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boy's a liar

summary: you've been at odds with the crown prince ever since you were children, but feelings change and the light you see him in changes too. how long can you keep up this pretense of hatred? word count: 3.7k warnings: cherry!koo bc that deserves a warning, kind of some emotional constipation?, explicit smut– boobie fondling, oral f receiving, fingering, missionary, hitting it from the back, unprotected sex (you better not), dw theres aftercare :)

what's the point of crying? it was never even love did you ever want me? was i ever good enough?

You hate how good he looks right now, simply leaning against the wall, an aloof smile on his pretty face as he holds court with his infuriating charm and ever bright personality. The dukes and duchesses eat up his every admission and hang onto every word of his sentences, making you roll your eyes as you watch them from across the room.

He holds a fluke of champagne in his hand, half full despite your knowing of his dislike of the liquor.

As if feeling your gaze on him, his eyes lift and wander curiously across the room before meeting yours. Expecting you to back down and look away, a look of pleasant surprise comes across his face when you hold his stare.

Your heart skips under his watchful gaze, his eyes caressing your skin from the tips of your fingers to your covered shoulders and leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

His eyes flick back up to yours, and you realise that not once throughout his assessment of you did he pause his conversation with his company. His mouth continues to move and the men and women crowded around him take no notice that his attention is elsewhere- on you.

A manicured hand slides up his chest, pretentious and outright trying to state its claim on him.

You'd seen her pin straight blonde hair before, at balls and other social events, but she never deserved more than a polite smile from you- she was just another social climber wrapped in faux elegance.

His face betrays no emotion, but his eyes hold yours from across the room as if gauging your reaction. He watches you lazily with an air of arrogance, and your hands buzz with the desire to slap him across his irritating face.

As if you could care less who he had on his arm.

You regard each other, waiting to see who will look away first.

It won't be you.

His mouth tugs up in a smile, as if sensing the fire burning within you, which burns infinitely hotter seeing his amused face.

Damn him.

"This looks like the most intense staring contest I've ever seen."

Dark eyes move away first, his attention fixing back on his company and you smile as you turn to the deep voice.

"Namjoon," you nod up at the tall duke.

His dimple peeks out as he smiles down at you, making a comment about how comfortable you look perched on the couch before joining you.

"So what's with you and the prince? I can feel the sexual tension rolling off of you."

Ever the playful instigator, you roll your eyes at his blatant need to gossip.

You've known Namjoon since you were both children, before you had to wear the burden of responsibility that came with your nobilities. When you could play around in the courtyard or sneak into the kitchen and steal from the cookie jar.

Growing up together, you knew you could always depend on him to run away with you from the over-the-top galas or the boring dinners.

While the socialites interacted amongst themselves, the two of you would be in the corner of the room judging anyone and everyone.

There was a small circle of people you considered acquaintances, and an even smaller circle of people you could call friends.

But you'd take a handful of genuine people over dozens of superficial friendships anyway.

"Nothing's up with us, you know how much I hate him."

Namjoon regards you with a skeptical look that you ignore, waving down one of the catering staff and plucking an hors d'oeuvres off the tray.

"I'm not buying it," he hums, taking one for himself.

"I see the way you've been looking at each other lately- it definitely doesn't look like hate."

You narrow your eyes at him, despite wondering yourself how much truth his words carry.

Perhaps it was because he knew you so well, knew of the mutual dislike you and the prince held for each other ever since you were children.

In all honesty, you're not sure where exactly your indifference came from but for as long as you can remember, the crown prince has always been the one you find yourself bantering with.

Although you don't carry any real enmity towards him, you found it easier to annoy each other with jabs and jests than to not.

He was the crown prince, and while you held a title of nobility yourself, he was always just one level above you, he always would be.

Perhaps it was the fact that he knew how important he was, or at least carried himself that way. He was expected to act a certain way, and while he did most of the time, he also liked to rebel in the smallest of ways, pushing boundaries until someone was bound to break.

But he was a royal, very few people could touch him, and he knew that. He knew he was untouchable.

He liked to play games, finding the most amusement in playing them with you. So casually cruel in the name of being honest, his favourite pastime was riling you up until you'd snap at him, enjoying your fire when it was directed at him.

As children, it was all fairly innocent- he'd pull on your braids and you'd steal his extra piece of panna cotta when he wasn't looking. As you got older, more avenues opened up for you to mess with each other.

Every courtier or suitor would be driven away by the prince's incessant meddling, spewing lies about how you grew horns and turned into a beast at night or that your farts smelled like mouldy bread. While no one actually believed him, you never heard back from them after the night.

It's almost comical how palace staff are warned when the two of you are under the same roof, made to be weary of the ultimate prank war that you've been in your whole lives.

Endless teasing and outright arrogance made his face ever so punchable.

While you ran in the same tight-knit circle and saw each other more often than not, you weren't as close as you were with the others.

Now that you were older, more responsibility weighed you down, and you were both expected to play your parts.

The ever obedient daughter, you played yours while Jungkook got to mess around and spew nonsense about his duties that everyone ate up because they weren't exactly listening, too busy fawning over his charming looks and playboy personality.

It didn't help that he was actually good looking.

Thinking back to Namjoon's words, you wonder how that could ever be true. If anything, after the events that had perspired a few weeks ago, he should only be able to see the absolute bitterness in your eyes when you see the crown prince.

"Trust me, Joon, we're definitely not in love."

The buzz of the ballroom was finally beginning to dwindle, dukes and marquesses alike starting to call it a night, bidding their goodbyes to the royal family before making their way out.

You'd spent most of the night with Namjoon, snickering as you watched people bend over backwards trying to force some semblance of elegance.

The corridors were empty now, save for the staff passing through packing up the event.

After using the washroom, you wander down the hallways, the lighting dim enough to confuse your tired and faintly tipsy brain.

Turning one of the corners, you stop short upon seeing a certain head of dark hair leaning against the opposite wall.

"Your highness," you bow, miscalculating the action and fumbling slightly before you right yourself, giggling quietly to yourself.

Was it your imagination or did the prince's arms flinch forward as if ready to catch you?

"So formal," the prince murmurs, standing upright and stalking forwards to where you were stood.

He offers his arm and for some reason you hesitate, wondering whether touching him was a particularly good idea. But then he gazes down at you with those soft eyes, no malice hidden behind them, and you find yourself taking his arm anyway.

"I'll escort you to your room."

"How noble of you."

"You know me, always saving pretty damsels and slaying dragons."

You snicker. He laughs.

The endless walk through the corridors is silent, neither of you having anything of real importance to say to each other.

The question of why the prince had been in the corridor in the first place lingers in your mind, but you've come to know better than to expect him to answer your questions.

When you reach the landing of the third floor, the prince's steps slow until you've reached just outside your door.

You open it without a word, strolling inside, ready to be done with the night and sleep all the way through to brunch.

The prince lingers in the doorway and you see him thinking over something in his head through the reflection of your vanity mirror.

"What is it Jungkook?"

The use of his name so casually has him turning his head up at you, a grin forming on his face.

"Did you enjoy yourself tonight?" he asks, leaning against the doorframe.

His eyes follow you as you toe off your shoes, throwing them rather carelessly to the foot of your dresser. Sitting down at your vanity, you grab a wipe, swiping at your eyes to remove your makeup as you contemplate your answer.

"You know how I feel about those social events," you say.

He did.

On the off chance you felt like getting along, the two of you would sneak away in the middle of galas or dinners, running off to the gardens under the cover of darkness and hiding where no one could find you.

Just for a few hours, you could leave behind all the ass kissing and artificiality and pretend that you weren't who you were.

You'd skip rocks across the pond, mock nobility, or listen to Jungkook and his endless knowledge about constellations and argue over where they were in the sky.

Stolen moments like those- you'd never tell him- but you saved them for the bad days.

Movement in the mirror has your eyes meeting his in the reflection, watching as he approaches from behind.

He reaches a tentative hand up to unclasp the necklace you had been fumbling with, his warm touch leaving tingles when his fingers brush against the skin of your neck.

"Thanks."

Was your voice always this breathy?

"What about yourself? That pretty blonde make it worth your while?"

You hate the unfamiliar feeling the thought of him spending time with another girl brings, but you'd sooner take it to the grave than acknowledge it.

"She can't seem to take the hint that I'm not interested," he shrugs, silently removing the pins from your hair.

"But you're always interested," you tease.

As the crown prince, he obviously couldn't sleep around. But the rules never said anything about casual flings where he could woo girls with his flirty words and kick them to the curb when he was bored.

Growing up, people rarely saw him for more than being their next ruler. Girls saw him as something they could conquer, dig their claws into and hang on his arm and pray they became relevant.

Sure he was arrogant and cocky, but people seemed to forget he was a human being.

While you wouldn't hesitate to push him in the pool or leave him locked out in the snow, a part of you felt for him. He had never found a meaningful connection with anyone, and even if he kept up the pre-tense of the heartbreaker prince there was a secret romantic hidden in his playboy persona.

"Feelings change."

Oddly cryptic and vague.

"Did you want something, Jungkook? I'm rather tired."

Coming to a stand, you reach behind your back for the strings of your dress. You had a lady in waiting who would have been helping you, but you'd all but threatened Marie to retire early for the night, knowing how hard she worked to making you look presentable earlier.

Jungkook's hands beat you to it, tugging lightly on the ribbon to free you.

"Just wanted to see you."

Again, oddly cryptic and vague.

As he unlaces your corset, you can't help the heavy breath that escapes you once your lungs aren't being constantly squeezed by the garment.

Your eyes clash in the mirror, not a word leaving either of you as the straps of your dress are pushed down your shoulders, the fabric pooling by your waist.

You're quite aware that your front is bared, your nipples hardening in the cool air. Your breath becomes laboured as you anticipate his next move. Though, his eyes never stray from yours, holding your gaze as the tension in the room builds.

"Jungkook-"

The word comes out in a breathy whimper before he tilts your head and crashes his mouth to yours. You feel the groan in his throat as he claims your mouth with his, your tongues clashing for dominance.

A large palm comes up and cups your breast, squeezing the flesh and drawing a moan from you. He twists a hardened bud between his thumb and finger before giving the same attention to the other.

In a blur, the rest of your dress is on the ground and Jungkook has you pinned on the bed as his mouth explores your neck.

He nips and kisses at your skin- sometimes you wonder if he leaves marks because he knows you'll have to cover them up.

"Should've known you only came here for this," you grit out just as he reaches your breasts. Taking a breast into his mouth, his wet and warm tongue circles around your hardened bud before sucking hard.

He comes away with a lewd pop, and the image of him with saliva glistening on his mouth makes you just that much more aroused.

