

“i know,” you replied, your mind already racing through the myriad of details and strategies you’d been employing. “i’ll stay alert and ensure i don’t slip up.”

as the call ended, you tucked your phone away and took a deep breath. the reality of your double life weighed heavily on you. on the surface, you were a devoted manager, a trusted confidant to jungkook, and an integral part of his team. but beneath that facade, you were an undercover agent, meticulously gathering information to dismantle the very network you were helping to protect. you returned to the table where jungkook and namjoon were now discussing their plans for the upcoming fights. their laughter was genuine, their camaraderie a testament to the bond they shared. it was moments like these that made your dual role particularly challenging. the lines between your real and assumed identities blurred, making each interaction a delicate dance of deception and truth.

jungkook noticed your thoughtful expression and raised an eyebrow. “everything okay? you seem a bit distracted.” you forced a smile, shaking off the tension. “just dealing with some work stuff. nothing to worry about.” the conversation shifted back to the more relaxed aspects of the evening, but your mind remained preoccupied. the stakes were indeed high, and the pressure to deliver results was immense. the chief’s words echoed in your thoughts, a constant reminder of the precarious balance you were maintaining.

the morning sun filtered through the window of jungkook’s garage, casting a warm glow over the array of tools and motorcycle parts scattered about. the garage was filled with the comforting scent of oil and metal, an aroma that spoke of hard work and dedication. he was hunched over his prized motorcycle, his brow furrowed in frustration as he examined the engine. the sleek, custom-built machine was a promise to his passion, a piece he’d invested considerable time and savings into.

you walked into the garage, your footsteps echoing softly on the concrete floor. the sight of jungkook wrestling with the motorcycle brought a smile to your face. his concentration was intense, but there was a touch of exasperation in his movements. “morning, kook,” you greeted, your tone light and friendly. “nice bike you’ve got there.”

he looked up from the engine, a hint of surprise in his eyes. “oh, hey. yeah, i bought it with some of the money i saved from the fights. it’s been a project of mine for a while. but something’s wrong with it. can’t figure out what’s the fucking problem.” you stepped closer, taking a casual but appreciative look at the motorcycle. the chrome gleamed under the garage lights, and the sleek lines of the bike spoke of both speed and elegance. “can i take a look?” you asked, a curious glint in your eyes.

he raised an eyebrow, his expression a mix of skepticism and curiosity. “you sure? it’s not exactly a simple fix.”

“trust me,” you said with a smile. he hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. “alright. be my guest. just don’t blame me if you can’t figure it out.”

you chuckled softly and knelt beside the motorcycle, your fingers gently probing the various components. as you worked, jungkook watched intently, his gaze more focused and thoughtful than it had ever been. the morning light highlighted the subtle changes in his expression, the admiration and curiosity mingling with his usual composure.

after a few moments of examining the engine, you spotted the issue—a loose connection in the fuel system. you reached for the toolbox, which he had set aside on a nearby workbench. “i see what’s wrong,” you said, pulling out the necessary tools. “it’s a loose connector in the fuel line. should be an easy fix.” his eyes followed your movements closely as you worked with practiced precision. there was a palpable sense of concentration and respect in his gaze as he observed you maneuvering around the engine.

“you’d never taken me for a mechanic, huh?” you said, trying to keep the mood light as you tightened the connector. he shook his head, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “no, i wouldn’t have. you’ve got a lot of skills i didn’t expect.”

you looked up from your work, meeting his gaze. “guys don’t usually like it when you know more about stuff like this than they do. tend to get a bit defensive.” jungkook’s smile widened slightly. “that’s not always true. sometimes it’s impressive.”

there was a moment of silence between you, charged with a new kind of tension. the air seemed to thrum with a quiet understanding, a recognition of each other’s capabilities and the unspoken connection that had been building. you cleared your throat, snapping back to reality. “alright, that should do it. let’s see if it works now.”

he started the engine, and the motorcycle roared to life with a satisfying growl. his face lit up with a triumphant grin. “you’ve definitely earned some points with this fix.” you stood up, brushing your hands off and offering him a smile. “glad i could help.”

as jungkook shut down the engine, you leaned against the workbench, your gaze drifting over the bike. “i always wanted one of these growing up,” you said wistfully. “but i never had the money for something like this.” his expression softened, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “well, you’ve got good taste. maybe one day you’ll have your own.” the moment lingered, filled with the quiet satisfaction of shared experiences and unspoken dreams. the garage, with its tools and mechanical parts, seemed to be a place where barriers fell away, allowing for honest exchanges and deeper connections.

the rhythmic rumble of another motorcycle echoed through the garage, growing louder until it arrived with a sharp, practiced turn. the door of the garage creaked open, and namjoon’s sleek black bike came into view. he dismounted with an air of casual confidence, his leather jacket catching the light as he approached. “what’s going on here?” he asked, his gaze sweeping over the scene. “i heard the bike running and thought something was up.”

jungkook straightened, wiping his hands on a rag with a satisfied grin. “just getting this piece of shit back in shape. our very own mechanic over here fixed it up for me.”

namjoon’s eyebrows arched skeptically as he turned his attention to you. “i find that hard to believe. you reckon you could help me figure out the difference between a carburetor and a fuel injector?” you met Namjoon’s challenge with a calm, confident demeanor. “a carburetor mixes air and fuel before sending it into the engine, while a fuel injector directly sprays fuel into the combustion chamber. the injector's more precise and used in modern engines for better efficiency.”

his eyes widened slightly, clearly taken aback. “well, i’ll be damned. you actually know your stuff.” you shrugged nonchalantly. “i guess i’ve picked up a thing or two over the years.”

he chuckled, shaking his head in mild disbelief. “i’m impressed. didn’t take you for someone who could handle mechanical work.” jungkook’s grin widened at the compliment directed your way. “i told you. she’s full of surprises.”

his expression shifted to a more serious one as he turned to jungkook. “alright, enough about engines. are you ready for tonight’s fight?” his posture straightened, his earlier amusement replaced by a steely focus. “absolutely. i'm set and ready.”

namjoon nodded approvingly. “good. you’ve been training hard, and it shows. How about we celebrate the win in advance? there’s a bar nearby. what do you say?” you raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile playing on your lips. “it’s a bit early for a drink, don’t you think?”

he waved a dismissive hand. “come on, it’s never too early to unwind. besides, it’s a good way to keep the pre-fight nerves at bay.” jungkook chuckled, clearly enjoying the banter. “i’m in. let’s go.”

namjoon mounted his bike again, starting it with a throaty roar. he gave a quick nod before revving off, heading toward the bar. jungkook turned to you, his gaze steady and commanding. “you coming with me?” for a moment, you locked eyes with him, the shared look filled with an unspoken connection. the intensity of the gaze lasted just long enough for you to feel a flutter of something you couldn’t quite name. he broke the gaze first, reaching into the compartment of his bike and pulling out a spare helmet. he held it out to you with a small, purposeful smile. “here. you’ll need this.”

