❥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐚

𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 19💋💋

[vetckkie]

girl get off that c.ai and embrace the 'x reader'

[insaneinpink]

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🎀ɞ˚‧｡⋆

[thelxipea]

Difference between being looked at and being seen

[whorexis]

-> To have found you was the world's regret, not mine

trueform!ryomen sukuna x reader

summary: born with two too many limbs and faces, he was abandoned, left for the nature to bury him in a grave at the mere age of six. apparently, there was one enemy to the nature of the world, who seemed to go against every rule of survival; you.

warning/s: heian era, smut at the end (skipable), sukuna has two dicks, use of sukuna's stomach mouth, p in v, creampies, slight breeding kink, praise and degrading kink, overstimulation, aphrodisiacs, angst, mentions of blood, nearing death (no actual death though), sukuna's villain arc, he was a monster you'd never despise, growing up together, they were both doomed from the start, fluff so i don't end it all, sukuna using you as a weight for training

a/n: i have no words. this man awakens something inside of me.

The rumors had spread like wildfire.

The child born with too many eyes, too many limbs, had devoured his twin in the womb. A demon cloaked in human skin, they whispered. He was evil incarnate, an abomination that would only grow stronger if left unchecked. But killing him outright would be a sin too great for their souls to bear. So they left him to rot. On the desolate side of the country, where even the air could be considered poison, they abandoned him.

They thought they'd washed their hands clean.

They thought starvation would take care of what they couldn't.

But death didn't come as quickly as they had hoped.

Sukuna was nothing more than a husk of a boy now, his four arms limp at his sides, his ribs threatening to pierce through his skin with each shallow breath.

Nature, just as cruel as mankind, had left him no mercy.

And then you appeared.

"Hi,"

The sound was soft, almost too soft for his dulled senses to catch. He barely mustered the strength to crack open one eye, a faint glint of crimson meeting yours.

"What?" he rasped.

You didn't answer right away, instead stepping closer to the monster that the land itself seemed to despise. There was no hesitation in your movements, no fear, no disgust.

"You.. you're just like me," you murmured.

Sukuna's lower right eye twitched, barely enough to take you in. You were as battered as he was—maybe worse. Wounds marred your body, some barely crusting over due to the lack of vitamins, others oozing sluggishly with infection. Your skin looked like it could rip at any given moment, stretched too thin over bones that jutted out in sharp angles.

You looked truly pitiable.

But Sukuna didn't care. Or at least, that's what he thought.

He was going to die anyway. Forming a bond would be useless.

He scoffed, his head lolling back against the harsh, cracked tree he was leaning on, waiting for death to take him away at the mere age of six.

"We're both dying,"

You said what he couldn't, spoke his mind instead of plastering him with questions.

You were younger than him, yet knew such harsh reality to come.

Your lips quirked in something resembling a smile, though it faltered under the weight of your exhaustion.

The boy hummed in return.

With that, Sukuna let his eyes fall shut, deciding to fade out the world— and you— with it.

Hours later, a sharp scent cut through his haze.

Sweet.

Fruit.

His eyes snapped open. He turned his head and found you kneeling beside him, holding a piece of overripe fruit out to him.

"Eat," you simply said.

He snarled— or at least tried to— but his voice came out weak and hoarse, "Don't… pity me."

Your brows furrowed, frustration taking over you. Without a word, you leaned closer, your small hand pressing against his chest. His eyes widened, alarm breaking through his mind.

"What are you—"

Before he could stop you, you raised the fruit to his stomach mouth. Its sharp teeth parted instinctively, and before Sukuna could refuse again, you fed him.

Your fingers brushed against his canines, but you didn't flinch. You didn't so much as blink as the beastly maw devoured the offering, juice dribbling from its corners.

His lower eyes narrowed, glaring at you even as the sweet taste spread across his tongue.

"Stupid brat," he muttered, but his voice lacked any true hatred. Towards you, that is.

You didn't respond, only settling back into your spot beside him, already reaching into a cloth bag for more.

"Wh-what's your.. ah- your name?" you mused as you revealed another fruit to him, guiding it to his stomach.

Unlike him, the maw ate gratefully.

He seemed to think, his body relaxing at the feeling of it getting taken care of.

Truthfully, the boy didn't have a proper name. He was named Ryomen due to his two faces— that was all to it.

He grunted, "Sukuna."

You smiled, repeating the name. With a grin, you revealed your name to him.

And surprisingly, he did the same thing.

He repeated it.

This became your routine.

You, a ghost of a child, scavenged for what little life had to offer. Sukuna, the boy they had condemned as a monster, became your charge.

Each day, you'd sneak into villages, weaving through the shadows like smoke. You stole food, medicine, anything you could carry with your frail form, and brought it all to him.

You hardly ate yourself.

No one knew who you were, only that you'd often show up and steal relentlessly.

"That stupid brat! Don't let her get away next time; she needs to be punished properly!"

"Sinning at such a young age is so unfortunate. May she find the right path."

"—there's no right path for her! The devil's captured her soul— we should finally burn this brat for good!"

Sukuna could say the same about them.

Those 'saints' who left you with infection-littered wounds.

Those 'saints' who chased after you for simple fruit.

A little girl, with more bones than meat.

Was Sukuna really the disgrace of the world when this was the way other people thought of innocent life trying to survive?

Whatever. He didn't have the time to think about it.

Not when he'd hold you with his lower arms to stop your squirming.

He discovered reverse cursed technique at a very young age, which became good use. He'd heal you, acting as if he couldn't hear your sobs.

Sukuna's touch wasn't gentle, nor was it kind, but it was efficient. His hands, rough and calloused despite his young age, pressed against your frail frame, glowing faintly with cursed energy as it stitched together your wounds. He worked silently, his expression unreadable, but his lower eyes betrayed the tiniest flicker of something foreign. Something he wouldn't dare acknowledge.

"You cry too much," he muttered, his voice gruff as if to mask the faint twinge of unease your sobs caused him.

—that, unfortunately wasn't a lie. You'd cry a lot. So much, the beast wondered when you'd ever run out of tears.

But in no sense were you a dramatic little crybaby. You'd cry a lot, but not often. When you did, you usually couldn't stop it anymore, and it would go on for hours— the monster had no idea what to do in that case. He figured he wouldn't kill you for the simple act, since you were so useful.

But that weeping would go on his nerves. It replaced the warm feeling in his organs— the one sitting slightly beneath the sternum— with a cold one. It'd feel like it was clutching, singing a melody of helplessness.

That must've been his nerves, he figured.

You were annoying him, he figured.

You sniffled, your thin fingers clutching at his wrist. "hurts," you whimpered, your face streaked with dirt and tears.

And there it was again— that feeling. Something in his chest was crinkling together.

"Then stop getting caught, idiot," he replied, his tone harsher than he intended. He focused on his work, forcing himself to ignore the wetness in your eyes. "Be faster. Smarter."

"I am fast," you argued weakly, your lips trembling, "they're just... mean."

The feeling in his chest was getting worse. Sukuna frowned, it almost resembled to actual pain.

A rare snort escaped him, bitter and sharp. "The world's mean. Get used to it."

You didn't respond right away, your small body trembling under his hands as he finished patching you up. Finally, you spoke, your voice quiet, almost inaudible. "Why do you help me then? If the world's so mean?"

Sukuna froze for a moment, his hands hovering just above your skin. His crimson eyes narrowed as he stared at you, his jaw tightening.

"Because I don't like broken things," he said simply, his tone cold and dismissive. "they're useless."

You blinked up at him, your expression unreadable. "Then why not let me die?"

He didn't answer, couldn't answer. His lips pressed into a thin line as he pulled his hands back, the glow of cursed energy fading.

"You didn't let me die either. Now shut up and eat," he snapped, shoving a stolen piece of bread into your hands.

You obeyed, gnawing at the stale crust despite how it scratched at your throat. You were used to it by now.

Sukuna leaned back against his usual tree— the one he almost died on— his multiple arms folding across his chest. He stared at you as you ate, his gaze deciphering, as if trying to solve a puzzle he didn't even want to admit existed.

"You're too small," he muttered after a while, breaking the silence.

You looked up, crumbs clinging to your lips. "Huh?"

"You're weak," he clarified, his tone blunt, "pathetic, even."

"Gee, thanks," you muttered, rolling your eyes.

"But," he continued, ignoring your sarcasm, "you're still alive. That means you're stubborn. Maybe too stubborn for your own good."

You tilted your head, watching him curiously. "And what about you? You're alive too."

He smirked faintly, a sharp, cruel thing that didn't quite reach his eyes. "That's because I'm stronger than them. Stronger than everyone. I just haven't gotten the chance to prove it yet."

"Then why didn't you leave?" you asked, your voice soft, "If you're so strong, why didn't you leave this place? Why are you still here? Feeding off fruit instead of hunting the animals to the north."

His smirk faltered, his expression hardening. "Because I have something to prove," he grunted, "to them. To the people who left me here to rot. To everyone who thinks they can decide what I am."

He was going to prove that the place they abandoned him to was the reason he was going to turn into a real monster. His career shall start from the place his realization begun. He would tear them apart, and only after this, shall he enjoy his own brought food; his victims.

You didn't respond right away, your gaze dropping to the bread in your hands. When you spoke again, your voice was quiet, almost hesitant. "I think you're just lonely."

His head snapped toward you, his red eyes narrowing dangerously. "What did you say?"

You met his glare head-on, your expression tired, and yet still stubborn, "I said you're lonely. That's why you don't want me to die. You don't want to be alone again."

For a moment, the air between you grew tense. Sukuna's hands twitched, his fingers curling into fists as if he were contemplating smashing your fragile frame into the dirt.

But he didn't.

Instead, he leaned back, closing his eyes with a huff. "You talk too much," he muttered, his tone laced with irritation.

You smiled faintly, the corners of your lips tugging upward despite the exhaustion etched into your face. "And you don't talk enough."

Another silence fell between you, this one less heavy, less suffocating. The two of you sat there, side by side, two broken children in a world that had already decided you didn't belong.

But for now, you weren't alone.

Then days started to turn into weeks, and the weeks blurred into months.

Sukuna grew stronger, his body filling out with lean, wiry muscle as his cursed energy became sharper, more controlled. You were still frail, still weak, but you had learned to move like a shadow, to steal like a raven amongst the humans.

Sukuna didn't understand it. Didn't care to, at first. You were wasting your energy on a lost cause. You should've run far away from him, left him to rot like everyone else had.

But you hadn't. Didn't.

And that caused him to grow over the years.

He grew rapidly, mainly because of his genes— but his muscles weren't something he simply got. He earned them by training.

What to understand under training? Well— he used you as weight, most of the time. You sat on his back when he did pushups or his arm when he trained his biceps. You were useful to Sukuna; that's why he kept you around.

Definitely for no other reason, though.

Nope.

Not because your voice relaxed him, lulled him to sleep.

Not because you smiled at him the day both of you were supposed to be left as nothing more than rotten bodies in this cruel world.

Not because you were so fearless of his anatomy— of him.

Not because you cared for him, so unnaturally much.

Not because you were a complete idiot for doing so.

And to keep things around meant taking care of them, unfortunately. He couldn't risk you dying on him. Not that he'd feel guilty.. sad or anything, but you were useful, could steal. And besides, he had spend a lot of years together with you. You'd grown into young adults together. He got used to your company.

So he never wasted any time when he healed your wounds. You usually had a lot of them, considering villages were basically hunting for you by now.

You even found a little shelter, good enough to hold the two of you. It was an abandoned temple, plants overgrowing the place— but it was enough.

The villagers were growing restless, their whispers turning to shouts, their torches raised.

"The girl's still out there!"

"She steals more than she can eat— she's bringing offerings to the devil himself!"

"We have to end this before they destroy us all!"

Sukuna listened to their cries from the shadows.

"Let them come," he muttered, his voice a low growl.

You glanced at him, worried, "Sukuna…"

He turned to you, his smirk sharp and merciless. "They wanted a monster," he grinned, "I'll show them one."

And for the first time, you weren't sure if you could stop him.

From the day Sukuna decided to show himself to the villages, things changed.

You didn't know what he was doing there. He wouldn't tell you, and you didn't ask. But every evening, without fail, he'd return to the little temple the two of you had claimed. Bloodied.

Always bloodied.

It was never his blood.

His steps would echo against the cracked stones, his frame filling the entrance. He wouldn't say a word, just slump down into his usual spot, waiting for you to do what you always did.

You'd kneel beside him, a bucket of water already at the ready, and begin cleaning him. Your hands worked methodically, scrubbing away the blood that painted his arms, his chest, his face. It didn't matter how much there was or how long it took— you cleaned it all, sitting in silence as the water turned red.

He never flinched. Never winced.

You didn't ask what had happened, and he didn't offer an explanation.

This was your routine now.

You decided you didn't like it.

You were getting left out. He was going cold— you couldn't care less if it were towards the village and the world only— but what about you? You wanted to hear his voice, to talk to him, to be with him.

It was only weeks later that you began to notice them. The marks.

The first time you saw one, it was faint, almost invisible against his skin. A single black line curling along the biceps that met the shoulder. You didn't say anything, even as more began to appear, making their way up his limbs, across his chest, spreading like a dark disease.

You knew what they were.

You didn't need to ask.

Each mark was a crime— a sin carved into his flesh, branding him for the world to see. Murder. Destruction. Chaos.

You knew that.

He knew you knew.

At first, he acted like it didn't matter. Sukuna was stubborn like that, always pretending nothing could touch him. But you saw it, the way his gaze would flicker to you when he thought you weren't looking. The way his hands sometimes twitched when you got too close, as if he expected you to pull away.

He was scared.

Scared that you, out of all people, would abandon him.

But you didn't.

You didn't say a word when the marks began to spread across his shoulders, his back, his neck. You didn't flinch when the blood he came back with multiplied. You didn't recoil when his smile started to look more like a snarl, his eyes gleaming with something you didn't want to name.

You didn't support what he was doing.

But you would never stop him.

For the world had done the same to him.

Because no one stopped when they left him to rot, when they whispered behind their hands and turned their backs and called him a monster before he even had a chance to be anything else.

Because even though you didn't agree with him, even though you hated the blood and the way he was slipping further and further away from whatever humanity he had left…

You would never abandon him.

So you stayed.

Even as the marks spread like a curse, even as the villagers' cries grew louder, even as Sukuna's laughter began to echo like something bad had won against the world, you stayed.

Because that's what you'd always done.

And maybe that's why, when the marks started creeping toward his face, curling along his jaw and across his lower eyes, Sukuna never stopped coming back.

No matter how bloody he was.

No matter how much darker he seemed.

He always came back.

To you.

After Sukuna had received all possible markings on his body, you found yourselves wandering off the place it all started with.

He'd proven himself.

It was time to take over his own estate now. He shall be the god amongst the mere humans whom despised him, with you by his side.

Sukuna found an estate on a whim.

It was a massive structure, sprawling across the countryside like a symbol of decadence. It belonged to a king, or at least someone who thought themselves important. Sukuna didn't care who— it didn't matter. All he saw was an opportunity.

He stalked through the gates, dragging you behind him by the hand like a silent shadow. You didn't ask questions, didn't protest. You trusted him. Perhaps a bit too much.

He wasn't sure what pissed him off more; the way you clung to his side so willingly or the fact that you made him hesitate.

Sukuna had stormed into that estate ready to kill— prepared to cut through guards, nobles, anyone who dared stand in his way. But the moment he stepped inside, the warmth of your hand in his made him pause. Just for a second.

He grumbled, the sound low and guttural in his throat.

"Brat," he muttered under his breath.

You blinked up at him, confused, but before you could ask, three of his arms moved. Two hands covered your ears, and the third wrapped protectively around your head, shielding and blinding you from what he was about to do.

The remaining arm was the one he used to guide his slashes, cutting through flesh and bone as if it were paper.

Guards rushed at him, swords raised, and fell just as quickly. Blood splattered the polished floors, the walls, the pristine decor meant to show off the king's wealth. Sukuna moved like a storm, calculated and ruthless, cutting down anyone who dared oppose him.

But there were some who didn't fight.

Some dropped to their knees without question, trembling as they bowed their heads.

Sukuna's grin widened, his sharp teeth glinting in the dim light.

"Swear your lives to me," he commanded, his voice a deep, menacing growl that echoed through the halls, "pledge your loyalty, or join the rest of them."

And they did.

One after another, they vowed their lives to him, fear etched into every syllable. Those were the ones he let live.

By the time he finished, the estate was his.

Blood soaked the floors, the stench of death heavy in the air, but it was done. Sukuna had claimed his place.

Servants began arriving the next day, desperate for shelter. They came from villages he'd decimated, from towns that whispered his name with equal parts fear and reverence. They gave their lives to him willingly, swearing fealty in exchange for protection.

Because that's what you had always done.

There was one habit Sukuna had carried with him since childhood— a strange, unspoken thing neither of you dared to label or even fully acknowledge. Whatever it was between you two, it wasn't something the world could define.

Certainly not a couple. That wasn't the right word. No.

But also… not not that.

It didn't matter. No one dared lay a thought on it.

The habit in question? Sukuna couldn't sleep unless you were right there. Not just near him, but with him. On him, preferably.

From the time you were small, he'd insist you lay against his chest, your frail frame curled up against him like you were the only shield he needed. As you grew, it became more than that— skin to skin contact. He craved it, though he'd rather rot in hell than admit it.

When you'd press your cheek against him, limbs tangled together as if the world wasn't constantly trying to tear you apart, Sukuna could actually relax. When your warmth pressed into his, he could let his many eyes close, feel his breathing even out. He swore he didn't care about the way your fingers would clutch at him in your sleep, or how you'd bury your face in the crook of his neck.

Didn't care that you drooled on him, for God's sake.

He definitely didn't admire that.

But there were nights when you'd wake up to find him staring at you, his eyes soft in a way you rarely saw. And he'd smirk, teasingly so, just enough to throw you off.

"You drooled all over me again," he'd mutter, pretending to be annoyed as he wiped at his skin, though the smug tilt of his mouth betrayed him.

You'd groan, shoving at his chest, "Then stop using me as a pillow."

"Who's using who?" he'd reply, wrapping his arms tighter around you so you couldn't escape.

It was stupid. Pointless. But also… it wasn't.

Because in those moments, when it was just the two of you and the rest of the world could burn for all you cared, Sukuna wasn't the bloodied monster that came home to you. And you weren't the ghost of a child stealing scraps to survive. (Which, frankly, you didn't need to anymore, since Sukuna took charge of that. However, the villages contained a.. feeling.. you liked to experience. The bits of humanity. Sukuna didn't stop you, for he didn't understand, but he trusted you.)

There was once, when Sukuna had never experienced you like this. Not once in all the years he'd known you.

You came back from the village as usual, empty-handed this time, but without so much as a scratch on you. At first, he thought nothing of it— maybe you'd been lucky, maybe the villagers were slacking, maybe...

But then, you didn't say a word. Not one.

You were always the one to start conversations. Always the one filling the empty silence between the two of you with your endless chatter, your stubborn questions, your little quips that only made him smirk. So why the hell were you quiet now?

It irritated him.

"Oi," Sukuna barked, his sharp tone bouncing off the temple walls, "say something."

You didn't respond.

He narrowed his eyes, his arms crossing over his broad chest. This was weird. Really weird. Then he got a good look at your face, and something about it made his stomach twist, and the feeling in his chest cold.

You looked sad.

Why did you look sad? You weren't supposed to look like that. That wasn't you.

"Stop making that face," he snapped, scowling to cover the strange unease rising in his chest.

You still didn't respond, huffing and walking away to another room— that definitely was not the one you'd share with Sukuna. For mere sleeping habits, obviously.

Then he noticed you weren't eating either. That was the final straw. Sukuna was no saint— far from it— but when he was half-dead, starving, and barely able to move, you'd shoved food down his throat whether he wanted it or not. You fed him, cared for him, even when he didn't deserve it.

So maybe, he thought, he should do the same for you.

Yes. Yes, that was the answer.

Of course, Sukuna had never been great with the whole 'gentle' thing. Or 'patient.' Or 'subtle.'

So when you didn't eat the dried meat he shoved into your hands, he huffed and decided to take matters into his own hands.

Literally.

"Open your damn mouth," he growled, his lower arms grabbing your face with surprising force. Servants around the room stilled, their eyes widening. They knew you as the King's treasure— they never expected him to care, whatsoever.

You blinked up at him, startled, but still didn't say a word.

"Don't just stare at me— eat!" he barked, attempting to shove the food toward your mouth. When your lips remained stubbornly closed, his frustration boiled over, "Fine, you wanna be a brat? Then I shall make you—"

Without thinking, Sukuna grabbed your jaw, prying your mouth open with way too much force. His grip was rough, his fingers digging into your cheeks as he tried to shove the food in.

"Stop being so damn stupid—!"

Before any of the shocked servants could even dare to say anything, your muffled protest and wide eyes finally registered in his brain. He froze mid-action, realizing he was practically choking you.

"..Oh."

He pulled his hands back abruptly, the dried meat dropping to the ground between you. You coughed a little, your eyes watering, and for a brief moment, Sukuna actually felt awkward.

Which pissed him off even more.

"Whatever," he grumbled, crossing his arms again and glaring at the wall, "you're lucky I even bothered, fool."

You finally spoke then, your voice soft and hoarse from disuse. "…Sukuna?"

"What?"

Your lips trembled, and you looked up at him with that same sad expression that made his chest ache. "Thank you."

He scoffed, turning his head away so you couldn't see the faint pink tinge creeping up his neck. "Don't thank me. Just eat next time."

But you didn't.

And Sukuna, for all his glory, didn't know how to fix you.

And that terrified him.

He didn't know what was wrong, didn't know how to make you better, and the longer you stayed like this— silent, withdrawn, not you— the more it ate away at him. He wasn't used to fear, not like this, and it pissed him off.

So the next time you went into the village, he came with you.

It was a rational decision, he told himself. If he could just see what was going on, maybe he could figure out how to fix it. Plus, he'd make sure nothing happened to you while you were out.

The villagers, of course, noticed immediately. Sukuna wasn't exactly subtle. A hulking figure with four arms and marks that practically screamed danger didn't exactly blend into the background.

This was no longer just you, the lone thief darting through shadows.

No.

This was you and Sukuna, the two of you together.

A pair.

You were the reason Sukuna had survived this long. He knew that. Knew that now the villagers would too. They'd hunt you harder, piece together the truth of how you'd kept him alive, how you'd made him the monster they feared.

He didn't care.

He wasn't going to leave your side anyway.

You were safest with him. No one would dare lay a finger on you while he was there. That was the message he sent, loud and clear, as he walked beside you through the village, your hand clasped firmly in his.

But then he saw it.

The way your expression shifted.

You stopped, your gaze snagged on a group of children sitting in the dirt, their little hands busy smearing bright colors inside simple lines drawn on scraps of parchment. They were laughing, giggling, so blissfully unaware of the two of you.

Your frown deepened.

And that's when Sukuna realized.

This— this— was the reason for your depressive episode.

He froze, staring at you for a moment before he let out a loud, echoing cackle. He laughed so hard his sides ached, his upper hands clutching his stomach while his lower ones rested on his hips.

"That's what's got you sulking?" he sneered, "This? A bunch of brats smearing colors like idiots?"

You turned to him, cheeks hot with embarrassment, lips tugged into a pout. "Shut up."

He barked out a low, mocking laugh, leaning closer as his sharp teeth glinted. "Oh, don't tell me you're jealous of that? You wanna crawl around in the dirt and finger-paint too? What's next, you gonna cry about it? Pathetic."

You huffed, crossing your arms with a glare. "Hey! I haven't cried about such things since.. forever now— you can't bring that up!"

But you weren't mad.

Just pouty.

And he found that absolutely hilarious.

Back at the estate, though, Sukuna couldn't shake the image of your face in the village. That look of quiet longing, of sadness. It stuck with him, crawling under his skin until he couldn't ignore it anymore.

So, begrudgingly, he thought about it. Really thought about it.

And then, with a dramatic sigh, he sat down beside you, crossing his lower arms over his lap while the upper ones gestured at his body.

"Here," he said gruffly, as if this were a full sentence made to understand immediately.

You blinked at him, confused. "What?"

"My marks," he muttered, already annoyed at how awkward he felt, "use them. Color inside the lines or whatever. Just— stop looking like that. It's annoying."

Your mouth fell open in surprise, and he immediately regretted it. "Don't make a big deal out of it," he snapped, scowling, "if it'll stop you from sulking, then fine. Go ahead. You can even add new ones if you want."

Your face lit up, a spark of your usual self finally flickering back to life. "Really?"

"Have I ever said something I didn't mean?" Sukuna grumbled, pretending to be annoyed even as relief washed over him, "Just don't mess it up."

You grabbed a piece of charcoal from your stash with a grin, leaning closer to him. "Don't worry, S'kuna. I'll make you beautiful."

He rolled his eyes.

"To think of it, you're already really beautiful.."

He scoffed, his lips curling up, "I am no such thing."

"To me, you are."

"..."

Your relationship was fine. There wasn't much else you could say about it. You weren't ready to ruin anything, and being in his arms made you content enough.

But there was this constant urge to have more.

You didn't understand these feelings fully, but you did know there were times when you wanted to please him desperately.

That's why you started training. A lot.

Obviously, you'd never live up to the King himself, but there was no denying the fact that you did… bloom. You didn't run anymore— not when you were able to take out people on your own.

And while you did all of this with the intention of keeping yourself safe, you somehow got another reward out of it.

His praise.

Your guilty pleasure.

You tried not to let it show, but you were desperate for it. Almost like a dog wagging its tail, ready for a reward after performing a trick.

And while Sukuna hadn't noticed that you specifically craved his praise, he had noticed that you'd grown a lot more obedient. You'd follow his orders without snarky remarks, without hesitation.

Take eating, for example.

Back then, Sukuna would've been fuming because, despite your circumstances and how you grew up, you were a picky eater. And Sukuna had actually been trying his best to break that habit.

Now? Now you ate without another word. No sarcastic quips. No fights. No using the King of Curses as your personal climbing material to escape his four arms.

Nope.

Just you, grimacing after each bite of whatever questionable food you'd been handed.

Sukuna was confused.

Hence why you didn't get the praise you'd been so desperately hoping for.