"Didn't seem to be a problem last week when you were coming around my cock," he shoots back, moving down your body until he's kneeling between your spread thighs.

Despite his image of poise and virtue, his mouth could be equally as filthy.

"Tell me to stop and it stops."

You don't.

He smiles.

Leaning down, he places open mouth kisses against the inside of your thighs, always inching closer and never reaching exactly where you want him.

You slide your hands into his hair, palming the soft cherry coloured strands- another one of his acts of rebellion.

You open your mouth to protest, the words stolen out of your mouth by Jungkook finally dragging his tongue up your centre, the groan he lets out vibrating against you and making you shudder.

He eats you like a man starved, neither of you caring how sloppy it is, not when it feels so good and you taste so sweet. Hiking your thighs up over his shoulders, Jungkook devours you, showing no mercy as he slides two fingers into you with ease.

They stretch you out deliciously, and when he curls them just right he hits that spot that has you seeing stars.

The feeling of him pumping into you along with the way he abuses your swollen nub with his mouth brings you to an orgasm embarrassingly quick.

Waves of pleasure wash over you, eyes squeezing closed as Jungkook helps you ride out your orgasm.

The crown prince emerges from between your legs, wide grin on his mouth as your arousal coats his chin and all around his lips.

"You good?" he asks, kissing the inside of your knee before sitting up.

"Mhm."

He leans forward, capturing your mouth in his once more. You sit up, unbuttoning his dress shirt impatiently while he chuckles into the kiss at your eagerness.

The shirt falls away, revealing smooth skin upon smooth skin. The prince can't help but smirk against your lips at how you all but spill drool onto his stomach. His toned, chiseled stomach.

You push a hand against his chest and throw a leg around his waist to turn the prince until he's laying against your pillows and you're above him straddling his hips.

The sudden confidence has his face lighting up in surprise, a complaint nowhere to be found as he places his palms on your waist, his touch searing against your skin.

But oh so gentle.

With hooded eyes, the crown prince watches the way your head tips back and your lips part in a soft sigh when you roll your hips against him, definitely feeling the growing bulge beneath you.

He takes the opportunity to lean forward and take a breast in his mouth, his other hand snaking up to the back of your neck and holding you to him.

You don't know exactly how you found yourselves in this unlikely predicament. The first time it'd happened was the prince's birthday. You'd gotten so angry at him for crashing yet another date with one of your suitors earlier in the week, and his only response was to kiss you right then and there.

One thing led to another until you were both laying spent against the bed, chests heaving as you came to terms with what exactly had just happened.

You spent the week avoiding each other as much as you could, until you found yourself in bed with the prince again.

And so begun the sneaking around and the late night shenanigans. Though, where anyone else was concerned, you still couldn't stand each other.

You both knew it shouldn't have gone on for this long, but somehow you couldn't find it in yourselves to care.

Finding yourself on your back again, you look up at the crown prince as he kneels between your spread thighs. His pants are off now, lying somewhere forgotten with the rest of your clothes.

He stares down at you with hooded eyes mirroring that of your own before reaching into his boxers and pulling out his thick, hard length.

The sight of it alone has you whining, wanting it in you. You bite your lip when Jungkook when he rubs the swollen head against your folds, spreading his pre-cum and your own arousal around.

"We still good, pretty?"

You all but scream yes, nodding desperately.

Jungkook finally gives you what you want, positioning himself at your entrance and slowly pushing in. A hand on you hip rubs soothingly as he moves in inch by glorious inch. He hisses about how tight you are, eyes squeezing shut.

Despite the number of times he's taken you, you can never quite get used to just how big he is. The stretch borders on pleasure and pain, leaving you breathless as Jungkook bottoms out.

He waits patiently for you to get used to him, hands holding your waist and squeezing gently.

When you give him the go-ahead Jungkook starts to move, drawing his hips back just to push in again. The breathy moans that leave your mouth only spur him on as he thrusts into you.

It feels so good, he feels so good. The way he moves in you, just the right amount of rough and carefulness, makes him one of the most enjoyable partners you've had in- well ever.

By the time you're nearing your second orgasm of the night, Jungkook is nowhere near done with you.

Flipping you onto your stomach, he draws your hips up until you're on your knees, ass in the air, before Jungkook enters you again.

In this position, his thrusts hit deeper, reaching places no one else has reached and making you almost lightheaded.

You crash headfirst into Nirvana, body twitching as pleasure floods your senses. Your legs threaten to give out but Jungkook holds you up, continuing his to move behind you.

The overstimulation is just bearable, and when he slaps your ass you have to stop yourself from screaming. 

"Fuck baby, I'm close-"

The whimper in his voice makes you move your ass back on him, meeting his thrusts and grinding against him.

His hips stutter before he stills completely, spilling himself deep inside you with a guttural moan.

The two of you have always been safe when it comes to sex, despite never wearing condoms. You have measures in place to make sure you don't end up in the papers with the next royal scandal.

You whine when he pulls out, feeling empty without his presence. You collapse on the bed, sighing as you come down from the high.

You hear him walk to your bathroom and then you feel his warmth behind you again.

Despite all his cruelty, he cleans you up with a warm cloth, his movements gentle.

You thank him awkwardly, your words ending in a yawn that has him chuckling from somewhere in the room.

He flicks the light switch off, submerging the room in darkness before coming down to lay beside you in bed.

Turning your head, you peer up at him, the light from the moon hitting his face perfectly and making him look like your worst mistake personified.

You don't exchange a single word as you cuddle up to his chest, his arm snaking around you and holding you closer. You relish in his warmth, pressing your cheek against his bare skin, closing your eyes and listening to his breathing even out.

For some reason, he makes you feel safe.

In this afterglow, where all your swords and armour are left on the ground, and you only see each other as you are- you wish you could stay like this always.

You take in his presence, knowing that you'll wake up in the morning and he won't be beside you.

He never is.

But what's the point of crying? It was never even love.

You knew that.

unedited :) hope you liked it

---

HOTTER THAN SIN | neteyam x reader

pairing: neteyam x f!reader

summary: at night, you find yourself seeking solace and comfort in the arms of your lover while conflicting emotions highlight your struggle between duty and true happiness.

word count: 3k

warnings: forbidden love trope, nsfw content - minors do not interact, fingering, oral (f receiving), p in v, biting, marking, some background info for the plot (to make it a bit logical), cheating with consent (?), you and neteyam acting like wild animals lol it's always h words hours with him, all characters are adults

na'vi words: yerik - hexapede (deer-like pandoran animal); yawne - beloved

* gif's mine (for the first time)

"You are promised to my baby bro." His words echoed in your mind, over and over again, as you absentmindedly ran a comb through your hair in your nightly routine. The night had already slipped away, the moons shining brightly in the sky, silently witnessing your inner turmoil as you, for the third time now, abandoned your attempt to braid your hair. A sense of unease settled in the air as you found yourself alone, lost in deep contemplation, unable to sleep peacefully.

"Your baby bro loves someone else, and so do I,"  you had told him, not to appease your own conscience or even his but as a matter of fact. It was true that you and Lo'ak had been forced to reach a silent agreement, but that didn't mean you were in agreement at all. It was largely driven by your parents and his; you had been betrothed to each other as young children, unaware of the true significance of it. As the years went by and this arrangement took up more presence in your lives, both you and Lo'ak realized that there was absolutely no chemistry between you. And so, you agreed that until your impending mating (and both of you were confident you would find a way to escape the situation by then), he could do as he pleased with whomever he wanted, and so could you. What Lo'ak didn't know was that your "whomever" happened to be his own brother, a secret you no longer wanted to keep hidden. 

You've had many conversations with Neteyam about it, repeatedly making it clear that you were not satisfied with the current situation, and that you no longer wanted a secret affair. You were tired of meeting him whenever it was convenient and not when you wanted, tired of hiding in the shadows when it could be so easy to change it all. All he had to do was face his elders and announce that he had chosen you as his mate by his side. Everyone would understand, you were sure of it. But Neteyam didn't want to hear any of it; he ignored your questions, changed the subject, and smooth-talked his way out of it every time. You were so fucking tired of it all. 

However, you were not tired of his lustrous glances during communal gatherings, his playful smiles whenever he saw you at training, his gentle touches on your lower back that lingered a bit too long whenever he passed by, his whispered compliments close to your ear when no one was looking, and his secret signs only you knew, like the subtle nod of his head signaling you to follow him to the forest, or the way he licked over his lower lip, barely noticeable to untrained eyes, but a clear sign for you that you wouldn't be spending the night alone.

"What the..." you furrowed your brows, setting the comb aside in your hand, as you saw a familiar silhouette standing at the entrance of your family's tent, a smug smile on his face. "Are you crazy?" you whisper-yelled at him, "My parents are sleeping!" You quickly glanced at the sealed section at the end of the tent, hoping that no one would come out and see you together with Neteyam in the middle of the night.

"I know," he shrugged nonchalantly, "But that has never stopped me from seeing my beautiful girl."

"Not your girl," you reminded him harshly, "Your own words. Besides, I'm still angry at you, so in case you don't have an answer to my questions, you can just go away the way you…" 

You gasped then, your eyes widening in alarm, like those of a yerik witnessing the sharp tip of an arrow hurtling towards it. Suddenly, you found yourself lying flat on your back, with Neteyam above you, having pinned you down. How on Pandora had he done that again? Just a few seconds ago, he was standing at the entrance of the tent, you had been distracted for a fraction of a second, and now... 

You decided not to dwell on his surprise maneuvers for long, as his soft lips had once again claimed yours, the same as the hundreds and thousands of times before, washing away any questions and worries with a single sweep. You gasped into the kiss, letting your slender hands roam over his strong arms, tracing along his well-defined back where your fingertips pressed into his delicate skin. Eywa, this man was perfect.

"That's why I'm here," he mumbled in between hot kisses, while your lips almost refused to part for even a second, "Cannot let my girl go to sleep angry, can I?"

You sighed into the next kiss, a longer, and more passionate one, but tried to keep a clear head as a single question dominated your thoughts: Just when would you officially become his?

"Do not ask questions whose answers you cannot handle," he whispered against your lips, brushing a tender kiss on the corner of your mouth, and buried his left hand in your flowing hair.

"You know I can handle it," you retorted, a slight pout on your lips. You no longer wondered how Neteyam always seemed to know what was going through your mind. Perhaps he just knew you inside and out. Or perhaps you were an open book, and everyone else could genuinely read from your face what you were feeling, what you were thinking. That was indeed the most plausible explanation that had come to your mind since the first night you has spent with Neteyam. Yes, that must be it, you must be easy to read. 