you took the helmet, your fingers brushing against his. the contact was brief but charged with an electric undercurrent. without hesitation, you climbed onto the back of his motorcycle. as you settled into place, you pulled it on, the fit snug and secure. jungkook mounted the bike and you wrapped your arms around his waist, your body pressed closely against his. as the engine roared to life beneath you, you felt a sudden jolt of warmth spread through your chest, a tightness that wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. his body tensed slightly, the proximity and the touch creating a momentary disquiet that he quickly tried to brush aside.

he shifted gears smoothly, guiding the bike out of the garage and onto the road. the city streets opened up before you, the wind rushing past as you rode together. the sensation of riding close to him, the hum of the engine, and the rhythm of the ride created a blend of exhilaration and intimacy that was both thrilling and new. despite his efforts to maintain his usual demeanor, jungkook found his thoughts drifting, his focus divided between the road and the feeling of your presence against him. the moment felt charged, filled with an undercurrent of emotions he hadn’t anticipated.

as you approached the bar, the familiar sight of neon lights and the sound of music drifting out into the street signaled the end of the ride. jungkook brought the motorcycle to a smooth stop, and you dismounted, removing your helmet and handing it back to him. “thanks for the ride,” you said, your voice carrying a hint of playfulness. he gave a small, appreciative smile. “anytime.”

as you both headed into the bar, the lively atmosphere greeted you with its own brand of energy. the transition from the quiet intimacy of the ride to the bustling noise of the bar was stark but welcome. the bar was a popular spot, filled with laughter, clinking glasses, and the soft strains of background music. jungkook and you joined namjoon at a corner table, the conversation flowing easily as you settled into the evening’s relaxation. the ride had been a brief but significant interlude, a reminder of the connections and emotions that lurked just beneath the surface of your everyday interactions.

as you and jungkook settled in with namjoon, the initial tension from the ride melted away, replaced by the easy camaraderie of the evening. the clink of glasses and the low murmur of conversations filled the space, creating a lively backdrop for your conversation.

as you were halfway through your drink, namjoon’s gaze shifted, his expression growing serious. he scanned the room with a practiced eye, his focus settling on a small group of people seated at the bar. your heart skipped a beat as you noticed the presence of a few uniformed officers mingling among the patrons. you tensed, your mind racing with thoughts of the potential repercussions.

you quickly assessed the situation. the officers did not display any clear signs that they were part of your agency—no badges, no identifying marks. still, the sight of law enforcement so close was unnerving. you took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. the last thing you wanted was to draw unwanted attention or raise suspicion. jungkook, sensing your shift in demeanor, noticed the cops as well. “fucking hate those pigs,” he muttered, his tone a mixture of disdain and frustration. “always sticking their asses in other people's shit.”

you looked at him curiously, trying to understand the root of his animosity. “don't like them much, do you?” namjoon’s body language shifted noticeably. his shoulders tensed, and he took a deep sip of his drink, clearly uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. there was a brief pause as jungkook hesitated, his gaze dropping to his glass.

“some shit that happened a while ago,” he began slowly. “dad was running an underground ring, just like i am now. he was unarmed, didn’t even have a chance to defend himself. one of the officers on the scene shot him. just like that. it was—” his voice trailed off, and he clenched his jaw, struggling to maintain his composure. the room seemed to momentarily close in on you as the weight of his words settled heavily on your shoulders. you could see the pain etched in his features, the raw emotion barely concealed.

without thinking, you reached out and placed your hand gently on top of his, offering a gesture of solidarity. “i’m so sorry to hear that, kook. i can’t imagine how hard that must have been for you.” he looked up, meeting your eyes. there was a flicker of gratitude and vulnerability in his gaze, a silent acknowledgment of your support. for a moment, the noise of the bar and the presence of the officers seemed to fade into the background. It was just the two of you, sharing a moment of understanding and empathy.

“thanks,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “it means a lot.” the intensity of the moment tugged at your conscience, a reminder of the complex web you were entangled in. the lines between your role as a manager and your undercover assignment blurred further, making the situation all the more complicated. Offering comfort and condolences felt genuine, but the deeper reality of your undercover mission gnawed at the edges of your thoughts.

namjoon’s gaze flickered between the two of you, his earlier tension giving way to a more subdued expression. he cleared his throat, trying to shift the atmosphere back to a lighter note. “well, let’s not let the past ruin our day. we’ve got a fight to look forward to, and jungkook, you’ve earned a drink.” the conversation gradually shifted back to more casual topics, though the earlier moment of connection lingered. as you continued to engage with them, your mind remained partially preoccupied with the weight of the conversation and the role you played in their lives.

as the evening wore on, namjoon excused himself, heading off to prepare the arena for the upcoming fight. you and jungkook decided to take a break from the bar’s buzzing atmosphere and stepped outside for a walk. the crisp night air was a welcome change, a quiet reprieve from the earlier chaos. you strolled alongside him, the city lights casting a gentle glow on the streets. the sound of distant traffic and the occasional hum of a passing car filled the space between your conversation. jungkook seemed more relaxed outside of the bar, and you noticed him opening up in a way he hadn’t earlier.

“my dad,” he began, his voice low and contemplative. “he wasn’t just about the fights. he was passionate about what he did, but he also cared about people. he was always helping those in need, even if it was in ways that weren’t exactly legal. i guess that’s why i followed in his footsteps, even if it’s not the safest path.”

you nodded, listening intently. “it sounds like he was a wonderful person. i'm sorry for what happened to him.” he glanced at you, a hint of surprise in his eyes. “you know, i’ve never really talked about this with anyone. not even namjoon. it feels different with you.”

you offered him a small, understanding smile. “i get it. i didn’t grow up under the same circumstances, but i understand what it’s like to lose a parent. my mom passed away when i was younger. it was just me and my dad after that. things were tough, but we made it through. i guess we both have our own battles, huh?” his expression softened, and he gave you a gentle nod. “yeah, we do. but talking about it with you, it makes me feel like someone actually understands. it’s comforting.”

you met his gaze, feeling a deep connection between the two of you. “it’s my job to understand you and protect you. that’s what i’m here for. to be your support.”

as you continued walking, the breeze picked up slightly, causing your ponytail to come loose. jungkook noticed, his eyes catching on the stray strands of hair that fluttered around your face. he reached out, his hand brushing lightly against your hair as he carefully pulled the band from his pocket and re-secured it.

the touch of his fingers against your hair sent a flutter of warmth through you. the closeness and the gentle care he displayed were unexpected, and your heart skipped a beat. you looked up at him, a mixture of surprise and appreciation in your gaze. he smiled, his expression tender and genuine. “you look pretty, you know that?”

the simplicity of the compliment, combined with the tenderness of his touch, made your heart race. it was a moment of vulnerability and connection, one that spoke volumes without needing many words. you couldn’t help but smile, feeling a blush creep up on your cheeks. as the two of you continued your walk, the city lights twinkling around you, the conversation and the moment left a lasting impression. the evening was filled with the promise of new beginnings and deeper connections, and for a brief moment, the complexities of your undercover mission seemed to fade into the background.

the night of the fight arrived, and the arena was packed to its capacity, a sea of excited faces and raucous cheers. the atmosphere was electric, charged with the anticipation of the evening’s main event. the lights dimmed, and the spotlight focused on the ring as the crowd’s energy swelled.

you were in the backstage area, working diligently to get jungkook ready. his focus was intense, but you could see the flicker of nerves in his eyes. you handed him a bottle of water, his hand reaching out automatically. as you saw his hands tremble slightly, a thought struck you. you took the bottle from him and, with a reassuring smile, placed it between his lips, tilting it just enough to let the water flow. his eyes widened in surprise as you fed him the water directly. the unexpected intimacy of the gesture, combined with the softness of your touch, made his heart race. he stared at you, his mind momentarily drifting away from the fight. all he could think about was how pretty you looked, the way the arena lights highlighted your features, and the concern in your eyes.

when the bell rang, signaling the start of the first round, his thoughts were overwhelmed by the image of you. the distraction was so profound that he found himself unprepared for the fight. his opponent took advantage of his disorientation, and jungkook lost the first round. frustration and self-reproach etched into his face as he returned to his corner.

you were immediately at his side, damp cloth in hand, working to clean the sweat and blood from his face. namjoon stood close, his expression a mix of concern and determination. “fuck, jungkook,” he urged. “you need to pull it together.”