Well, fuck you, you cunt. What did I eat this fucking piece of shit for?

As you sat picking at a particularly unappealing piece of food, Sukuna finally snapped.

"Alright," he growled, crossing his arms over his chest, all four of them. "What's your deal?"

You blinked up at him, feigning innocence. "What do you mean?"

"Don't play dumb with me." His eyes narrowed, glowing faintly in the dim light. "You've been acting weird. Eating whatever garbage you're given, training like a lunatic, not mouthing off— what's going on with you?"

Your cheeks flushed, and you quickly looked away, pretending to focus on your food. "I'm just… trying to pull my weight, that's all."

"Bullshit," he said flatly.

You flinched, your grip tightening on your fork.

Sukuna leaned forward, "Out with it," he demanded. "what are you trying to prove?"

"I'm not—"

"Yes, you are."

You hesitated, biting your lip, and Sukuna's frustration grew. He hated when you shut him out.

"I just…" You took a deep breath, your voice barely above a whisper. "I just want to make you proud, is all."

The silence that followed was deafening.

Sukuna stared at you, his expression unreadable.

And then, to your utter shock, he let out a low, rumbling laugh.

"That's it?" he said, his tone mocking but not mean, "You want to make me proud? You're such an idiot."

Your face burned with embarrassment, and you opened your mouth to retort, but Sukuna cut you off.

"Listen," he begun, "You don't need to break yourself to impress me. You're already here, are you not? That's enough."

Your heart skipped a beat, and you looked up at him, your eyes wide.

"Now eat," he barked, his tone snapping back to its usual gruffness. "And stop making that stupid face. It's annoying."

A small grin tugged at your lips.

"Yes, your Highness," you said, mockingly formal as you took a big, dramatic bite of your food.

Sukuna rolled his eyes but didn't bother hiding the smirk that spread across his face.

When letters started to come in, no one really knew how to address you.

You weren't his queen. You weren't his wife. You weren't his servant, and you certainly weren't his concubine.

You were you.

A force unlike anything the world had ever seen. The only soul who dared to hold Sukuna's gaze without fear, who could make him snarl one moment and laugh the next.

If there was one thing everyone knew, it was this; Sukuna respected you. A respect so profound that it bordered on reverence— something not even gods themselves could hope to achieve.

One day, another letter arrived.

It was addressed to you, though the sender didn't dare write your name. Instead, it bore a simple title,

The Crow.

The name wasn't unfamiliar. After all, it wasn't far from the truth. You had once been the solitary figure scavenging food for Sukuna, feeding him when the world left him to rot. Always flitting in and out of danger, quick and clever, much like the bird they now associated you with.

Sukuna scoffed at the name when he looked over your shoulder, your legs dangling off of his lap, a sharp smirk tugging at his lips. "The Crow, hm? How poetic."

You rolled your eyes. "What else would they call me? It's better than 'Bearer of Death' or 'The Pest', no?"

He barked out a laugh, leaning back on his throne, "I'd kill them myself if they dared to write something that pathetic."

The letter was an invitation from a village requesting your presence. It was worded carefully, dripping with false flattery and desperate pleas.

"They need you," Sukuna read aloud mockingly. "Right. As if this isn't a trap."

You knew it, and so did he.

But still, you folded the letter neatly and tucked it away.

"I'm going."

Sukuna's expression darkened instantly. His gaze bore into you, sharp and unrelenting. "No, you're not."

You raised a brow, "You're not my keeper."

"Correct. I'm your king," he snapped, hands finding their way to your waist, almost as if silently stopping you from an escape, "and I forbid it."

"Then come with me,"

He stilled, his gaze narrowing as he weighed your words.

"if it's a trap," you continued, "they won't expect you. In that case, we— you don't have to worry about dinner tonight."

Sukuna grunted, a smirk blooming on his face, "You're insufferable."

"So I've heard."

The two of you arrived at the village a few days later, Sukuna at your side.

The air was thick with unease as villagers scattered like mice at the sight of him. His reputation preceded him, the stories of his cruelty and power leaving no room for doubt.

What confused them most was him.

Why was he here? Only you were invited.

The village leader greeted you hesitantly, his voice trembling as he spoke.

"We… we didn't expect both of you to come."

"Clearly," Sukuna drawled, his voice dripping with mockery. His lower arms crossed over his chest while the upper ones rested at his sides, ready to strike if needed. "You thought you'd lure her here and what? Take her from me? Did you think you could threaten me in this way?"

The leader paled, stumbling over his words. "N-no, my Lord, we—"

"Enough." Sukuna's voice silenced the man immediately, "Speak. Why did you call her here?"

The village leader fumbled, his gaze flickering nervously between you and Sukuna. "W-We need her help," he stammered, voice quivering as he addressed the King. "A newborn… was recently b-born here." His words faltered, his fear evident as he glanced up at the King, "He's… different. B-Born with two faces."

The man swallowed hard, his trembling hands clasped together in desperation. "He's sick. None of the doctors outside the village will touch him," he admitted, his voice cracking under the weight of his plea. Then, his eyes turned to you, filled with a desperate kind of hope, "We heard the stories— how she saved you— and we thought…"

"You thought wrong," Sukuna growled.

But before he could end the man's life with a single swipe, you stepped forward, placing a hand on his arm.

"Let me handle this," you said softly.

His gaze flickered to you, his jaw tightening. After a long moment, he relented, stepping back with a low grunt.

You let the villager take you to the hut where the newborn was.

You knelt before the makeshift crib, your hands trembling slightly as you reached out to the newborn. He was tiny, frail— two faced.

One face contained of nothing more than fear, whilst the other cried out in pain. Yet, when your arms wrapped around his fragile body, he quieted, though soft whimpers still escaped his lips.

"Shh, little one," you murmured, your voice as gentle as a breeze. Sukuna watched silently from the corner, his arms crossed.

Carefully, you checked the baby's temperature, your fingers brushing over his small, fevered forehead. You examined his tiny body for signs of illness, taking note of the unnatural features that made the villagers so fearful. His two faces twisted slightly as he squirmed in your arms, but he didn't cry out again.

Turning to the trembling leader and a few others standing nearby, you, usually being considered nice, spoke firmly, "He needs specific care. His fever has to be brought down immediately. You'll need fruits rich in vitamins— papayas, bananas, oranges. Vegetables too. Carrots, spinach. And a steady supply of milk." Your gaze hardened, daring them to question you. "If you fail to provide him with these, he won't survive the month."

The leader nodded rapidly, almost stumbling over his own feet as he rushed to fulfill your demands.

Meanwhile, the baby's tiny hand gripped weakly at the fabric of your sleeve, his innocent gaze drifting up to meet yours. His other face, half-formed but expressive, mirrored the longing in his eyes. He clung to you like you were the only safe haven in his fragile world.

But then his gaze shifted, catching sight of Sukuna looming nearby. The King's lower set of eyes narrowed ever so slightly, his lips twitching into something between a pout and a scowl. The baby's hand hesitated, releasing its hold as if sensing Sukuna's displeasure.

You glanced at Sukuna, raising an eyebrow at his ridiculous expression. What was he? Jealous? Of a baby?

Biting back a laugh, you turned your attention back to the infant, cradling him closer and pressing a kiss to his tiny forehead. "Don't mind him," you whispered, though loud enough for Sukuna to hear, "he's just grumpy because he's not the center of attention for once."

Sukuna scoffed, his arms tightening across his chest. "Tch. Keep your bratty comments to yourself."

You grinned at him, unbothered by his tone. "Aw, is the mighty King pouting? You're really going to compete with a newborn now?"

"I do not pout."

"Oh, you absolutely do," you teased, hugging the baby close for emphasis. The infant snuggled into you, his soft breaths warm against your skin. He reminded you so much of Sukuna, except Sukuna's beginnings had been so much harsher, so much crueler.

Your smile softened as you glanced over at the man, "You were like this once, you know," you said quietly, "but worse off. No one held you like this, did they?"

"That's irrelevant," he muttered.

You turned back to the baby, rocking him gently. "Not to me,"

Sukuna didn't respond, but he didn't look away, either. Even in his silence, you knew he was watching, remembering.

He hated this.

Hated the way they looked at you, as if you were their savior. As if they had any right to ask for your help after the world had abandoned you. For no reason, might he add. You were not the devil's incarnation, you hadn't been a bad child, hell, for all he knew, you could be considered an angel. And yet, you were in the same state as he was the very day you two met. The world treated you so harshly for your mere existence. And Sukuna hadn't forgotten.

He stayed silent, letting you work.

When the day ended, you returned to his side, hands stained with herbs. He said nothing.

And yet, the villagers had the audacity to offer you flowers— an attempt at gratitude.

They were beautiful.

They promised you they smelled even better.

Who were you to decline?

But beauty has a cost.

The flowers— so innocent-looking, so sweet-smelling— were anything but.

The trouble began not long after.

At first, Sukuna noticed how clingy you became, latching onto him even more than usual. You'd run your hands through his hair (despite his scowls and harsh hushes), trace the tattoos along his arms, or rest your head on his chest longer than necessary. He didn't mind— not that he'd admit it— but it was odd. It was unlike you to be so needy.

Then, just as suddenly, you pulled away.

Your skin flushed, your breathing uneven. You seemed distant, yet restless, quirking around like a lost little thing.

And in the blink of an eye, you stormed off to the room you shared with him. No explanations. Just silence. The servants barely had time to question your behavior. You disappeared before they could even open their mouths.

Sukuna pretended not to care. You were probably sulking, he told himself. Maybe something the villagers said had gotten under your skin. But the longer you stayed locked in that room, the more agitated he became.

He wasn't going to check on you— not immediately, anyway. That would mean admitting he cared, and he wasn't about to give anyone that satisfaction.

Instead, he sent servants.

The first returned looking pale, as if they'd just seen a ghost.

"What's wrong with her?" Sukuna growled, standing at an intimidating height.

The servant stammered, failing to form a coherent response.

Useless.

A single strike ended their misery, and Sukuna turned to the next.

One by one, the servants were sent to your room, and one by one, they returned looking worse for wear— shaken, nervous, almost beaten down mentally. None of them gave him a straight answer. And that annoyed him beyond hell and earth.

By the third corpse, he was growing impatient.

Finally, one brave— or perhaps foolish— servant stepped forward, bowing low to avoid her wrath. "My Lord… it's not our place to say. You… you should see for yourself. But she… she needs time. Give her a moment, then go to her."

The King's eyes darkened, his lips curling into a snarl. Time? You needed time? For what?

Still, the servant's trembling voice and the hint of genuine concern in their words stopped him from storming in immediately.

"Fine," he grunted, dismissing the servant with a wave of his hand, "half an hour. If she's not better by then, I’ll deal with it myself."

The servant bowed deeply, sharing a concerned look before retreating as quickly as they could.

And so, Sukuna waited.

What was wrong with you? And why the hell hadn't you told him?

Inside the room, you were fighting for your life. You were left dizzy and overwhelmed. You pressed a hand to your forehead, trying to steady your breathing, but it was no use. The sensation was maddening, your body betraying you in ways you couldn't explain.

Your abdomen burned. It felt too hot for your body, and you were desperate. Desperate to get rid of it, to loosen it, to feel pleasure.

You cursed under your breath, glaring at the damned flowers on the bedside table. They were the culprits. Had to be. Their sweet, heady scent lingered in the air, mocking you.

And then it dawned on you.

They were aphrodisiacs.

You yelped, mewling in, what you could consider, pain. Pain of the lack of touch.

One thought after another paced into your mind, but the one that stung the most must've been the simple question; why?

Why did the villagers do this? Hadn't you helped them well enough? Weren't you good?

Were they still, after having received your help, desperate to damage the King's property? In order to weaken him?

You scoffed at the thought. Yeah, as if.

The more disgusting thought probably had to be that they weren't in disgust of you, no, they wanted you to reproduce. They wanted more of Sukuna's kind, for the man also had worshippers, not only enemies. And this village had been such as those, you hadn't missed their eyes lingering on the King's large form.

What had you done to deserve this?

You'd have to tell Sukuna eventually.

And that would mean the death of the villagers.

You didn't want that, either.

But it was only a matter of time until said King would find out about your condition.

You thought, maybe he'd find out by the use of his enhanced senses. He'd smell the aphrodisiacs, and know what had happend to you. Or maybe he already knew these type of flowers, and he'd be able to tell by the mere look of them.

What you hadn't expected was for him to find you hopelessly humping a pillow.

The one placed in the bed you shared with him.

You had thought he went hunting— and no other servants dared to enter his room without knocking and getting an approval.

And for his sake, you would've been embarassed to see him standing there, his upper arms crossed, his expression fading from surprised to.. amused? Whatever. The King could never be surprised, could he?

You would've been embarassed, if it hadn't been for the high effects these flowers had casted upon you.

You felt like you were in heat.

You couldn't stop. A mess of whimpers, mewls and moans was what you were.

"..m-m ngh- haa- 'm s-so.. s.. sorry— 'kuna—!"

To Sukuna, you were a sight worth millions.

What could he say? Your tits, once hidden behind your kimono, were out, bouncing along to your hopeless humping. Your hair was messy, your eyes droopy, but open enough for him to catch your blown out pupils— not to mention the fact that you looked up at him as if he were your savior. Your breaths came out shallow, and your moans.. your moans were what he could consider a masterpiece. It only added to his own arousal when you moaned his name. Well, petname now, apparently.

He wanted to touch you.

To demolish you himself.

"They've drugged you. I see. Their village shall burn to the grounds—"

"N-no! -kuna p-please don't leave meee!—" you panted, desperately rubbing your clit now.

He wasn't planning to leave, however hearing you beg for it was a little cherry on top. He smirked, nearing you as he yanked your hand off of your poor bud.

And shit, the way you looked up at him— your eyes glossy, partly embarassed and partly so deep in the haze of your own arousal.

His other hand tangled into your hair, snapping your head up to look up at him.

He spoke lowly, his voice a mere rasp,

"Tell me what you desire, my dove."

"You."

No hesitation.

Well fuck, if that didn't make Sukuna rock hard, then he'd be doomed.

"Hm. Stop your humping on that thing. Come here."

His hold on your hair guided you up. You whimpered, the loss of friction and close release could've been enough of a reason for you to have started sobbing.

"Your body is truly pathetic. You can't even withstand a mere aphrodisiac. How are you to survive in this world without me by your side?"

He yanked you up, holding you with his lower arms by your thighs as he pressed you to the nearest wall. You whined, the little clothing you still owned slipping down your form, leaving you fully naked. He was already shirtless, never fond of any tops.

"Hm. A day ago you would've cried from embarrassment. How amusing."

That's when you felt it.

Your cunt was directly pressed to his stomach.

Exactly where his maw was located at.

He wasted no time, slithering the thick muscle from your thighs to your chasm, and into your folds. The dip was delicious, spreading your arousal all around as it began slipping inside of you.

Sukuna's actual mouth acted with thoughts, for he was the one controlling its actions.

His maw, however, acted on pure instinct. That's why on the day you fed him, it wasn't his actual mouth accepting your offer, but his maw, which knew what he had needed.

And it knew what you needed, now, because it was pumping inside of you like a real dick, stretching you out in ways that should hurt if it werent for the mixture of his spit and your liquid.

You moaned loudly, holding into the man as you squirmed. The canines of his maw brushed over your plush thighs, trying to savour your taste.

It was eating you.

Literally.

You gasped when you felt Sukuna's free hands groping your breasts harshly, running his thumbs over your hardened buds.

He pinched them.

And you cried out. Loudly, at that. It hurt, the overstimulation just adding to it as your breasts swelled.

And then he spat on them, meeting your druggen, almost passed out gaze with his grin.

His tongue, still pushing inside of you as if it were to devour you at any moment, was originally going to make you cum.. but..

"S-stop- 'kuna please! E- haah- enough!"

Said man stopped immediately, his tongue stilling inside of you, your walls pulsating around him.

"What is it, brat? You haven't even had your release yet. Don't tell me it's already too much."

You shook your head, blushing as your hands went around his head. He shot you a confused look before you leaned in to press your lips on his.

He was taken aback. A grunt left his lips as he accepted his fate, though he seemed to still, as if not knowing what to do.

But you giggled, actually giggled at him.

"Want you 'kuna. W-want you to feel good too,"

"Don't be silly. You will wither trying to take me."

"'n y-you'll just heal me then, no?"

"..."

He grunted, removing his tongue from you before placing you on the bed.

You looked so beautiful, spread out like a flower blooming. Your cunt was glistening, spread and messy from his tongue.

And yet, you had the audacity to feel shy at the moment.

Using your hands to cover what's his.

"Remove your hands at once, or I will not take any mercy on you, brat." He snarled, slowly pushing his pants down.

You obeyed.

And there he was.

There they were.

Standing at proud, over-human-sized inches, both of his cocks, glistening with leaking pre-cum.

He was right. You would wither trying to take him.

"Excited already?"

Oh, yeah.

How did you not notice the way you basically went on all fours within seconds, looking at his cocks as if they were treasures.

"S..so big—" your hands wrapped around his lower cock, experimentally giving a few pumps. The King, to all his glory, grunted, his eyebrows furrowed.

"So desperate, my dove. Tch."

Your mouth fell open as you went to take his upper dick, kitty licking over his tip, tasting his cum.

Fuck.

It didn't take long for you to wrap your mouth around his tip, pumping his other rock-hard, desperate cock.

And maybe, he was just as desperate— his hand wrapped around your neck, slowly inching his dick deeper into you.

You could cum on spot for what he said next;

"Good girl. F-fuck."

Not only did the big, bad King just do what you yearned for the whole time (praise you), but he also had stuttered (whimpered, really. But you'll take what you get).

You moaned around his large shaft, bobbing your head when you noticed you wouldn't be able to go any deeper. Tears were running down your cheeks, sobs escaping your full throat.

Your fingers engulfed him, your thumb rubbing his leaking tip while the other hand stroked his base, feeling the vein running underneath.

He was so perfect.

During your moment of bliss, you barely noticed his cussing, let alone his demands.

"G-get off— woman."

But you didn't.

You couldn't.

And he couldn't stop you, for the pleasure was way too great.

With that, he shot, not one, but two big loads onto you, one running inside of your throat and the other outside your throat, soaking your skin with white, sticky cum.

You were eager to swallow, and even more eager to continue, though your mouth was starting to get sore and tired.

"E-enough- for fuck's sake- off!" He groaned as he pulled you off forcefully, your mouth still connected to his dick by the mixture of cum and saliva.

Well fuck, if that wasn't a sight..

His dick remained hard, and you wondered how many releases he needed in order to soften.

"Real fuckin' minx. You think you can take both?"

You shook your head harshly, sobbing at the mere thought.

"Backing out? Already? How pathetic. I haven't even got the real chance to please you."

Without another word, he threw you on your back, gripping your legs and pressing them against your chest— literally folding you.

"'Kuna- Kuna haa!—" you cried out as you felt his tongue dive into your cunt again, his tip prodding the place right under your hole.

"Ca- can't take bo- ahh- both! Please!—"

He hummed, his tongue retreating.

"I suppose you can't, no."

"Huh?— Ah—!"

He entered you without another warning, without any time to adjust.

He was big.

He hurt.

But you did give him your promise that it'd be okay. And he said he'd heal you. So it should be okay if you could feel your walls clampering down on him, begging for a release and for him to stop his torture.

The pain easily mixed with the pleasure when he started thrusting into you, holding your legs with two of his arms, the other two keeping him steady above you. His other tip kept nudging your clit, making you cry out everytime your nerves got any kind of friction.

"Mhh. Such a glorious sight you are, my dove. So vulnerable.. can't even handle one cock, how are you ever supposed to take me?"

Ever?

You would've questioned it, if it weren't for the drool running down your lips, and the tears straining your cheeks. He chuckled, leaning down to you to lick away your tears and saliva.

His chest steadied your legs in position, and he used this as an advantage to run his hands all over your body.

You cried out when you felt multiple sharp teeth nibbling at your skin, some drawing blood, some sucking your skin.

He'd summoned mouths over his hands.

Moaning, you squirmed beneath him, his thrusts brutal enough to send you flying if it weren't for his grip.

"Ngh- ha- c-can't.. g'na cum-"

"Go on, little one. C-cum- fuck-" his breaths where heavy, and you could tell by his twitching cock inside of you that he was close aswell.

"Gonna f-fill you up, gonna fill you up so good— fuck- stop squeezing me like that, wo-hah- woman-!"

You came with a loud scream of his name, him following curtly after.

Hot, sticky cum filled your walls as he pulled out, his upper cock having spurt cum aswell. It coated your abdomen, up to your swollen breasts.

Shit.

"Haa- n-no! Enough-!" You yelped as you felt his fingers back in your hole.

He scoffed, "You're wasting my cum. Keep. It. In."

"Y-yeah as if I could do thaaa- holy shit!-" he filled you to the brim, knuckles deep inside of you, shoving every bit of his sticky substance into you.

"'Kunaaaaaa-"

"Fuck. Fine. I'll let this slip this time."

His hands hovered over the open wounds he'd caused, though he really rather looked smug. He healed you, fixing all what had to be fixed while hoisting you up into his arms.

"..this time?.."

He tilted his head.

"You didn't think this was a one time thing, did you?"

Oh but you did.

Whoops.

Blushing, you looked away.

"I- I don't want to be a concubine."

"..You're a fool to believe I'd consider you as such."

Silence.

Oh. Wait. That meant?..

"You know I'll still end those who hurt you, right?"

"Yeah."

He hummed, "Very well, I'll be on my way tomorrow. If you wish to follow, you are free to do so."

Silence.

"Sukuna?"

"Brat."

"Just.. spare the children and their parents, will you? They just—" you stopped, sighing as you nuzzled further into him, "—they.. he reminded me of you. You were like him too, once. I-.. it surprised me, that they didn't abandon him. I'd like him to do what we couldn't."

And what would that be? You and Sukuna basically could do anything. Were you saying he might've been uncapable of something? He killed all his life, he survived, he lived. What couldn't he possibly do?

"You must be mistaken, little one. We've done everything. We're capable of everything."

To his surprise, your voice came out weak. Weak like he'd never heard before. Not even when the people started chasing you with torches and knives, and spat mean words at you for your mere existence.

"...I'd like him to grow up loved."

"..."

...but Sukuna had loved you, hadn't he?

masterlist

[yenayaps]

No Rest For The Wicked | mafia!sukuna x maid!reader

summary: in which a certain mafia leader executes your employers entire clan, yet instead of killing you along with all the other house staff members, he decides to spare your life and makes you his own little maid. how fucked up would it be if he ended up falling in love with you too?

genre: MDNI, mafia au, modern sukuna, afab reader, angst, hostage/forced labor type situation, sukuna does have his silly moments and can be surprisingly gentle, bittersweet ending, he's a slight masochist w/ a big phat 10 incher, reader is a reader and he buys her lots of books

warnings: graphic depictions of violence, mentions of blood, guns and alcohol, smut, piv sex, fingerfucking, cunninglingus, romantic turned rough sex. 10.4kwc!

Life is undoubtedly cruel.

One day you’re in grad school, struggling to make ends meet, working as a maid for a family that doesn’t even believe women should be able to read–

The next, you are essentially the property of quite possibly the most sadistic and also the most annoying man you’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting. Awful doesn’t even begin to describe a man like Sukuna. He’s someone that’ll rip your fingernails out one by one while begging you to scream and cry even louder for him. 

In hindsight, you should’ve known the Zenin’s dabbled in illegal activities of some sort, no one got that rich by just working hard. You have to leave some of your morality behind somewhere along the way to get to that point, whether it’s from exploiting others or just straight up dodging taxes. How else would they have pissed off a mafia lord enough to get their entire bloodline wiped out? You wouldn’t be surprised if he came for their distant relatives as well, he might as well be the fucking grim reaper.

Guilt washes over you each time you wake up in the shoebox of a room Sukuna put you in. Maybe if you hadn’t abandoned your own morals for a check, you wouldn’t have gotten caught up in the crossfire the day he decided to raid your previous employers compound. He happily wiped out everyone that was there, except for you– for a reason you have yet to know. You aren’t even sure if you want to find out anymore. You just want to go home, but you’re starting to doubt that’ll ever happen.

You tried to put up a fight, you really did, but it was all just a waste of time and energy. 

You offered to sign an NDA, to which you got laughed at by Sukuna and all of his men. NDA’s protected secrets like affairs, not criminal activity. Not that you’d know, you weren’t a fucking law student.

Then you tried crying– saying you were just trying to get by and that you had no reason to go off and snitch on him. You just wanted to live a peaceful life, you didn’t bother anyone. You quickly sucked it up after realizing he enjoyed watching others cry. He even encouraged you to keep going, all while there was an evil twinkle in his eye, the biggest smile on his face showing off his perfectly straight and glittering white teeth.

And how could you ever forget the hunger strike? That didn’t last long either. Sukuna found out you were refusing to eat, going as far as throwing away all the meals you were served in the same minute you got them. He woke you up that night by barging into your room with multiple boxes of take-out. 

This is where the annoying portion of his shitty personality comes in– he sat across from you and began to slowly eat, not holding out on expressing how good the food was after each bite. The room was excruciatingly quiet too, you heard each crunch and he eventually heard your stomach growl. 

He got you to eat in the end, just not any of the take-out he used to persuade you with. 

“Sorry sweetheart, bad girls don’t get rewarded,” is what came out of his mouth when he handed you a plate of dry chicken and rice. You wouldn’t be surprised if he cooked it himself too. 

You are going to die here.

It's harsh reality that eventually settled in for you. You do your best to accept it, knowing you’ll perish in the home of someone who playfully taunted you once with food. It’s almost laughable, it would be if you didn’t have to circle back to the fact that he’ll probably be the one to watch you take your last breath.

Each time you clean blood up off the floor, you hope it’s the final straw that makes your brain finally realize just how traumatizing it is. You hope it goes into overdrive, just so that the next time you have to stand before a presumably innocent person’s blood, you are numb and dissociated enough to clean up his mess without a thought.

But nothing ever changes, it’s always just as filthy and disgusting as the time before, holding back on a gag or several when you first get started with mopping his white marble floors. His home was too beautiful for all the bloodshed that happens in it, the only reason why it’s not riddled with angry spirits is because he has a shaman come in frequently to spiritually cleanse the place. 