If only you knew that you were precisely the opposite. You had thrown Neteyam off balance so many times without even trying, without even realizing, solely through your actions, which stood in contradiction to your feelings that he could sense as clearly as a gentle touch because he did, in fact, know you inside and out. You were anything but easy to read. At least not always. And you were probably the most capable person he had encountered, with him always being in awe with the new surprises you had up your sleeve. 

Neteyam smiled a genuine smile, "Just trust me on this and leave the rest to me." 

His deep accented voice triggered so many emotions within you. Your hands slid lower, reaching the hem of his loincloth, attempting to untie the knot, but it proved to be more challenging than anticipated as Neteyam playfully nibbled on the delicate skin of your neck, occasionally running his tongue over it in a teasing manner. You shuddered so intensely under his touch that you believed you were on the verge of experiencing an orgasm solely from his caresses, the peak of pleasure within reach and tantalizingly close whenever he was near. It was crazy.

"Yes," you murmured as his hands tenderly glided along your sides, descending to your bare thighs, venturing further toward your heated core, which yearned so desperately for attention. But he took his time, still lavishing attention on your neck, sending shivers cascading down your spine. His tongue traced a path down to your chest. You yearned to feel more, so much more, and the absence of his touch in that specific place drove you wild. His hand traveled up again, skimming delicately over the insides of your thighs, teasingly brushing against your heated core, only to divert his focus to your taut stomach and breasts. Everywhere but there.

"Please." It almost sounded like whining, which caused the prince of the forest to chuckle softly once again. 

In the next instant, you already regretted your quiet plea, as the following sound you heard was the screech of fabric ripping apart.

You gasped heavily, staring at him with eyes filled with desire. "You... oh, you. Couldn't you have done that like a normal person?"

"I thought you didn't want to wait any longer," he smirked, exuding an irresistibly seductive charm. Gone were your loincloth and upper feathery piece that you had loved so dearly, having spent hours of weaving. He then adjusted himself slightly as you struggled to remove his loincloth. The clothes fell carelessly to the ground, as if they had never belonged to you both. Completely naked, as the Great Mother had created you, and yet like wild animals, you both pounced on each other.

Shamelessly, he now gazed at your body, completely exposed, as you lay before him, as you eagerly craved his touch. But this time, it was he who looked rather surprised, as you swiftly rose up, burying your hands in his nape and and drawing him back down to you. You pressed your throbbing core against him and your sweet lips against his, claiming him with fervor, completely consumed by desire. You kissed him this time with wild, unrestrained passion, and dug your nails into the firm flesh of his back. Neteyam broke away, gasping for a moment, before turning his attention to your breasts. He encircled your hardened peaks with his soft lips, sucking and teasing them, occasionally nipping and biting, which elicited another gasp from you. It aroused him immensely to hear those sweet sounds escaping your lips, knowing that only he could evoke such a response from you. His loins were on fire, his cock eager to feel the wet, tight embrace of your folds, but for now, his focus was solely on you, you and your quivering body under his hands and his mouth.

"Mhmm," you hummed, running your tongue over your lips and wrapping your legs tightly around his hips, grinding your arching core against the hardness of his arousal. You wanted to feel him. To feel him filling you completely, driving you to the edge of sanity, but he took his time, still caressing your tits, occasionally nibbling lightly on your hardened nipples, eliciting soft moans from you, before soothing them with his tongue. Meanwhile, his hands never ceased their massaging motions, sensually exploring every inch of your body. His mouth trailed lower, moving along your stomach, and his tongue traced circles around your belly button. His hands gently spread your legs apart, granting him more access and freedom to explore your trembling form.

Arching your head back, as much as you could in that position, you let out a soft moan as his hands glided briefly over your pulsating core. He lowered his head between your legs and tantalizingly licked over it, causing a slightly louder moan to escape your lips this time.

"Shh, yawne, not so loud," he warned you, and once again turned his attention and focus on your sensitive pearl, licking it once more before exhaling a gentle breath onto it, which sent shivers of pleasure coursing through your body.

And there it was... his lips pressed against your highly sensitive spot. He kissed you there, suckling on your bud and then traced small circles over it with his warm, wet tongue, causing you to grip the mat under you tightly. Eywa, it felt so good. He knew exactly what he was doing, and you wanted more. So much more.

"You like that?" he whispered in a sultry tone, knowing damn well you did, his breath feeling so hot on your pulsating core caused another shiver to run through you. Unable to form any words, you simply nodded, your back arching as he expertly buried two fingers inside you, pleasuring you and making you see stars. Afraid of being too loud, you pressed your own hand against your mouth, while simultaneously pressing your hips against him. With your other hand, you caressed your breasts, eliciting a low growl from Neteyam. If only you knew the intensity of the fire you ignited within him as you touched and pleasured yourself before his eyes. 

Before you could lunge at his neck in frustration for withdrawing his fingers just as you were on the edge of orgasm, you could already feel the firm tip of him pressing against your slick entrance. Opening your eyes, you locked your gaze with his, a wave of longing twisting your features as his lustful gaze met you, making your pelvic muscles clench with burning desire, begging for his hard cock. 

Neteyam's smile grew even more seductive, his demeanor unapologetically indulgent as he plunged into you with one powerful thrust. You gasped for air, wanting to moan, and the handsome man knew it wouldn't be a quiet affair. So, he quickly pressed his lips against yours, making you taste yourself on his tongue, and muffling your cries as he initially took you in a slow rhythm.

You wrapped your legs around his hips once more and threw your head back as you felt Neteyam's lips on your neck, his hands on your breasts, and his throbbing hardness pulsing between your legs. Biting down on your tongue, you suppressed the urge to moan loudly, moving your hips to meet his thrusts and digging your fingers into his back, leaving faint red marks that would surely fade by tomorrow.. 

"Ahh, yes… you make me feel… so good… mmm… Neteyam..."  you whispered hoarsely in his ear, lightly biting into his earlobe, causing him to momentarily tense up. His weakness.

Neteyam didn't waste a moment. His hand swiftly descended between your bodies, finding your bud and expertly stimulating it with his fingers, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. His thrusts intensified, becoming faster and more urgent, as he synchronized the movements of his hand with the rhythm of his hips. The combination of his skilled touch and the relentless pace of his thrusts pushed you closer to the edge of ecstasy.

Your moans grew louder, the world around you spinning as the intensity of your orgasm built within you, ready to explode in a wave of pleasure, threatening to consume you and pull you into the abyss. You knew all too well that you couldn't remain silent for it became harder and harder to contain your moans any longer. The need to release them was as urgent as the pulsating sensation between your legs. You were going to scream, but you shouldn't. Not here, not now.

"Come for me, yawne," Neteyam moaned softly against your lips. His words sent a shiver of anticipation through your body. The pleasure intensified as he increased his relentless pace and his hand continued to simulate your clit. You should come for him. Only for him. Every stroke, every touch brought you closer to the edge.

"Oh, Eywa, you're so… mmm… you're so…" A chocked sob left your mouth right when your body trembled, and your muscles suddenly contracted as the orgasm hit you with such force that for a moment, you feared losing consciousness. You wanted to scream, but Neteyam's mouth on yours silenced any sound that would have been too loud and potentially awaken your parents... no, perhaps the entire village. You surrendered completely to the ecstasy, letting it consume you entirely as he continued to ride out your orgasm, maintaining his rhythm and intensity. You came undone in his arms, your release washing over you in powerful waves, a surrender to the passion that ignited between you. This was different, you knew it. Not even in the woods last week, or when he surprised you while bathing early yesterday morning, had you experienced anything like this.

You breathed heavily, keeping your eyes closed. Only dimly did you register Neteyam, heaving in sync with your own panting and heavy breathing, finding his release with your name on his lips and collapsing exhaustedly on top of your delicate body, burying you beneath him, as comfortable warmth filled you, painting your walls. Both of you were on fire, the heat between your bodies lingering, the aftershocks of the orgasm gradually subsiding, and your heart pounding in your chest, mind struggling to process what just happened between the two of you, you clung to him, to his sweaty, strong body.

You didn't want to talk, you never really did, after sex. That's why you were grateful to Neteyam for lying there in silence, giving you some time to gather your thoughts that had become jumbled in the heat of the moment.

Your worries were gone. No anger, no negativity, no elders, no Lo'ak, no duties, no secrets, just Neteyam, just him and you. 

Neteyam stood up, bracing himself with both hands on either side of your head, and silently observed you for a moment, a thumb coming forward to brush your silent tears away. Small beads of sweat glistened on his body, looking like stars in the pale moonlight, and his bioluminescent freckles glowed so beautifully, giving him an ethereal look as if he were blessed by Eywa herself (which he probably was), as if he were the only source of light in the darkness, as if he were the answer to all your questions, your anchor, your key.

Your breathing was still uneven, but you were gradually calming down. Your hair was tousled on the mat, and as Neteyam looked at you with a loving gaze, he tenderly traced his fingers along your cheek, to which you instinctively leaned in, seeking his touch.

"You are beautiful, yawne," he whispered and leaned in closer to you. He gave a gentle kiss on the tip of your nose, on the corner of your mouth, and sealed your lips with his one last time, savoring the taste of your sweetness that ignited a primal desire within him, but this time, he exerted self-control and held himself back. "I promise you, I will make you mine."

You murmured something weakly in response, closing your eyes as he placed his right hand around your body, keeping you impossibly closer to him. Although you knew, he'd be long gone in the morning, you snuggled against him, pretending as if he was yours and you were his, the both of you meant to be. And you smiled at that thought, his golden eyes were the last thing you saw before falling into a deep sleep, embarking on what would likely be the sweetest dream you had ever experienced in your life.

note: not trying to be pick-me here, I genuinely find the smut I write cringey, but let me know if you enjoyed it, loves 🥴💕

btw, I've never seen anyone gif this exact scene. how do you like neteyam staring right into your soul? (if anyone has a 4k version of that, please hit me up)

---

Neteyam with a reader that has a fiance (arrange marriage) and she's his secret lover.

He was kissing her behind a tree in the middle of a big celebration where there's a lot of people near them while her fiance was looking for her. "No, not here." He just kept leaning forward to kiss her again "Yes here."

adult Neteyam x female omatikaya reader, minors dni 🔞

yawne - beloved

Surrounded by lush green foliage and vibrant flora, the sounds of drums and flutes filled the air, as the clan celebrated. In the center of the clearing was a big fire, with omatikaya dancing around it and singing cheerfully. Their movements are fluid and graceful, their bodies adorned with colorful, intricate patterns and decorations shining in the pale moonlight.

In the distance, you hear the sound of someone calling your name, looking for you. And even though you know exactly who it is, you can’t find it in yourself to care, as Neteyam shoved you against a nearby tree, barely hidden from the rest of the clan.