“you’ve got this,” you added, your voice steady and encouraging. “just remember why you’re here. you’ve trained for this.”

he nodded, trying to shake off the fog of distraction. the bell rang again for the second round. as he stepped back into the ring, he could barely keep his mind off you. your presence, your words, and the way you had cared for him earlier seemed to have taken hold of his focus. the result was another loss, the second round slipping through his fingers.

back in the corner, you were there once more, helping him with his injuries. you looked into his eyes, concern etched in your features. “you need to pull yourself together, jungkook. focus on the fight, not on anything else.” he took a deep breath, nodding. “i promise i'll do better.”

yet, even as he promised to refocus, the thought of you lingered in his mind, a powerful and distracting force. the realization dawned on him: you were watching him, supporting him, and it made him understand the weight of his need to win. it wasn’t just about the fight anymore; it was about proving himself to you, showing that he could rise above the distraction and succeed.

as the bell rang for the final round, jungkook entered the ring with a newfound resolve. the image of you, your concern, and your encouragement became his driving force. the focus was clear, the distraction gone. with a powerful surge of energy, he fought with a precision and determination that had eluded him earlier. the fight turned in his favor, and the crowd erupted in cheers as he landed the decisive blows that secured his victory.

back in the corner, you rushed to him as the final bell rang. you wiped his sweat-streaked face, offering him the water bottle once more. as you gently placed the bottle between his lips, your touch was soft, and the moment was filled with a tenderness that made his heart skip a beat. the victory, combined with the warmth of your support, felt complete. he looked at you, his eyes reflecting a mix of gratitude and something deeper—an emotion that went beyond the fight. the gesture of you taking care of him, the victory he had achieved, and the closeness of the moment all blended together, creating a sense of fulfillment and connection.

the night ended with jungkook’s triumph and the shared celebration of his win. the arena slowly emptied, the crowd’s energy fading into quiet satisfaction. as you and him stood together, the intensity of the night left you both with a profound sense of accomplishment and a new understanding of each other. in the afterglow of the victory, his gaze lingered on you, and he knew that the fight had been about more than just the arena. it had been about proving something to himself and to you.

the night was far from over, and after the intense fight and the victory celebration, the three of you decided to head to a friend's party. jimin, a mutual friend who had been unable to attend the fight due to hosting this very gathering, had invited you all to unwind and enjoy the night further. the house was a lively, dimly lit loft with music thumping and people chatting, making it clear that this was no ordinary party. the air was thick with an intoxicating mix of excitement and something less than legal.

as you arrived, he greeted you with an enthusiastic hug. “you all made it, heard about the fight. congrats, jungkook.” namjoon clapped him on the back and passed you both drinks. “thanks, jimin. it was a rough one, but he pulled through. now, we’re here to celebrate.”

you and jungkook stood together, enjoying the lively atmosphere when a group of girls approached. their attention was unmistakably on jungkook. “hey,” one of them said with a flirtatious smile. “you were amazing tonight. can i buy you a drink?” another chimed in, “yeah, you've definitely earned a drink or two.”

he glanced at you, his expression clearly irritated but polite. “thanks, but i’m actually here with someone. i’d prefer to stay with my friends.” the girls looked disappointed but maintained their smiles, making a half-hearted attempt to linger. “well, if you change your mind.—” jungkook shook his head, turning back to you. “sorry about that. some people just can't take a hint.”

you chuckled, squeezing his shoulder. “no need to apologize. we're here with you, and that’s what matters.”

the evening wore on, and you and jungkook accepted a joint from jimin, who was eagerly discussing the fight. “man, i really wish i could've seen it,” he said, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “how'd it go?”

jungkook and namjoon recounted the details of the fight, their voices animated and full of excitement. “you should have been there, fuck. it was intense,” jungkook said. “but we made it through.”

as the night continued, jungkook started to feel lightheaded from the combination of the party atmosphere, the drinks, and the joint. his movements became sluggish, and he glanced at you with a slight frown. “hey, i think i need a break,” he said, his voice tinged with concern. you nodded, guiding him gently toward the stairs. let’s get you somewhere quiet. you need to rest.” you were just as fucked as he was, but it seemed to had taken a greater toll on him.

you led him up to a bedroom, away from the noise of the party. the room was dimly lit, offering a peaceful respite. he laid down on the bed, his body sinking into the comfort of the mattress. you sat beside him, making sure he was okay. he looked up at you, his eyes searching for something. “you know, during the fight, i was so distracted. i couldn’t stop thinking about you.” you furrowed your brow, concern etching into your features. “about me?”

he sighed, reaching out to touch your hand. “kept focusing on you. the way you took care of me, the way you looked tonight—it all made it hard to concentrate.” you nodded, understanding the depth of his emotions. “so, how did you manage to pull through despite that?”

“it was because of you,” he admitted softly. “you’re the reason i pushed through, the reason i wanted to win. i couldn’t let you down.” the vulnerability in his voice and the sincerity of his words touched you deeply. without thinking, you leaned in and kissed him gently. the kiss was tender, filled with the emotion and connection that had been building between you. jungkook responded with equal softness, his lips moving against yours with a sense of longing and relief.

his hands moved down to your waist, slipping under your shirt to feel the warmth of your skin. the alcohol and weed had lowered your inhibitions, and you found yourself craving the intimacy that had been hinted at for so long. you pulled away from the kiss and looked into his eyes, searching for any sign of hesitation or regret. but all you saw was desire, raw and unfiltered. your heart raced as you reached up and unbuttoned his shirt, revealing the intricate tattoos that snaked down his arm.

his sleeve tattoo was your favorite, a dark, twisting design that mirrored the chaotic passion you felt in that moment. as you traced the ink with your fingertips, jungkook shivered and pulled you closer, his hands roaming over your body with increasing urgency. the room was spinning slightly, but you didn’t care. all that mattered was the heat building between you, the way your bodies fit together like puzzle pieces.

his hands found their way to the button of your pants, and with trembling fingers, he undid them. you stepped out of them, allowing him to explore further. the anticipation was almost unbearable, but you knew that you both needed this. as he kissed you again, you could feel the weight of his erection pressing against you. you broke the kiss to whisper, “are you sure about this?” jungkook’s eyes searched yours, and with a nod, he whispered, “i've never been more sure.” and with that, any remaining doubts were erased, and you gave in to the moment.