You spend most of your nights trying to figure out why he keeps you here, he has plenty of unpaid maids already. He has more of a reason to keep them instead of you, he’s saved them from their lives one way or another and they are more than happen to serve him. Not that you didn’t need to be saved, you absolutely did, you were drowning in debt from student loans. 

But still, you’d take your old life any day over being a literal modern-day slave, at least you would’ve been able to still go to the liquor store and grab a bottle of vodka to wash your worries and pain away. 

But now you are painfully sober, mainly by choice. You’ve declined Sukuna the couple of times he’s offered you a drink, you didn’t trust him enough to believe that he wouldn’t slip something in there. Except there’s something that tells you he was the type of person to use a psychedelic over something else, just so he could watch you have a bad trip and laugh about it the whole time. 

Some days you’re convinced that he just wants someone to tease and make fun of while he’s home, kind of like an extra source of entertainment for when he gets bored of scrolling through tiktok. 

Like a pet. 

He ignores most of the workers, but you? He makes it his life’s mission to get under your skin, he taunts you for sport. 

He’ll come up behind you, childishly flicking your ear, poking the side of your waist, lightly pulling your hair. Then there’s his favorite, dropping a random object on the floor or counter when you think you’re alone in a room, just so he could startle you. He laughs at your pain and frustration everytime he does it, yet you can’t say anything because he’ll probably torture you.

“Mr. Sukuna is requesting your presence.” One of the many staff members knocks on your door and says. 

More like demanding, but you had no choice either way. So you drag your feet down the long, cold hallway and into his office filled with many books that you doubt he’s ever touched, let alone read. To no one’s surprise, he’s been patiently waiting. As always, he's leaning back in his chair with his feet kicked up on the table, absolutely no care in the world.

“Took your sweet time getting here, didn’t ya’?” He says with a smug look on his face. 

“Of course not.” You respond dryly. “May I ask why you requested my presence?” 

“No you may not.” His tone is even drier. “Have a seat.” He says, gesturing at the leather chair in front of him.

You continue to look at him reluctantly, all while he continues to encourage you to take a seat. His words blend together in your brain, translating to one big ‘pspspspsps’ because that’s how he makes you feel at this point, a fucking pet.

What could he possibly want this time?

He says nothing at first and just continues to stare you down. It’s not uncomfortable anymore, you got used to it after a month of staying here. You’ve been here for 7 months now, what used to be a painful silence accompanied by your racing heart and barely contained fidgeting has turned into a waiting game– sometimes he’ll speak after 3 minutes, other times longer. One time he didn’t say anything at all and just had you sit in front of him for a whole hour– once the timer was up, he excused you. 

You really thought about saying something to him about it that day, but decided to hold your tongue. It’s not like you had anything else to do, your life revolved around him and his orders. 

“Did you miss me while I was gone?” He smirks as he asks. He already knows the answer to that, but wants to watch you struggle as you lie straight to his face.

You try your best to hold back a scowl, apparently he likes it when women look at him with disdain and you do not want to give him that pleasure. “I don’t think a week is long enough to miss anyone, Sir.” 

“Yes it is.” He refutes, sitting upright in his chair. “My girlfriends usually start to miss me after 2 days.” 

Your eyes almost roll into the back of your head when he says that, he treats those poor women like shit and they just eat up. “Must I remind you that I’m literally one of your victims, not one of your girlfriends.” 

There she is, he thinks to himself. He likes it when you get all sassy with him, especially when he’s trying to be nice to you. “You are neither.” He corrects you, then plops a wrapped gift on to his cherry wood desk. “I would’ve never gotten you these if you were.” He adds, sliding the mystery gift toward you. 

“What is it?” You ask, not as excited or pleased as he’d like you to be over his kind gesture. 

“Maybe if you opened it, you’d find out.” He says condescendingly. “Go on– don’t let my efforts of trying to be a better boss go to waste.” 

“More like my abductor.” You mutter to yourself, making the man chuckle because he knows it’s true. You slide the gift closer to yourself and pull the ribbons string, quickly undoing the shitty bow that he most likely tied together himself. 

Under the wrapping paper is a collection of books, you don’t know if you should be happy or even more disgusted by him. There’s a part of you that feels excited, you’ve missed reading. You’ve never asked to read any of the books he has, because fuck him, and you didn’t have a phone that you could go online and read free books from. 

But on the other hand, “Did you get me a collection of Dostoevsky books just so I could be in even more despair?” You’re quick to accuse him. 

“What? No.” He grimaces, you can’t tell if he’s lying or not.

“Then why did you get me these?”

“You were a student before I took you in, no?” He clasps his hands behind his head. “Just thought you’d like ‘em.” He simply says. 

You turn your attention back to the books, there’s 5 of them and it’ll probably take around a month to read through all of them– not bad. But you still don’t trust him. “What do you want?”

“Well, right now I want you to stop asking all these stupid questions.” He answers sourly, clearly a little offended that you weren’t showing more joy over his gift. Who knew the man could be this sensitive, you watched him cut someone's fingers off last month for fucks sake. “Do you want them or not? ‘Cause I can toss them in the fireplace right n–”

“No need.” You chirp out, grabbing the collection and plopping it on your lap. “You already got them, might as well read them.” You casually say, biting back on thanking him because that was the last thing you wanted to say. 

“Great.” He begins to look at you expectantly.

“Mhm.” You respond through shut lips. “Well– I should uhm… probably get back to work.” 

He nods and agrees, “You probably should.” You move to get up, but are quickly stopped when he continues to speak. “Buuut if you say thank you, I’ll let you take the day off.” He offers. 

You almost want to laugh at him for that, “Seriously?”

“Yup.” He pops the ‘p’. “C’mon, I know you want the day off, just say it.” 

“..Thanks.” You mutter under your breath. 

“What? Sorry, didn’t hear that.” 

“Thank you.” You say a little louder and it puts a smirk on his face. 

He leans forward, planting his elbows on the desk. “Knew you could do it, guess I just had to talk you through it a little bit.” 

It sends a slight shiver down your spine, he’s never been that suggestive with you, ever. Before you even get the chance to process it, he goes back to his cold, distant demeanor that he presents to the world and excuses you from his presence.

—

Your wish of wanting him to leave you alone more was surprisingly granted. Work is still as difficult as always, but ever since he gifted you those books, he’s moderately toned down the daily torment towards you. No longer poking you or tugging at your hair. 

But the sly, unsolicited comments still persist. You’re used to them though, they’re more like background noise to you at this point. 

Your duties for today were dusting and polishing the wine glasses that literally nobody uses. You decide to go with your first task– there was something about ruffling the feather duster that was oddly satisfying to you. Or maybe you were just going stir-crazy in this place, who knows. 

“Oh- sorry.” You mutter after realizing you had just intruded in on one of Sukuna's meetings. He usually has them in his office, not the entertainment room. 

“It’s fine.” He dryly mutters, not bothering to spare a glance towards you. “You can continue.” 

You nod in response before making your way to the corner shelf. The only good thing about him was that he generally didn’t berate his workers in front of others unless it was called for, which was great since his actions usually set the precedent for how his guests treated them.

Aside from the frequent blood spillage, the mansion was honestly pretty clean, so you didn’t have to put that much work into tasks like dusting. You doubt there was any dust on the shelf or the items on it to begin with, so you worked quickly but quietly– drowning out the voices that filled the room until they morphed into muffled sounds in your focused state. It was almost kind of nice, until one of the men in the room directed his attention toward you.

“I think you missed a spot sweetheart.” He says. You’ve witnessed enough of these meetings to know that he’s not one of the big guys in charge– most likely a newbie, a little henchman. 

Even if he was a new face, you still weren’t used to any of them directly speaking to you, so you stopped and looked up at Sukuna. It wasn’t an act of defiance this time, you were more so just looking at him for direction. 

"Keep cleaning." Sukuna murmurs, still not bothering looking your way. He decides to ignore the whole thing, hoping that was just a one and done comment. He trusts Akiro will deal with his little recruit later, just not now when they’re trying to handle some business. 

But sometimes things don’t go the way you want them to, even he isn’t prone to situations like this. 

“Nope– still haven’t quite gotten it, maybe you should bend over a little bit more, I’m sure that’ll help.” He smirks and comments again, because that’s how untrained dogs are, they continue their bad behavior until you correct them. 

You don’t even look at Sukuna this time and continue to clean despite how shaky your hands start to become. Anger begins to slowly boil up in your chest. It was like being back with the Zenin’s all over again— the harassment, the small degrading comments. 

Sukuna notices that– he also notices how the little fucker won’t stop eyeing you up and down, eye-fucking you, thinking about you in ways that he shouldn’t. Doesn’t matter if you’re not with Sukuna romantically, you’re still his– you belong to him. 

As fucked up as it may sound, only he’s allowed to do that to you. And even then, he doesn’t.

Since Akiro refuses to train his new dog, he figures it’s his job to do so, which is why he takes it upon himself to grab the nearest vase and breaks it over the kids head. Before anyone could blink, there were shards scattered all across the floor. Around everyone's feet and just inches away from where you were standing.

Everyone of course flinches, because he did that shit without a warning, not even changing the bored expression on his face once. It’s that one quality that’s made him so successful in his line of work– his unpredictability. There’s no point in guessing what he’d do, you just pray he’s not feeling extra self-indulgent that day. He’s a glutton for violence and enjoys what he does– worse than his father who just wanted to get the job done. 

No one in the room makes a sound– especially not you. You stand still in place, watching the blood begin to trickle down the guy's forehead as he laid over the shards, groaning over the pain that began to kick in. His head stung more and more with each second that passed, he needed a vicodin or something the moment he got home. 

That’s if he even makes it home. 

Sukuna cuts the tension by directing his attention back to Akiro, who can’t help but bow his head down, out of fear of being next. “Why did you bring him here?” 

“Just moved up in the ranks, Sir. We made the mistake of promoting him.” Akiro’s quick to take responsibility for the decision. Taking accountability like that will more likely increase his chances of getting out of here unscathed.

Sukuna lets out a low laugh, an insulting one. “Recruiting him was the real mistake. My men would still be standing if I busted a vase over their heads.” He then turns to the half-conscious man on the ground. He stands over his body and without bothering to kneel down, says “Apologize to her.”

He forces himself to get up, which takes a good amount of effort, and bows before Sukuna instead. He expresses his deepest apologies for acting out of line, and everything else you’d expect someone to say towards a man with a murder count that was unmatched. The words have no meaning to Sukuna, but his lips do quirk up for a split second, he loves it when people bow down to him. But it wasn’t about him this time, it was about you. 

“No.” Sukuna finally says after letting the guy ramble for what seems like forever. “Apologize to her.” 

He then reluctantly turns to you, with his eyes glued to the ground, and mutters an apology that was half of the one he gave to Sukuna. He didn’t like that and kicks the kid in the stomach. “I didn’t hear you. Again.”

“I-I’m sorry.” The boy heaves. “I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t have done that.”

You don’t acknowledge it and continue to clean. He didn’t mean it, you wouldn’t even be surprised if he wished you were dead right now since he couldn’t get away with being a fucking pervent towards you. 

“Now get out.” Sukuna harshly orders. He watches the man get up from the ground and stumble out of the room with his head down, with the rest of the men following suit. You wait a bit for them to leave before making your exit as well, wanting to avoid them when you finally do so. 

“I didn’t say you could leave.” Sukuna mutters, pouring himself a glass of scotch. 

“Right.” You say in response, slightly shaken up from the scene you had just witnessed, it never gets easier. You watch as he slowly fills his glass, unable to tell what he was thinking right now. 

“You okay?” He finally asks, putting the crystal decanter back down onto the mini bar.

“Uhh– yeah.” You usually have something smart to say in response, but you’re kind of at a loss for words right now over why he did that. “Not that big of a deal. His words I mean. Not that disrespecting you is okay, but I’m not– sorry, I’m fine.” 

For once he patiently listens to you as you struggle to come up with a response, more so because he’s pretty sure you’re scared of offending him right. He surprisingly doesn’t want you to feel that way right now. 

“Alright.” He shrugs, taking a sip from his glass. He’s honestly starting to feel bad right now, it’s bothering him. He’s quick to cut off the thoughts brewing in his head and gestures at the shards sprinkled all over the floor, “Clean this up and go take the rest of the day off.” He orders, but his tone’s softer, less demanding than the last one he just gave to the group of men.

You nod, “Alright. Yeah– I can do that.” 

Without another word or taking another look at you, he walks out, leaving you to clean up his mess once again. 

You slept earlier than usual tonight. 

If you had to be honest with yourself, aside from reading the books that Sukuna had randomly gotten you, sleep was the one thing you looked forward to the most. It was quiet, away from everyone else. 

You try to get the most out of your sleep, it’s how Sukuna’s able to get away with sneaking into your room tonight without getting caught. He just wanted to see how you were doing, but you fell asleep before he got the chance to.

So now he's here, sitting at the edge of the shitty bed he’s been forcing you to sleep on for months. Gaze fixed on your form, listening to the sounds of your shallow breathing. He’s never really gotten the chance to see you like this, for the most part you have a distressed look on your face whenever he’s around, it makes him wonder if this was how everyone else saw you.

He also wonders why he’s even sitting next to you now, watching you. He wasn’t going to sugarcoat it, it was creepy, he felt like a fucking weirdo. But he pushes that thought aside– not like he was going to do anything to you anyways. You’re safer with him more than you’d ever know, maybe that’s why he ended up feeling bad over the way you were scared of saying the wrong thing to him earlier. 

But he couldn’t lie, the longer he sat there and stared at you, the more he wondered what it would be like if he just… reached out? Ran the back of his knuckle down your cheek or something? 

No, that’s weird as fuck, don’t do that. 

He keeps his hands to himself as he continues to get lost in his thoughts, letting them take a darker turn. He could end this– end you, if he wanted. But he doesn’t feel like it, nor does he feel like setting you free so you can go back to living a normal, relatively safe life. How shitty of him. Even as you sleep, you still don’t look at peace. Maybe his mistake all along was not killing you that night. 

But just as quickly as the foreign feelings came, they vanish, making him wonder what the fuck he was even doing with his life right now. He could be getting drunk, or better yet, getting laid right now. But he’s here, watching a girl that loathes him sleep. 

Sukuna exhales slowly and quietly gets up from the creaky bed, the last thing he needs right now is you waking up and freaking out– you already hate him enough as is.

He successfully does so and leaves your room, gently closing the door as well. 

Which easily became another regret after realizing he’s never closed a door so carefully in his life.

—

Things between you two went back to “normal” after that. Normal as in, annoying you at every chance he gets and calling out for you whenever he needs something cleaned. Eventually he summons you back into the abyss of sorrow and despair– his office. 

As always, he’s waiting for you, ready to mentally torment you for however long he pleases. 

“How can I help you?” You sigh and ask. 

He just gestures towards the seat in front of him in response. Once you finally sit down, he takes a second before speaking, using that time to get a good look at you. 

When it comes to him, getting a good look at you means just that. He’ll look you dead in the eye and try to gauge how much you’re hating your life at the moment. Sometimes his gaze will drift to your lips or your hair, but that’s about it. Even then, you don’t feel like it’s in a predatory way.

“Did you finish your work in the sunroom?” He asks. 

“I did.”

“Good.”

“Mhm.” Is all you have to offer, your mind’s more on what he wants because you know he didn’t summon you just to ask that.  

He leans back in his chair. “Have you gone through that collection of books I got you yet?”

“I did. Finished the 5th a couple days ago.”

“Good to know.” He leans to the side to pick up another box and sets them down on the desk. “I heard Murakami books were a good read.”

You look at the collection, this time it’s a set of four rather than five. “Who’d you hear that from?”

“Google.” He mutters. 

“I see.” You want to laugh, but receiving a second set of books makes you feel just as unsettled as it did the first time around. 

You slowly reach for them, but in his typical asshole fashion, he nudges them back.

“Say, ‘Thank you, Lord Sukuna.’” He laughs as he poorly mimics your voice, he sounds like an idiot and you hate that you can’t make fun of him for it right now. 

You just stare at him in return because you’d rather not call him that and he starts to become visibly annoyed. If you weren’t so scared of him deep down, you’d think watching his demeanor shift is hilarious. It’s a silent tantrum. His lips thin, his pupils shrink, a vein or two pop out because of the way he holds his breath. 

“Tell me, do you like having a tongue?” He eventually asks, since you won’t say anything. 

“Can’t put it to full use anymore, but yeah I guess.” 

“Yeah, I fuckin’ thought so– wait what did you just say to me?!” He’s stunned and honestly, so are you. You honestly don’t know why you said that, it’s probably just from the months of pent up frustration. You obviously didn't have the best life, but you could’ve fucked more people– the past 8 months have made you realize that. 

Now you don’t have that choice because you’re stuck here, with a “boss” that pisses you off every waking moment and “coworkers” that follow him like he’s some sort of prophet. 

“I said I like having a tongue, please don’t cut it out.” You respond, hoping he just leaves it at that. 

“I never said I was gonna cut it out.” He quickly says, still looking at you like you’re the crazy one. 

“Then why did you bring up my tongue?”

“Are you actually talking back to me right now?” He scoffs before pointing at that door, “Outta my sight. You don’t deserve my attention right now.” 

You stare at him a little longer and notice he’s holding back that annoying smile of his. Who knew talking like that would actually get the man to leave you alone. 

“Don’t forget your books too, you little nerd.” He barks out right before you walk out of the room. 

You want the books, so you turn around to grab them. His head’s cocked to the side while he watches you walk back in amusement. 

You're not sure why he even excused you in the first place. He’s not done toying with you, that much is known when he nearly slams his hand down onto the stack of books and moves them a little closer to him. Sukuna looks quite pleased with himself when you don’t bother hiding your emotions this time and look at him with pure disgust. 

“What’s that little look for?” He purrs, voice dropping an octave. 

“You’d hold anything hostage.” You answer truthfully, watching his finger lightly tap on the cover. His nails are painted black today, he usually does that whenever the blood stains are too stubborn to be scrubbed out. 

“I know.” He’s not afraid to admit, he sounds neither proud nor ashamed to say it. “Doesn’t mean you can’t read in the backyard or sunroom, probably better than your room.”

“I would but I’d rather not spend my leisure time in an area where someone’s probably died.”

He chuckles, “I’m surprised you went this whole time thinking nobody has ever died in your room before.”

“Didn’t have to tell me that.” You murmur. 

“My bad.” He finally slides the books over to you. “Sunroom’s safe though.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” That piece of information does nothing to help your new fear of your room being fucking haunted. “They didn’t die in my bed, right?” 

“The mattress was replaced right after.” 

“So they kind of did?”

“No more questions.” He hates when people ask too many questions, it’s annoying and he’d like to keep this interaction as light-hearted as it is.

“Fine.” You finally take the books and he doesn’t stop you this time. “Thanks.” 

“Yeah.” He’s not really sure what to say, never been much of a ‘you’re welcome’ guy. At least he didn’t bother making you repeat yourself, even though you said it as quietly as last time. 

—-

“Shoulda suggested this place to you sooner since you use it so much.” He walks in with his usual glass of whiskey, interrupting your reading time. You really should’ve gone to bed hours ago, the clock on the wall says 3:14 AM. “Or are you scared of being in your room now?” 

You avoid the question because it’s true and you’d rather not have him make fun of you for it right now. You’ve been here every night until you can barely keep your eyes open since he suggested it.

“Have you been spying on me or something?” 

“Or something.” He smirks and takes a sip. You’re not sure if ‘friendlier’ is the best word to describe him when he’s having a drink, but there’s for sure a change. “Kinda hard to miss when I gotta walk by after getting home.” 

“Never noticed.” You fold the corner of the page you were on and set the book down. 

“That’s ‘cause I'm as light as a feather.” The dry humor starts and you struggle to keep a straight face from how ridiculous that statement sounds coming from him. 

You bring your knees up to hold and to lean your head against, before humoring him just a little. “I’m sure you are.” 

“That’s all? You’re allowed to laugh y’know.” 

“Ha-ha” You say in a monotone voice.

Instead it’s him that bursts out laughing, maybe harder than he should from his little drink. You actually end up laughing a little from that though, it’s contagious when it’s not an evil or manic one.

“There she is.” He husks out. There’s a moment of silence after you two finally settle down, with reality inevitably settling in for the both of you. 

Aside from making jokes and picking on you, there’s nothing to talk about. What’s there to be said to someone who’s life was ruined by him? The world thinks you're dead, it went on without you. 

You know that, he knows that too. 

But he’d still like to try to talk to you, even if it is the alcohol speaking. Though he doubts it, he feels this way when he’s dead sober. It’s kinda why he pushes your buttons to the point where you begin to consider if telling him off is worth losing your life over. 

“Sputnik Sweetheart.” He reads the title of the book out loud. “Weird name. What’s it about?”

“It’s about this guy who’s in love with a girl, but she doesn’t love him back because she’s a lesbian and is in love with an older woman. But the older woman doesn’t love her back either.” 

“So what is it, like a reverse love triangle?” 

“No— maybe. I don’t even know if that’s a thing.” You end up laughing with him, more so because he sounded like a fucking frat boy asking that. He probably would’ve been one too in another life, a less violent one.

He nods at the pen next to the book, ignoring the fact that he’s never supplied you with one before. “You taking notes or something?”

“Here and there, only on the parts I like.” 

“Let me see.” His eyes drift back to you, looking extremely defensive. “Oh c’mon, you act like I’m gonna go off and tell someone.” 

“Fine.” You nudge the book towards him. 

He figures you fold the top of the page to mark where you left off and the bottom folds are the pages where you’ve written them. He picks a random page and reads to himself what’s been underlined. 

“If they invent a car that runs on stupid jokes, you could go far.” The note for that one is simply “sukuna”. 

He ignores that one and goes to a different page. 

“After all this, I won't start to hate you.” The note? “Easy for you to say.” 

He almost laughs at that. 

“Sometimes I feel so- I don’t know - lonely. The kind of helpless feeling when everything you’re used to has been ripped away.” No note. 

That’s.. sobering.

He looks to you after reading that part to find you’re no longer paying attention to him. The moon’s shining bright tonight, it allows you to look at the perfectly manicured backyard through the glass wall. What were you thinking about? Were you even thinking about anything at all? Just looking at you right now makes you seem like the type of person that allows their mind to take a break. He wonders what that’s like.

“Are you done?” You ask after eventually realizing that he’s staring. 

“Yeah.” He slides the book back to you. If you didn’t know any better, he looks a little remorseful right now. You mostly underlined things on the sadder side, so maybe that’s why. 

“Nice to know that you bleed like the rest of us.” You say in almost a whisper, but he catches it. 

He takes another sip from his glass, acting like he didn’t hear that. Sukuna will always have his own issues, but the last person that should be humanizing him right now is you. 

He yawns and looks at the clock, realizing he definitely needed to go to sleep. You really should too since you have shelves to dust tomorrow, but he wasn’t going to kill the mood by saying that. Staying up to read hasn’t messed with your schedule so far.. not that he knows of. 

“M’gonna call it night.” His voice is raspier than usual, he sounds like he needs the sleep from whatever kind of a day he’s had. 

“G’night.”

—

A month’s gone by and Sukuna catching you reading in the dead of night has become a part of your routine. Sometimes he has a glass of liquor with him, sometimes he doesn’t, but he’s surprisingly respectful each time. 

Over that course of time you’ve grown a little more comfortable with him. Not to the point where you’d consider him a friend, but enough to where you can bring yourself to have a conversation with him without having the searing urge to leave. 

He doesn’t care to read, saying he gets a headache after a while, but he seems to like it whenever you summarize chapters for him. You tried suggesting audiobooks, but that sounded so much worse than actual reading to him.

What he enjoys the most is reading through your notes, that may or may not have gotten more dramatic just to fuck with him. 

It’s the only way you could get back at him, even if he does find a majority of them laughable. 

Memories warm you up from the inside. But they also tear you apart. “no shit”

Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional. “i can promise you that this was not optional.”

He ends up closing the book after that, you sound like you’re arguing with the author at this point. 

“This is the last one, huh?” 

“Yeah.” You take a sip from the glass of scotch you two have been sharing. “I finished it a couple days ago, I’ve just been rereading it.” 

“Coulda gotten you more by now if you said something.” He says, taking the glass out of your hand, brushing his fingers over yours. 

You’re starting to think it's not a coincidence anymore. Not when it’s been enough times to know his hands are as rough as they look. Always the one wanting to do the dirty work, his skin’s gotten tough over time because of it. 

“I’m saying something now.” You rest your head on the palm of your hand as you watch him finish the very last of the drink. It’s better that he finished it, even with the small sips you took, you still felt it more than you should’ve from how long you’ve gone without drinking. 

Almost a whole year. 

9 months to be exact since you’ve been cut off from the world. You try not to think about it too much anymore, especially with how friendly you’ve become with your captor. Who knew the guy that pointed a gun to your head and forced you to get in a van would eventually become the same person you would look forward to having nightly talks with. His eyes have begun to soften whenever he looks at you, even during the day when you both play your roles. The tone of voice he uses when he’s asking something of you makes the request sound more like an apology, it’s sincere, hesitant almost.

“Got any requests?” He asks, setting the glass down. 

“I’m sure I do, just can’t remember any right now. Do you think you’ll let me come back with a list tomorrow when you’re grumpy and sober again?” You ask, watching a little smile form on his lips. Sometimes you wonder what those feel like, can’t be rougher than his hands. 

“You think I’m grumpy when I’m sober?”

You shrug, “I’m sure Ino thinks so with the way you had him shaking from just shooting him a glare.”

“Fuck Ino.” He clicks his tongue and knocks his knee against yours. “M’not grumpy with you– what are you rubbing your knee for? That did not hurt.”

“Maybe not for you.” You continue to complain, rubbing the spot he hit even though he was right, it didn’t hurt. You just wanted to mess with him. “My bad, you’re not grumpy, you’re just mean.”

“Damn, even after I offered to get you books of your choice?” He plays along.

“Mhm.” You try to ignore the way he leans forward and places a hand on your knee– rubbing a little circle with his thumb, looking at you as if he were listening to you pour your heart out. “You’ll probably just ask google which books are better too.”

He chuckles, “you wound me sweetheart.”

“Clearly not enough if you’re rubbing on my leg like this.”