The man that was definitely not your promised mate, moved eagerly to catch your lips with his and you shivered as he pushed himself hard against you. Not even waiting for you to lean into the kiss too, he deepened it. You make a muffled sort of noise, but don’t pull away just yet, so he takes it as permission to continue. But as soon as he swipes his tongue against your bottom lip, hands squeezing your hips in desperation, you break the kiss, panting for air.

"Not- not here, Neteyam", you whisper with a flushed face. Neteyam was also breathing hard, chest raising and falling rapidly and pupils blown as he watched you with half lidded eyes.

"Yes, here", he chuckled and barely a heartbeat later, you were tasting each other's mouths, hands caressing and groping at each other's bodies, trying to find the closeness and touch you’ve both been craving for hours. Watching you dance around the fire had really rilled him up to the point where he was frantically grinding himself against you now, not caring that you were basically in public. All that shielded you away from the eyes of the other clan members, was a rather big tree who’s bark scratched the skin on your back as Neteyam was basically dry humping you now.

"I want you. Right now", he spoke lowly into your ear, placing open mouthed kisses along your jaw and throat that made you squirm. All the while, his hands dipped even lower, groping at your backside and squeezing the plump flesh of your ass.

"B-But the others. Neteyam, the people. We will get caught!" You try to reason him, yet you feel your own resolve crumble, the more he touches you like this. It gets worse when he hooks your leg up higher over his hip and you feel his hard cock, only confined by his thin loincloth, drag over your clothed cunt.

"Can’t you feel how hard you make me?", Neteyam groans into your ear. His tail curls around your ankle, everything on him pulling you even closer, pulling you harder against him. "Let me be yours, just for tonight. Just this once."

You eyes flutter close when he sucks on the skin just above your collar bone, kissing and licking a path to the center of your breasts where he then nuzzled his face in between them.

"You say that every time…", you respond breathily, not able to hide the coy smirk forming on your lips.

"Please. Please, I don’t care if you use me just for this", he all but whimpers while he keeps rutting against you, "You can be his again when the sun rises, but I need you to be mine now."

Listening to your shallow breathing and small moans as you squirmed underneath him, made his heart pound rapidly in his chest and it felt like he was slowly overheating from the tight pressure in his loincloth.

"Let me take you right here, please let me. I need you so bad and I know you want it too, you won’t—"

"Y/N, yawne? Are you here?", the voice that had been calling, searching for you in the distance was now significantly closer, cutting Neteyam off mid sentence. You suck in a sharp breath, eyes widening in shock, but he was quick to clasp a hand over your mouth, gesturing for you to hush.

Before your soon-to-be mate could walk any closer, Neteyam peaked around from behind the tree, his face calm and composed as he smiled at the man.

"Oh Neteyam, it’s just you. Have you seen Y/N by chance?"

"I saw her talking to Kiri but that was about, uhm, ten minutes ago? Said she was feeling nauseous or something, so I think she probably went home", he tells him with a shrug and if you weren’t so focused on breathing with a large palm pressed against the lower half of your face, you would’ve been impressed at his ability to lie so smoothly.

"Ahh, I see. Thank you!", the young omatikaya sighed in relief, "I was getting kinda worried because she left without a word and I couldn’t find her. It’s probably best I’ll give her some space then, so she can rest. Thanks again."

"Yeah, sounds good. No need to thank me, though", Neteyam smiled, watching carefully as the man took his leave again and only when he was far enough away, he turned his attention back to you and lowered his hand from your face. Your cheeks were even redder by now, face all flustered and eyes half lidded as you stared up at him with so much lust, he felt his cock throb with need.

"If anything, I have to thank you", Neteyam chuckled and in an instant, he caught your lips in a heated kiss again.

---

Pacify Her

Tired blue boy walks my way…

warnings: angst, jealousy, cheating, kissing, neteyam and reader are aged up, smut 18+

Tired, blue boy walks my way. Holding a girl's hand, that basic bitch leaves finally…Now I can take her man

When the courtship was announced it felt like your world shattered into a million pieces. The love of your life, your best friend since childhood was to be mated with another. You couldn’t understand why you were so upset; you knew it would never be you. Despite Neteyam telling you that it would be, and that he’d figure something out. But you knew that it was final, and nothing was to be changed.

That didn’t stop the two of you though. You couldn’t stay away from one another, you never did. Even before, you two had spent every day together since you were kids. Eventually nights too, by the pond. Neteyam either deep inside of you or you two in a deep conversation.

Now it’s only nights or really whenever you two can sneak off to get some privacy, Neteyam is usually busy during the day so you rarely see him, and when you do he’s with his soon to be mate that you couldn’t stand to look at.

Someone told me stay away from things that aren't yours. But was he yours, if he wanted me so bad?

You knew what you’re doing wasn’t right, and it ate you alive. But you can’t help it, after you had gotten use to something and have been doing it for so long, you can’t just stop. It’s like you were addicted to him, you two were addicted to each other.

All of your friends and siblings knew about you two messing around before the courtship, but they figured you two had stopped now that it was announced. But not Lo’ak, he saw you two all those nights—when Neteyam would magically just disappear while everybody was asleep, he knew exactly where his brother was at.

Or during the day, when you’d ask for his whereabouts.

“Lo’ak, have you seen Neteyam?” You asked the boy as you approached him, still looking around.

“He is out hunting.” Lo’ak says, “Look, your dirty little secret is safe with me but all I am saying is you should leave it alone, be with someone who is actually allowed to show you off…like me.”

The thought of you even touching Lo’ak made you cringe, you have always looked at him as your annoying little brother, “Shut up, Lo’ak.”

You sat with him all day, the others soon joining you two. You talked with Kiri, played with Tuk, and tried to ignore Lo’ak as much as you could.

“Oh look, here comes your lover boy.” Lo’ak says, your ears perking up at the words.

“That is not funny, Loak.” Kiri scolded, little did she know her brother was not joking.

“Hey guys.” Neteyam approaches the group out of breath, slinging everything he was carrying onto the table before bending down to pick up Tuk who was waiting to be in his arms.

Neteyam was so good with kids, it made you swoon each time at the sight. Ever since Tuk was born he has been so caring and gentle with her, you had always imagined it being your kids that he held next, but that dream had been crushed.

“May I borrow my best friend?” Neteyam puts Tuk down, looking over you and Kiri as you two crafted something together.

“I guess…” Kiri rolled her eyes, “Hurry back.” She looks at you.

You nodded in response, knowing the little project you two had started may be finished by the time you got back. You got up from your seat, following Neteyam out and into the forest. Once you two were out of anyone’s sight, he grabbed your hand, interlocking his fingers with yours.

“How was your day, my love?” Neteyam asked as you two approached your notorious spot.

“Spent the whole day thinking about you, Nete.” You leaned against a tree, looking up at him as he towered over you.

“Yeah? You missed me?”

“I always do.” You frown.

“I will always be with you, love.” He tilts your chin up, softly kissing your lips, “I love you.”

He attaches his lips back on yours, the pace picking up rather quickly. The both of you knew you couldn’t be gone for long, those days were over, so quickies were your thing unfortunately. His hands start on your hips, then make their way down to cup your soaked, pulsating pussy. You moaned into the kiss, squeezing your legs together at the contact.

“You’re so wet.” He groans, “All for you.” Your voice cracked as his fingers started rubbing against you.

“It better be.” He picks up his pace, “You’re mine, love.” He leaves trails of kisses on your neck, “You want my cock? Is that what you’ve been thinking about all day?”

“Yes, Nete.”

Neteyam unties your loincloth before untying his own, his cock hitting your stomach as it sprung free. Without any thought, you grabbed it, slowly beginning to stroke it causing Neteyam to let out a shaky breath.

“My love…" He moans in your ear, “As much as I love the way your hands make me feel, we do not have time. I need to be in you. Now.”

You pout, looking up at him as you continue to slowly stroke him. He was right, dusk was approaching and you two needed to be back before anyone started to get suspicious. He stared right back at you, sending you a warning with his eyes before they squeezed shut. You felt him twitch in your hand and that’s when you had reluctantly let go of him.

“Jump.”

You immediately did what he said, his hands cuffing you underneath your thighs as he held you up against the tree. The way he picks you up so effortlessly every time really gets to you, watching his muscles flex as he held onto you. Neteyam quickly aligns himself up with you, dropping you down onto him with no warning. His lips attached to yours, swallowing all your loud moans. He thrusts up into you, your nails scratching his back. You knew it would leave marks, but he was yours. So you didn’t care.

“You trying to mark me, love?” Neteyam chuckles, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

You slightly smile back in response, embarrassed that he had caught onto what you were doing.

“I’m all yours, baby.” He says into your ear, making your walls clench around him at the words, “You like hearing that? That I’m all yours—Fuck, you feel so good.”

“I love you, Nete.” You moan, your orgasm taking over you as he hit that sweet spot over and over again.

“I love you. It will always be you, only you. My beautiful girl, you’ll always be mine.” He rambled into your ear, “You’re the only one I want.” His body jerked against yours, signaling that he was close.

All you wanted was for him to fill you up, fill you with his seed. But that could never happen. Neteyam’s slowed down his motions, coming to a stop before he could shoot his seed up into you. He pulls himself out of you, looking you in your eyes as he began to pump himself in front of you.

“Nete, let me.” You softly say, pecking the corner of his mouth before grabbing ahold of his member again.

You slightly push him back before dropping to your knees, you look up at him as you kitten lick his throbbing cock. If you had more time, you would’ve teased him more, but instead you took all of him in, his tip hitting the back of your throat.

“Oh, just like that.” He looks at you before throwing his head back, “So good, baby.”

It didn’t take long for his warm liquid to shoot into your mouth, trickling down the back of your throat. Neteyam muttered all types of words as you sucked him off one last time before pulling your mouth off of him. You stood up, grabbing your loincloth and putting it back on as Neteyam stood there still trying to get himself together.

“Nete.” You chuckled, throwing his loincloth at him, “Come on, we have to go back.”

He smiles at you, still out of breath as he puts his loincloth on.

“I love you, my sweet girl.” He squeezes your cheeks, placing a kiss on your lips.

“I love you, Nete.”

Pacify her. She's getting on my nerves, you don't love her. Stop lying with those words.

You had gone back before Neteyam, bumping into Kiri as you made your way towards where you were going.

“It is about time.” Kiri rolled her eyes, interlocking her arm with yours, “You took forever.”

“I know, I am sorry. We got caught up in our conversation.”

You and Kiri approached the others where everybody ate, you two took your seat and dug in. Neteyam joined not too long after, taking his seat next to his soon to be mate. You tried to not even look at them, your stomach twisting just at the sight of them together.

“Neteyam how was your day?” You hear her ask, her sweet voice making you cringe, “How are you?”