you pushed him back onto the bed, and he watched as you removed your shirt, revealing your lacy bra. his eyes were dark with lust as he reached out and unclipped it, letting your tits spill into his waiting hands. you moaned at his touch, feeling his thumbs brush against your sensitive nipples. his mouth followed, kissing and sucking until you were arching into him, desperate for more. your hands fumbled with his pants, finally freeing his cock. it was hot and hard, and you couldn’t resist taking it in your hand, stroking him slowly as he groaned.

his hands were everywhere, exploring your body with a hunger that left you breathless. your clothes were scattered on the floor, and you were both naked, lost in the haze of desire and intoxication. jungkook’s mouth traveled down your neck, leaving a trail of kisses and bites that sent shivers down your spine. your hands tangled in his hair as he moved further south, his tongue teasing your navel before finally reaching between your legs. he licked you gently, and you moaned, your body reacting instinctively to his touch. the sensation was overwhelming, and you spread your legs wider, giving him better access.

his tongue danced around your clit, and you could feel yourself getting wetter with every stroke. your moans grew louder as he pushed a finger inside you, pumping it in and out in a steady rhythm. jungkook’s eyes were focused on yours, watching as you writhed under his touch. “you're dripping, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. your eyes rolled back as he added another finger, curling them inside you, hitting that perfect spot that made your toes curl. “fuck, jungkook,” you breathed, your grip tightening in his hair. “right there, don’t stop.” he smirked up at you, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction, and continued his relentless assault on your senses. your orgasm was building, and you could feel it about to crash over you like a wave.

before it could, he pulled away, leaving you gasping for air. he stood up, his cock bobbing with need, and reached into his nightstand. he pulled out a bottle of lube and a condom, but paused, looking at you with a question in his eyes. “we should—” you began, but he cut you off with a shake of his head. “no, i wanna feel all of you. wanna risk it all tonight.” something in his tone made your heart pound even harder. you nodded, unable to form words, and watched as he squeezed a generous amount of lube onto his fingers. he positioned himself between your legs, and you felt his slick digits pushing into you again, preparing you for what was to come.

once he was satisfied, he leaned over you, his cock pressing against your cunt. you could feel the head of his dick, thick and demanding, and you spread your legs even wider, silently begging for him to fill you. he didn’t make you wait long. with one smooth thrust, he was inside you, and you cried out, the sensation of fullness almost too much. he took his time, pushing inch by inch, making sure you felt every part of him. your walls clenched around him, trying to adjust to his size, and he groaned in response. “fuck, you’re squeezing me,” he whispered, his eyes never leaving yours.

once he was fully seated, he began to move, his hips rocking against yours in a rhythm that felt like it had been written into your very soul. his tattooed arm flexed as he held himself up, the muscles rippling in the dim light of the room. the sound of skin slapping skin filled the air, punctuated by your gasps and his grunts. you reached up to trace the tattoo on his bicep as he fucked you, the sensation of his ink against your skin adding another layer of intensity to the moment. “you like that?” he asked, his voice strained. “you like watching me come undone? just like that?”

you nodded, unable to speak, your entire world narrowed down to the feeling of him inside you. jungkook’s movements grew more urgent, his breath coming in pants. “i’m gonna cum, baby,” he warned you, and you felt your own orgasm building in response. together, you tumbled over the edge, your bodies shaking with the force of your release. for a moment, you were lost in the pleasure, the world outside the bedroom forgotten.

the moment after was filled with a profound sense of connection, but it was quickly overshadowed by a wave of guilt that washed over you. the intensity of the kiss and the shared vulnerability made you question the boundaries and the nature of your feelings. you were lost in thought, contemplating the implications of what had just happened, when the moment was abruptly interrupted.

namjoon burst into the room, his face a mix of anger and urgency. “dammit!” he exclaimed, his eyes widening as he quickly averted his gaze. “what the hell are you two doing?” you and jungkook scrambled to get dressed, the sudden shift from intimacy to panic jarring. “what’s going on?” you asked, trying to remain calm despite the adrenaline surging through you.

“the cops are on their way here,” namjoon said, his voice tight with worry. “we need to leave. now.” panic set in as you hurriedly pulled on your clothes. his warning about the approaching police made you realize the gravity of the situation. “what about the arena?” you asked, your mind racing.

“it’s at risk,” he said. “we have to get out of here. cops'll be all over this place.”

with no time to spare, the three of you fled the room and rushed out of the house. the sound of sirens grew louder, the flashing lights visible even from a distance. namjoon led the way as you all sprinted across the yard, making your way towards a field of tall grass just beyond the property. breathing heavily, you threw yourselves into the cover of the grass, lying still and trying to remain as quiet as possible. the police lights flashed intermittently through the blades of grass, casting eerie shadows as the sirens wailed in the distance. the field was a safe haven for the moment, offering concealment from the approaching officers.

jungkook’s eyes met yours, and despite the tension, a burst of adrenaline made you both laugh softly. the sheer absurdity of the situation—a fight, a party, and now a narrow escape from the law—was almost surreal. his laughter was infectious, and it lightened the mood despite the circumstances. in a moment of unexpected tenderness, he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. the touch was soothing amidst the chaos, a small gesture that spoke volumes about his feelings. “we’ll get through this,” he whispered, his voice a comforting presence in the midst of the turmoil. you nodded, returning his smile with one of your own. “yeah, we will. just gotta stay calm.”

the sirens continued to blare, the flashing lights casting sporadic bursts of color across the field. you laid there, the grass rustling around you, feeling the weight of the night’s events and the relief of being together in that moment. the danger wasn’t over yet, but having jungkook by your side and sharing a laugh amidst the chaos made the situation feel more manageable. as the police lights began to fade into the distance and the sound of the sirens grew quieter, you knew the immediate danger had passed. the three of you would need to find a safer place and regroup, but for now, you took solace in the small victories and the connection you shared.

the next morning, the office was unusually quiet. you were at your desk, sifting through the paperwork that had piled up while you were away. the rhythm of typing and the occasional murmur of your colleagues provided a familiar, mundane backdrop that starkly contrasted the chaos of the previous night.

as you focused on your tasks, the chief, a grizzled man with an air of authority and a no-nonsense attitude, sauntered into the office. he glanced around and then fixed his gaze on you with a knowing look. “so,” he said, his tone casual but laced with an edge. “you have fun last night?”

you looked up from your desk, forcing a light laugh in an attempt to downplay the situation. “oh, so you know about that?” the chief’s expression didn’t change. “our men were at the scene. ‘course i fucking know.”

a pang of anxiety shot through you. the implications of his words were clear—your covert activities hadn’t gone unnoticed. you straightened in your chair, trying to maintain a composed demeanor. “it’s all part of the plan,” you said, hoping to sound more confident than you felt. “i need their trust more than anything.” he raised an eyebrow, skepticism evident in his gaze. “they’re all scum. don’t let that gladiator get to you. you’re not dick-whipped, are you? letting him get under your skin?”