“Nothing wrong with trying to make it feel better.” He brushes you off and keeps going, inching his hand up a little higher. He leans in closer, you can smell the liquor on him, he can probably smell it on you too. “I’d say I’m pretty nice– right now at least. Want me to stop?”

“I’d probably hate you even more if you stopped being nice to me.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were actually starting to kinda like me.”

“I think you’re just delusional, Sukuna.” You giggle and he rests his forehead against yours. He’s too far into this to try to back track now, so he lets himself be a little more delusional by pressing his lips against yours. 

They’re soft. Too soft for someone who spews the harshest words. He’s gentle too, even when he’s grabbing the back of your neck to pull you in closer, deepening it. Swiping his tongue across your bottom lip until you let him in. If warmth had a taste, this would be it. You let out a little hum when he swirls his tongue around yours and it makes his blood start to rush, his loose sweats suddenly start to feel tight. 

What a sweet sound. He’s sure everything else is sweet too. 

He feels you start to pull back and he lets you, loosening his grip on the back of your neck, but not letting go. There's a thin string of saliva connecting you two. 

For someone so evil, Sukuna looks almost angelic right now— warm pink brushed over his cheeks, lips slightly swollen, eyes searching for more than what you’ve given him so far. 

“Did you like that?” He asks. 

The way he looks at you almost puts you in a trance. At a loss for words, you slowly nod. 

“Want more?”

“For tonight, yeah.” You whisper, letting him pick you up and take you to the master bedroom on a select few can enter. 

There’s clothes scattered throughout the floor from you two taking your time getting them off of each other. There’s kisses in between each piece that comes off– all over his neck, all over your chest, trailing down to your exposed breasts. Your nipples harden from the cool air in the room, the way he swirls his tongue around them gives you relief, until he pulls away and the saliva he left begins to cools down with the room. 

He fully lays you down and shows some impatience when he gets to your pants, removing them along with your panties in one go.

“So fuckin’ wet.” He says in awe, slowly running the backs of his fingers up your slit. You squirm a little when they glide over your clit. He looks up and watches the way your eyes glaze over from just that. “Sensitive aren’t you?”

It doesn’t help that he adds some pressure with his thumb and slowly rubs in a small circle. 

“A little.” You mumble, holding back a little moan. 

“I can tell,” he chuckles and throws your legs over his broad shoulders. “Gonna make you cum so fuckin’ much.”

He’s not so gentle anymore when he suddenly grabs onto your hips and begins to lap at you like he was starved. He didn’t give you a chance to work up to it, you find yourself immediately gasping from the way he just attacks you in all the right places. You can feel him groaning from how good you taste when he sucks on your clit, letting out a lewd pop! when he pulls away.

He lifts your hips up and grinds you against his mouth while he goes to fucking work with you, like he was trying to make you cum as fast as he could. And at this point, it was going to be the fastest you ever have. The orgasm that's quickly brewing inside of you makes you grab onto the sheets with both hands because it’s all you really can do, he wasn’t letting go of you anytime soon. You tasted too good and the sounds you were making just made his cock throb even harder. 

“Ohmygod– fuck– w-wait.” You gasp out. This can’t be fucking happen, you don’t how this even possible. 

And Sukuna doesn’t wait, he fucking speeds up. 

He even slides two of his thick fingers into your cunt and starts curling them in, finding your weak spots immediately and still lapping your clit. It was obscene, you’ve never been this wet before and the clicking sounds he was able to make from pumping his fingers in and out of you was the proof. 

“Gonna cum for me?” He asks after feeling you squeeze around his fingers even more than you already were. 

You nod, but it’s not enough for him. 

“What’s that mean?” He laughs from how he’s able to render you speechless. “C’mon baby let me hear it.”

He goes even faster and it’s impossible to hold back anymore. You try to pull away but he just holds you down, not allowing you to run away from what he’s giving you. 

“Fuck, fuck, f-fuuck!” It’s all that comes out, you sound like a broken record, just how he likes it. You’re squealing, damnear crying from how overwhelming it is. He coos at you and tells you to just let go, but you’re honestly scared to at this point. Nobody has ever made you feel this good before.

He sticks his head up from in between your legs, still finger fucking you with precision. There’s a grin on his face from how much you're struggling to take it and let it happen. He has an idea and places a hand on your lower stomach. You already know what he’s trying to do and close your legs without a thought, but it’s already too late. He’s pressing down, his fingers that are deep inside of you press up. Your ears start to ring as the orgasm completely rips through you, you couldn’t even hear the noises that came out of you when you began to completely gush around his fingers. 

Your brain even blocked out whatever the fuck he was saying to you. You just know he’s laughing at you, probably taunting you for how much a mess you made even though it was his fault. 

You finally come to when he’s pushing your knees up to your chest, getting ready to split you open with the huge cock you figured he had. Your eyes widen at the length and girth, it’s no wonder why he looked down on most men. 

“So big,” you almost sound like you’re complaining, barely hearing the cocky ‘I know’ coming out of Sukuna. “Go slow.”

“I will, baby.” He purrs, running his tip through your wet folds. You’re even more sensitive now and nearly flinch the first couple times he slaps it against your puffy clit. “Ready?”

“Yeah.” You feebly respond, looking down at where your body’s connect and watching him slowly push into you. He doesn’t hold back on making noise, he even starts talking you through it. 

It seems like it’s more so to himself at this point from how tight of squeeze you have around him. His fingers did no justice in terms of working you open, he begins slowly rocking back and forth– bottoming out in one go was not it tonight. 

“Relax a little.” He advises as he repositions your legs, spreading them out a little more so he can bend down and cage you in with his arms.

“I’m trying.” It doesn’t hurt, you just feel full. You have know idea how he’s going to fit it all inside of you. 

He makes it happen, all from sweetly whispering filthy things in your ears while rolling his hips. He fully drags his cock out of you before pushing it back in, fucking you slowly while telling you how good your pussy feels and how he couldn’t wait to have you crying over him again. Some of the things were borderline threats, yet your walls still fluttered around him. 

“Better not run from it too.” He whispers in the shell of your ear as he begins to snap his hips against you. The tip of his cock begins hitting your fucking cervix and you’re already seeing stars. The sounds of squelching and slapping begin to pick up, he makes you look him in the eye and you already know he was fully ready to ruin you. 

Before you know it, he has your legs thrown over his shoulders as he fucks the shit out of you.

His nails sink into your hips while pulling you in, making you meet each and every single one of his powerful thrusts. He pounds every single inch into you without a care in the world, not even bothering to hide his own moans, convinced there’s nothing better than this. 

Having you under him, crying and begging for more as he aggressively works an orgasm out of you. He effortlessly hits every spot that drives you crazy and you’re a mess because of it, the pressure starts to build up again and you’re clawing at his back from it all. He groans at the scratches, encouraging you to keep going like the masochist he is.

“I’m gonna– nghh– c-cum.” You whine, clawing even more– he swears you’re gonna draw blood and he hopes you do. 

He's slamming into you harder, chasing after something that could only be found deep inside of you. “Fuckin’ do it– cum all over my cock. Bet nobody else has ever fucked you this good, huh?”

“No. J-just you.” you practically gasp out, bracing yourself for the second orgasm of the night. “Oh my fu– ohmygod— so close, m’so fucking close.”

He eventually presses his palm down onto your lower stomach again, you don’t even try to fight it again. He slows down but still gives you the deepest strokes— rolling his hips into you, hitting the spots that make you weak. It doesn’t take long before your toes curl and vision goes white again– falling apart on his cock and crying out his name in choked moans. 

Your positions eventually switch and you end up being bounced on his cock, Sukuna has the time of his life because of it. One hand’s slamming you up and down all 10 inches while the other rubs at your clit. He’s made you cum so much that he just slips right in. At some point he slips right out, you both just laugh and he shoves it right back in until the laughter turns into moans of pure pleasure once again. 

He makes you feel everything and nothing at the same time. Reality starts to slip away, but then you get pulled right back after he hits your sweet spot in a way that you love. It’s fucking amazing, the way he’s figured out your body, the way pushes it to its fullest extent.

-

You hardly remember falling asleep, you just remember him finishing on your back and telling you he’d take care of it. 

It’s not until the morning when you realize just how bad of an idea that was. 

You wake up slightly confused, but comfortable since his sheets are better than the ones he provided you. Then you hear light sounds of tapping, they eventually pull you out of your slumber, looking to the side and seeing the view of messy pink hair. 

Your heart drops at the same time he looks up from the phone and turns to you. He was already expecting to see the look of regret on your face, he wasn’t even sure what to say about it. 

He enjoyed last night, he’s also enjoyed all the other nights he’s spent with you where you two just spoke.

He enjoys being around you. 

It’s why he doesn’t talk about it, pulls you into his chest, and starts talking about something else. You follow his lead like he hoped you would, you didn’t wanna talk about it either. 

You two turn into something. 

Neither of you put a label on it, not when you already had the label as his captive— his property. You don’t even want to ask what would happen if you two didn’t work out. He’s glad you never do, the answer’s obvious. 

But even with that unspoken rule of not talking about the past or future, you two are happy. You no longer have to clean up the messes he makes. Instead, you spend your days lounging around the mansion. He’s allowed you to turn the sunroom into a recreation room, where you spend your time painting, reading, or sometimes even just napping. You no longer have to wear a uniform anymore either. He had you order whatever clothes you wanted online. You opted for simple, comfortable ones since you weren’t planning on stepping out of the house anytime soon. 

You never ask why he stands behind you or next to you whenever you do, you already know it’s to keep you from going on facebook or something to ask for help. You thought about telling him that he could trust you once, but that wouldn’t have made a difference. 

Sukuna is kind to you.

It doesn’t matter how bad of a day he’s had, it never stops him from greeting you with a soft kiss and smile. He holds your face in his hands when you tell him all about your day, the same hands that have been used to abuse others just hours prior. But he’d never abuse you, you can see it in the way he looks at you. Your days are boring, but he still cares, he still wants to hear you summarize the chapters you’ve read in a book that day. 

You two have grown so close yet still know nothing of each other. 

You don’t tell him about your family, friends or your time spent in school. There was no point, it’s not like you were going back to any of it. 

He doesn’t tell you about his friends, family or his life outside the mansion doors either. He wanted you to love him. You know enough about what he does– you’ve seen it, you’ve experienced it, it’s all you need to know.

He’s lucky enough that you’re willing to turn a blind eye, live in your own little world.

Yet there's that thought that gnaws away at him, you weren't willing to turn a blind eye. You were forced to.

-

You’re abruptly woken up one night and had your mouth covered before you could scream. It was fast, thinking about the way you were tied up, blindfolded, and thrown into the back of a van almost doesn’t seem real.

You finally stop fighting back an hour into the drive. After 2 more, the van finally stops and a strong arm pulls you out. Despite having a blindfold on, you can tell the suns just started to rise. There’s a light breeze and birds are chirping in the background. 

You’re going to die here. 

Why else would they bring you to an open space? Soon, you’ll hear a little click and feel a gun pressed on to the back of your head. 

Thoughts like that begin to swirl all around you. You do your best to stay calm, an ending like this was inevitable- but it’s impossible. You think about the life you’ve had, your friends and family that’ll eventually hear the news after nearly two years of having no closure. 

Lastly, you think about Sukuna, who’s most likely long gone. That’s the only way people were able to break in and grab you. You hope that it was quick, you know him though. There’s people out there that pray for his demise, and that it’d be anything he’s ever done look like a walk in the park. 

The man who has a hold on your arm finally lets go and speaks.

“I’m sure you won’t, but I have to say it anyway.” 

“Sukuna?” 

He doesn’t respond to that and begins listing demands. “Don’t look for me, don’t talk about me or about your time working for me—“

“What are y—“

“And do not even think about turning me in, I’ll find you so fuckin’ fast and snap that neck of yours.” 

The knot in the pit of your stomach tightens, this is the same exact tone he used with you when you first met.

“Why would I do that? Why did you even bring me here?” You begin to frantically ask. 

“You’re going home.” He responds coldly.

To abruptly end things on such a sour note is expected when it comes to people like him, but it doesn’t make it any less painful knowing that fact. 

He told you he loved you for the first time last night.

You told him you loved him too.

“You’re seriously gonna send me off like this? Throw me out like I’m a piece of trash?” Your voice begins to tremble, it makes him snap. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?! Like actually, what the fuck is wrong with you?! You spent months wanting— wishing— to go back to your life and the moment I give you that opportunity, you're not taking it?!” 

“It's not that I- you ripped me out of my sleep and brought me here!” You power through the lump in your throat. “You didn’t even tell me about any of this!”

“Because I knew you’d try to fucking stay! I knew you would, look at you! Crying, whining.”

“I don’t—“ you inhale sharply, your hearts pounding and nothing’s  helping. “You haven’t even bothered taking the blindfold off. You won’t even let me look you in the eyes, Kuna.”

“Don’t call me that.” He warns you. “Don’t ever think you got close enough to be able to come up with some stupid nickname. You sound so fucking dumb right now.” 

“Don’t call me that.” 

“I’ll call you whatever I want.” 

You yell back in frustration. “Don’t fucking call me that!” 

“Then don’t fucking act like it!” He yells even louder. 

“So what? You’re just gonna throw me out into the middle of nowhere?” 

He laughs, “glad you’re finally starting to put that brain of yours to use.”

“You’re gonna leave me and spend the whole drive wondering which direction I went off in.” 

“Yeah, I'm sure that’ll happen.” He says rudely. 

“I don’t even have a phone. Even if you somehow find it in your heart to turn around, I wouldn’t be where you left me. You’ll start to look for me and after about 10 minutes the panic will start to kick in.” 

He scoffs, you continue. 

“You’ll give up after a while, maybe even convince yourself that what you did was the right thing to do. I bet you’ll start to doubt that too when you struggle to fall asleep, because it’s the first night I won’t be under your roof, under your watch. You won’t even know if I’m safe. You won’t know anything about me the moment you get in that fucking van and drive off.” 

He suddenly grabs the blindfold, pulls it down, and yanks in towards him— you obviously hit a nerve with the way he’s looking at you.

“I should’ve killed you that night.” He mutters, eyes blazing with pure anger. 

“You already did.” You spit back. “I had a chance to go back out there and be normal again, but you woke up this morning deciding that you were going to twist the knife and fucking gut me.” 

“WHAT ELSE WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO?!” He yells again, getting dangerously close to your face.

“I don’t KNOW.” You try to take a step back but you don’t get far. “It’s too late now, just let go of me. Gonna be a longer day for me than it will be for you.” You say coldly. “Untie me.”

He grudgingly lets go of the blindfold and pulls out a knife, choosing to cut the rope instead. You begin to relax after your hands are fully unbound— they were tight enough to begin with, but something about arguing with him made it feel like you were losing circulation.

He’s still standing right behind you, probably with his head down, waiting for you to walk off so he knows you wouldn’t turn around and try to attack him. 

You won’t. 

Saying anything at this point would’ve been a waste of energy, he’s clearly made up his mind. But you can’t help it.

“I know you heard me when I said it, but I take it back. You don’t bleed like the rest of us, your blood’s cold, that's not something to be proud about. To think that you have the ability to truly act like you cared about me just makes me feel sorry for you, Sukuna.” 

You can only hope that people like him stay far away from you. It’ll probably be your main goal in life after this too. Even if that meant judging people a little too soon, but you're sure it's better to be a little lonely.

“I’m sorry.” His voice finally cracks. You turn around and his eyes are red, there’s tears streaming down his cheeks, he can barely look at you.  “Every time I look at you, I see what could’ve been. I can’t fuckin’ do it anymore, I can’t. I wish I met you somewhere else, at school or at some coffee shop before I start my 9-5, and that’s not possible for me. I’ll never get to have that.” 

He ends up having to cover his face after that, saying it out loud is more painful than all the times he’s thought about it. His path in life was already determined for him by his father before he was even born. He never had a chance. 

He feels your arms suddenly wrap around him, it encourages him to keep going.

“If things were different, I know I still would've found you. Even if I saw you walking on the other side of traffic, I would’ve ran across the street just to ask for your name. Just not in this life.” He holds you tightly as he says it, droplets start to fall on your shoulder. “I swear I love you, but I can’t keep you around like this.” 

“I know.” You say with a heavy heart, the tears begin to flow back. “I’m gonna miss you.” 

His life has always been undoubtedly cruel, having to spend the rest of it missing you too is further proof. 

“Memories warm you up from the inside. But they also tear you apart.” ― Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

a/n: why did I do that I got a lump in my throat now lol phew. anyways, there will be no pt 2 but i'm down to answer some q's about lore

All rights reserved © 2024 yenayaps. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform.

[jetoki]

How it feels to be force fed smut while looking under a fluff hashtag

tumblr writers get off twitter for a month challenge go!!

[22themoon]

You just know it’s a bad night when I’m searching for fluff instead of smut

[peach-paradox]

the crushing weight of one manageable task

[velv3tcoffin]

[ilzzey]

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

my friend, bakugou

katsuki bakugou isn’t someone you’re unfamiliar with. 

he’s not your friend, you don’t talk at all. but every time he sees you struggling in class he helps you. albeit very rudely—snatching your notebook from you and scoffing about how easy it is while he scribbles away.

“watch an’ learn how it’s done, loser !” he’d scoff, hunched over your papers, scratching down so aggressive and quick you worried he’d tear a hole through your fractions. yet when you received your papers back (meaning; when he’d chuck them back at you before ignoring you completely,) you noticed his handwriting was surprisingly careful—it trailed off a bit towards the ends of sentences and the words dragged downwards, but still careful nonetheless. 

and every time he’d just scoff when you tried to thank him, always waving you off. 

“whatever.” he said between gritted teeth, batting his hand at you like you were a fly. but his cheeks and ears would go beet red and soon enough he’d be tucking his head into his elbows. 

you weren’t friends, but bakugou always picked you to be on his team during PE. he’d look back at you often when he was running for the pacer test, despite you already being out, like he had something to prove. he’d look away quickly after, but afterwards he’d sit against the wall suspiciously close to you. he’d try to wave off your compliments quicker than he could catch his already uneven breath. he’d cough and sputter on his water bottle when you complimented him for holding out so long like you’d insulted him.

“w-worry about yourself ! crap—!“ he’d say in between wheezes, stomping off to his other friends.

you weren’t friends with bakugou. you didn’t really have friends. that’s why during class outings, you always sat alone in the bus. it hurt a bit (a lot) but you at least didn’t need to fight for the window seat, and you had space to place your backpack.

until of course, a thud on your lap makes your eyes snap open, snapping you out of your reverie. bakugou shoved it out of the now empty seat, unceremoniously plopping it onto your lap and crashing backwards into the seat next to you. arms crossed and looking as displeased as he usually did when he was anywhere near you. (but you suspected that was perhaps just what his face looked like.) 

“…did the teacher make you sit with me ?” you ask quietly. 

bakugou clicked his tongue, he does that quite often. 

“No.” he leans further back into his fuzzy seat, his feet dangle lazily and one of them knocks against yours. his eyes stay fixed on his feet as he nudges your foot once more before pulling it back.

“s’just too loud in the front. you at least know when to shut up. so…” he trails off.

bakugou isn’t your friend and doesn’t talk to you the whole bus ride. but he lets you have the window seat. and he sits next to you on the way back as well.

and you really like that. 

you aren’t unfamiliar with bakugou, you aren’t friends and you didn’t talk at all. but you wondered often why he’d do these things for you. why he’d stick around you, why he’d help you despite acting like it was tiring. why he’d call you names but yell at anybody else who did.

“..are we friends ?” 

it’s early morning and everyone is getting ready to start the day, so it was still quiet enough for him to hear you. 

you’re proven correct when bakugou’s spins so quickly you think you hear his back crack. 

due to this month’s seating order change, he’s sitting in the row in front of you now. and despite you both not being neighbours anymore bakugou  turns around every 5 minute break to check your notebook for you.

“makin’ sure your dumbass remembers what i’m spendin’ my precious time teachin’ you.” he’d say, already snatching it from you.

he’d just put his bag down when you asked him what was, to you, a rather innocent question. but based on the look on his face it wasn’t. at all. 

you start getting nervous, subtly, desperately trying to hide it. should you not have asked ? would he find you weird for asking ? maybe this kind of thing was supposed to be unspoken, even with someone like bakugou who always seemed to speak his mind wether you asked or not. (which you didn’t most of the time.)

“why’re you askin’ me that ?” he asks, rather quietly. he doesn’t look angry like usual as he inspects you, waiting for a response.

you swallow, poking and prodding at your fingers. “because..well..” 

you draw a blank.

technically speaking, you don’t have the qualities to be a friend of his. most of bakugou’s friends are louder than you. and funnier (debatable. you sure didn’t think so. he seemed to find them funny— to make fun of, perhaps, but still.) 

and despite all he did for you, you didn’t hang out often outside of class. you didn’t do like in the tv shows; hanging out after class, eat lunch together, you don’t know any of his hobby’s or favourite food or favourite colour, either. you didn’t leave the classroom often during recess and if you did you’d usually find some place to be alone.

so no, bakugou shouldn’t be your friend. but— 

“i’d…i’d like us to be…” you whisper meekly. 

you hope your feeble mumble got drowned out by the sounds of your classmates. and you start to think so when he doesn’t respond.

the teacher signals everyone in class to quiet down and you take the opportunity to get away from his gaze, reaching down to grab your notebook from your bag, mortified at his uncharacteristic silence. 

your eyes tried to steady themselves with today’s exercises. but you’re surprised to see a hand—his hand—reach in and shuffle around in your pencil case. his chair uses your desk as support while he leans as close as possible. so close you could probably count his lashes.

“gimme one. forgot mine,” he says casually. snatching a purple pen he deemed good enough with a non committal grunt. when he looks back up at you—he’s still scowling and you worry hemight flat out tell you what you feared; that no, you can’t be friends. 

instead, he huffs and uses your pen to smack your forehead. and for the first time since he’d ripped your notebook out of your hands and showed you how it’s done you see him laugh. it’s small and it’s mean and it’s at your expense.

“sure, whatever.” 

and then he turns around.

the teacher drones on but you’re frozen in autopilot, writing down words you don’t remember. your eyes keep darting upwards, to the slight glimpse you have of bakugou’s hand. him, using your pen.

when you look down at his feet completely by coincidence, you can see his pencil case sticking out, untouched.

despite him not being your desk buddy anymore, this view isn’t so bad, you think.

[yama-yabadabado]

When the fic has all the tags i like

[ririshead]

me when kny and jjk mens

[kunauma]

how i feel when i go to “character x reader” tag and it’s just rape/non-con/dub-con fantasies:

I WANT SOME FLUFF, GOD DAMN IT

[actually-mentally-ill]

me after saying i’d get tasks done but i’ve just been reading fanfiction for the past 3 hours:

[bee2124]

When tumblr refreshes itself and the fic I was reading fucking disappears forever 💔

I’ve been searching for a smau I was reading for three days 😔

[letsbangts]

paint me, play me: moonlight || jjk

⤷ summary: you are the day; he is the night. you are the sun; he is the moon. not meant to collide—one must set for the other to rise. but what happens during that rare moment when an eclipse occurs? can you both coexist peacefully together?

⟶ pairing: jungkook x reader

⟶ word count: 46k+

18+ // mdni

⟶ genre: e2l, college au, fluff, angst

⟶ content: grumpyljk (+ rockerjk, fuckboy!jk) x sunshine!reader (+ cheerleader!reader, artisit!reader, bimbo!reader), rockband!bangtan

⟶ warnings: explicit language, mean comments, jk being a jerk, jess is a b*tch, bullying?, insults, bickering, insecurities, self-doubt, past trauma, ptsd?, mentions of death, mentions of car accident, mentions of verbal abuse, mentions of smoking, mentions of alcohol, flirting, teasing, (idt there's anything else, but if there is pls lmk!!)

⟶ part: 1/3

↬ a/n: this took forever but I hope the wc justifies why lol but I’m so excited to finally have pt. 1 of pmpm out. the response I got from my initial post about this series was way more than I expected so I hope you all enjoy. and to my little freaks there’s no smut in this chapter but just you wait my loveys ;) happy reading! angel xoxo

↬ a/n2: AND LET IT BE KNOWN I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT UNIVERSITY, ROCK, ART, OR CHEERLEADING. I have no knowledge about anything I’m writing about sooo readers discretion is advised. *also this is edited to the best of my ability but she is a beast so feel free to let me know of any mistakes*

˖⁺. ༶ NOW PLAYING ༶ .⁺˖ moonlight ariana grande 01:43 ─✮───── 03:07 ⇆ ⊲ II ⊳ ↺ ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮

series masterlist ˚.⋆˚.⋆˚.⋆ main masterlist ˚.⋆˚.⋆˚.⋆ join my taglist

i never knew, i never knew you could hold moonlight in your hands 'til the night i held you you are my moonlight, moonlight

New beginnings and change are hard for people, but you have grown accustomed to them. You have come to embrace them. There aren’t many things that could bring you down, and a new town and school aren’t among them. This move might be good for you; a shift in your surroundings may be what you need.

At first, you felt a bit nervous when your mom accepted a new job out here, but once you saw the new house, it sold you on the move. Then, when you looked up the university located here and discovered it is known for its Visual Arts major, all your worries faded. So, when you applied for a transfer from your previous university to Borahae and not only got accepted but also received a scholarship for all your achievements, you felt as if everything was falling into place. You felt as if it was all destined to be.

You walked around to familiarize yourself with the area; it was a pleasant town. It has a small-town vibe but is still a bustling city, and the people are very nice. When the adorable elderly lady who works at the convenience store you stopped by heard you were new to the town, she gave you your lollipop for free. You would never pass up free sweets, even though you were ready to pay.

With a skip in your step and a treat in your mouth that tastes even sweeter because free food is always more delicious, you head home with a newfound high – not from the sugar, but from the feeling that things are looking up.

You practically bounce up the stairs and through the front door, where you find your mom doing some of the last bits of the unpacking. It was overwhelming when the two of you first moved in, but you expected to be stressed out when relocating your entire life from one place to another. But as always, you both had each other to lean on.