“Amazing, how was yours?”

You couldn’t help but peek at them, her hand on his arm as his hand was rested on her leg. Neteyam wasn’t a mean person, he wasn’t going to make the girl feel unwanted, you knew that. But you couldn’t help but feel somewhat used. You knew it wasn’t like that, at all, but you couldn’t stop the thoughts running through your mind. They continued their conversation as you continue yours with Kiri.

“I cannot wait for the ceremony, Nete.”

Your ears perked up at the name. Nete. Nobody else has ever called Neteyam that, ever. Only you, since you two were kids that has always been your nickname for him.

“Sorry Kiri.” You cut her off in the middle of her sentence, “I do not feel well, give me a moment.”

You quickly get up from your seat, walking off as far as possible so no one could see the tears forming in your eyes. Eventually you heard Neteyam’s voice calling after you, making you stop in your tracks.

“My love.” He places his hand on your shoulder, turning you around.

“I-” You we’re about to yell but remembered where you were at, “I call you that. I am the only one to call you that. You are my Nete.”

Was he really yours anymore though? Only for a couple minutes during the day and a few hours during the night. But never how it used to be. He’s not yours anymore.

“I know, my love.” He sighs, “I know. I do not know where she got that from.”

“I do not know if I can do this anymore, Nete.” You shook your head, “I cannot be yours, if you are hers.”

“No, I am not hers. I am yours, only yours and you are mine.”

“You are to be mated with her, Neteyam!” You slightly yell, “You are not mine, not anymore…”

“I do not care about the courtship!” He pulls you closer to him so he doesn’t have to yell, “I do not care. You are mine; you will be mine. I will do anything it takes to be with you, my love.”

---

Hi Lizzie! I’m new to your blog, but I want to request one of the promt thingys, is that okay? I’ve read all your fics, and I absolutely love them!

If it’s alright for me to request, could you do #79 and # 128 with Neteyam?

Ily! 🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

AHH all of them?? my heart is so happy rn. yes it's definitely okay, my requests are always open especially for the drabbles since they don't take me long to write :) also my brain took this in an angsty direction so I apologize for that lmao

Neteyam x Reader

Warnings: nsfw, fwb, angst

part two

“Fuck, just like that, baby girl. Bend over and spread your legs.”

Neteyam's chest heaves with ragged breaths as he pounds into you, watching his cock disappear between your plump folds with hooded eyes. Strong fingers cage your hips in a firm hold, jerking you into him with each rough thrust.

You mewl beneath him, spine arching as warm pressure quickly mounts in your core. Neteyam’s palm skims up your back, digits tangling into your braids. He grips your hair, pulling roughly to coax your face from its smooshed position into the bed.

“I wanna hear you, baby. Tell me how good I make you feel.” A rough growl rumbles his chest when your pussy flutters around him, a series of moans and whimpers filling the tent.

“So, so good. 'Teyam! I-I'm gonna...gonna cum!” You wail, muscles tensing as another orgasm rips through you.

Neteyam groans, cock throbbing as he releases deep into your womb, pressing his hips flush with yours until every last drop fills you up. He leans over your spent body as you slowly sink into the bed, wobbly arms giving out under your own weight.

He only gives himself a few seconds to catch his breath, to relish in the closeness before he pulls out of you. He wipes the sweat from his brow with one hand while the other fishes for his loincloth on the floor. At the sudden absence of his warmth, you turn onto your back, watching with a frown as he slides the garment up his thighs.

“Tey...stay with me? Just for a bit?” You sound pathetic, even to your own ears, but you're tired of this back and forth.

This hot and cold act is tearing you apart, leaving your heart in tattered shreds with every night you spend alone. You prop yourself up onto your elbows, brow pinching when he barely acknowledges that you've spoken.

“I can't.” His voice is curt, dismissive, and it drills a hole straight through your chest.

He rushes to collect his things, not even sparing you a glance when he heads for the door.

“We’re not just friends, you know that.” You spit, as last-ditch effort to get him to understand how stupid he's being, as anger and sadness create a volatile mix within your stomach.

“And we're not mates, either. Are we?” Narrowed eyes cut to you, the declaration landing like a harsh blow to your very soul.

You curl inward, lips parting with a ragged gasp. All you can do is gape at him for several seconds, moisture blurring your vision. Neteyam's jaw grinds, chest tight with emotion as he turns on his heel, storming from the tent.

---

Neteyam holds onto you so tightly, you sometimes worry he’s going to leave marks.

He is always touching you, and he doesn’t seem to realize it. It might be his hand in yours or his arm around your waist, or it might be more subtle.

If you’re sitting next to each other, he will always close any gap, so that your legs or shoulders are touching.

If you’re hunting or fishing, he will reach out for your tail or your hair absent mindedly, as you walk.

He meets his eyes with yours often, too. Waiting for you to glance his way, so that he can smile or wink at you, reminding you of how he cares, how connected he feels to you.

When you’re alone, it’s something else entirely. He presses himself to you, pulls you into his lap, kisses your cheeks and shoulders. Even an inch of space is too much for your mate; he won’t accept it.

Lo’ak asked you one time, if it bothered you, the way Neteyam ‘hangs off of you’, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

You are Neteyam. Neteyam is you. The space between you is a burden. It’s a barrier. If he did not reach for you, you’d be reaching for him. The feel of his skin against yours is the ultimate comfort, and your greatest security.

Neteyam can’t keep his hands off of you, and you don’t want him to.

---

LOVED THIS SM AUTHOR!!!

So so beautifully written 😖

🩵💙🩵

"To Know You Again" When young love never dies, it grows into something stronger...

Pairing: Neteyam x fem!Omatikaya OC Status: COMPLETE

Summary: “Do you remember our last night here? The night before my family left?” The warm, rumbling timbre of Neteyam’s voice washed over her. “Yes,” Naia whispered. How could she forget?... She had replayed the memory of his lips over and over numerous times. One corner of Neteyam’s mouth lifted in a small smile as his eyes tracked over the delicate bridge of her nose and over her steadily flushing cheeks. His gaze stopped to rest on her lips, “You gave me something that night. I think it's time I returned it."

Set 7 years after TWoW: An exploration of what if Neteyam had to leave a girl he was close to behind when his family fled to the reefs to seek refuge.

Warnings: Adult content 18+ MDNI Content: Romance, drama, angst, fluff, sexual content, smut, soulmates, bonding.

Chapter 1 - Homecoming Chapter 2 - A Kiss Long-Awaited Chapter 3 - A Choice Already Made Chapter 4 - The Great Mother's Blessing Chapter 5 - Doubt No More Chapter 6 & Epilogue - From Now Until Forever

Thank you to all my wonderful anons & followers who have shown so much love for this piece. 😘 Comments are always hankered after & very much appreciated. If you enjoyed this story, a reblog would make my day! I don't have many followers on here, so I will love you forever for helping to share my writing. 💖

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Man I have no words. The details and the build up and the tension ??? The characters feel so true to themselves !! UGHT perfection . Your writing style author OOF

No words no words no words heart so full 🥰

"The Love Shack" Part I - The Proposition

Relationship: Neteyam(23) x fem!Omatikaya reader(21) x Lo'ak(22)

Story Summary: You’d heard the whispered speculations and stifled giggles during the daytimes. You’d seen the furtive glances that the other women cast at Neteyam and Lo’ak through coquettish eyes, cheeks stained a blushing mauve as they exchanged coy smiles with the two brothers. And during the nights? Hell, you’d heard the moans and wanton cries for yourself… You were definitely curious, but did you have it in you to go through with their proposition?...

Warnings: Adult content 18+ MDNI Word count: 6.1k Content: Mentions of group sex, MMF threesome, smut, sex toy play, squirting

Author's Note: OMG I had to split this into two parts! It was getting too long to do as a oneshot. 😳 But here is the first part and build-up to the juicy as hell NeteyamxReaderxLo'ak threesome. Part II will be uploaded tomorrow! Enjoy Part I! Note: I personally don't use the term 'y/n' so in this story, the reader's name is Neyomi. The name is not used often, I just don't like the 'y/n' term.

You’d heard the whispered speculations and stifled giggles during the daytimes. You’d seen the furtive glances that the other women cast at Neteyam and Lo’ak through coquettish eyes, cheeks stained a blushing mauve as they exchanged coy smiles with the two brothers.

And during the nights? Hell, you’d heard the moans and wanton cries for yourself…

It was a mistake you’d made once, venturing out into the vast Pandoran woodlands after eclipse towards the old, abandoned outpost you knew the brothers had annexed for their use. You’d told yourself you had gotten sidetracked and lost. That you’d been so caught up in your own thoughts that you’d unintentionally veered off course on your forest stroll and found yourself in the outpost’s vicinity by accident.

You knew that wasn’t quite true. You’d been curious.

The other young women gossiped. Women from everywhere in the clan; warriors, hunters, weavers, cooks, gatherers, all sharing surreptitious murmurs about the nighttime activities that the olo’eyktan’s sons partook in with them. They whispered of the delight and the pleasure of their clandestine experiences with bothbrothers.

Lo’ak was playful and flirtatious in general, so you could easily see how he fit into the role of an unrepentant womaniser. But Neteyam? Neteyam, who you worked alongside nearly every day as his second-in-command during platoon hunts and warrior patrols… Neteyam, who was next-in-line to be olo’eyktan after his father, who commanded the respect of the clan and its council… Responsible, reserved and gallant Neteyam?

You hadn’t wanted to believe it.

So, when you’d found yourself near the old war outpost one evening, your tingling feet had carried you closer despite the admonition in your mind. Padding on silent feet towards the glow of firelight, the breathless sighs and blissful cries had echoed in the sultry air around you from within the outpost shelter. The sensual sounds had entranced you and you’d found yourself unable to tear yourself away from the area where you were hidden, something you recounted now with no small amount of shame.

And when the noises had ceased and three women had departed the outpost, closely followed by Lo’ak and Neteyam, the hitching breath that was your gasp had caught in your throat.

There was nothing illicit about what they were doing. Na’vi were passionate people; as long as there was consent and security all round, sexual freedom was embraced in their culture. You were just surprised by Neteyam’s involvement in such group liaisons. It was difficult for you to reconcile the charismatic and modest side of him that you saw in the daytimes with such lubricious nighttime activities.

After your inadvertent discovery, which had confirmed to you that the natter you’d heard of was true, you’d tried your best to forget about it. Neteyam was still the same man he was; charming, respectful and a great platoon leader. Nothing about how he chose to spend his nights should’ve affected the way you perceived him, and yet you couldn’t look at him the same way.

Every morning, Neteyam would discuss patrol plans or hunting strategy with you just as he always did, but you struggled to meet his eyes for longer than a moment now. He would joke with you and rib you, but your laughs were awkward and less carefree than before.