the directness of his question made you stiffen. you bristled at the insinuation, but a flutter of warmth at the back of your mind told a different story. you met his eyes, trying to mask the conflicting emotions stirring inside you. “no, i’m not,” you said, your voice firm despite the slight quiver. “i’m focused on the job. i'll deal with it.”

the chief’s gaze softened, a flicker of something resembling approval—or at least reluctant acceptance—in his eyes. “good. because if you let your personal feelings mess with the mission, it’s going to end badly. i need you sharp and clear-headed.” you nodded, your mind racing to balance the professional demands with your personal feelings. “i understand. i’ll make sure it doesn’t affect my work.”

he gave a curt nod, acknowledging your assurance. “alright then. let’s keep things on track. and remember, this is bigger than any one person. focus on the endgame.” as he walked away, you were left with a heavy weight of responsibility and a swirl of conflicting emotions. the night had brought clarity to your feelings for jungkook, but it also complicated your position. the fluttering in your heart, the way your thoughts drifted to him, and the guilt from the sex made it challenging to separate your personal feelings from your professional obligations.

you took a deep breath, grounding yourself in the tasks ahead. the office was a world apart from the adrenaline-fueled night you had experienced, but the pressures of your double life pressed down heavily. as you dove back into your work, you resolved to keep your emotions in check and ensure that your mission remained the priority. whatever feelings you had, you had to manage them carefully, balancing the complexities of your role with the intensity of the situation you were entrenched in.

the afternoon sun bathed the arena in a warm, golden light as you arrived, your mind still buzzing from the morning's tense conversation with your chief. you were focused, determined to stay on top of your game and support jungkook through his next fight. as you approached the entrance, you spotted him leaning against his motorcycle, which was not the one you were familiar with. it was sleek, black with pink undertones, and gleamed in the sunlight—a stark contrast to his usual bike. your heart skipped a beat as you walked closer.

“hey,” you called out, trying to keep your tone casual despite the knot of curiosity forming in your stomach. jungkook’s face broke into a warm smile. “hey. i've got something for you.”

he gestured towards the new motorcycle, and your eyes widened. “don't tell me it's the bike.” he nodded, a proud grin on his face. “yeah. i wanted to get you something special. you’ve done so much for me, and i thought it was time you had something of your own.”

tears of joy welled up in your eyes as you took in the generous gesture. “jungkook, i can’t accept this. it’s too much.” he shook his head, stepping closer and gently taking your hand. “no, you deserve it. you’ve been there for me through everything. i want you to have it.”

before you could protest further, he pulled you into a heartfelt hug. the warmth of his embrace and the kindness of his gesture overwhelmed you. as he kissed your cheek, a rush of guilt mingled with your happiness. you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were betraying your mission, even though his gesture was deeply meaningful.

inside the arena, you moved swiftly to get him ready for his fight. you checked his gear, offered him water, and gave him encouraging words. “stay sharp out there,” you advised. “remember everything we’ve worked on. you’ve got this.” as the first bell rang, signaling the start of the fight, you watched intently from the sidelines, your eyes locked on him. the crowd’s cheers and roars filled the space with an electrifying energy.

a man approached you, and you turned to face him, trying to maintain a polite demeanor. “hey there,” he said with a flirtatious grin. “i’ve seen you around. how about we get to know each other better?” you tried to brush off the unwanted attention. “i’m actually in a relationship. i'm here to support jungkook.”

the man’s persistent advances began to grate on your nerves. “come on, don’t be like that. a little fun never hurt anyone.” jungkook’s attention started to waver as he caught sight of the interaction. his focus shifted from his opponent to the scene unfolding near you. he tried to refocus, shaking his head to clear the distraction, but the sight of the man sliding his arms around your waist pushed him over the edge.

a surge of red-hot anger flared within him. with a final, powerful hit, he sent his opponent crashing to the floor, unconscious. the crowd’s cheers turned to gasps and cries of shock as he leaped over the ropes, his eyes locked on the man still encroaching on you. before you could react, his fists were flying, and the man was being pummeled. you rushed forward, trying to intervene, but he was beyond listening. his rage was palpable, his movements swift and unrestrained. you could see the fury in his eyes, the protective instinct that had driven him to this violent response.

“jungkook, cut that shit out,” you begged, but he didn’t seem to hear you over the roar of the crowd. his punches landed with fierce precision until namjoon burst through the chaos and managed to pull him off the man. jungkook resisted for a moment, but his firm grip and authoritative presence finally got through to him.

the crowd’s mood had shifted from excitement to panic, and the atmosphere became charged with tension. namjoon, his face set in grim determination, turned to you. “we need to get the fuck out of here. the cops'll be on their way soon.”

realizing the gravity of the situation, you nodded, your heart pounding with urgency. jungkook, still seething, was led away by namjoon, his anger slowly giving way to a mix of confusion and regret. you followed, your mind racing with the consequences of the night’s events and the escalating danger that now loomed over all of you. as you all made a hurried exit, the once vibrant arena was left behind in chaos, the night’s promise of celebration now overshadowed by the threat of impending law enforcement. the adrenaline of the fight and the emotions it stirred were far from over, and the path ahead was uncertain.

the roar of engines filled the air as the three of you sped through the city streets. the thrill of the ride was a stark contrast to the tension that had marked the earlier chaos at the arena. namjoon led the way, navigating through the bustling cityscape with practiced ease, and you followed closely behind him, your heart pounding from both the adrenaline of the ride and the uncertainty of what lay ahead. the city’s vibrant energy gradually gave way to quieter, more secluded areas. namjoon slowed, eventually coming to a stop in a part of town where a crowd had gathered around a cluster of motorcycles, cars, and people. the noise was a mix of idle chatter, the hum of engines, and the occasional burst of laughter.

as you dismounted your bike, you noticed namjoon making his way toward a tall man with a confident stance and an air of effortless cool. he was greeted with a casual, friendly dap, and you followed namjoon’s lead, approaching the man.

“this is seokjin,” he introduced, gesturing to the man. “he runs a similar setup to jungkook’s, but with street racing. one of korea’s best drivers.” the man turned his attention to you, offering a charming smile. “nice to meet you. heard a lot about you. pretty and skilled—quite a combination. see you've got a bike of your own.”

jungkook’s eyes narrowed slightly, his earlier frustration still simmering beneath the surface. you could sense his tension as he observed seokjin’s interaction with you. despite his evident discomfort, you managed a polite smile. “thank you. jungkook actually gifted it to me.” you patted the sleek machine, its gleaming surface catching the low light. “mt-09, master of torque.”

seokjin’s eyes lit up with genuine interest. “impressive knowledge. are you familiar with cars too?” you nodded in response, “i am.”

his expression shifted to one of intrigue. “how would you like to get behind the wheel of a real beast? i can offer you some cash for a race. interested?” jungkook tensed beside you, his concern evident. “fuck no, it’s too dangerous. i don’t think you should do it.”

you met his gaze, trying to convey your resolve. “i wanna do this, i'm sure it'll be fine.” you leaned in and placed a soft kiss on his cheek, an unspoken promise that you’d be careful. his eyes softened, a mixture of pride and worry flickering in his gaze.