You could not ask for a better mom, even without a biased opinion, because she is the woman who gave you life; she is the strongest and kindest woman you know. She has always been in your corner, cheering you on, and had your back when things got shaky. As you have gotten older, she has also started to come to you for support, and you have always been there to give it to her. The past year and a half have been tough on both of you after your dad’s passing, but you noticed she seemed to carry the weight of everything much heavier on her shoulders.

You have seen how this move has brought back that spark in her. Everything about your old home was like a constant reminder of his absence, making it difficult to move on from grieving. Although you both will never forget him or all the memories shared with him, a new space for building a new chapter in both of your lives has boosted her drive for life.

Your mom looks up from the box she was unpacking when she hears you come through the door, and a smile forms on her face as you walk into the living room.

“Oh, sweetie, you’re back already! How was everything?”

“It was nice! Everything is so pretty and old-timey, and the shop lady gave me a free lolly!” You wave the dwindling candy in the air to show her.

She laughs lightly and continues unpacking, placing books on the half-full bookshelf.

“Well, that was nice of her. I will have to stop by myself and greet her. The town seems full of kind people; you just missed one of our neighbours. This sweet young man helped me bring in this box,” she gestures to the heavy box of books. “He mentioned how he and a few other boys live together next door. They’re actually around your age and even attend Borahae as well.”

“Oh, what a coinkydink!” you giggle.

“I know, right? And get this: he said they all play in a rock band! Talk about coincidence! They rehearse in their garage, so he wanted to be sure the noise wouldn’t bother us, but I told him not to worry.”

You nod with wide eyes and your mouth in the shape of an ‘O’.

“I wish I was here to say hi to him.”

Your mom waves her hand, “Oh, it’s okay, sweetie. You’ll meet him soon. I mentioned that I have a daughter his age and that you will be attending the same university as him. I’m sure you’ll meet all of them eventually.”

You nod again, with your lollipop perched between your pursed lips.

“Well, I guess I’ll finish the last few boxes in my room.”

You walk over and kiss your mom on the cheek.

She smiles and continues with her box. As you walk up the steps, she calls out,

“Keep an eye out for him; he was a nice boy. His name is Namjoon!”

☾☀︎

You walk down the sidewalk as fast as possible in your wedge heels. Being late on your first day isn’t ideal, but you had to be sure you looked cute. As you hurry towards the enormous building, your pink mini-dress flows in the light breeze. As you step onto the school grounds, you hear the roar of an engine. When you turn your head towards the sound, you see a motorcycle zoom past you at top speed.

“Ooh, shiny,” you gasp, coming to a halt as you stare at it, mesmerized until it banks the corner and disappears. You shake your head, pulling yourself from your trance and refocus, resuming the trek to the main entrance.

The large building makes you nervous; butterflies form in your stomach as you get closer. You see two guys at the bottom of the stairs leading to the main doors. The guy standing with the broadest shoulders is talking to the other guy sitting on the large stone bannister. The shoulder guy is laughing at something he said, but the other guy sits there with a neutral look as he takes a drag from his cigarette.

You approach them with a big smile, their conversation pausing as they both turn to you. The shoulder guy raises his eyebrows in question while the other looks you up and down before turning back and continuing to smoke.

“Hi! Do you know where the office is?”

The shoulder guy smiles and nods his head.

“Uh, yeah. When you enter the building, turn right, and you’ll see a big ass wooden door, that’s it.” He says, gesturing up the stairs to the building as he talks.

“Big ass wooden door,” you mumble to yourself, nodding. “Got it, thanks, Shoulders!”

You turn and walk away, following his directions before he can reply, causing you to miss his reaction to your name for him and the grin that spreads across the other guy’s face as he chuckles.

“Did she—Did she just call me Shoulders?”

“Well, that is like 75% of you.”

You also miss the guy holding a motorcycle helmet who walks up and joins the other two.

☾☀︎

In the office, you are filling out some forms, making sure all your ‘i’s are dotted with a heart, when you see a middle-aged woman walk out of the back office with a red-haired girl, immediately catching your attention.

She looks the complete opposite of you in her black denim dress, black fishnet tights, thick-winged black eyeliner, and a hoop nose ring.

The secretary assisting you interrupts the two’s conversation, notifying her of your arrival.

“Mrs Baek, this is Y/N L/N.”

Once the woman sees you, she grins and extends her hand for you to shake.

“Ah, Y/N! It is lovely to meet you. I’m Mrs Baek, the dean here. We are so honoured to have someone of your merit attend Borahae. I was very impressed by your work. You are such a gifted artist with a great eye for fine detail. I am sure you will make our school proud.”

You don’t notice how the red-haired girl’s eyes light up.

“Thank you, Mrs Baek! I am so excited to be here!” you bounce in place while giving her hand a little squeeze.

Mrs Baek chuckles, giving your hand in hers a pat with her free hand.

“If you have any questions, my door is always open, dear.”

You nod eagerly, and with that, she turns to leave. She gives the red-haired girl a tiny nod, which she returns with a smile.

You and the girl are now left standing at the counter alone. She steps closer to you, her hand gliding across the wooden surface.

“So you’re new here, huh?”

“Yup! My mom and I just moved here—not to the school, to the town; we don’t live here.”

“I hope not; we’re here enough as it is,” she laughs, and you join in.

“Y/N, right? I’m Chaerin.”

“Nice to meet you! I love your hair, it’s so pretty, it reminds me of a–”

“A cherry?”

“Yes!” you gasp.

“My nickname is Cherry; all my friends call me that. You can, too.”

“Oh, yay! Are we friends?”

Cherry nods with a smile.

“Wow, I haven’t even gone to a class yet, and I’ve already made a friend. This place is great!”

“I heard Mrs Baek say you’re an artist. I’m guessing you’re an art major?”

“Yeah, Visual Arts. Are you studying art, too?”

“Oh no,” Cherry shakes her head fervently, “I can’t even draw stick figures properly. I’m a music major, Music Technology.”

Your mouth hangs agape because your new friend keeps getting cooler and cooler.

“What kind of art do you do?” Cherry asks.

“The one with pictures...” you furrow your brows.

“No, no,” she laughs at your confusion, finding it adorable, “Like, what do you specialize in? Drawing, painting, sculpting?”

“Oh! I’m good at everything, but painting is my favourite!” you beam.

“So you draw too?”

“Mhm,” you nod.

“Oh my gosh, this is perfect,” Cherry mutters, thinking aloud.

Before you can ask what she means, she grabs both of your hands, bringing them up to her chin with pleading eyes. You look at her in surprise.

“I know we just met, and I’m not usually this forward... that’s a lie, I am, but I don’t want to seem rude. But what are the chances that I would run into the new artist getting the dean’s praise? It’s like fate crossed our paths,” she rushes out her words in one breath, “So as your new friend, I need a favour from you. You see, my boyfriend is in this rock band with his friends, and they have been looking for someone to design a logo for them.”

“A rock band?” your look of surprise only grows.

First, you move in next door to a rock band, and now your new friend is dating someone in a rock band. What crazy odds.

“Yeah, Army of Bombs is what they go by. I help them with their songs sometimes. I know I’m a little biased, but they are amazing!”

“And you want me to design a logo for them?” you say slowly, taking her request in.

She nods desperately, squeezing your hands tighter. “Please, pretty please, with a cherry on top. No pun intended.”

You giggle at her remark and even more at her puppy dog eyes and pout.

“I would love to help you, but—”

Cherry, thinking you’re about to say no, interrupts.

“Look, I know rock music is probably not your thing,” she gestures up and down at you, “But I mean, you don’t have to like it,” she says, trying to reason.

You chuckle at the irony.

“No, that’s not it. I just—I don’t know the band well enough to design a logo for them,” you shrug with a small smile, not wanting to disappoint her.

“You can come and sit in on their rehearsals! You can get a feel of the band’s vibe. The guys won’t mind. They’re cool; you’ll like them.”

She stares at you nervously as you tilt your head in thought, considering her offer.

“Hmm, okay! I’ll do it!” you exclaim.

“Oh my gosh, seriously! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She pulls you into a tight hug, swaying side to side. “You’re the best, Y/N! If you ever need anything, say the word, I’m your girl.”

You hug her back just as tightly.

“I can’t help this week though. I have a lot going on since it’s my first week here,” you tell her as you pull apart.

“That’s cool, I get it. Whenever you’re free, let me know. You can text me. I’m usually always at the rehearsals anyway. They rehearse at their house. Oh yeah, here, let’s exchange numbers.”

She pulls out her phone, encased in a piano phone case and hands it to you to put in your number. You pull out your pink rhinestone-covered phone and give it to her to do the same.

She enters her number and flips your phone in her hand. She looks at the sparkly case before glancing at you and chuckling as she hands the device back.

You look at her with wide, curious eyes.

“You really are like a little Barbie, huh?”

You light up at her comment, “Thanks!”

“They will be so pumped; I can’t wait to tell the guys about this! My boyfriend is waiting for me outside. He’s probably wondering what’s taking me so long.”

“I’m excited to meet everyone,” you smile.

“Barbs, I believe this is the start of a beautiful friendship,” she smiles back.

You think the same thing.

☾☀︎

You are nearing the end of your first week; it has been great so far. You like all your classes, and your professors have been very welcoming; they have all heard of you and your scholarship. You’ve made connections with a few classmates and gained more friends, but Cherry still sits at the top of the list.

You and she have been texting all week, and it’s not just about the band logo; she has been making sure you are doing okay with adjusting to everything. However, she did mention that she told her friends that you agreed to design their band’s logo and that they were excited.

Speaking of bands, you have yet to meet any of your neighbours that your mom told you about. You would think no one even lives there if it weren’t for the music you hear coming from the garage almost every night. That Namjoon guy must be nice if he warned your mom about the noise because it is loud. But they are talented; you’ve caught yourself bobbing your head to the music numerous times. You’ll tell them you’re a fan when you finally meet them.

You are headed to the gym to try out for the cheerleading team. Art is a relatively sedentary and solitary activity, so you enjoy cheerleading because it gets you moving and allows you to socialize with others. Also, the uniform is super cute, and you love cheering people on.

You push open the gym door and walk over to the girls gathered on the bench, waiting for the tryouts to begin. You sit down next to a strawberry-blonde girl who is texting away on her phone. You notice a pink gummy bear charm dangling from her cell.

“I like your charm; it’s so adorable!”

She looks up upon hearing your compliment, and her eyes dart from you to her phone and back to you before she smiles.

“Thanks, I like your set,” she gestures to your hot pink sports bra and matching pants, “I see we both have great taste in colours.”

“I love pink and candy, so this is like they had a baby,” you say, taking the charm between your fingers and examining it more closely.

“You’re funny. I’m Rina, by the way,” she lifts her hand in a small wave as she introduces herself.

“I’m Y/N,” you wave back gleefully.

The doors open before you two can talk anymore, and the room fills with the echo of laughter. Three girls walk in, wearing purple and white cheerleading uniforms, and stand in front of the waiting students. The tallest girl among the three stands between the others and plasters a wide, fake smile on her face before she speaks.

“Hello, everyone. Welcome to the cheer tryouts for the Borahae Belles. I’m Jess, the cheer captain. And this is Mei,” she points to the girl on her right, “And this is Kat,” she points to the girl on her left.

“This is our second year cheering for the school; we had a stellar year last year, winning nationals,” Jess flips her ponytail over her shoulder, placing a hand over her chest, “And like I did last year, I plan on leading us to victory this year, so I hope you brought your ‘A’ game.”

Everyone’s faces fill with fear, but you aren’t worried. You are excited to be cheering again; you missed it.

“We would usually have tryouts out on the field, but the football team has practice today, so we had to settle for in here. As you can see, we only have a few roll-out mats, so try not to get injured because we really can’t deal with that right now,” Jess rolls her eyes, and the other two girls snicker.

“Okay, enough talk. Let’s get started!” Jess claps twice, and Mei hands her a clipboard with the signup sheet.

One by one, people start going to the centre of the room and performing their routines. The three cheerleaders give little to no response, simply calling out the next name after each performance.

“I’m so nervous, are you?” Rina whispers to you.

“No, not at all,” you shake your head.

“You must be confident.”

You are. You were cheer captain throughout high school and even at your old university. You don’t have a big head, but you know you’re good, so you’re confident you’ll make the team.

“I am; you should be, too. I bet you’ll do great,” you say, squeezing Rina’s shoulder in encouragement.

Just then, Rina’s name gets called out. She gives you a weak smile, gets up and makes her way to the mat. She performs her routine flawlessly, finishing with a back handspring, jumping into a herkie, and landing in a torch position.

“Yay, Rina,” you applaud enthusiastically for her, thinking she had no reason to be nervous.

You don’t see the dirty look Jess gives you.

Rina mouths a silent “thank you” and “good luck” and gives you a thumbs-up before she leaves the gym.

Four more people’s names get called out before you finally hear yours; you spring up and skip over to the mat.

“Hi, I’m Y/N L/N! I’m very excited to cheer for you.”

“Yeah, we know your name’s on the signup sheet,” Kat says as she and Mei snicker.

Jess tilts her head, eyes scanning you, “Why don’t you start your routine?” she smirks.

While you perform your routine, Jess sits up straighter than she has since tryouts began. Both Mei and Kat’s eyes are wide in shock. You’re good–excellent. You’re better than they thought you’d be, better than the others who have tried out. The two girls don’t say anything for fear of upsetting the captain, but you’re even better than Jess.

Mei and Kat glance warily at Jess, her eyes are narrow, and her lips are pursed from her sucking her teeth.

You finish with a toe touch and land in a liberty pose. Once you face the three girls with an anticipatory expression, Jess immediately breaks into a smile, which you return, unaware of her disapproving look throughout your routine you were too absorbed into to notice.

“You’re good. Y/N, was it?” Jess asks, raising an eyebrow.

You nod, clasping your hands behind your back.

She hums, glancing down briefly before continuing, “I shouldn’t say anything before the official list goes up, but I think you can consider yourself a Borahae Belle.”

You hop up and down in place, hands balled up, nearly bursting with joy.

You’re clueless about how the other two cheerleaders whip their heads towards the captain in surprise, taken aback by her complimentary words and acceptance of you.

You thank the three girls before practically bouncing out of the room.

As soon as you’re out of sight, Jess’s smile disappears.

☾☀︎

Cherry is sitting on the sofa in the guys’ garage as they get ready to rehearse, tune their instruments, and set up the equipment. Seokjin, who is rolling out the amplifier and plugging it in, calls her name.

“Hey Cher, when are we going to get to meet this art girl? I’m dying to discuss logo ideas with her.”

Hoseok, who was tuning his guitar, chimes in at the mention, “Yeah, it’s about time we finally got one. Every iconic band has a logo; branding Army of Bombs if we want to make our mark is a must.”

“She’s super busy this week; I told you she just moved here. Once she settles in, she will start working on the design. She’s going to sit in on rehearsals to help her get ideas,” Cherry replies.

“If she is as good of an artist as you said, shouldn’t she be able to draw something up at the snap of her fingers?” Jimin comments.

“The logo has to fit the band, and she knows nothing about you guys or your music. Also, rock and roll music doesn’t seem like her style, so she has to get familiar with it.”

“Did you get to see any of her work? You know, to see how good she is?” Namjoon asks.

“No, I never got a chance to,” Cherry shrugs.

The band exchanges pessimistic looks with one another.

“So let me get this straight, you asked a girl who doesn’t like rock and who might be a shit artist to design our logo? Well, that sounds promising.” Taehyung smirks, his tone laced with sarcasm.

“She is talented; I heard the dean praise her myself.”

“The dean would kiss anyone’s ass. You know how much people pay to go there,” Taehyung rebuts.

“She said she was honoured to have her attend the school. I don’t remember ever hearing that she complimented any of you.”

“She once told me I was, and I quote, “unbelievable” actually,” Jimin says.

“She wasn’t saying that as a compliment, you idiot. She said it in disdain,” Seokjin clarifies.

“Semantics,” Jimin waves off. “The point is that Cherry has probably roped us in with some new girl and opened our rehearsals to her without checking her credibility.”

“What are you blaming my girlfriend for?” Yoongi inquires as he walks in with Jungkook a few steps behind him. He sits on the sofa beside Cherry and wraps an arm around her shoulder, pulling her into his side.

“We just found out that she doesn’t know if the girl she got to do the logo has any real talent,” Hoseok updates while pointing at Cherry.

Yoongi turns his head to look at her, his brows furrowed, “I thought you said she was good?”

“She is!” Cherry exclaims, throwing her hands in the air. All the guys jump in shock at her outburst.

“I can’t believe you guys are giving me such a hard time. You were eager to find someone, and now that I have found someone willing to do it, you are complaining.”

“We aren’t complaining, Cher; we are sceptical. She might be willing, but that doesn’t mean her work will meet our standards,” Taehyung states.

“Didn’t you see any of her drawings or something?” Jungkook asks while grabbing his guitar and putting the strap over his head. When he looks up, he sees the rest of the band staring at Cherry, whose eyes are rolling in exasperation.

Jungkook smirks and snickers, “You didn’t. Way to put in the work, Cherry.”

“Okay now, step off. We gotta give this girl a chance at least; I’m sure Cher is vouching for her for a reason.” Yoongi comes to his girlfriend’s defence, calming everyone down. He kisses her on the temple before making his way to his keyboard.

“Yeah, who knows? She might be like a little Picasso,” Namjoon says, intervening to lighten the mood. He pats Cherry’s shoulder as he walks by her and sits behind the drum set.

The guys take their positions, and Cherry leans back onto the sofa with a huff.

“I’m telling you, she’s good and doing us a big favour by agreeing to help us. Once you guys meet her, you’ll be eating your words.”

Namjoon does the count-off, his drumsticks hitting together with each number, “One, two, three, four.”

☾☀︎

Rehearsal ended a little while ago, and the band was scattered around different spots in the garage resting.

“Kook, what happened to that chick you were seeing? I haven’t seen you with her since Junho’s party,” Hoseok asks from his seat in the beanbag chair in the corner.

Jungkook, sitting on top of an amp, looks up from his phone, tilting his head in thought.

“Which girl?” Jungkook questions in return.

“Wow, seriously, man? You’re an animal,” Jimin laughs, shaking his head.

“The one who always showed up at the venue an hour before our shows and sat on stage the entire rehearsal,” Hoseok describes the girl.

“Oh her, I got rid of her a while ago.”

“Why? What was wrong with that one now?” Seokjin asks from the sofa, accustomed to the youngest one’s pattern.

“I just ended it,” Jungkook shrugs.

The older guys shake their heads, some chuckling at Jungkook’s nonchalance.

“Ugh, you are such a stereotypical rocker,” Cherry scoffs.

“Don’t hate the player, babe, hate the game,” Jungkook smirks, sending her a wink.

“Getting with girls shouldn’t be a game, Kook.”

“Hey, it’s all good fun, and we’re all consenting adults. It’s not like I hunt for these girls; they come to me.”

“More like they cum for you,” Taehyung jokes and daps Jungkook.

“Disgusting,” Cherry turns to Yoongi sitting beside her, “I sometimes question your choice of friends.”

“How come in moments like this, they’re not your friends, too?” Yoongi laughs.

“Speaking of girls, Joon, didn’t you say the lady who moved in next door has a daughter our age?” Jimin diverts, sitting on the armrest of the recliner Namjoon is sitting on.

Namjoon nods, “Yeah, she said she goes to Borahae too, but I haven’t run into her yet.”

“She must be one of those students who live their lives studying–home to school to the library and back,” Jimin says, waving his hand, tilting his beer bottle back and forth.

“Wait a minute, did you say a girl our age? Why am I only hearing about this now? I would have gone over to introduce myself, like a good neighbour should,” Taehyung perks up on the stool he’s perched on.

“That is what we don’t want,” Seokjin points to the three youngest, “You three are prohibited from going next door.”

“Hold up! Why are we being singled out?” Jimin exclaims.

“Because you guys wreak havoc wherever you go, and her mom is nice and was cool about us rehearsing out here. We don’t need you ruining that by messing around with her daughter,” Seokjin explains.

“Excuse me, I am a perfect gentleman. These two are the ones you need to worry about,” Jimin says, pointing two fingers at Taehyung and Jungkook.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about me; I don’t shit where I eat,” Jungkook raises both hands in surrender.

“And I resent being classed the same as Kook; I am nowhere near as big of a hoe as he is,” Taehyung defends himself.

“We’re not taking chances; don’t go anywhere near the kid, all three of you,” Yoongi declares.

“Yeah, the poor girl just moved here. Don’t corrupt her with your sleaziness; give her a break,” Cherry smirks.

“I can keep my hands to myself, but if she approaches me and she’s cute, I make no promises where my hands will be on campus,” Taehyung shrugs before sipping his beer.

The conversation shifts after that, and various topics are discussed, from upcoming shows to party invites they have received. The current topic is their female escapades despite prior denials.

Seokjin is in the middle of a story when he gets interrupted by a low whistle from Taehyung.

“Hottie headed this way,” he announces, his eyes focused on the street where a girl is walking down the sidewalk.

All heads, excluding Yoongi’s and Cherry’s, turn to follow his line of sight.

“Those are our school colours,” Namjoon notes.

“Damn, since when did cheerleaders roam this street,” Hoseok says.

That causes Cherry to glance in reluctance briefly before doing a double take. She suddenly stands up from Yoongi’s side, “Y/N?”

The guys all redirect their eyes to her in question.

“Y/N? Didn’t you say the art girl was named Y/N?” Yoongi asks.

She stands up, walks out of the garage, and yells, “Hey, Y/N!”

☾☀︎

As you expected, you made the cheerleading team, but you were still excited when you saw your name on the list of those who made it onto the team. Rina also made the team, so you were extra happy.

You changed into your new uniform right after you picked it up and made your routine stop by the convenience store on your way home. You told Mrs Lee, the adorable elderly lady who works there, that you made the team and twirled around to show off your new outfit. She was just as excited as you were and told you how pretty you looked. When you went to pay for your lollipop, she refused to let you pay, saying it was a reward for the special occasion.

So now you are walking home in your cute uniform and with a celebratory lollipop in your favourite flavour: bubble gum.

You think you’ve reached peak happiness at this moment. You can’t wait to get home to tell your mom the news and have her happiness added to it all. You turn the corner to your street and walk down the sidewalk to your house. As you get closer, you notice your neighbour’s garage open, this being your first time seeing any sign of life from the residence.

You pick up your pace, wondering if this is when you’ll finally meet the elusive rock band from next door that you’ve been hearing through the walls all week.

As soon as the garage comes into full view, you hear your name called.

“Hey, Y/N!”

You look up your neighbour’s driveway to see Cherry waving at you. With a big smile, you run up to her and hug her, making sure not to get the sticky candy caught in her hair. The thought of finally meeting the rocker’s neighbours gets instantly forgotten.

“Cherry!”

“What are you doing here?” she laughs as you pull away from the hug.

“I’m on my way home,” you point towards the direction of your house.

“You live close by?”

“Yup!” you giggle.

“And what’s this,” Cherry gestures to your uniform, “You didn’t tell me you were trying out for the cheer team.”

“I guess I forgot to mention it,” you knit your brows and pout briefly before lighting back up, “But isn’t it great! Don’t I look so cute?” You give her a twirl with your arms stretched out at your sides.

The guys watch in amusement while Jungkook slides off the amp, rolling his eyes as he heads over to the mini fridge in the back.

“You look cuter than anything my eyes have ever seen,” Taehyung interjects from his seat.

You glance over Cherry’s shoulder and smile at the boy. She lets out a huff and grabs your hand.

“I guess this is a time as good as any to introduce you to the band,” she tugs you into the garage with her.

“How do you know them?” you ask as you walk behind her.

Cherry turns and looks at you with a confused yet amused expression, letting go of your hand, “Huh? What do you mean? Remember when I asked you for help? I said my boyfriend was in a band with some friends.”

You nod slowly, still not caught up.

She smiles at you and flails her hand at the guys dispersed around the garage, “This is the band. Y/N, meet Army of Bombs.”

Your mouth hangs agape at the news. Your rocker neighbours are the same band Cherry asked you to design for. Wow, another coinkydink!

She pulls Yoongi from the sofa by his arm, “This is my boyfriend, Yoongi. He is the keyboardist of the band.”

He gives you a nod in greeting before a look of realization crosses his face.

“Wait, haven’t we seen you before?” he asks, pointing to you but turning to Seokjin.

You follow his gaze and gasp, “Shoulders!”

“I usually go by Seokjin, but I’ll take the nickname as a compliment,” Seokjin says with a laugh as he gets up to shake your hand.

You laugh as you shake hands while Cherry’s eyes dart between the three of you, puzzled.

“You met her already?” she asks the boys.

“She asked us, well, me, Yoongi — as usual, gave no help, for directions to the office,” Seokjin tells her.

“That was the day I met you,” you add, lifting your lollipop back to your mouth.

“Wow, that’s so crazy. Fate seriously crossed our paths!” Cherry exclaims.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you formally, Y/N. I’m the band’s manager,” Seokjin explains.

“Or, as we like to call him, our roadie,” a voice adds, stepping forward to join the introductions.

“I’m Taehyung, the visual relief of the band, but my official role is bassist,” the boy says, bared with a suave smile. He takes your hand and is about to bring it to his lips when Cherry rips his hold of you and pushes past him.

“He is also the official buffoon; ignore him,” Cherry glances back, glaring at Taehyung, who sticks his tongue out playfully at her before smirking.

“This is Hoseok. He’s the rhythm guitarist. Jimin, he’s the lead singer.” The boys give you a friendly wave and a smile, greeting you.

“Namjoon’s the drummer,” the boy flashes you a dimpled smile.

The name catches your attention, and your perplexed expression has Namjoon and Cherry looking at you bewildered.

“What’s wrong?” Cherry asks.

“Namjoon,” you mutter, tapping your lollipop against your lips in thought.

Namjoon sends Cherry a worried look, and she shrugs.

“Ah!” you exclaim, and they both raise their brows at your sudden outburst.

“You’re the sweet young man,” you smile and point your candy at him.

He gives you an amused chuckle, tilting his head slightly, “Am I?”

You nod, “Yeah, my mom said you were a nice boy.”

“Okay, Joon, going after MILFs now,” Jimin hollers but receives a quick nudge in the ribs from Yoongi and a dirty look from Namjoon.

“Your mom met Namjoon? Where?” Cherry questions.

“Outside,” you point out of the garage, answering Cherry.