You were… disappointed? Not disappointed in him per se, just disappointed in general. Or perhaps envious was the correct word… Envious of the other women for having him… But the proud part of you refused to entertain the thought. You weren’t going to be jealous; it was beneath you. After all, Neteyam was your direct report and you were a firm believer that not screwing the crew kept things running smoothly.

He hadn’t commented on the change in your behaviour around him, but you knew he’d picked up on it. You would catch him from time to time watching you through his golden eyes, and though his expression was cool, there was enquiry swirling about in their depths, a certain scrutiny in them as if he was attempting to figure you out.

Things got even more uncomfortable when it became increasingly apparent with time that nearly all the other women appeared to have engaged in a dalliance with the brothers at one point or another.

It made you feel like you were on the outside of some big secret that everyone else was in on except you. But you dug your heels in nonetheless. You weren’t going to participate in these lustful group affairs where you would just be another body writhing amongst the others. You’d had your share of intimacy with men in the past and you weren’t a saint, but there was just something about sensual play in a group that made you uneasy.

So, when your best friend, Tula, came sauntering up to you in the pa’li (direhorse) pen that morning after receiving a lascivious grin from Lo’ak who was going past, you were immediately suspicious.

Narrowing accusatory eyes at your friend, who appeared almost giddy with contentment, you asked, “What’s all that about?”

“Oh, you know,” Tula trilled, aiming for a nonchalant tone and failing miserably when she giggled and waved at another young woman, Neneka, who winked at her craftily, “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“Tula.” Her name was ground out from between your clenched teeth as you surveyed her calculatingly. You’d known Tula since you were both young children and you knew her inside-out. She was more like a sister really. Something was up and you knew it.

Thankfully, Tula was not much of a liar and the two of you never kept secrets from each other. She caved under the heat of your assessing gaze, “Neneka convinced me to go last night, alright?”

A shocked gasp left you and you ushered her to the side of the pen, away from the other warriors, “What? What happened to you and I sticking all this nonsense out together, huh?”

“Shh! It wasn’t even that bad. It was just some fun in a small group. Everyone had a good time.” Tula hissed in return, her ears flicking fretfully while she tried to placate you.

“Like a group orgy?! How many of you were there?”

Rolling her eyes with a long-suffering sigh, Tula grasped at your forearms to stop you flailing them about, “No, it wasn’t an orgy, it was simply some playful touching and massage. It was just Neneka, myself and Miria who went.”

“Let’s see, five people massaging private body parts together?” You spluttered incredulously, and when Tula didn’t refute your statement you took it as agreement and exclaimed in a cross whisper, “That’s an orgy!”

“Well it was worth it! Honestly, I understand what all the other women have been saying now. It was amazing. They’ve got these things, I don’t know what they’re called, these tawtute (human) things that hum against you-”

You could feel your eyes growing larger and larger as you listened to Tula, the sting of betrayal sharp in your chest. You and Tula had made a pact that neither of you would participate in these clandestine activities. You had successfully stuck it out together over the last few moons, despite all the others falling victim one by one to whatever enchantment the Sully brothers seemed to have cast over them.

Eywa, you wondered if their father, the olo’eyktan, even knew what mischief his sons got up to in the darker hours of eclipse…

“Oh, don’t look so horrified, Neyomi. It’s all harmless fun.” Tula chastised sharply, tossing one side of her braids over her shoulder and folding her arms across her chest.

“You didn’t even tell me that you were going.”

Tula’s hairless brows rose, her forehead crinkling in confusion, “You wouldn’t have wanted to go and I knew you’d react like this if I told you!”

Sniffing sullenly, your face twisted into an unimpressed moue, “So, did you sleep with both of them?”

Tula scoffed and adjusted her bow where it was slung around her torso. She pushed past you and began making her way back to her pa’li, “No, I didn’t. Miria might have chosen to explore things further with Lo’ak, but I was content to just experience those tawtute things.”

“Did Neneka sleep with Neteyam?”

Tula glanced back at you as you trailed after her and her expression gentled. Clearly she hadn’t missed the slight edge in your voice, “There was touching between them, but nothing beyond that. I don’t even think they kissed. It’s not always about sex, you know. Sometimes it’s just a comfort to find and bring pleasure to someone else without going all the way.”

“Right.” Something light unfurled in your chest at her words; what was it? Relief? 

Saddling up her mount, Tula sighed as she watched you fiddle distractedly with the buckles and straps of your pa’li’s saddle. She reached out to place a gentle hand on your elbow, “If it makes you feel better, I hear Neteyam really only likes to watch. He isn’t quite as open with his affections as his brother is.”

Feigning casualness, you turned and shrugged at her, “What anyone else chooses to do with their body is not any of my business. I just feel the whole ruse is a bit much and not my thing.”

It was Tula’s turn to narrow her eyes shrewdly at you, “Yes, but I know your feelings for Neteyam make it all the harder to stomach.”

“I don’t have feelings for him.” You replied with a conscious effort to keep your tone even, “I just find him very attractive.”

Vaguely, you wondered to yourself if your former statement was completely truthful. The latter statement certainly was.

Neteyam was nothing short of beautiful in your eyes; he had a handsome face, was tall, broad and well-muscled. To be fair, Lo’ak was too, but there was just something about Neteyam that appealed to you a little more over his younger brother. As for not having feelings for him, you’d sounded fairly convincing, but the words had tasted like a lie on your tongue.

The snort that Tula emitted was far from ladylike, “You keep telling yourself that. I don’t know why you’re being so stubborn. You think he’s attractive, so wouldn’t it be fun if you came along and got to explore him in a more sensual light? He’s only your boss during work time.”

Rubbing down your pa’li’s legs in preparation for the long day ahead, you felt heat bloom in your cheeks and neck at the thought. You knew you were in major denial. The feminine side of you very much wanted to get to know Neteyam in that way, just not in front all the others, where you would have to share…

“No.” You countered, patting your mount’s muscular neck affectionately, “I’m not going to just show up and invite myself along.”

“But that’s what everyone does! You go along if you want to and bring anyone else who’s keen. You don’t need a personal invitation or anything. It’s free and easy. Come on, I know you’re a little bit curious.”

You were about to hiss a caustic retort at Tula about not wanting to be just another piece of meat in a line of women when a deep voice spoke from behind you.

“Who wants a personal invitation?” Shit. Lo’ak.

You startled and froze, feeling something clench uncomfortably in your belly at the scare.Your panicked response flew from your lips at the same time as Tula’s answer.

“No one!”

“Neyomi does.”

The incensed expression you shot Tula would have speared a yerik (hexapede) dead in an instant, but after a lifetime of knowing you, she was immune to your dagger-sharp glares and simply blew a raspberry in your face.

Lo’ak gave a dark chuckle, “Is that so?”

Sucking a slow and measured breath through your nose, you steeled yourself to face the younger Sully brother. Swivelling on your heels, your gaze locked with Lo’ak’s orbs of amber which glinted in the daylight, bright with mischief. He grinned, the pointed tips of his canines peeking out from behind his upper lip in a roguish smile.

“Nope, Tula’s lying. I’m not interested.” You stated matter-of-factly.

Tula crowed with laughter beside you, “No I’m not! Why would I lie? I’m trying to help you.”

“If it’s a personal invitation you want, you can consider it done.” Lo’ak added, “I think you might be the only girl left who hasn’t come by to take a look at least. You’re more than welcome to come and play.” He finished his sentence with a suggestive wink, which earned him an emphatic gag and eyeroll from you.

Despite your exaggerated show of repulsion, the good-humoured laugh that Lo’ak gave in response caused a flurry of involuntary flutters in your belly. Most of his dread-locked braids were tied back behind his head, but the few loose beaded strands bobbed and swayed as he laughed and you reluctantly admitted to yourself that he was just as striking as his older brother was.

Lo’ak’s jaw was more angular than Neteyam’s, sharper in the chin where Neteyam’s was squarer. His eyes were slightly more wide-set within a strong browbone. Neteyam also wore his hair differently in his usual signature loose braids, but aside from these differences, both brothers looked remarkably alike. Both as tall as the other and equally strapping. Definitely blood brothers; two incredibly good-looking blood brothers…

“For the last time, no.” You hissed with a scowl, the points of your ears pinning flat against your head, “I’m not going to be a part of some group orgy. It’s not my thing. I don’t like to share.”

Lo’ak’s brows raised at your last comment and he smirked, committing your remark to memory. You were too busy to notice the scheming expression on his face as you aimed several swats at Tula, who was now whining at you to loosen up and ‘let go and live’.

“It’s alright ladies, no need to get mean.” Lo’ak conciliated, watching as you snarled at a thwarted Tula who appeared very unimpressed.

A familiar hooting whistle sounded from outside the pen and it immediately caught your attention. Neteyam was rounding up the day’s patrol party for briefing prior to setting off. With a brusque farewell to Tula and a muttered promise to catch her later, you stomped off towards the rest of the hunting party where they were gathering. As second-in-command you were required up front with Neteyam and you didn’t want to keep him waiting.

Lo’ak, however, was having far too much fun with his joshing around. He caught up to you in a few long strides, walking alongside you, “I meant what I said. Your invitation remains open, if you change your mind.”

You pursed your lips at him and shook your head in vexation, “Piss off, skxawng.” There wasn’t any real heat in your voice though. He chuckled again.

You liked Lo’ak as an individual. He was amiable and had a great sense of humour. Though he could be annoying, as he was being right now, you could never stay mad at him for very long. He inevitably always found his way back into your good graces with a sharp quip or a good joke.

But just as you were about to put the morning’s conversation behind you and move on with your day, Lo’ak fired another crack at you, “Or maybe it’s the wrong brother asking.”

You should’ve scoffed at the quip and sauntered onward. Or just played it cool and laughed the statement off, but instead your feet faltered in their steps and you ground to a halt. You were anything but cool when it came to Neteyam. He was one aspect of your life where you could never feign anything other than what you really felt, especially when your emotions were strong.

The delicate points of your ears flicked self-consciously, the tuft of your tail ceasing its swaying to lie low and still by your calves. You turned wide eyes up at Lo’ak. It was the wrong reaction if you’d wanted to keep your secret and persuade Lo’ak otherwise…

A haughty smile split Lo’ak’s face from ear to ear as if he had just made the discovery of some rare species of exotic animal. He cackled before moseying onward towards the patrol party, calling nonchalantly over his shoulder, “I’ll let him know.”

“Lo’ak, no!” Rooted to the spot, you felt equal parts infuriated and equal parts stricken while you watched him disappear into the crowd of assembled warriors. Eywa help you… The last thing you needed was for Lo’ak to make things any more awkward than they already were between you and Neteyam.