seokjin led you to a sleek, well-maintained toyota supra, its polished surface reflecting the streetlights, before pointing to the car next to it, where a man stood. there was a dangerous glint in his eyes, though his expreasion was lifeless. “this is yoongi, your competitor tonight.” the man in his late twenties, leaning casually against his car, gave you a cursory glance. “i almost feel bad for having to shit on a pretty thing like you,” he said, his tone a mix of challenge and mock sympathy.

you met his gaze with a determined smile. “yeah, you can take it up the ass.” with the crowd forming around the makeshift racetrack, you glanced at jungkook one last time, drawing strength from his supportive, yet concerned, look. the roar of engines and the buzz of excitement from the crowd created a charged atmosphere as the race was about to begin.

the signal was given, and yoongi took the lead within seconds, his car darting ahead with impressive speed. you shifted into high gear, focusing on the road and the techniques your father had taught you. the streets blurred around you as you maneuvered through the turns with precision. your father’s advice echoed in your mind, guiding you as you expertly handled the car, swerving through tight corners and accelerating past obstacles.

as you approached the finish line, you could see yoongi’s car trailing closely behind. with one final burst of speed and a deft maneuver around a sharp turn, you pulled ahead, crossing the finish line just moments before him. the crowd erupted in cheers and applause as you stepped out of the car.

he approached, extending a hand to shake yours. “congratulations. guess you reslly aren't just pretty,” he murmured, handing you a bundle of cash. “thanks,” you replied, shaking his hand firmly. “not too bad yourself.”

as you walked back to where jungkook and seokjin were waiting, jungkook enveloped you in a tight embrace, his relief and pride palpable. he pressed a passionate kiss to your lips, his warmth and affection a stark contrast to the adrenaline of the race. seokjin, watching the interaction with a satisfied grin, clapped you on the back. “did better than i expected.”

you smiled, feeling a mix of exhilaration and contentment from the night’s events. the thrill of the race, the camaraderie with people you had met not too long ago, and the respect all combined to make for a memorable evening. despite the underlying complexities what tugged at your morality, the night had been a reminder of your capabilities above all else, and you needed to remind yourself that you were capable.

the night continued to buzz with excitement as seokjin, fueled by the spontaneous energy, turned to namjoon with a gleam in his eye. “how about a race, joon? one of my drivers versus you. what do you say?” namjoon, ever confident despite his lack of experience, nodded enthusiastically. “i’m up for it. i’ve missed racing.”

jungkook, still nursing his own frustration from the evening’s events, frowned. “you sure about this? you’re not the most qualified driver out here.” he waved off the concern with a chuckle. “i’ve got it. don’t worry.”

you glanced at jungkook, who gave you a reassuring smile but the worry in his eyes was unmistakable. “good luck,” you said softly, hoping for the best as namjoon mounted his own motorcycle, ready to race. seokjin guided him to the starting line, introducing him to his opponent—a sleek, modern bike that gleamed under the streetlights. with a rev of engines and a burst of speed, the race was underway.

at first, he held a steady lead. his experience showed as he expertly navigated the turns, his confidence palpable. you watched from the sidelines, a mixture of pride and anxiety stirring in your chest. jungkook stood beside you, his gaze fixed on the race, a subtle tension in his posture. but as the race neared its climax, disaster struck. namjoon’s bike, under the strain of high-speed maneuvering, began to falter. the powerful engine sputtered unpredictably, and before he could correct his path, the bike lurched violently. he swerved uncontrollably and slammed into a guardrail with a sickening crash, metal screeching and the bike crumpling under the impact.

the sound of the collision cut through the cheers and gasps of the crowd. you and jungkook bolted toward the wreckage, pushing through the dispersing crowd. the sight before you was harrowing: namjoon lay motionless on the asphalt, the bike a twisted wreck beside him. jungkook dropped to his knees beside him, his face a mask of panic. “joon, fuck. come on, wake up,” he shook his shoulders desperately.

you fumbled for your phone, your hands trembling uncontrollably. the reality of the situation was hitting you with crushing force. the distant wail of the crowd grew louder, but the urgency of your own panic threatened to drown it out. “i’ll call for help,” you said, your voice trembling as you tried to keep it steady. you dialed 911, your fingers shaking so violently you could barely press the numbers. the line rang endlessly, each second stretching into an eternity. as you waited for someone to pick up, you glanced anxiously at jungkook, who was still desperately trying to rouse namjoon. the sight of his mentor lying unconscious, blood smeared across the pavement, fueled your rising dread.

finally, the call connected. “hello, this is officer (l/n), there’s been an accident—” you began, but the words caught in your throat. the name you had used felt foreign and heavy on your tongue. the stark realization of your own duplicity hit you like a ton of bricks. you froze, your heart racing as the gravity of your dual life crushed down on you.

the voice on the other end of the line was calm and professional, but your own mind was a storm of chaos. “hello? officer (l/n), are you there? we need details.”

you barely registered the questions, your gaze locked on jungkook. his face was etched with panic, his eyes darting between namjoon and you. when he heard you use the title, a look of sheer disbelief crossed his face, followed by a chilling silence. “officer (l/n)?” he repeated, his voice a strained whisper.

your heart pounded in your chest, and your mind raced to find the right words. You wanted to explain, to justify why you had hidden this part of yourself, but the words failed you. the enormity of your deception and the fear of jungkook’s reaction left you paralyzed. you opened your mouth, but only a strangled gasp emerged.

“hello? officer?” the dispatcher’s voice cut through your turmoil.

jungkook’s stunned silence was almost louder than the sirens approaching. his shock was palpable, a mixture of betrayal and confusion etched deeply into his features. “i—” you tried to speak, but the guilt weighed heavily on your shoulders. your double life had never felt so suffocating. his focus shifted back to namjoon, whose condition was worsening by the second. his worry about namjoon’s well-being was overriding the shock of your revelation. “get the help here now,” he barked into the phone, his voice a raw edge of panic.

“take namjoon,” you said urgently, forcing yourself to stay calm despite the turmoil inside you. you fumbled with two pairs of keys, your fingers trembling with adrenaline as you did so. “take my bike and go to my house, they won't find you there. i'l take the fall. just go.”

jungkook’s eyes met yours, a flicker of gratitude visible despite the chaos. he didn’t say a word, his expression a complex blend of emotions that you couldn’t fully decipher. without another moment’s hesitation, he took the keys you offered him, gripping them tightly as if they were the last piece of hope in a dire situation.

he carefully lifted namjoon onto your bike, his movements quick but deliberate. as he started the engine, the roar of the motorcycle cut through the night, mingling with the distant wail of sirens that grew louder with each passing second. jungkook cast one last, lingering look at you, his face a mask of silent resolve, before speeding off into the darkness. you watched him disappear into the night, the weight of your decision settling heavily on your chest. the sirens grew closer, their piercing sound a grim reminder of the consequences awaiting you. alone now, you stood amid the chaos, the reality of your predicament crashing down around you. the distance between you and jungkook felt like a chasm, one that you knew might never be fully bridged.

the sirens reached a fever pitch as the police cars skidded to a halt at the scene, their flashing lights casting frantic shadows across the pavement. the officers poured out, their faces a mix of concern and suspicion as they scanned the area. you stood alone, feeling the crushing weight of your own choices.