The boys let out a small chuckle; Cherry ignores them and gives you a stare, urging you to explain further.

“He helped my mom bring in a heavy box.”

When everyone comes to the same realization, their faces turn to shock. You glance around and giggle at their expressions.

Cherry grabs you by your shoulders and turns you to face her body.

“Y/N, you moved in next door? Like into the house beside this one?” Cherry simplifies, trying to get a clear answer.

“Mhm,” you nod up at her, sucking on your lollipop.

“So you’re the daughter she mentioned,” Namjoon sends you a gentle smile.

“Well, now we know she for sure isn’t one of those students who live their life studying,” Jimin whispers to Hoseok, causing both of them to stifle a laugh.

A clink is heard from the back of the garage, catching your attention. You gaze in that direction, catching a glimpse of a broad back closing the mini-fridge door. As the person turns around, you encounter the most beautiful human you have ever seen.

His dark hair is black like the night sky, his skin is golden like a radiant star, and his eyes are big and intense like a black hole. He is like a galaxy walking on two legs, his gravitational pull too strong to escape; you feel the need to move towards it.

“Oh, right. Y/N, this is Jungkook; he’s the lead guitarist,” Cherry says, though her voice is almost like white noise to you, yet you still hear her.

“Jungkook,” you repeat.

For a brief moment, Jungkook, wearing a blank expression, his eyes unreadable, holds your gaze before breaking it, opening his beer, and walking over to sit on the stool in the corner. But you can’t ignore how your heartbeat quickens, the tingling sensation, how you somehow feel warmer.

“We never got to thank you for agreeing to design our logo,” Namjoon says, pulling you out of your trance and resting a hand on your shoulder.

“O-oh,” you blink, collecting yourself, “It’s no biggie!” you smile brightly.

“You’re doing us a solid; we’ve been searching for someone for months to do it,” Hoseok says.

“I’m so excited to do it and to sit in on your rehearsals. I’ve wanted to meet my neighbours. I can hear when you guys play through the walls, and I’m already a fan. You guys are super duper,” you say, giving them a thumbs-up.

Jungkook scoffs to himself quietly while the rest of the band smiles at you in gratitude.

“We’re excited to see what you come up with. Do you have any drawings so we can see your style?” Jimin asks.

“I don’t have my sketchbook with me; it’s at home,” you shake your head.

The boys give Cherry a doubtful look, which she ignores.

“Oh yeah! I have to go; I told my mom I would be back in time for dinner,” you say.

“Of course. We’ll see your stuff when you come to rehearsal. You’re still coming tomorrow, right?” Cherry asks as she walks you out.

You nod eagerly, “Yup, I’ll be here!”

She smiles, and you hug each other goodbye.

Before you take the few steps to your house, you turn and wave to the band.

“Bye-bye, see you tomorrow! It was nice seeing you again, Shoulders and Shoulders’ friend! And it was nice meeting the rest of you,” you call out, saying the last part while looking at the beautiful boy on the stool.

He doesn’t even acknowledge your words, occupied with his phone. The band bids you farewell, and you head to your house.

As you walk up the steps to your home, you smile with a blush, “Jungkook,” you muse, “What a pretty, pretty boy.”

☾☀︎

After your departure, Cherry turns to the boys with a raised brow.

“She’s nice,” Seokjin nods in approval with a smile.

“I can’t believe the person who asked for directions, the one Cher got to help us, and our new neighbour are all the same girl. What are the chances of all that?” Yoongi raises a finger with each point.

“I can’t believe you failed to mention how hot she was,” Taehyung says in disbelief to Cherry.

“Maybe because that has no relevance to anything,” Cherry deadpans.

“To you, but a hot cheerleader who is a talented artist and lives next door is like the female trifecta,” Jimin says.

“Oh, so now that you guys see she’s cute, you’re suddenly backtracking and agreeing with me that she’s got talent,” Cherry notes.

“I’m more hopeful about it,” Taehyung shamelessly declares with a nod, receiving an unimpressed look from Cherry in return.

“You guys can’t be serious,” Jungkook pipes up.

“What?” Cherry asks.

“You couldn’t find someone whose head isn’t in the fucking clouds.”

“Come on, don’t be so judgemental, Jungkook,” Cherry scolds.

“I have to admit, Cher, I’m still wary that she’s got any real art skills; she does seem a bit... ditzy,” Hoseok says gently, trying not to offend.

“She’s an airhead. I’d be surprised if she can even spell art,” Jungkook comments, his tone harsh.

“All of you should be the last to judge someone so quickly. Do you think when people hear you say you’re in a rock band, they don’t immediately assume you’re a bunch of wannabe rockstar losers before hearing how talented you are?” Cherry rebukes.

“You’re talking as if you’ve seen how “talented” she is,” Jungkook counters, his fingers making air quotes around the word.

“You know just as much about her supposed talent as we do. You’re just being defensive because she’s your new little friend,” Jungkook continues.

“And you’re being rude because she isn’t all doom and gloom like you,” Cherry argues.

“More like I’m calling it as I see it; she’s living in a world of her own,” he ripostes.

“And what does that have to do with her capabilities?”

Namjoon steps in to de-escalate the conversation: “She has a point: We can’t evaluate her abilities based on her personality. I say we wait to see what she shows us before jumping to conclusions,” he says, throwing Jungkook a look of reassurance; he adds, “We may be pleasantly surprised.”

“Whatever,” Jungkook mumbles, backing off. But he remains very doubtful that you can bring anything of substance, not believing that there is anything under your surface of lip gloss, bows, and lollipops that will surprise him.

☾☀︎

The next day couldn’t come fast enough for you; it was a bit after lunchtime when Cherry texted you that she had arrived at the garage and that the band was setting up for rehearsal.

As you skip next door with your sketchbook held to your chest, it feels like you are floating on a cloud. You thought about the pretty boy with the pretty big eyes all night, and you couldn’t wait to lay your eyes on him once again.

The garage door is wide open. You turn to enter and nearly bump into the very man you’ve been eager to see. You look him up and down shamelessly; he is wearing baggy jeans, black chunky combat boots and a white shirt with a black bomber jacket. With a chance to look closer at him, you notice his plump pink lips adorned with two piercings, his right eyebrow pierced, his ears decorated with several earrings, and a small scar on his left cheek.

“Oh, um, hi!” you smile at Jungkook with a tiny wave.

Jungkook gives you a once-over, his face emotionless, and walks away without a greeting.

You pout slightly, glancing down at your pink frilly crop top and white jean skirt, but don’t stay hung up on it for too long as Cherry notices your arrival.

“Barbs, you’re here. Come in,” Cherry waves you over.

She gives you a quick hug, and the rest of the band greets you warmly with head nods and waves.

“Hey, Shortstack,” Taehyung says with a gentle pat on your head.

You giggle at the nickname the tall boy has given you. Cherry sees the book cradled in your arms and smiles at you, excited for the guys to finally see how talented you are and, quite frankly, to see herself.

“Is that your sketchbook? Can we take a look?” she asks.

“Mhm,” you nod and hand her the baby pink sketchbook, a picture of two swans with their beaks touching on the cover.

The guys abandon their instruments as they overhear and huddle around the red-haired girl. You sit on the worn-out black leather sofa, glancing around the grungy place decorated with posters of different rock bands and filled with musical equipment. Your eyes land on Jungkook tuning his guitar in the back, not concerned with seeing your sketches like the rest of the band.

You watch as Cherry opens the sketchbook, and her eyes light up. Her mouth drops open as she flips through the pages, and her eyes widen with the guys’.

“Y-You drew these?” Hoseok asks dumbfounded, pointing at the book.

You nod brightly.

“Holy shit, Y/N! These are amazing!” Jimin exclaims.

“I knew you were talented, Y/N, but I didn’t think you were this good,” Cherry chuckles at the pages, shaking her head.

“They’re okay; I’m better at painting,” you blush at the compliments.

“No need to be humble, kid. These are way better than okay,” Yoongi says.

At Yoongi’s comment, you watch Jungkook walk over to the group, look over their shoulders at your drawings, glance at you, and then walk back over to continue tuning his guitar, all while his face remains impassive.

“Huh, you are like a little Picasso,” Namjoon says with a kind smile.

“Thank you,” you mutter shyly.

“I get why the dean was kissing your feet,” Hoseok says in awe, nodding.

“She didn’t kiss my feet,” you correct, shaking your head with knitted brows.

“He means why she praised your work,” Cherry explains.

“Oh... yeah. Mrs Baek is very nice,” you nod.

The guys all snicker, “Nice? Now that’s the first time I’ve heard that said about her,” Jimin tilts his head to the side with a slight shake.

“Well, the scholarship was nice of her,” you shrug.

They all look at you with faces of astonishment, and you give them the same look in return.

“What?” you ask, eyes wide.

“You got the dean’s scholarship?” Cherry asks, amazed.

“Yeah… is that bad?” you ask, worried at everyone’s shocked expressions.

“Man, we hit the jackpot!” Seokjin laughs with a clap of his hands.

“Getting a scholarship at Borahae, especially in Visual Arts, is very impressive, Barbs,” Cherry says as she comes and sits beside you, handing you back your sketchbook.

“You are very talented, Shortstack. Army of Bombs is honoured to have you design our logo; I’m sure you’ll make us proud,” Taehyung winks.

“I’ll do my bestest!” you declare with a determined nod but then pause before continuing, “On one condition, though,” you say, holding up your index finger.

Their eyes fill with apprehension, “What is it?” Yoongi asks.

“Remember to thank Y/N with $1 million when you become rich and famous,” you smile brightly.

They all chuckle at your cuteness when an irritated voice interrupts.

“Are we rehearsing today or not; because I have other places I could be,” Jungkook says in exasperation.

The boys roll their eyes and then move to take their positions. Seokjin sits beside you and nudges your shoulder with his; you turn to look at him.

“Thank you for helping us; we seriously appreciate it,” he says, shifting his eyes to the band. You follow his gaze to Jungkook. “All of us,” he finishes.

You look back at Seokjin, “I’m happy to do it,” you reply with a soft smile.

Cherry puts an arm around you, pulls you into her side, and gives you a little squeeze. You rest your head on her shoulder as the band begins to play. The loud music you previously had only heard through the walls shakes the room. Your body vibrates, and your ears ring as a sentimental smile forms on your lips at the nostalgia.

☾☀︎

It has been two weeks since you started attending the band’s rehearsals, and Jungkook still has not said a single word to you. He barely even looks at you, but when he does, it is brief, as if he is looking right through you.

The rest of the band seems to have accepted you into their circle quite warmly, even Yoongi, who isn’t very expressive; however, Jungkook remains cold and distant. You refuse to believe someone so beautiful could be so closed off. You have never been a girl who gives up quickly, so you have become determined to get the boy to embrace you just as the rest have — maybe even more. You can’t ignore the attraction you feel for him, not just physically, but it seems something deeper is compelling you to him.

Sitting in your newly designated spot on the sofa, Jungkook approaches you, and you perk up at the hope that this is the breakthrough you have been waiting for. But to your disappointment, as usual, your presence is dismissed as though you don’t exist; he reaches to the side table next to the sofa and picks up a water bottle. You stare at him as he chugs the liquid, watching his Adam’s apple bob and the sweat trickle down his neck.

He is captivating and handsome no matter what he does, even with the moody, intimidating aura around him.

Your eyes flicker down his body, and his arm catches your eye. As this is the first time you have seen him without a jacket on, you have never gotten to admire how his right arm, from his fingers going all the way up, is fully decorated with intricate ink designs.

This time, your gawking must be too much for Jungkook because only a second later, he sets his gaze on you.

“What?” he snaps.

You lift your eyes to his own, “What?” you blink.

The roll of his eyes is something you’re familiar with now, so you don’t take it to heart.

He sighs, closes his eyes, and exhales slowly through his nose as if calming himself, “You’re staring.”

You nod, “I am. I always do. You’re so pretty,” you say as if it’s obvious, gazing into his eyes.

You smile when his eyes meet yours. He turns his head to the side, looking away from you and clears his throat.

“You’re staring more than usual,” he states.

You seize the opportunity and jump off the sofa to his side; he flinches slightly at your suddenness.

“I was looking at your tattoos; I never noticed them. I like them! They are almost as pretty as you,” you take hold of his arm to examine the designs.

Jungkook rips his arm out of your grasp like your touch burns his skin. You don’t let his movement stop you, carrying on.

“They must have been painful. You are so brave to have done that,” you point at Jungkook’s arm, smiling in awe.

“They’re tattoos, not battle scars,” he grumbles, his tone grim.

“You’re so funny, Jungkookie,” you giggle.

His head whips, his jaw clenched, and he steps forward, towering over you.

“Don’t call me that,” his teeth gritted, his voice low, almost a growl.

Jungkook’s eyes flash dangerously, throwing a look meant to be a warning, but it completely unfazed you.

“Why don’t you like it? I think it fits you perfectly; your eyes are like big chocolate chips,” you tiptoe to peer into his eyes, not paying attention to how close your faces are to each other.

Jungkook stares back silently, then he leans back, looks to the side, blinks, clears his throat again, and pushes you back by your shoulders.

You turn your head to his big hand on your shoulder and blush; his touch is warm and not too forceful, just enough to create a suitable distance between you.

Then he tilts his head, “Are you always so annoying?” he sighs.

“I don’t think I’m annoying,” you say nonchalantly with a shrug yet pouting.

Jungkook only shakes his head, blinking once again before he walks away with a quiet curse escaping his lips.

☾☀︎

You waltz into the garage, no longer hesitant; it has become a place of comfort for you.

“Hi!” you announce your arrival and are greeted with hellos from those present. Your eyes shift, and you notice that a few members are missing, most notably the man of your dreams.

“Where’s Jungkookie?” you ask, not bothering to name the others absent.

Namjoon picks up on this but doesn’t mention it. He chuckles as he replies, “JK, Tae, and Jimin are on their way; they should be here soon.”

You nod, relaxing slightly; your eyebrows unfurrow, and your shoulders ease.

You settle beside Cherry on the sofa in your spot, pull out your sketchbook from your tote bag and open it to see the rough drawings you have made for the Army of Bombs logo. The book now has several pages of draft illustrations that you hope will lead you to the final design. You also pull out a new lollipop, unwrap it, and pop it into your mouth, humming in satisfaction.

“What flavour is it today?” she grins and nods towards your candy.

You pull out the red sweet and point it towards her with a wink, “Cherry,” you giggle.

“Ah! The superior flavour, as expected, great taste, Barbs,” she says, shooting a finger gun at you.

“Bubble gum is the greatest flavour, actually, but cherry is a very close second,” you correct jokingly.

You hear gravel crunching, and then Jungkook and the other boys enter the garage. His figure almost glowing as you watch him walk in.

“Sup,” Jungkook says, greeting the guys and doing that dap-hug guys do.

“Hi, Jungkookie!” you wave enthusiastically.

You don’t see how Cherry raises a brow at him, knowing his habit of ignoring you. He sighs and turns to you reluctantly.

“Hi,” his voice curt. The second the word is out of his mouth, he turns away, but you beam at the attention.

“Hey, Shortstack.”

Taehyung walks over and hugs you, patting your head.

“Hi, Taetae, where were you guys?”

“We were at the venue for our upcoming gig, just checking some last-minute stuff. Why did you miss us?” Taehyung pinches your cheek.

You nod, although you missed one of them more than the rest. Taehyung chortles, patting your head again with fond eyes.

“Sorry, Shorty. We had to take care of business,” Jimin taps your chin.

“Bold of you to call her Shorty,” Cherry quips, eyes darting up and down Jimin’s body.

“Haha. Funny,” Jimin laughs mockingly, “Why don’t you tell that joke to your boyfriend?”

“Touche, Park,” Cherry narrows her eyes at the mention of her equally short boyfriend.

Although, the whole band still towers over you.

“Why am I getting caught in the crossfire? I’ve been silent,” Yoongi comments.

Cherry waves him off, “Barbs, you should come to the show,” she taps your knee lightly.

Jungkook, whose back is facing you, winces at the invitation. The idea of you coming to their show already agitating him.

“Yeah, Y/N! You have to see us at our full effect!” Hoseok agrees.

“Really? That would be so cool!” you smile, bouncing in your seat.

“She has already been sitting in on all our rehearsals; is it necessary for her to come to our gigs?” Jungkook counters.

“Rehearsals and live shows are completely different,” Namjoon replies, “You have to come and see us to get the total Army of Bombs experience,” he adds, speaking to you.

“It’s not real rock and roll if you don’t have a crowd cheering you on, it’d be great to have you there,” Taehyung says.

“And it’d be great to have someone else to keep me company; Seokjin doesn’t cut it,” Cherry pouts to you.

“Now I’m catching strays,” Seokjin whispers to Yoongi.

“So you’ll come?” Cherry’s eyes are hopeful.

“I’ll come!”

And Jungkook grits his teeth at your answer.

☾☀︎

You’re in your bedroom with Cherry, and the both of you are getting ready to go to the guys’ show. They are playing at a bar known for having live performances—The Golden Bottle. It usually attracts a large crowd, but an even larger turnout tonight is expected since Army of Bombs is well-known in town.

Cherry had picked out your outfit: a hot pink latex strapless mini-dress paired with silver chunky platform heels. It’s still you—as Cherry had put it— “with just a little edge”. Since she picked your outfit, you’re doing her makeup in trade.

“When you told your parents you’re going to see a rock show, did they freak out?” Cherry asks as you apply her eyeshadow.

“No, my mom thought it sounded like fun! Plus, she knows you’re my friend, so she trusts me to go with you,” you tell her.

”What about your dad? You seem like you’d be a daddy’s girl?”

Your hand freezes as you move to pick up the blush brush, but you gather yourself quickly, hoping Cherry doesn’t see your falter.

“Um, my dad isn’t around,” you say, phrasing your words carefully.

“Hey, I understand. My parents are divorced too,” Cherry waves her hand at you, “My dad lives in a different city; I barely talk to him, let alone see him.”

“Oh, no, that’s not... I-I mean, that’s sad too... but,” you stammer over your words, “My dad, he, um, he passed away,” you finally get out.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Y/N—” she begins, her eyes widening with a face of guilt.

“You don’t have to apologize; you didn’t know,” you cut her off, offering her a reassuring smile.

“How long ago? W-wait, oh god, I’m being insensitive, aren’t I? That’s insensitive. I didn’t mean to—” she starts nervously babbling.

“You’re not, Cher,” you let out an airy laugh, “It’s been a little over a year and a half. It was a car accident,” you tell her, knowing she probably wanted to ask but was already feeling remorseful.

”So it’s just me and my mom now,” you say, dabbing the blush brush into the powder.    

Cherry’s sad eyes look down as she fiddles with her fingers in her lap, not knowing what to say. You begin applying the peach powder on the apples of her cheeks.

“But you were right,” you break the silence. “I am a daddy’s girl, but he also would have thought it was super cool that I was going to a rock show.” You smile fondly at the thought.

Cherry smiles, and her body is no longer tense. She gets a view of her reflection in your vanity mirror and gasps.

“Oh my gosh, look at me! If they made a punk rock Barbie, it’d look like me,” Cherry laughs.

”Hey, no fair. You weren’t supposed to see yet,” you fake pout, “I still have to do my finishing touches.”

You twist open a tube of lip gloss and apply it to Cherry’s lips. Your tongue sticks out slightly as you focus, and Cherry pokes at it with her finger, causing you both to giggle.

“Okay! All done,” you back up, admiring your work, “I have finished my new masterpiece. You were pretty before, but now you’re pretty with sparkly eyelids,” you smile proudly.

Cherry gets up and hooks your arms together, dragging you to the full-length mirror to check out your final looks. She is wearing a black leather mini-dress that fits her like a second skin; she looks phenomenal.

“Damn, we look hot!” she exclaims, “Wait till the crowd gets a look at us. I bet the whole audience won’t even be watching the band play; they’ll be too focused on us,” she jokes.

“I hope Jungkookie thinks I look good,” you giggle as you fix some strands of your hair.

“Barbs,” Cherry’s voice now a bit cautious, “You don’t like Jungkook for real, right? Like, have feelings for him?”

“I do,” you nod, your eyes brightening, “Why is something wrong? Does he have a girlfriend already?” you question, worried.

“No, he doesn’t,” she shakes her head.

Your shoulders relax at her answer.

“But,” she continues, “I don’t think Jungkook is the best fit for you,” she rushes to explain when she sees you frown.

“He’s my friend, don’t get me wrong. I get it if you have a crush on him; he’s a good-looking guy. I just don’t think,” she pauses to think over her words, “You’re such a sweet girl, but Jungkook isn’t the type of guy to commit. And when it comes to girls, he isn’t the nicest, and I don’t want you to take him not liking you back personally.”

“He doesn’t have to like me back; me liking him is enough for me,” you shrug and give her a grin. “I think he’s the most handsome guy ever, and I want to get close to him.”

“He doesn’t open up that easily, so don’t take him not being the most caring to heart. He doesn’t consider others where feelings are concerned. You’re my friend, too, and I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

You pull Cherry into a hug, and she rubs your back. When you pull away, you smile.

“Don’t worry about me, Cherry. I like being around him; there’s no harm in that. I won’t get hurt.”

She nods, “Okay, but still, just be careful, alright?”

You nod, and she sighs, “Then, with that, let’s get going, Barbs. Yoongi will have my head if we’re late.”

☾☀︎

You and Cherry enter the bar arm-in-arm, and the smell of sweat, alcohol, and smoke hits you. The aged dark wood reveals how old this dingy bar is. It maintains its historical familiarity, but a few newer elements show the renovations made to keep the place relevant for younger patrons.

The venue is full of people, bustling with life when you arrive. The two of you push through the packed crowd to the front of the stage, with Cherry leading. You navigate through the crowd with relative ease, thanks to her aggressive elbowing, while your eyes wander all over, scanning the mass of people, all about to see Army of Bombs perform.

“There are so many people, it’s like they’re celebrities,” you lean over, speaking directly into Cherry’s ear due to the noise of the patrons, the soft clinking of glasses, loud drunken chatter, others laughing boisterously in their groups.

“In this town, they are. Almost everyone knows of them or at least has seen them play before,” Cherry tells you, leaning in as well.

The lights overhead dim, and then the crowd erupts out into cheers. You can feel the energy pulsing through the air. You and Cherry stand pressed close together, shoulders touching as she keeps a secure arm around you to keep together amongst the upcoming chaos. You can see the silhouettes of the band as they take their positions. You find Jungkook’s figure right away. The stage lights turn on as Jimin takes the mic, and the feedback rings through the speakers.

“What’s up, everyone? We are Army of Bombs! Hope you’re ready to rock out!” he yells before turning and nodding to Namjoon.

Namjoon does the count-off, and the set begins with the last hit of his sticks. Jungkook plays the opening note to the first song, followed by Jimin’s voice as the rest of the band joins in.

The bar’s atmosphere becomes electric with the music, the audience’s screams, the many devil’s horns raised in the air, and the headbanging. The guys are performing their all, but your eyes remain on Jungkook: how fast his fingers move on his guitar strings during his solos, how his melodic voice resounds as he sings backup, and how his body glides around on stage in tune with the melody so effortlessly. The lights shine down, glistening as sweat accumulates on him, and you’ve never seen someone look so angelic and sinful all at once.

You and Cherry get lost in the music, jumping up and down while you sing along to songs that you have now memorized. All too soon, the last notes of the final song of the set fade, and the crowd roars, chanting the band’s name.

The guys all come to the edge of the stage out of breath, bowing and sending out waves and winks to the audience, basking in the glory. Jungkook pushes back his sweat-dampened hair, chest heaving as his eyes sweep the crowd; they find you.

His gaze lingers on you longer than usual, and you swear everything else fades; you two are the only people in the room as your eyes lock. The world moves in slow motion. You get tunnel vision; he is all you can see, and all the screams become white noise. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears and feel your blood rushing through your veins. But then the spell breaks, and he’s walking off the stage with the rest of the band.

You feel a tap on your shoulder and spin around, spotting Seokjin standing behind you and Cherry.

“Hey, Shoulders,” you wave.

“Hey, I had to make sure the VIPs of our fan club attended the after-party. I’m heading backstage to meet the guys; I gotta talk to the bar manager, but we’ll be at the lounge afterwards, so meet us there,” Seokjin points his thumb over his shoulder behind him.

“Okay, see you guys there,” Cherry nods.

Seokjin walks through the mass of people and disappears, heading backstage. Once he’s gone, Cherry grabs your hand and leans in to speak to you.

“Let’s go touch up our makeup first,” she says, and you nod. You let her lead the way to the restrooms, holding your hand.

☾☀︎

With the time it takes the two of you to wait in line for the restroom, freshen up your makeup, and elbow your way to the lounge, the guys are already there.

When you approach the entrance to the lounge, a security guard is blocking it. Cherry yells over his shoulder to get Yoongi’s attention. When he sees you two, he walks over and pats the security on the back, telling him to let you two in.

Cherry wraps her arms around Yoongi’s neck, kissing him on the lips and complimenting him on how much of a good show it was, and you think you see a blush form on his cheeks. You smile at their interaction and decide to give them a moment alone.

You look around, hoping to spot Jungkook, but there are too many people in the lounge to get a view of everybody. You spot Namjoon standing in a corner talking to some people, so you go to him.

He shifts his head while in conversation, and once he notices you approaching, he smiles and hugs you.

“Great show, Joonbug!” you speak loudly over the music playing.

“Thanks, I’m glad you made it. I told you it was way different than rehearsals, didn’t I,” Namjoon nudges your elbow with his.

”It was insane; it was like you guys were different people. I felt like I didn’t know you at all,” you laugh, and he does as well.

“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. Invitation is always open to our shows; you’re more than welcome to them.”

“I will! I got told I am a VIP of your fan club, so I can’t disappoint,” you wink, “By the way, where’s everyone else? I want to congratulate them on the show,” you swivel your head around; finally asking the question that you have been itching to ask.

You follow the direction he points to with the neck of his beer bottle and see the rest of the band sitting on the couches surrounded by people, primarily women. You try to mask the frown that threatens to take over your face when you notice Jungkook sitting between two girls, his arm resting on the back of the couch as the girl on his right leans into his side.