Clenching your fists and pressing your lips into a tight line, you stamped your way to the front of the party to flank Neteyam in your usual spot by his side. You saw Lo’ak smiling smugly at you from the second row of warriors and your eyes narrowed to slits as you glowered back at him.

Seeing your disconcerted state, Neteyam’s forehead crinkled in question at you and he murmured, “Everything alright?”

“Yes, sir.” Your response was short and clipped.

An embarrassed blush was already colouring your neck and face after your exchange with Lo’ak, so you kept your gaze ahead of you, knowing that meeting Neteyam’s eyes would only increase the hot rush of blood to your cheeks. You could feel the familiar tingle of his calculating gaze beside you before a soft and husky chuckle left him. It was unexpected and you instinctively turned your head to look at him.

Big mistake.

Neteyam’s handsome face was peering down at you and a smirk was dancing across his lips. You felt your tummy squeeze and a burst of flutters erupted. By Eywa, why was he looking at you like that?... Great goddess, you were standing in front of the entire party and everyone was watching…

Clearing your throat loudly, you greeted the gathered warriors and called them all to attention, essentially forcing Neteyam to look away and begin his own address.

Neteyam briefed the party of the day’s plan: A patrol out to the southern-most border of Omatikaya territory. He’d already mentioned today’s patrol strategy to you the previous day, so his voice was drowned out to a hum in the background of your consciousness as your inner thoughts consumed you.

Fuck, if Lo’ak told Neteyam you were attracted to him, would it cause a conflict of interest in your professional relationship with him?... Would Neteyam be too uncomfortable to have you as his second-in-command?... You loved your work and you loved working with him. Eywa, the shame of being removed from your position would be mortifying…

The rustling scatter of the patrol party in front of you pulled you out of your thoughts and back to the present. You’d zoned out through the entirety of Neteyam’s briefing, you realised. The warriors were all making their way back to their pa’li now to get into their departure formations.

The sight of Lo’ak ambling towards you and Neteyam spurred you into motion and you strode away with a huff. You didn’t want to be caught in any more awkward exchanges today, especially in front of Neteyam.

Neteyam’s eyes trailed after your retreating form, noting the annoyed whip and lash of your tail. His gaze slid higher, appreciating the lithe length of your toned thighs and up further to the pert rounds of your bottom. He bit his lip and shook the gathering collection of unchaste thoughts from his mind.

Pulling his armguard onto his right arm and adjusting his cummerbund around his waist, Neteyam’s attention snapped to his brother when Lo’ak strolled up to him snickering. Neteyam put two and two together immediately, surmising that his brother had clearly ticked you off this morning.

“You better watch yourself, bro.” Neteyam cautioned mildly, “She’ll kick your ass, slice it up and serve it to you for dinner.”

Clicking his tongue with a cock of his head, Lo’ak agreed, “That’s why she’s your second-in-command. But hey man, she can kick my ass, and use and abuse it as much as she likes when we play in the evenings.”

That last sentence piqued Neteyam’s attention. His ears pricked upward in full focus, seeking more clarification from his brother, “What do you mean?”

“I told you getting Tula onboard was key.”

Neteyam eyed Lo’ak fixedly, “Has Neyomi agreed to come to next week’s meet-up?”

“Nope, she’s still being stubborn but she’s definitely curious. She was just asking Tula about last night.” Lo’ak informed. He gave a suggestive purse of his lips then and continued with a cheeky leer at his brother, “Although I might have discovered a few titbits that might sway her.”

***~~~***

The mossy ground was plush underfoot as Neteyam stole through the verdant underbrush on silent feet. Eclipse had settled over them and the evening atmosphere was alive with bioluminescence. A mild draught was swirling about and he lifted his chin and parted his lips, inhaling through his nose and mouth to scent the air lightly. The familiar smell of your sweet scent tantalised his nose and danced on his tongue, tasting a little like fresh fruit with a natural honeyed note to it that made his mouth water, and made rather carnal images fill his head.

Yes, he very much wanted to taste you… He wanted to taste the supple skin of your neck, to lick the tips of your fingers and kiss other more sensual parts of you…

Vaguely, Neteyam wondered to himself if you suspected at all how much his mind like to wander when you were near him during hunts and patrols. He wondered if you had withdrawn from him recently because you had noticed his subtle staring; he wondered if perhaps you had doggedly refused to come to the old outpost with the other women because you didn’t feel the same way about him.

But if what Lo’ak had tipped him off about this morning was true then the aforementioned reason was not at all the reason for your stubborn evasion. Hopefully his gentle plan to sway you would work in his favour and pique your curiosity enough to coax you into coming by.

He could see your seated form not far from where he was currently positioned behind some eyaye ferns. Your back was to him, your tail curled on the ground behind you, its tuft flicking intently back and forth while you concentrated on your task at hand. He could see a long branch protruding outward to your side where you held it in your left hand, while your right hand was making rhythmic strikes at its other end. It seemed you were crafting a new hunting spear.

Your aptitude for crafting tools and weapons was one of the many things that drew him to you. Your finished pieces were always well-made, intricate in design and beautiful to behold. You were also a proficient warrior; skilled during hunts with a good mind for strategy, and level-headed enough to hold your own in high pressure situations. He was fortunate to have you as his second-in-command. Those were some of your best character traits.

As for your physical traits, well… If Neteyam was honest, he had to admit that there wasn’t anything about your body that didn’t appeal to his male instincts. You were very appealing…

Deciding to make his presence known, Neteyam intentionally shuffled through the broad leaves of the ferns and cleared his throat lightly. He figured sneaking up on you and startling you wouldn’t endear him to you, which could be detrimental to the result of the little proposition he had to for you.

Your reaction was instant, your ears swivelling in his direction, closely followed by your upper body as you heard his approach. Your eyes widened at the sight of him, surprised, though you didn’t make any move to get up.

“Hey,” Neteyam greeted coolly as he strolled over to you, “Can I join you?”

“Ah, sure?” You replied, sounding a little uncertain, “Tula is meeting me here soon though.”

Biting his bottom lip and looking somewhat guilty, Neteyam shook his head with a sheepish smile, “Tula isn’t coming to meet you. I asked her to set this meeting up so I could catch you to talk.”

Puzzlement lined the contours of your face and you set the spear you had been carving down before you, “Why did you need Tula to do that? You could’ve asked me yourself.”

Neteyam emitted a short bark of laughter and pulled one of his hands down his face, “I would’ve if you hadn’t avoided me all day today.”

He watched you suck your bottom lip into your mouth, clearly caught out by the truth of the situation. Your attention returned to your spear and you picked the branch up again to resume your whittling. You murmured, “Ok, what’s up?”

“I should be asking you that. You’ve been more withdrawn than usual lately.” Neteyam began gently, “And then today you insisted on bringing up the rear of the patrol party instead of riding up front with me. You’ve barely even acknowledged me today.”

You shifted uncomfortably on your crossed legs, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“I didn’t think you were being rude, I just thought it out of character for you. Is everything alright?”

“Yes, nothing’s wrong.”

Neteyam wasn’t convinced. You didn’t appear to be lying and yet your response didn’t feel entirely sincere either. You still weren’t meeting his eyes.

Your behaviour had definitely changed around him in recent moons. It had started as mild awkwardness at first, but as the weeks had gone on it had become clearer to him that you were putting up walls and putting distance between the both of you. It was a perceptible contrast to your usually robust work partnership that was felt comfortable and strong in trust.

“Look, if I’ve said something or done something to upset you, you’d tell me, right?” He broached.

“Yeah, if it was reasonable and I wasn’t disrespecting your rank.”

Neteyam thought that was an odd answer. He expected a simple yes or no, along with a reason if applicable. He mused to himself, so whatever was bothering you… you obviously felt it was unreasonable to bring up with him…

“So you are upset about something. A work decision I’ve made?”

“No! It isn’t about work.” You were getting flustered now, which was something Neteyam wasn’t used to seeing on you. It was yet another hint that you were upset. You carried on, “It’s nothing. It’s a ‘me’ thing, no big deal. Everything is fine. I need to get back home.”

Half-finished spear in hand, you tucked your carving knife back into its sheath at your side and nimbly rose to your feet, making to leave.

Recalling what Lo’ak (and later Tula too) had told him, Neteyam resolved to get to the point. You clearly weren’t going to tell him, so he might as well come right out with it and ask.

Getting to his own feet, he quickly strode after you as you marched away back towards camp, “So it’s not because I haven’t issued you a personal invitation to come along to the outpost?”

Neteyam almost smacked into the back of you as you halted in your steps and whirled around to face him.

“What? No!” You almost shrieked, “Lo’ak is so full of shit! I don’t want an invitation to your guys’ love shack!”

Neteyam noted the purpling blush that was staining your cheeks and the indignance that was flashing in your wide amber eyes. You were beautiful in your bother. He couldn’t help it. He smirked, fighting the urge to laugh when his expression only seemed to aggravate you further.

“Love shack? That’s quite a good name actually. Maybe we’ll start calling it that.”

You blinked dubious eyes at him and your ears lowered a fraction. You huffed out a jaded laugh and gave a slow shake of your head, “Ugh I can’t believe you. I never expected group liaisons to be your thing. But it’s none of my business and you can do what you like. It isn’t my place to judge. It just surprised me is all.”

Neteyam took a tentative step towards you, “Why does that surprise you?”

You swallowed hard, noticing the way Neteyam had begun to close the distance between you. Part of you was regretting the way you had just run your mouth and admitted you were perturbed by his choice of nighttime activities. You should have just kept your gob shut and gone home. Now you were cornered and he was asking questions.

The mild breeze that had been blowing before had vanished and the air lay heavy and thick around you. You didn’t know if you were imagining it, but you could really smell Neteyam. A fragrant musk was pouring off him and Eywa help you, he smelled so good…

Aware that Neteyam was still waiting on an answer, and not wanting to appear affected by the close proximity you now shared with him, you spoke measuredly, “You’re just so polite and proper all the time. I guess I didn’t expect you to have such a wild streak.”

Neteyam took another precise step in your direction and he was close enough now that you could run the flats of your hands up his chest without any trouble. He was close enough that you couldn’t look at his face without tilting your head back. The atmosphere tightened with a type of enticing tension, cocooning you both in a tantalising void that made it very difficult to notice anything else apart from each other.

All Neteyam could smell in the humid air was you, the lovely perfume of your scent assailing his senses and making every fibre of his being ignite with desire. It made his blood pump fast and hot through his veins with the increasing pace of his thumping heart. You thought he didn’t have a wild streak?... Oh, how he yearned to introduce you to the red-blooded male that existed within him…

“The side of me you see when we work is only one side of me. I’ve got a fun side too.” Neteyam breathed softly and there was a gravelly note to his voice that you’d never heard before.