the chief, his presence suffocating, approached you with a measured stride. his eyes flicked over the chaos—the crumpled body of namjoon's bike, the skid marks from the crash, the trail of blood. there was no trace of surprise on his face, only a steely, practiced calm. “have you apprehended the suspects?” he asked, his voice clipped.

you swallowed hard, your throat dry and constricted. “i let them go,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady, though it wavered with the enormity of the admission. the chief’s lips curled into a humorless smile, a cold chuckle escaping his lips. it lacked warmth and carried an edge of dark amusement. “turn in your gun and badge,” he instructed, his tone brooking no argument.

you nodded numbly and reached into your jacket, removing the badge and firearm with trembling hands. the weight of the gun felt oddly comforting as you placed it into his outstretched hand, but you knew its significance in this moment was far different. the chief inspected the items with a scrutinizing eye before tucking them into his belt. he fixed you with a piercing gaze, one that seemed to bore into your very soul. “maybe it’s a good thing the gladiator escaped,” he said slowly, his voice taking on a menacing edge. the words hung in the air between you, heavy with unspoken implications.

you remained silent, the depth of his statement sinking in. your heart pounded in your chest, the dread rising like a tide. the chief’s words lingered, twisting around you like a noose. “if he didn’t,” the chief continued, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper, “i would’ve gunned him down just like his daddy.”

the implication was clear and devastating. your eyes widened in shock, the full weight of the threat crashing over you. you had always known that your role came with risks, but it was a cold, brutal revelation of just how far the system could reach. the chief’s gaze was implacable, his face a mask of hard determination and unyielding authority. the officers, having taken in the scene and your interaction with the chief, began to disperse. the sound of their footsteps receding was a grim backdrop to the finality of the chief’s words. he turned away, his silhouette disappearing into the night, leaving you alone in the fading light of the sirens.

the reality of what you had just heard hit you with a cold, numbing force. you stood there, stunned, the full impact of the chief’s threat crashing over you. your mind raced, struggling to process the layers of betrayal and fear that now enveloped you. as the last of the police cars pulled away, their red and blue lights dimming in the distance, you were left in the quiet aftermath. the night was eerily still, the only sound the distant hum of the city and the fading echoes of sirens. the darkness felt oppressive, and the weight of your decisions and the consequences they brought lay heavy on your shoulders.

you took jungkook's bike, the engine rumbling beneath you as you navigated the darkened streets back to your house. the night was a blur of flashing lights and shadows, your thoughts a jumbled mess of guilt and regret. the bike's power felt almost alien, the vibration beneath you a stark reminder of the chaotic night you had just endured. the road seemed endless, each turn a torturous loop as you wrestled with the weight of your decisions.

arriving at your house, you parked the bike and approached the front door with a heavy heart. the house, usually a haven, now felt like a prison of your own making. Inside, the quiet was punctuated by the faint hum of the heater and the distant thump of a heartbeat that was both your own and jungkook's, racing in unison.

you found him in your room, his presence a blend of familiarity and strangeness. he moved through the space with a deliberate slowness, his eyes taking in every detail as if trying to imprint it into his memory. the scent of your room, a mix of homey comfort and something more intimate, seemed to weigh heavily on him. he paused by the bedside, his gaze drawn to a framed photograph on the nightstand. in the photograph, you and your father were caught in a moment of unguarded happiness. your father’s arm was draped around you, his face alight with a smile that spoke of love and pride. jungkook’s fingers traced the edge of the frame, a soft, melancholic smile playing on his lips. the sight was a poignant reminder of the sacrifices you had made, and he couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy mixed with his lingering anger.

the sound of the door creaking open pulled him from his reverie. you entered, your eyes red and puffy, your resolve steeled but your heart heavy. he looked up, his expression shifting from reflective to guarded as he met your gaze. “hey, officer (l/n). apprehend the suspects?” his voice was laden with a biting edge, the words a reminder of the betrayal he felt.

you swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. “i—” you began, your voice faltering, “i turned in my gun and badge.” the words felt like a confession, each syllable a stark reminder of the path you had chosen.

his eyes softened momentarily, a flicker of remorse crossing his face as he processed your sacrifice. he felt a pang of guilt for being the cause of your loss of income. But that guilt was overshadowed by the questions still gnawing at him. “so, was everything a lie?” he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief. “when you cheered me on? when we kissed, fucked? all just part of some game?”

you shook your head, tears threatening to spill over. “no, jungkook,” you said softly. “it wasn’t a lie. everything i said, everything I felt—it was real. i enjoyed being your manager more than i ever enjoyed being an agent.” the room fell silent, the weight of your words hanging heavily between you. his gaze dropped to the floor, his mind racing through the events of the past days—the confusion, the betrayal, and the affection that had intertwined with it all. the silence was suffocating, a space filled with unspoken emotions and fractured trust.

you took a deep breath, your resolve firm despite the tears spilling down your cheeks. “it’s been a pleasure working with you, gladiator,” you said, the words almost a whisper as you turned to leave. he watched you walk away, his heart a tumult of conflicting emotions. as you exited the house, the cold night air hit you with a sharp bite, and you let your tears fall freely, each one a testament to the pain and regret of a choice made under duress. the night was dark, the streetlights casting a faint glow as you walked away from everything you had fought for, leaving behind a part of yourself in the house where jungkook now stood alone.

the days following your departure stretched out in agonizing silence. your absence left a void that seemed to echo through every corner of your life. in the solitude of your apartment, you numbed the pain with alcohol and smoke, each swig and puff a fleeting escape from the crushing weight of guilt and regret. your apartment, once a sanctuary, now felt like a prison of your own making, the walls closing in on you with every passing hour.

the hum of the city outside was a distant, indifferent noise as you stared blankly at the flickering screen of your television, the images a blur of color and sound that you barely registered. the drinks piled up, their empty bottles a testament to your attempts at self-forgetfulness. smoke curled in lazy spirals, filling the air with a pungent scent that clung to you like a second skin.

meanwhile, at the arena, jungkook was a shadow of his former self. the once vibrant atmosphere was now starkly empty, the space devoid of your encouraging presence. his training sessions were lackluster, his movements sluggish and uninspired. namjoon watched with growing frustration as his performance faltered, his concern for his friend shifting into irritation.