Ignoring the twist of your stomach, you saunter over to the couches with your head held high. When you are close enough, Jungkook’s eyes flicker in your direction absentmindedly, and just as he glances away, he does a subtle double take once he registers it’s you approaching. He gives you a discreet up and down as you walk closer.  

Hoseok notices you, already seeming to be a bit tipsy; his arms shoot up like he just shot a goal.

“You made it!” he smiles, his voice booming.

You wave nervously as everyone’s attention lands on you, but your face flushes from having Jungkook in front of you. Jimin and Taehyung give you a much more blatant scan of your body up and down with approving smirks on their face.

Taehyung rests his drink on the glass table in front of the couch and gets up to give you a tight hug. When he lets go, his hands run down your arm, squeezing your hand as he steps back to glance over your outfit again.

“My, my. Shortstack, don’t you look extra lovely tonight,” he says.

“Lovely? She looks fucking hot!” Cherry appears beside you, wrapping an arm around you in a side hug, causing Taehyung’s hand to let go.

“I was going to be gentlemanly with my words, but yeah, you look fucking incredible, Shorty,” Jimin shoots you a wink, raising his bottle.  

“Thank you,” you smile bashfully.

“Speaking of incredible, the performance was fantastic! You all looked so so so cool, you sounded so so so good, and—and everything was just amazing!” you beam, bouncing in place.

“You know how to boost a man’s ego, Y/N,” Hoseok chuckles.

You continue brightly, speaking to Jungkook, “Your guitar playing was really, really awesome, Jungkookie!”

Jungkook raises his brows and stretches his mouth in a tight line, his dimples emerging even though he does not smile.

“Wow, Y/N, I’m sad. You’re just going to ignore your cheer captain without even saying hi?” a voice makes you turn your head.

You failed to catch that the girl sitting to the right of Jungkook was none other than Jess, and with a quick scan, you soon see Mei sitting on his left and Kat sitting next to Jimin. A frown threatens to break out on your face for the second time when you see Jungkook’s arm resting on the backrest behind her. Somehow, it bugs you more now that you know the girl.

You compose yourself, keeping your voice bright, “Oh, Jess, I’m sorry I didn’t know it was you. Hi!”

“I didn’t think I would run into you here. I didn’t know this was your kind of scene,” Jess says, eyes raking over you in a judgemental manner you don’t pick up on.

But Cherry instantly does, and alarm bells go off as she carefully observes Jess’s behaviour. Jungkook sits silently and watches your interaction.

“They invited me to the show; they’re my friends,” you smile as you gesture to the guys.

“Friends, huh?” Jess turns to Jungkook, tilting her head with a fake pout and laying a hand on his chest, “Where was my invite? I thought we were friends?”

Jungkook shrugs in response, taking a sip of his drink. Your breath hitches at their contact, but you keep calm.

Cherry pulls you to sit down with her, and you find yourself sitting directly in front of Jungkook.

“Y/N is designing our band logo for us since she is an art genius,” Jimin says to Jess and motions to you.

“Ah! So you’re working for them,” Jess nods to herself as if she finally understands the situation.

Cherry narrows her eyes but grins as she speaks, “More like she’s a friend helping out; she’s doing the band a huge favour.”

“Well, AoB is the hottest band in town,” Jess rubs a hand along Jungkook’s thigh with her eyes fixed on him.

Your heart clenches. For one, because Jungkook accepts Jess’s touch and welcomes it—something he doesn’t do with you. Also, because she’s pretty, and a pretty boy like Jungkook belongs with a pretty girl like her.

She continues looking at you with a smile.“So I hope you’re able to design something worthy.”

“I hope so too!” you answer warm and cheerfully, oblivious.

“She will,” Cherry says curtly to Jess before switching her attention to Seokjin, “So what did you talk to the manager about?”

“Oh, right!” he claps, remembering his previous conversation. “He was so impressed with the response we received from the crowd that he offered us a full weekend gig! Friday to Sunday, baby!” he hollers.

The band also celebrates, with high fives going all around. You even catch a hint of a smile on Jungkook’s face.

“Fuck yeah!” Jimin fist pumps.

“What are we celebrating?” Namjoon asks as he and Yoongi join the group. He sits beside you, and Yoongi sits beside Cherry.

“We got offered a full weekend gig here,” Hoseok informs them.

“Man, that’s great! Y/N must have brought us good luck,” Namjoon punches your knee lightly.

“Or the manager must have finally caught up with the rest of town and realized how talented you guys are,” Mei says, fluttering her eyelashes.

Seokjin bypasses her comment, “It’s not for another month, and I’m not trying to rush anyone,” he glances at you, “But it would be a perfect time for us to unveil our logo.”

“That would be sick! Do you think you could finish it by then, Shortstack?”

Feeling put on the spot with everyone’s hopeful eyes on you, you stutter, “U-um, I—”

“Don’t pressure her, you nimrod. Art takes time; she’s not a machine,” Cherry chides him.

“It was just a question,” Taehyung defends with his hands raised.

“A stupid question,” Cherry disputes.

Namjoon leans over to you as they bicker, “There’s no pressure, seriously,” his voice soft. He nudges your knee gently with his.

You look at him and nod with a grateful smile.

“Have you designed a logo before, Y/N?” Jess asks.

“No, this is my first one. I’m so excited to do it.”

“Are you sure you can do it? I’m sure you’re good, but a rock band logo isn’t the same style as painting flowers and trees, right?”

This time, her words sting. It’s a common occurrence—people doubting your art. You don’t let it get to you; you know what you’ve done and what you can do. You don’t have to prove your talents to anyone; your work speaks for itself.

“It is, but I am good. I can do it,” you shrug with an assured tone.

“Enough about the logo. You guys are playing a full weekend; I’ve never heard of a band booking three nights in a row here,” Cherry enthusiastically changes topics.

“I know. The manager said he couldn’t remember the last time he booked the same act for an entire weekend, but the crowd’s reaction blew him away,” Seokjin matches Cherry’s enthusiasm.

“We should write a new song and debut it on our first night, create some extra buzz. What do you say, JK? Up to working on one?” Yoongi says, asking the member who has been silent so far.

Jungkook nods, “I have a few different scores I’ve been working on; I recorded some of them already. I’ll send them to you.”  

Yoongi nods in reply. You’re awestruck by this revelation; it shows on your face and tone of voice.

“You can write scores?”

His eyes shift to you, and he nods as his hands fiddle with the rings on his fingers. Your eyes stay locked on each other until Jess’s voice cuts in.

“He’s a musician; obviously, he can write,” she sneers, with Mei and Kat snickering.

Cherry, fed up, is about to clap back, and her mouth opens, but you speak before she can.

“A lot of musicians don’t know how to write or read music,” You lift your fingers and count, “Jimi Hendrix, Slash, Eddie Van Halen, all of The Beatles, some of the greatest guitarists in rock and none of them could write or read scores. So it’s impressive that he can do both.”

Cherry looks at you with proud eyes, and the guys look at you taken aback. Even Jungkook looks at you with raised brows and wide eyes, although his face is still emotionless.

You fail to see how Jungkook hides his smirk when he raises his beer to take a sip and how his arm no longer rests behind Jess.

You bat your eyelashes, chuckle, and add, “But what am I saying? I’m sure you already know playing an instrument isn’t the same as writing scores, right? Since this is more your scene than mine.”

“Exactly, I meant he’s a trained musician, so of course he knows how to do both,” Jess tries to save face, her eyes shifting in embarrassment, “No need to get all defensive, Y/N.”

“Y-Yeah, Jess knows all about rock,” Kat says. Mei nods in agreement.

Cherry scoffs audibly and grabs your wrist, “Let’s go get drinks before I say something I won’t regret and hurt some feelings,” she glares at the three cheerleaders.

She gets up and pulls you with her. When you both reach the bar, she huffs, rolling her eyes, “Can you believe them? What bitches! The nerve! I’m usually a girl’s girl, but—ugh! I hate girls like them, acting all high and mighty when all they are are a bunch of desperate groupies. I was so fucking close to giving her a piece of my mind.”

She glances at you and smirks, “But I didn’t have to, huh? I didn’t know you had it in you. You sure are full of surprises, Barbs. Where did all of that come from?”

“Me? What did I do?”

“Oh, don’t give me that! I know you were giving her a taste of her own medicine. You kept your innocent demeanour but were quick with your comeback about guitarists. How do you even know all that anyway?”

“It’s just something I know,” you say casually with a shrug, hoping to bypass the topic.

Luckily, the bartender comes over before Cherry can say anything else. She tells him her drink order and looks over at you, to which you shake your head, not wanting to drink tonight. When the bartender walks away to make her mojito, she leans in to speak to you.

“I have to pee,” Cherry says as she looks towards the restrooms. “Can you grab my drink and wait for me here?”

You nod and give her a thumbs up, not bothering to give a vocal response over the music. She returns the gesture and manoeuvres through the sea of people.

You puff out your cheeks as you wait, tapping your fingers on the glass bar while staring at the shelves of alcohol bottles on the wall behind the counter illuminated by red and blue lights.

When you feel a hand on your lower back, you turn with a small smile, stunned at how quickly Cherry peed, but instead of your vibrant-haired friend, you face a sweaty, tipsy, dishevelled man.

The man is drenched in sweat but not in a soft glow from dancing. His face is dripping, several beads streaming down. The dark stains on his shirt sticking to his skin are apparent even in the low lighting.

His presence instantly fills you with worry. You step away, sure not to be within arm’s reach of him. He stands in front of you with a greasy smirk; although he is standing in place, his body sways due to intoxication.  

“Hey,” he says over the music, voice a bit louder than necessary.

“Hi,” you reply, leaning over the counter to get a glimpse of the bartender.

The tipsy stranger ducks his head into your view, blocking your line of sight of the bartender. You try to suppress a cringe when the stench of perspiration and booze hits you, burying your nostrils.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing at a place like this? Get lost on your way to an Ariana Grande concert,” he laughs at his lame joke.

“I’m here with friends,” you say, hoping he will leave you alone if you mention you are with people.

It does nothing of the sort, and his smirk widens, “Hmm, with friends, so not with a boyfriend?” he asks, his speech slurred.

“Um—”

He interrupts, stepping towards you, invading your space again, “If I were your boyfriend, I would never let you out of my sight. A sexy woman like you should never be left alone.”

His bloodshot, predatory eyes and creepy attempt at flirting were making you extra uncomfortable; drunk guys and rejection often led to anger, and you did not want this guy to become aggressive with you.

“I-I’m not alone; my friend will be back soon,” you glance over your shoulder, pointing to the restrooms. “Uh, so—”

“I’ll keep you company then. It’s not safe for a gorgeous girl like you here,” he licks his lips and coats them sloppily with his saliva, taking a step closer to you. He leans in, his wet lips disgustingly brushing the shell of your ear, “There are plenty of bad men just waiting to get their hands on a sweet thing like you.”

With the crowd surrounding you, you cannot back away from him. As a sense of panic begins to form in the pit of your stomach, you internally scold yourself for not walking away from this guy the second he approached you.

You try to muster your refusal, but the lump in your throat makes it hard to speak, “I don’t—No, I don’t want—”

You feel physically ill. Your breathing starts to pick up, and your palms turn clammy as they raise to push at the creep’s chest to create even the smallest distance between you two.

Suddenly, the drunk creep is yanked back by the back of his shirt, sending him stumbling back into the people behind him. He barely manages to catch himself with a hand on the bar.

A gasp leaves you, but despite the slight chaos, so does your panic. The man’s red, glassy eyes widen and match yours in shock. Your body stiffens. Slowly, you both turn your heads towards the source, your heartbeat pounding. Your eyes remain the same while his eyes narrow into slits filled with irritation as your sights land on your saviour. And as much as it adds to your shock, instant relief takes over your body, and you visibly relax as you release a breath.

“Everything okay here?”

Jungkook stands beside you, his stance intimidating. Towering with his hands in his front pockets, he shows no sign of agitation, but his stern calmness and his strong physique show he is not to be messed with.

“Are you out of your fucking mind? What’s your problem?” the drunkard spits out, too intoxicated to recognize this is one of the guys he just watched perform.

“You good?” he asks, focused on you, completely ignoring the man.

“We were just having some friendly conversation, right, doll?” the persistent creep slurs his interjections, sending you a wink.

“I didn’t ask you,” Jungkook retorts sharply.

“We were just talking, bro. Ease up,” the man tries to defuse the tense encounter he has got himself in.

“Were you guys talking?” Jungkook looks down at you, waiting for your answer.

You look at him with big, uneasy eyes and shake your head.

Jungkook steps in front of you, blocking your view of your harasser. His firm body acts as a shield. You feel so small standing behind him but have never felt more protected, more safe.

Jungkook narrows his eyes in a glare with his chest puffed out, “Looks like now you’re done talking; conversation over. Bro.”

With way too much pride and ignorance, in an attempt to get in Jungkook’s face, the drunk takes a step forward, but instead of standing nose to nose, the men stand nose to chin.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” the creep sneers.

But Jungkook doesn’t move. He doesn’t budge.

Jungkook tilts his head, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk. He almost looks amused, but there is nothing funny about the way he lets out a snicker through his nose and bends slightly, burning gaze staring the man dead in the eye to say,

“The guy telling you to fuck off.”

There are about three seconds of them having a stare-down. Jungkook is unrelenting, his confident yet harsh stance unmoving.

The drunkard cracks under the unnerving pressure, and his alcohol-induced cockiness falters. Accepting the evident disparity between the two and becoming reconciled to the physical disadvantage he is at, the drunk finally gives up. With a parting huff, he mutters one last expletive and stumbles away.

You are still left with some remaining shock, partly from that whole interaction and also partly from Jungkook coming to your rescue. Relief could barely settle in your chest before it’s ripped away.

“Thank you, Jungk—”

Jungkook turns around, runs his tatted fingers through his hair, and his eyes settle on you, annoyed.

Your breath hitches, your entire body frozen in place. Jungkook had just jumped in and rescued you from a drunken creep. Yet, there isn’t a single ounce of sympathy in his expression—only irritation. It feels as though you have caused him an inconvenience. Gone is the protective man who was an impenetrable defender. Now stands an uncaring, vexed man.

He clicks his tongue.

“If you can’t hold your own, you shouldn’t come to places like this,” he gestures around vaguely, unimpressed.

“I-I’m sorry, I—”

“Everything’s not all sunshine and rainbows all the time. There isn’t always gonna be someone around to babysit you and come to your defence.”

You are stunned in silence, not expecting to be reprimanded for being cornered by some intoxicated jerk and saddened that this is the most Jungkook has ever spoken to you.

“What? You’re constantly running your mouth and suddenly have nothing to say. Where did all that insufferable boldness go?” he scoffs, continuing, “I mean, you’re a chick at a bar; you didn’t expect some tipsy guy to make a pass at you? You seriously can’t be that naive, Y/N.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself not to cry. Not here. Not in front of Jungkook.

For the first time since meeting him, Jungkook’s gaze is unwanted. You wish his attention were on someone else as you hang your head in shame and embarrassment.

It stings that this is the most you’ve ever heard him speak and the most emotion you’ve ever seen him express, but it’s nothing like what you’ve dreamt of; it’s all negative. It’s hurtful.

That familiar feeling surges back within you: being berated, talked down to, made to feel small.

Overwhelmed by everything that has happened—Jess, the drunk creep, and now Jungkook—all these confrontations are beginning to take a toll on you. You feel your throat tighten, and your breathing picks up once again.

“I d-didn’t—”

“I’m back! Sorry, that line was killer. I swear I was about to piss myself,” Cherry returns. Surprise on her face at seeing Jungkook with you, she quickly looks between you two, sensing the tension and scanning your face; she gently touches your upper arm, “Hey, you okay?”

Still avoiding looking at Jungkook, you sheepishly give Cherry a nod and a tight smile. Jungkook’s gaze drags a quick once-over, a slow run of his tongue over his lip rings, and a sniff before he lets out a frustrated sigh.

“If you insist on bringing her here, watch after your friend.”

Jungkook walks away, and from your peripheral vision, you see the same broad back that was protecting you minutes ago disappear into the crowd.

“What the hell is his problem?” Cherry says as she watches him walk away. “Did something happen? Was he mean to you? I’ll kick his ass if he was an ass to you.”

With a hand still on your upper arm, she uses her other to point in the direction Jungkook walked off to and is already taking a step forward to go after him.

You frantically shake your head, pulling her back by her wrist.

“No, no, he helped me. There, um, there was this creepy guy who was drunk and was bothering me. Jungkookie made him leave me alone.”

Cherry doesn’t hide the astonishment on her face; her eyebrows shoot up so high that if they go any higher, they will touch her hairline.

“Jungkook? He helped you?” she asks in disbelief.

You find her reaction interesting; Jungkook is standoffish, but was it so shocking that he would help someone in need? Even someone as aloof as him would swoop in when they see a damsel in distress and save them, so it shouldn’t be such a shock to his good friend. Right?

Or was this really out of the norm for Jungkook? And if so, why did he save you?

You nod.

“Oh…” Cherry glances in the direction Jungkook went, and after coming out of whatever thoughts were running through her mind, she turns back to you in worry, “Well, what about you? Are you sure you’re alright? He didn’t do anything to you, did he?”

“No, I’m okay. The guy got a bit too close, but Jungkookie showed up before he could do anything,” you reassure her, putting on the best smile you can muster right now.

Her eyes flicker over your face, assessing your expression to be sure you’re telling the truth, and she takes your word with a worried nod. She pulls you into a hug as she sighs in relief.

“Okay, good. I’m glad someone was here to help you. I would have hated myself if my bladder had created the opening for some drunk creep to get to you,” Cherry shudders at the thought, “That fucker, though! What’s with tonight? I’m so sorry, Barbs. I did not want your first AoB show to turn out like this.”

“Don’t feel bad about it, Cher. I’m honestly okay,” you squeeze her hand and gesture around at the bar, “And no offence, but I didn’t expect this place to be crawling with prince charmings,” you giggle, attempting to lighten the mood regarding how the night went.

Cherry also glances around and giggles, “Fair, and hey, I mean, I did say we look hot. I should have been on high alert for creeps. Hotties like us always have to be on the radar for hopeless losers,” she rolls her eyes, smirking.

“I think Yoongs was keeping the losers at bay for you, you know, with his… face,” you wave a hand over your face and laugh.

“Yeah, gotta love my Yoongi the Grouch,” Cherry smiles fondly, her eyes twinkling at the topic of her boyfriend, “He’s like my own personal creep deflector. We should get back to him before we start attracting them,” Cherry grabs her mojito, the glass now covered in condensation.

“Do you mind if I go home? There has been a lot of excitement for me for one night. I’m still getting used to this rock and roll lifestyle.”

“Sure, let me finish this drink and tell Yoongi; then we can head out.”

“You don’t have to leave because of me. I can go on my own; I don’t want to ruin your night,” your words trail off as Cherry sends you a look.

“Barbs, I invited you. We came together, and we’re leaving together. I have been to enough shows; I know I’m not missing anything. Plus, I would never let you go alone at this time. Are you crazy? What kind of friend would I be?”

You smile, this one reaching your eyes. You have to blink back tears. Cherry’s friendship is unwavering; she is one of a kind.

With that, Cherry lifts her drink to her lips and chugs it down like it’s water, and you two are off to tell Yoongi that you’re heading out.

When you return to the lounge, subconsciously, your eyes find Jungkook. He’s back to sitting on the couch with Jess tucked into his side as if he never left that spot. You catch his eyes flicker over to you so briefly that you almost doubt it even happened.

Yoongi notices Cherry return without a drink and gives her a questioning look. She leans down slightly to speak to him.

“We’re going to go home now; tonight’s been a lot for Y/N,” Cherry tells him. Without Cherry even asking, Yoongi nods, downs the rest of his beer, and gets up to leave with the two of you.

“No way! You guys are going? You can’t leave yet!” Hoseok calls out.

Namjoon smirks at you, “Party too hard, Little Picasso?”

“I was right; this isn’t your scene after all, huh?” Jess remarks with that antagonizing smile you are becoming familiar with. Mei and Kat snickered at her remark.

“No, some drunk bastard was harassing her,” Cherry speaks for you.

That shuts Jess up quickly and catches the band’s attention. Jungkook sits up straighter as his body tenses. The rest of the guys focus on you, their faces now serious.

Jimin and Taehyung stand up, “Are you okay, Shortstack? Did he touch you?”

“I’m okay,” you smile, shaking your head lightly.

“Who was the son of a bitch? We’ll find him and take care of him,” Jimin says.

You wave your hands to stop them.

“It’s fine now. You guys don’t have to. It—He’s been taken care of,” you tell the guys to calm them down, your eyes going to Jungkook for a fraction of a second.

Jungkook, who is still avoiding looking your way, is biting on his lip rings—but otherwise seemingly totally removed from the conversation.

“I don’t want to cause trouble,” your voice is smaller than usual, but your eyes are as big as a scared puppy, and you can feel your face heat up again from all the unwanted attention you’re causing.

“We can’t let him get off scot-free, especially doing something like that on our night here and to one of our crew,” Namjoon remarks.

Being called part of their crew doesn’t go unnoticed by you, but you are too worried about them causing a ruckus because of you, especially after the whole Jungkook thing, his words still lingering in your head.

“There isn’t always gonna be someone around to babysit you and come to your defence.”

“She’s right; he’s been dealt with already,” Cherry says, her eyes locking on Jungkook, who meets her gaze, holding it for a moment, then continues, “I don’t think he’ll be a problem again. Y/N wants to get out of here, and I can’t blame her. I would want to call it a night, too.”

Reluctantly, the guys settle down, and Taehyung pulls you into a hug and cranes his neck to look at your face, “This didn’t scare you off from coming to our shows, right?”

“Y/N? Are you kidding? Nah, she just joined the fan club; I even made her a VIP. Of course not,” Seokjin says, winking and playfully ruffling your hair.

The drastic change of now being flooded with words and touches of comfort warms you and melts away the anxiousness.

“Yeah, I can’t give up my spot that quickly,” you laugh.

“Well, just to be sure, I’m promoting you to fan club president, so it’s mandatory to attend live shows,” Taehyung narrows his eyes and points at you.

“Yes, sir!” you bring your hand to your brow in a salute.

“Get some rest, Prez. We’ll see you at rehearsal,” Jimin bids you farewell, hugging you tight and kissing the top of your head.

Hoseok and Namjoon also hug you goodbye. While hugging Namjoon perched on your tiptoes, you glance at Jungkook over Namjoon’s shoulder.

Jungkook, with his typical impassive expression, has his arm back to resting on the backrest behind Jess. He faces her as she leans into him, whispering in his ear, her nails running up and down his thigh, her hand getting close to his crotch; you’re sure her fingers have grazed over it.

You tear your eyes away once you feel a hand pat your back, “Let’s get you home, kid,” Yoongi says gently.

You give him a soft nod and smile, turning to leave. With your back turned, you’re unaware of how Jungkook’s eyes trail after you. Jess, however, is very aware; she follows his gaze when she sees how uninterested he is in her flirty words and wandering hands.

You hear a voice call out.

“I’ll see you at practice Monday morning, Y/N,” Jess says with her phoney smile, her hand still inappropriately gripping Jungkook’s thigh.

You plaster on a smile that matches hers and seal it with a friendly wave.

“See you bright and early Monday, Captain!” you hesitate but decide to continue, “Bye, Jungkookie.”

Jungkook appears surprised by how his eyes widen slightly, his brows twitching, but you get no other kind of acknowledgement of your goodbye. Not a word, a wave, not even a nod.

You and Cherry tell the guys one last goodbye, and Yoongi gives them a nod before you three make your way to the exit and bring an end to this eventful night.

“I should’ve asked her what the guy looked like. I could’ve told the manager to keep an eye out for him,” Seokjin mentions after your departure.

“The girls made it sound like he won’t show his face around here anymore, but we can tell them to let us know if he does,” Namjoon says.

What you don’t know, what the guys don’t know, is that Jungkook did talk to the manager. He had him check the cameras and pointed out the guy. The drunkard is banned from the bar now.

☾☀︎

You are at cheerleading practice, doing some warmup stretches with Rina by your side. Today, the team is supposed to be running through a routine for an upcoming game; this will be your first performance since joining the team, and you are so excited to experience that rush again.  

You are helping Rina stretch, holding her leg down, when you see Jess and her minions walking across the field towards the team.

Jess jumps into business without greeting the team; she claps her hands twice and yells, “Okay, into your starting positions! You should all have this down by now; if not, don’t bother. I expect perfection.”

Practice ensues, and it’s not the smoothest. Some people make minor mistakes: a little stumble, timing a bit off, pose slightly mispositioned. But Jess watches them like a hawk, scrutinizing everyone’s performance or sending Mei or Kat to chastise them immediately if she doesn’t do it herself.

As the end of practice nears, the field erupts into mild chaos as the football team arrives, gathering for their practice. Their booming voices and boyish roughhousing practically take over the area. The quarterback, Mingyu, walks away from his team; the players are huddled at the side of the field by the bleachers while waiting their turn.

He approaches Jess, Mei, and Kat. He is still far from them when he calls, “Hey, Jess. Are you guys coming to the party tonight?”

You are performing the routine flawlessly, as you always do when Jess stops when she reaches you as she makes her rounds around the team.

There hasn’t been any mention of seeing each other that night at AoB’s show, so you thought Jess had moved past it. The little back and forth you two had was probably so minuscule in her whirlwind of a life that she must have forgotten about it already.

“Hey, Gyu, hmm, I don’t know. Jungkook and I were supposed to hang out tonight. Unless he’s going, too,” Jess turns to you, “Y/N, you’re friends with Jungkook and his band, right? Do you know if they’re going to the party?”

“I don’t know, they haven’t mentioned anything,” you shrug, “But if you already have plans with him, why would he go to a party? ” you ask, slightly out of breath.

Rina’s eyes widen beside you, and Mingyu laughs lightly with his head down. You are unaware and lost in your genuine curiosity when Mei interjects.

“Well, obviously, if he didn’t mention it, then he’s not going because he has plans with Jess,” she narrows her eyes at you.

“You can hang out at the party; it’s gonna be wild! You know how we Borahae Bears get down! You should still pull up. All of you,” Mingyu says loud enough for everyone to hear, motioning to the cheer team.

Mingyu speaks directly to you when he adds, “Tell Jungkook and the guys to come, you as well,” he smiles.

“Thanks! I’m going to their rehearsal later, so I’ll let them know,” you smile back at him.

“And if I talk to him first, I’ll tell him,” Jess adds.

“R-Right,” Mingyu nods stiffly, his eyes shifting between you and Jess.

“Well, I should go start getting ready for practice,” Mingyu points a thumb over his shoulder, “But I’ll hopefully see you all tonight,” he flashes a wink before turning around and jogging back to his team.

“A party sounds like a lot of fun!” you say to Rina with a big grin, softly clapping your hands.

With you not facing her, Jess narrows her eyes at you while clenching her hands into fists, yelling, “Practice is over!”

You flinch at the sound and see her spinning around and storming off the field with Mei and Kat running after her.

☾☀︎

Since the night at the bar, things haven’t changed regarding your interactions with Jungkook—or lack of interaction, you should say. You’ve been attending the band’s rehearsals as usual, and just as he was before, Jungkook ignores your entire existence. But of course, just as you were before, you don’t let that stop you.

Despite his harsh words, you can’t forget how he was like your knight in shining armour that night. After spending a month in his presence, he may not treat you like a friend or be as cordial as you would like, but he was there for you when you needed help. He stepped up without being asked and protected you. To you, that means something, so even if he continues to ignore you, you won’t ignore him.

Jungkook can keep up his cold, grumpy attitude, but you know, within him, there is a kind man. What he said to you may have been hurtful at the moment, but when you reflected on it in bed that night, his words sounded more like a lecture for your safety than an insult. And although he may disregard you, he has never really been rude to you despite your persistent efforts to get close to him.

So tonight, like every other time you’ve entered the garage, you say hello to all the guys present—including Jungkook.

“I’m here!” you sing, dragging out the words as you skip in, still in your cheer uniform and, of course, with a lollipop in your mouth. It’s watermelon flavour today. And once again, Mrs Lee didn’t let you pay; something about that being the last one of that flavour, so there was no point in charging you for it.

“Hey, Prez,” Jimin smiles as he looks you over, “Had practice today?”

“Mhm,” you nod, “Hey, Jungkookie!”

Jungkook keeps tuning his guitar without raising his head to spare you a glance. Taehyung, standing beside him, gives him a serious look, “Dude.”

Jungkook raises his head, “Hi,” lowers it and resumes tuning his guitar.

Taehyung rolls his eyes, swinging his bass around to hang behind him, “Hey, Shortstack, how was practice? Were you getting thrown around in the air today?”

“No, not today, Taetae,” you giggle, “But I did tumble a lot today; look how red my hands are!”

You pop your lollipop into your mouth and hold your palms up in his face, “I’m going to end up with ugly, rough hands like you guys,” your words mumble due to the candy as you pout with a slight grimace.

Taehyung grabs your wrists with a fond smile, then furrows his brows as he pretends to examine your hands, “Well, aren’t you one tough cookie.”

You smile—wait, cookie, cookie. Hmm, why does that remind you of something? Cookie? Cook? Jungkoo—Jungkookie! Right!

You gasp, startling the members; even Jungkook’s head shoots up. He watches you sceptically as you approach him.

“I almost forgot! Jungkookie, I’m supposed to tell you about the party.”

“What party?” Cherry jumps in, asking as she and the rest of the members walk through the door, entering the garage from inside.

She walks over and throws an arm around your shoulder as you answer, “The football leader told me to tell Jungkookie and the guys to come to his party. What did he say… teddy bear party?” You tap your chin, thinking.

“Football leader? Do you mean the captain, Mingyu? The Bears are having a party?” Namjoon asks with an amused grin.

“Mingyu! That’s his name!”

“Sometimes I forget you hang around those frat douches,” Cherry says.

“You know, I think I remember Jaehyun telling me about the Bears having a party at the frat house,” Jimin comments.

“Why would Mingyu tell you to tell JK about the party?” Hoseok asks.

“During practice, Jess asked me if you all were going, even though she has plans with Jungkookie tonight,” you point to Jungkook with your candy. He looks confused by what you’re saying, but you continue, “But I told her I didn’t know, so Mingyu said you all should go. He invited the cheer team, too!”

“You have plans with that bitch?” Cherry asks Jungkook.

“No,” Jungkook shakes his head, then juts it to you, “I don’t know what she’s going on about.”

“Jess said you’re hanging out with her tonight. You’re not?” you ask Jungkook, looking up with big, hopeful eyes.

He looks down at you, surprisingly meeting your gaze, “No, I’m not,” he sighs.

You release a breath and can’t hold back the smile on your face, “Oh... okay,” you break eye contact, looking down at your feet as you blush. His stare and words take over you; you honestly didn’t expect a direct response from him.

Cherry squeezes your shoulder, “You seriously wanna go to this party?”

“Yeah, I have to! My friend on the team is going, and I told her I would go,” you see the look of reluctance on Cherry’s face.

“Pretty, pretty please! The muscle bear said it would be fun,” you add, attempting to convince her.

“Wait, did I hear you say the cheer team is going? Like the whole team? As in multiple cheerleaders at one party?” Jimin asks you.

You nod.

And Jimin turns to the band with a firm nod and says,

“We are going to this party.“

☾☀︎

The frat house comes into view, music already pumping through the walls. You can hear the music as you walk up the porch steps, the bass thumping through the floorboards under your feet. People pack the house from the inside to the backyard; even the front lawn has a few partygoers scattered. You’re arm in arm with Cherry as you step into the house, with Yoongi and Namjoon behind you, having chosen to come here with you two instead of leaving with the others. A decision they later regretted if their groans about how long you two took to get ready are any indication.

“Okay, first objective: find the alcohol. If I’m going to be mingling among jocks, I need to be intoxicated,” Cherry announces.

The three of you chuckle at her, but the guys lead the way to the kitchen anyway. You glance around, bodies swaying to the beat on the makeshift dancefloor in the living room, pairs locking lips against the walls, a rowdy game of beer pong in the corner. Your eyes fail to find any familiar faces; although you don’t catch sight of a certain doe-eyed boy, you are scanning the place in search of Rina.

You refocus when a red solo cup gets shoved into your hands. You sniff it, scrunching your nose at the strong smell; nevertheless, you cheers with Cherry and down the drink—tequila, oh God, it’s tequila— in one go. Once the shot burns its way down your throat, you ask Namjoon to mix you a drink, asking for something much sweeter this time.

With your drink in hand, you pull Cherry in, “I have to try and find Rina.”

She nods and turns to say something in Yoongi’s ear; he nods at her in reply, and then you are off to search for your teammate. Luckily, you don’t have to search for too long; you’re passing the beer pong table when you notice a head of strawberry blonde hair sitting on the sofa nearby. You grab a hold of Cherry’s wrist as you guide her over with you.

“Rina!” you call out.

Only when you get closer do you see that she is sitting with none other than the guy who invited the team himself: Mingyu. Rina pauses midcoversation, turning away from him.

“Y/N!” she jumps up and smiles as she swoops you into a hug. You chuckle at your seemingly already intoxicated friend.

“This is Rina, my closest friend on the cheer team,” you say to Cherry, then switch to Rina, “And this is my bestie for the resties, Cherry.”

The girls give their greetings after your little introduction, and just as you expected, the three of you get along seamlessly. After a few minutes, Rina seems to remember the football player she was conversing with earlier; she sits back down beside him, bringing him into the conversation, “I was just telling Gyu, I can’t recall the last time I’ve seen so many people enjoying themselves like this. It’s nice.”

The nickname doesn’t go unnoticed by you, nor does the way Mingyu flushes it; you make a note to tease Rina about it another time.

“It is! Thanks again for the invite,” you say to Mingyu.

“Don’t mention it,” he flicks his hand, “The football and cheer team have always had a good bond. Oh, and thanks for extending my invite.”

Mingyu tilts his head to the side, and you turn to see Jimin and Taehyung playing against Hoseok and Seokjin in a game of beer pong. Your eyes wander behind Jimin, landing on Jungkook braced against the wall, drink in hand.

When you set your sights on him, your knees almost give out. He looks hot—somehow hotter than usual. He is wearing his signature baggy jeans and black chunky combat boots; his black leather jacket, unzipped to display how his fitted white shirt hugs his firm body that sets you off, and his fingers, clad with several silver rings, send you right over the edge.

Beside him stands Jess, who is without her two sidekicks for the first time. She is leaning into him, whispering in his ear, and you get a sense of Deja Vu; images of them from that night at the bar flash through your mind, but you shake them out.

Jungkook said he didn’t have plans with her. She’s here because Mingyu invited her to the party. Jungkook wouldn’t lie to you—or at least he has no reason to. If they had plans to hang out together, he would have just said so.

Last time, your disappointment held you back from interfering, but this time, you have the warmth and courage of alcohol coursing through your veins. So, with a confident stride, you head in their direction.

“Prez!” a very tipsy Jimin stops you, tackling you into an embrace.

“Hey, Chimchim,” you pat his back.

He pulls back, but his hands remain on your shoulders, clutching them, “Thank you for reminding me about this party, Prez. This is amazing! You are the best! Forget president! You are officially the queen of the fan club,” he slurs.

“Man, how are you already this far gone?” Cherry walks over.

“Cher!”

He tackles her next, swaying their bodies back and forth. Now free from the shackles that are Jimin, you spin around and find your target with his eyes already on you. You don’t let it sway you.

You exhale sharply, then force yourself to meet his gaze. And then, with zero hesitation,

“Hi, Jess,” you give her the briefest of glances, then settle on Jungkook, “Hi, Jungkookie, you look handsome!” you run your hand down one side of his jacket along the zipper.

His eyes widen in shock, and his lips part, but no words come out due to Jess’s interruption.

“Y/N, I see you made it. Jungkook and I were talking about you and your little mix-up earlier. We cleared it up, though; no need to worry.”

She takes a small, almost inconspicuous step forward, her body between you and Jungkook’s. She squeezes your elbow in faux cordiality, and you’re left puzzled.

“Mix-up? What do you mean?”

“At practice today, you misunderstood when I said I wanted to message Jungkook about hanging out at AoB’s next show, for me saying he and I had plans for tonight.”

Now, as much as you may be a bit forgetful, there is no way you mistook how she went on about having plans with Jungkook tonight. She made it clear right when Mingyu mentioned the party.

“No, I didn’t, you said—”

“It’s okay; I understand how you could get confused.”

Jungkook is still looking at you from behind Jess with an expression you can’t determine. Being blamed for something untrue this blatantly with your crush watching would typically embarrass you, but being portrayed as a liar bothers you.

“That’s not what happened, you said—”

“Little Picasso, it looks like you need a refill. Let’s get you one, come on,” Namjoon suddenly comes behind you.

He takes you by the shoulders and guides you to the kitchen; you don’t have time to grasp what’s happening.

Once at the array of bottles, Namjoon begins mixing you a drink. While pouring the liquid into a new red plastic cup, he speaks.

“You shouldn’t let her get to you.”

“Hmm?” you watch him.

“Jess. She’s trying to get a rise out of you, don’t let her.”

“But what she said wasn’t true. I heard her. I would never lie to Jungkookie,” you fret.

There’s a pause as he finishes mixing your drink and hands it to you. He sighs, “People like you are better off staying clear of people like Jess, who provoke others to make themselves feel superior. She’s the kind who will always take the opportunity to walk all over you if you let her.”

“We’re on the same team; I can’t avoid being around her. And she’s the cheer captain, so I can’t be rude to her.”

“I can respect that,” he nods with a sympathetic smile, “But that doesn’t mean you should let yourself get belittled.”

You lower your head, swishing around the drink in your cup.

“She’s patronizing because she feels threatened by you.”

“I never did anything to her,” you pout.

“No, I’m sure you didn’t,” he mulls his words, “Evny comes out without you having to incite it. From what I heard from Cherry, you are an equally talented cheerleader as she is, dare I say more. Among your other great qualities, you also seem to be gaining attention in other areas where she seems to fall short,” he smirks after his statement.

Namjoon looks over at Jungkook and Jess, the latter failing to capture the interest of the man beside her despite her forceful attempts. With your cup covering your view from taking a sip of your drink, Namjoon averts his eyes before you notice.

“Huh?” you wonder what other areas you’re exceeding Jess in.

He shakes his head, bypassing you, and continues.

“There aren’t many people like you, Y/N. You’re a very positive person, and the world needs that. Plenty of things and people will try to test how brightly your light shines but never dim it.”

His words wrap around you like a hug, a much-needed hug. A comfort you didn’t realize you needed till now.

“Thanks, Joonbug,” you smile, but a frown soon takes place, “I don’t like this, though. I don’t care if she doesn’t like me, but I don’t want her to make Jungkookie not like me too.”

“If it makes you feel any better, Jungkook isn’t someone easily deceived; I wouldn’t worry about that,” Namjoon pats your shoulder reassuringly.

☾☀︎

After your talk with Namjoon, Cherry came looking for you with Yoongi in tow, and Cherry, ever the encourager, kept the drinks flowing. One shot became two, and two became seven. You stopped counting drinks during several rounds of beer pong against Hoseok and Taehyung.

How Jimin got cut off by Seokjin but not you two is beyond you.

Now you and she have some concoction of a cocktail in hand as you dance—or try to dance in your heels to the EDM music blasting through the speakers.

After the current song ends, you and Cherry crash down onto the sofa, out of breath and plastered. The party is still in full swing around you. You two chat and giggle about insignificant topics for a while; your sense of time has long gone. There’s a peaceful lull in between when you are both sitting there with your head resting on her shoulder, no talking, just being. Your lingering thoughts break through the pause.

“Cher, do you think I’m naive?”

“Hmm? Where did that come from?”

“Just—” you shrug, “Do you?”

“Yeah, I do.”

The words pierce through the noise of the party; you wince, deflating emotionally and physically. You slouch deeper into the sofa. Cherry doesn’t seem to catch on to the effect of her words, yet she doesn’t stop there.

“You have this… innocence about you. A pureness as if you have been untainted by the world. It makes me want to shield you from it.”

“You don’t think I’m… useless?”

Cherry cranes her neck to look down at you so fast you’re surprised she doesn’t get whiplash. Her eyes widen.

“No! Why would you ask that? Did someone call you useless?” she sits up straight.

You pull her back to sit comfortably and place your head back on her shoulder.

“No. Not recently, anyway; I have been called that before. I was just curious what you think.”

Cherry rests her head against yours.

“Do you think you’re useless?” she asks gently.

You shake your head, “There was a time I did; someone I thought loved me made me doubt myself. I know other people’s opinions don’t matter. But I still care about how the people that matter to me think of me, and you matter to me.”

“I think you are naive, but not in the typical sense. You are one of the wisest people I’ve ever met. And that’s saying something when you know someone like Namjoon,” you both chuckle at that.

Cherry reaches for your hand and holds it.

“It takes a certain kind of person to walk through life so optimistic and unaffected by—well, by life.”

You inflate; your self-esteem is experiencing a huge boost tonight.

“You matter to me too,” she squeezes your hand, “I have always been a protective person, but the guys have always been around to look out for me. Since I’m an only child, I’ve always considered them family, so it’s nice that I have a sister to look out for now.”

The sentimental bubble bursts when Yoongi emerges, smirking down at your bodies on the couch as if dumped there.

“There’s my little boozer,” Yoongi pinches Cherry’s cheek with a grin on his face like a Cheshire cat.

She swats away his hand, and he laughs.

“You ready to head out? I should get you home before your mom sends the cops after me,” he tilts his head towards the front door.

Cherry groans, tossing her head back against the couch.

“Going home means moving. I don’t know if I can manage that,” her eyes are shut while she speaks.

“Again, with the dramatics,” Yoongi grabs her hands and pulls her up with a soft grunt.

“You too, kid. Let’s go,” he reaches out and pulls you up.

The three of you walk to the door, you and Cherry stumbling, Yoongi trying to make sure neither of you falls on your face. When you see Yoongi’s shielding hand on Cherry’s lower back, you remember Jungkook. You were having so much fun in your tipsy state you didn’t realize you hadn’t seen him since you tried talking to him earlier when Jess tried embarrassing you.

The cool night air washes over you; the contrast to the inside instant. The crisp breeze kisses your hot skin, and a shiver runs down your spine as you step onto the porch. The muffled music and laughter echoed from inside; you shut your eyes and inhale deeply to try and sober up with fresh air, but instead, breathe in the scent of cigarette smoke.

You have no time to relax when Yoongi’s low voice cuts through the quiet night air.

“Oh, sick, you’re here. I need to take Cher home, so make sure Y/N gets home,” Yoongi tells someone.

“Why me? Get one of the guys to take her.”

You open your eyes, and there on the porch is Jungkook, smoking a cigarette. The smoke curls up into the air as he holds it near his face, halting his movements at Yoongi’s order.

“Jimin and Tae are even more wasted than these two, believe it or not,” he refers to his girlfriend and you, “So Seokjin has his hands full with them. And I have no idea where Hoseok and Namjoon are.”

“Throw up,” you mumble.

Jungkook and Yoongi both quickly look at you with startled expressions.

“Hobi went to throw up. Joonbug is with him,” you drawl, clarifying.

“There you go, that’s why you,” Yoongi claps Jungkook on the shoulder.

“If anything happens to her, I’ll rip one of those piercings out of your face, Jeon,” Cherry rounds Yoongi and stands chest to chest with Jungkook poking at his chest threateningly.

Cherry hugs you goodbye, and the couple are off before Jungkook can make any more protests.

Just like that, you are left alone with the guy you have been enthralled with since you met him. The thumping bass and the joyful murmurs are the only sounds between you and Jungkook as you both stand there in painful silence.

You keep your gaze locked on the street, trying to focus on anything but the suffocating presence beside you.

Jungkook leans against the railing like he has nothing better to do, smoking the remainder of his cigarette, his gaze fixed in the distance on the night sky. You sigh, side-eyeing him as you shift, restless with your arms crossed. You try to remain calm, but inside, you are as excited as ever, pondering how to use this chance to your advantage.

He doesn’t attempt small talk or any other interaction, so you leave him immersed in his thoughts.

What makes this situation a little more nerve-wracking is that you know you are not really in his good books. Yet, you can’t miss out on this moment with him because being alone like this won’t happen again so smoothly. He dismisses you whenever he gets the chance or keeps his engagement short and curt when he does pay you attention.

A beat of silence later, you ask cautiously, “Did you have fun?”

“I did,” for the first time in minutes, he looks at you. “Until I got stuck chaperoning,” he snarks.

“There isn’t always gonna be someone around to babysit you and come to your defence.”

His sharp response had felt like a slap. Your drunken pride steps in, “You don’t have to. I can take care of myself,” you meekly contest.

Jungkook doesn’t answer this time.

Instead, he merely shifts his gaze from you to the empty, streetlight-lit road ahead before he begins to move. He drops the butt of his cigarette, putting it out with the toe of his boot, then stomps down the steps as he takes out his phone from his back pocket.

You follow immediately, walking by his side until he says, “I’m ordering an Uber.”

Your chest tightens, and you squeeze your eyes shut.

It all flashes before you in a millisecond.

Tires screeching. Glass shattering. Metal crunching. Blood. Pain. Fear.

“No!” you react instinctively and grab his arm, stopping him.

When you meet his eyes, Jungkook eyebrows furrow. Surprised and annoyed, he sends you an intense, fiery glare.

“I can’t take an Uber,” you shake your head frantically.

“Do you expect me to fly us there?” he huffs, pulling his arm out of your hold.

Your mouth opens and closes, but your throat seals shut. What possible defence could you offer?

Your nails carved crescents into your palms as you clenched your fists, your eyes tightly shut, “I-I just can’t ride in an Uber,” you force out quietly, ashamed; your voice is barely audible. A single tear slips down your cheek before you hurriedly wipe it away

Jungkook hears your voice crack and your sniffle. His scowl falters for a split second as he takes in your appearance—your teary eyes, chest rising and falling far too quickly, hands trembling at your sides. You are practically hyperventilating.

“Jesus…” he wavers, staring at your face, scratching the back of his neck, his eyes flicking around awkwardly, “You don’t have to cry about it.”

He shifts uncomfortably; abruptly, he walks away, his back now to you. You are left standing there like an abandoned kitten. He calls over his shoulder without even looking at you,

“You gonna stand there and sulk all night? Are you coming or not?”

His voice is cold and detached—as if he’s doing this out of obligation rather than concern.

Your eyes narrow, and your lips press into a thin line.

“Not,” you frown.

Jungkook freezes, leans his head back, looks up at the stars and groans, dragging his hands down his face in frustration. He lets out a slow breath before turning to you to speak again,

“What?”

You shake your head, cross your arms in protest, and pout, “I don’t want to go with you if you’re going to be a grumpy pants.”

He looks genuinely perplexed. As if you have just spoken in tongues.

“Grumpy pan—Are you a child?“

You remain silent, fixed in your spot. Feet planted on the sidewalk, arms crossed, as you and Jungkook engage in a staring contest.

Jungkook rolls his tongue along the inside of his cheek, cocks his pierced eyebrow. He squints his eyes at you, slipping his hands into his front pockets, “And how exactly do you plan on getting home then?“

“By myself,“ your chin lifts defiantly.

“By walking there. The same route I have to walk. Because we’re neighbours,” he deadpans.

Oh. Right. Damn, you didn’t think that through. You try to conjure up your next comeback to counter.

“Do you always have to be this difficult?” he exasperates.

“Hmph!” you stomp your foot, turning away from him to face the road.

Jungkook, for a brief moment, can’t tell if he wants to laugh or cry.

“For fuck’s sake,” Jungkook mutters his curse to himself between gritted teeth, exhaling a long aggravated breath before returning to your side.

“Alright.”

You ignore him.

Jungkook places a hand on your upper arm, using it to have you face him. The warmth of his touch vanishes just as quickly as it came.

“Look, let’s just walk home. I won’t say anything,” Jungkook holds his hands up in surrender.

You peek at him through your lashes, “You won’t be a meany? You’ll be nice?”

“I won’t be mean,” Jungkook replies, disregarding the second part of what you said.

“And…” You bite your lip, trying not to smile. Your eyes are innocent, but your tone is playful when you tiptoe, lean in a little, hesitantly, and say, “We can stop to buy a lollipop on the way?”

Jungkook, holding onto his last bit of strength, doesn’t say anything. He breathes through his nose, pressing his lips together and responding with a stiff nod.  

Like a flip of a switch, your mood brightens so fast that Jungkook flinches slightly.

“Yay! Okay, let’s go,” you cheer and brush past him.

Jungkook is stunned as he watches you head off, swaying your hips.

“Come on, Jungkookie!” you yell back to him.

Jungkook rolls his eyes.

That damn name.

Jungkook walks after you, wanting to hurry and get you home as fast as possible so he can get away from you just as fast.

He is left thinking about how he has a feeling that wasn’t his last hurdle of the night.

☾☀︎

Jungkook, true to his word, is on his best behaviour. But that is because he doesn’t utter a word on the walk to the convenience store. Even when your heel snags on the sidewalk and you lose footing, he catches you by the elbow with a displeased grunt and proceeds on.

“Are you seriously going to stay silent the whole way?” you wonder.

Silence.

Your shoulders brush his as you walk, your steps in sync with his, although yours are more clumsy.

“I know you said you won’t say anything, but it feels like I’m walking with a ghost,” you mope.

Silence.

You gasp, covering your mouth with both hands, “Maybe you are a ghost,” you raise a hand to poke at his bicep.

Is he made out of stone or something? His arm is rock solid, like a statue. Having the perfect view of Jungkook’s profile, he does look like an ancient Greek sculpture, with chiselled features and sharp, distinct edges that Adonis would envy. With the moonlight breaking through his hair, you marvel at his beauty.

Jungkook tuts and throws you a disapproving glare.

“Didn’t you want me not to be mean?“ he gruffs.

You gasp again dramatically, “Oh my gosh! I can’t believe it, he speaks,” you joke.

The thought flashes through Jungkook’s mind. With your wide, happy smile, your hands cupping your cheeks. How you look up at him with big eyes, sparkling under the glow of the night—it’s almost… cute.

He shakes his head, this time not at you but to force the thought out of his mind before it accidentally spirals into something worse.

“We agreed on just walking home—”

“And to stop and get a lolly,” you add, correcting him.

“Yeah. Whatever. My point is I didn’t agree on any conversation.”

“But it’s boring walking in silence. Plus, you said you’d be nice,” you whine.

“I said I wouldn’t be mean.”

“Well, isn’t ignoring me pretty mean?”

But he won’t answer. He only makes a disapproving sound.

“I’m so nice to you. I don’t know why you ignore me all the time. I wish you liked me as much as I like you. Jess also doesn’t like me, so you aren’t the only one. What she said wasn’t true, by the way,” you turn to face him while walking, “I know what I heard. I would never lie to you, Jungkookie. Joonbug said you wouldn’t believe her, but I still wanted to tell you myself,” you ramble on, filling the silence.

“Jeez. How drunk are you?”

“Only a little,” you singsong, pinching your index finger and thumb together, leaving a tiny gap in between.

“But I got you to talk to me,” you smile, bumping your shoulder into his arm.

He stares at you and tilts his head slightly, studying you. Then, he lets out this half-laugh, half-disbelieving breath.

You don’t look away. Jungkook’s warm stare seeps into your skin, grounding you in a way that feels too easy.

The pure gaze you give him throws Jungkook off guard for a moment — it’s somewhat endearing.

Jungkook’s stomach lurches. He snaps his head forward and coughs awkwardly into his fist.

Woah. Stop. What is with him tonight? How drunk is he?

You give in to Jungkook’s silence this time, sighing and letting him sink into his thoughts.

The convenience store’s sign comes into view, flashing in the short distance.

“Jess’s words hold no merit to me. Whether what she says is true or not doesn’t matter. I don’t care. Because I don’t care about her,” Jungkook’s tone is flat, emotionless, as if he’s simply stating a fact.

The convenience store’s sign comes into view, glowing in the near distance.

“The same goes for you,” Jungkook says casually before turning to enter the shop, his response so abrupt that it catches you off guard.

↬ THE CHAPTER ISN'T OVER YET!! PLS READ boo 1k block limit!! you can read the second half of the chapter in this reblog!! it continues where this leaves off and begins with a new scene <3