“pull yourself together, jungkook,” namjoon’s voice was a harsh whip crack against the stillness of the gym. “you’re slipping. the arena needs you sharp, not distracted.” jungkook’s jaw clenched, his hands trembling slightly as he wiped sweat from his brow. “i can’t focus,” he admitted, his voice low but laden with frustration. “it’s hard when you’re missing someone who was always there.”

namjoon’s expression hardened. “you’re letting your personal issues interfere with your performance. she’s a rat, jungkook—a fucking snitch. she betrayed us, and you can’t afford to let that mess with your head.” jungkook’s eyes flared with anger. “don’t talk about her like that,” he snapped. “she sacrificed everything for us. she lost her job for us. and this is how you repay her? by calling her a traitor?”

namjoon’s face softened just a fraction, a flicker of sympathy in his eyes. “i know it’s tough, but we have to move on. you need to stay focused, for the sake of the arena.” in his heart, he knew it was true, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. he was mourning you, and what he had with you. in the end, he had introduced you to the underground. now, he had to face it without you.

the night of the next match arrived, and the atmosphere in the arena was electric with anticipation. the stands were packed with spectators, their excited chatter a sharp contrast to the emptiness jungkook felt inside. as namjoon prepped him, the usual camaraderie was absent, replaced by a heavy silence that clung to them both. “get in there and show them what you’re made of,” he said, his voice clipped but tinged with a hint of reassurance. “remember, it’s all for the fight. for the arena.”

jungkook nodded, but his heart wasn’t in it. he wasn't doing it for the arena, he was doing it for you, and you were nowhere to be seen. he stepped into the ring, the roar of the crowd a distant thrum against the pounding of his own heartbeat. as the first round began, he tried to focus, but the absence of your presence was a constant ache in his chest. the cheers from the crowd were a painful reminder of what he had lost.

the bell rang, signaling the end of the first round. jungkook wiped sweat from his brow, his movements robotic. namjoon’s voice cut through the fog of his thoughts, a sharp reminder to stay sharp. “get your shit together, jungkook! focus!”

the second round began, and jungkook’s gaze darted around the arena, searching for a glimpse of you among the sea of faces. but you were nowhere to be seen. his distraction was palpable, his movements sluggish as he struggled to stay in the fight. his opponent took advantage of his lapses in concentration, landing hits that pushed him further off balance. by the end of the second round, he had lost once more, his frustration boiling over.

namjoon’s anger was barely contained as he stormed over to him, his voice a low growl. “what the fuck? you’re letting everything fall apart. this is not how you win fights.” jungkook’s head hung low, his breath coming in ragged gasps. the weight of his failure was almost unbearable. “i just—i need her,” he admitted quietly, his voice breaking. “i need her here with me.”

the third round loomed, and jungkook’s focus was shattered. the weight of the previous rounds and the constant search for a reassuring presence took its toll. as the bell rang, he stepped into the ring with a heavy heart, his movements hesitant and uncertain. the fight was brutal. he struggled to keep up, his opponent seizing every opportunity to land a blow. the crowd’s cheers turned into a blur of noise as jungkook’s energy waned. his defenses faltered, and he took a powerful hit that sent him crashing to the ground. the world spun around him, the pain a dull roar as he lost consciousness.

the referee’s voice cut through the haze, declaring the match over as medics rushed into the ring. jungkook laid motionless, his body sprawled out on the canvas. the crowd fell into stunned silence, their excitement replaced by concern. namjoon’s face was a mask of worry as he knelt beside him, his hands gripping the sides of his head, trying to rouse him.

“jungkook!” namjoon shouted, desperation edging his voice. “come on, wake the fuck up.” but he remained unmoving, his body slack and unresponsive. the arena was filled with the sound of frantic footsteps and murmurs of concern as the medics began to work on him, their faces a blend of professional calm and underlying urgency.

the phone call came through like a jolt of electricity, shattering the numbness that had settled over you. it was namjoon, his voice raw with panic and urgency. “hey, it’s me,” he said, his voice trembling. “jungkook’s down. he’s unconscious. you need to come to the arena—now.”

the world seemed to collapse around you. the reality of the situation crashed over you, a tidal wave of fear and guilt. without a second thought, you grabbed your keys, your hands shaking uncontrollably. you fumbled as you stuffed them into your pockets, the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears like a relentless drum. struggling to maintain composure, you dashed out the door and mounted your motorcycle, the engine roaring to life beneath you. the wind whipped against your face as you sped through the empty streets, your mind a chaotic whirlwind of thoughts and worries. every red light felt like a cruel delay, every passing second stretching into an eternity as you raced towards the arena.

when you arrived, the scene was a bleak reflection of your worst fears. the arena was deserted, save for a small crowd of bystanders gathered around jungkook, who lay unconscious on the cold, concrete floor. their murmurs of concern filled the air, but their presence felt like an intrusion. you cut through the crowd, pushing aside anyone in your way with an urgency that bordered on desperation. kneeling beside him, you forced yourself to focus despite the overwhelming emotions that threatened to consume you. his face was a mix of bruises and blood, his breaths shallow and ragged.

“jungkook, please,” you whispered, your voice cracking as you fought to keep your composure. you started by gently wiping away the blood, using your shirt as an impromptu cloth. you carefully inspected his injuries, doing your best to treat them with the limited supplies you had on hand. your hands trembled as you worked, every movement filled with the urgency of the situation. you could feel the weight of his limp body, the coldness of his skin as you checked for a pulse. your heart sank as you realized there was none.

“no, no, no,” you murmured, your voice breaking into a sob. you placed your hands on his chest, starting chest compressions with frantic determination. “come on, jungkook. you have to wake up. please.” namjoon stood nearby, his face a mix of shock and helplessness as he watched your desperate efforts. the sight of you, so determined and emotional, revealed the depth of your feelings for him. he saw you sobbing, your hands pumping his chest with a frantic rhythm, and it was clear how much you cared.

with each push and pump, tears streamed down your face, mingling with the sweat and blood. your breaths came in ragged gasps, your sobs muffled as you continued the lifesaving routine. “don’t you dare leave me,” you pleaded, your voice a raw whisper in the silent space. the seconds felt like hours, each moment stretching out as you fought to keep hope alive. then, as if in response to your pleas, jungkook’s body twitched. you felt a faint pulse beneath your hands, weak but there. your heart leapt with cautious hope, and you continued the treatment with renewed fervor.

finally, his eyes fluttered open, and he looked at you with a dazed expression. the relief that washed over you was overwhelming. you clutched his face, your tears falling onto his bruised skin as you kissed his forehead and brushed his hair away from his eyes. “oh fuck, jungkook,” you cried, your voice choked with emotion. “you’re awake. you’re okay.”

he struggled to focus, his hand reaching out to pull you into an embrace. “you,” he whispered, his voice hoarse but filled with relief. “you came back.” you buried your face in his shoulder, your tears mingling with his sweat. “i'm sorry,” you sobbed. “i’m so sorry for everything. i didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

his arms tightened around you, his tears falling silently as he kissed the top of your head. “you came back,” he repeated softly. “you came back for me.”

you pulled back slightly, looking into his eyes as your own continued to well up with tears. “of course i came back,” you said, your voice breaking. “i'll always come back for you.” namjoon watched the exchange with a mixture of disbelief and respect. the intensity of the moment was palpable, the raw emotion between you and jungkook a testament to the depth of your bond. he stood back, allowing the two of you to find solace in each other’s embrace.

the sirens wailed in the distance, but in that moment, all that mattered was the fragile connection between you and jungkook. the pain of the fight, the guilt of your betrayal, and the chaos of the arena seemed distant and inconsequential compared to the relief and love that surged through you both. you remained in his arms, whispering apologies and reassurances, while he held you tightly, the tears on both your faces a testament to the strength of your feelings. the night was far from over, but for now, in the quiet aftermath of the chaos, you found comfort in each other, ready to face whatever came next together.

✧.*

a/n: i hope yall fw this one omg i was gonna do an angsty ending again but im no longer in my k.will era

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