It was deep and captivating, and it breathed over you in hot shivers that made your nipples peak behind the covering of beads and leaves over your breasts. Ever so slowly, his head tipped downward towards yours and he took yet another step towards you, bringing the both of you almost front to front with nothing but a scant sliver of space left between you.

He continued, “Being my father’s successor demands that I maintain a certain conduct during professional and official clan affairs, but the mantle gets tiresome to bear. And I am just a man under it all, with needs and desires like any other.”

“Mm hmm.” Your acknowledgement was a wordless and breathy squeak. You felt as if you were caught in some trance and it felt like you were in a dream. Neteyam was gently sniffing you now, the lightly twitching of his nose tickling the skin of your temple and your cheek. The position put your own nose a mere inch or two from the skin of his neck and jawline and the musky scent of him was delectable in your nostrils and on your tongue.

“But my participation in these group liaisons really bothers you, why?”

Neteyam’s question wasn’t a rhetorical question, but there was a strange mocking hint in his voice that implied he suspected or knew the answer to his own question. You were unable to answer anyway. Your voice had abandoned you for the time being as a lump had taken up residence in your throat. You may have been unable to speak, but it didn’t stop your brain forcing you to confront the answer to his question within yourself.

You knew why Neteyam’s involvement bothered you. You were just in denial about it; too proud to admit that you didn’t like the idea of him mingling with other women because you were jealous. It was also true that you weren’t keen on group flings, but the main reason you had refused to go to the outpost until now was because you didn’t want to go along and see him and share him with others.

Neteyam hadn’t displayed any obvious interest in you previously, but it was evident even to you now that he was attracted to you. The concentrated muskiness of his scent was unmistakeable for what it was: arousal. Even with the intimate nearness of his frame to yours, neither you nor he made any move to touch each other with your hands.

Feeling a twinge of remorse for being judgemental and making presumptions about his character, a whispered apology fell from your lips, “Sorry for being presumptuous. I shouldn’t judge you.”

His response was equally quiet, “Don’t apologise, just come to the outpost tomorrow night. Consider this your personal invitation.”

Neteyam’s nose caressed the soft skin of your cheek and the action elicited an involuntary shudder from you. He stepped back a little to look you in the eyes and his own eyes were glowing bright. There was obvious desire swirling in their depths like heat through molten gold.

Despite the palpable lust between you, your conscience decided to make itself known and doubt began to stir in your gut, “I don’t know, Neteyam.”

“It’ll be just you and us. No one else.”

Oh… That proposition sounded rather tempting…

Neteyam’s use of the word ‘us’ reminded you that Lo’ak was part of the picture too. You, Neteyam and Lo’ak in a secluded space exploring the possibilities of sensual indulgence… You were a little shocked to find that the sentiment did not repel you. Instead, you felt a spear of anticipation low in your belly.

Seeing and sensing your internal deliberation, Neteyam gave a gruff chuckle and joked, “I outrank you. You have to do as I say as my subordinate. Just come to outpost tomorrow night. You’re free to do as you please and leave when you wish. It’s a safe space, I promise.”

Pursing your lips at his playful attempt to pull rank on you, you scoffed, “You can’t do that. You can’t make me come.”

You realised your poor choice of words too late, and it was clear that Neteyam had picked up on the innuendo as well.

A brazen grin flashed across his handsome face and it was the most conceited you had ever seen him look, “Oh, I’m sure I can.”

Parting your lips to object and make yourself clear, your words were stolen from you when Neteyam swiftly closed the gap between you to slot his lips over yours.

You stiffened in surprise for all but a moment before your legs turned weak and you sagged against him, the forward pitch of your body forcing one of your hands to anchor itself against his chest for support. It helped that Neteyam also looped a muscular arm around the small of your back, clutching you to him.

Eywa have mercy on you… The warm, moist draw of Neteyam’s lips over yours was intoxicating. You were hardly cognisant of the fact that you had dropped your half-finished spear from your other hand as your arms intuitively shifted to snake their way around his neck. Separating for a quick breath, you were about to lean upward towards him for another kiss when he moved to pull away.

You almost whimpered in disappointment. Maybe you did. You didn’t know. Still spellbound by the heady ambience, you gazed up at him speechless.

Neteyam chortled at the sight of you; eyelids a little heavy, cheeks flushed, lips parted as your shallow breaths puffed from between them. You looked ravishing and you had tasted even better. He raised a hand to cup your cheek and his thumb swiped in a provocative drag over your bottom lip.

“Just a little taste.” He crooned, and he let his hand drop then. He began to walk away slowly, but he paused a few moments later and turned to address you one last time, “Tomorrow night, paskalin (sweet berry). After last meal.”

You watched, rooted to your spot, while Neteyam disappeared into the luminous phosphorescence of the night.

Great Mother, what just happened?

Part II - Three is a Perfect Crowd HERE

Author's Note: Thank you to all of you who have read and enjoyed Part I! Stay tuned for Part II. You'll need to bring a towel for that... things get very, very juicy. Reblogs, likes & comments are always so, so loved! Let me know if you'd like a tag for Part II. 😄 Taglist so far: @teymars @eyweveng @leaveitbythewave @luvteyams @akiras-key @bajbr @questioningconstellationsstuff @reggiesslut @neteluvr @savvysscandles

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summary: in which one drunken night turns into weeks of silent pining and petty jealousy until you and jungkook finally realise what’s been in front of you both this entire time pairing: jungkook x reader genre: angst, smut, fluff | best friends to lovers, fwb warnings: alcohol consumption, drug use (weed, only once), explicit smut- specifics in the chapters, the main characters are so stupid and oblivious it makes me want to pull my hair out

teaser.

i’m not yours and you’re not mine- the words you repeat to yourself as you stare at his dreaming face.

he never used to stay after you’d finish your planned arrangements, usually leaving as soon as he cleaned you up.

but what you’ll soon come to realise is that you’re familiar to jungkook. constantly on his mind, wether he likes it or not. so now that he’s dropping off coffee for you and sleeping in your bed after sex, you have to remind yourself why every part of this is a bad idea.

chapter index.

chapter one - the mistake (m)

it’s the first party of the year; you waste the night away, drinking and dancing just like you’ve always done. except this time, you end up drunkenly hooking up with your best friend.

chapter two - the radio silence (m)

it seems jungkook is less than a little phased that the two of you slept togther. you can’t seem to say the same. but at least you’re both on the same page about never letting it happen again.. right?

chapter three - the bad day (m)

after a bad day, jungkook helps you to destress. to pay back the favour, you betray him at ice skating. (filler chapter)

chapter four - the messup (m)

the more jungkook spends with you, in your apartment and in your bed, the closer he gets to making a mistake that could ruin everything.

chapter five - the festival

it’s finally the night of the film festival! you’re more than excited to be going with jungkook, but an unexpected appearance has him realising something he’s not ready for.

updates for this series will be fairly slow, hopefully you’re patient enough to wait :] much love <3

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Sowing the seeds of love

Synopsis: You have had feelings for Lo’ak for a long time and keep trying to gain his affection. However, Lo’ak is oblivious and takes no notice of your efforts. But someone else does….

Pairing: Neteyam x Fem!Omatikaya Reader (Aged 17/18)

Content: Romance, Fluff, Drama, Angst, Friends to Lovers

Warnings: Brief description of injury.

Word count: 7.1k

Author's note: It's been a WHILE but I'm back to writing :) Hope you enjoy it! Thanks @vivid-ink for sharing your wonderful work with us :)

Also on AO3: Sowing the seeds of love

It was calm, absorbing work, you thought, as you diligently wrapped the seeds in tìhawnuwll leaves, securing the ends with care so the wrap would not unravel easily. You had woken before dawn and spent the better part of the morning on all fours, gathering every last seed. Now, your limbs ached from your earlier efforts. But…pxorna seeds were his favourite.

“Leyna! Let’s go!” His voice startled you out of your reverie. Knowing what would happen next, you quickly swiped the wrap behind you, opening your arms to receive Txep just as he barrelled into you. He was a boy of only seven years but you still grunted at the force of the impact.

“Txep, careful!” You warned, glancing back at the food wrap you had spent the last hour carefully preparing. He only pouted, “Leyna, you promised!”

“Promised what—” you began, stopping yourself when you remembered that you were meant to be taking Txep out on your ikran today. He was right, you had promised him, you thought ruefully. 

“Txep, I’m sorry, I’ll take you another time, okay?” Your mother, sensing the tantrum that was bound to begin at hearing your words, swooped in, “Come, ma’parultsyip, sa’nu has prepared some yovo fruit for you.” You did not miss the pointed look she shot you over Txep’s shoulder as she gently ushered him over to the pile of peeled yovo fruit.

Looking down guiltily, you resumed your work, carefully arranging the tìhawnuwll leaves around the seeds, sealing the ends of the wrap with some lanutral resin to secure its contents. 

Rising from where you had spent the last hour diligently preparing and wrapping the seeds, you ran a hasty hand across your face, wiping away the beads of perspiration that had gathered there. Your hand stopped at the band holding your hair back, fiddling with the beads, hesitating for a moment before pulling the band in a swift motion, your braids spilling across your back and framing your face. That’s better, you thought with a small smile. Sa’nok had always said you looked prettier with your hair down. 

You reached for the wrap then, bidding your parents a hurried goodbye before climbing gingerly out of your swaynivi.

Your feet nimbly padded across the boughs of kelutral, your body remembering the familiar path by heart. 

Steadying your breaths and patting the wrap secured at your side, you entered the Sully family alcove, greeted immediately by Mo’at, preparing a paste, hands stilling on the pestle when she saw you standing at the archway. 

“Oel ngati kameie, Tsahìk,” you greeted, gazing fondly at the older woman. You had once found the woman painfully unnerving, with her enigmatic smiles and piercing stares. However, having recently become one of Mo’at’s apprentices at her request and spending many moons under her tutelage, you now found comfort in her words and even looked forward to your one-on-one lessons. 

“What brings you here, my child?” she asked. “Has the txumre’ venom caused you trouble?”

“No, Tsahìk, I—” You hesitated, gently removing the wrap from where you had secured it to your body. “I wanted to bring you the pxorna seeds I had gathered earlier.”

“Ah, how kind of you,” replied Mo’at, adding after a short pause, “My grandson is preparing to leave for morning patrol, so you may want to hurry.” She nodded at the food wrap. 

How did she know? Fighting the urge to defend yourself and further incriminate yourself in the process, you hurried past the older woman, not missing the wry smile on her face as she resumed her work. 

Stepping into the main alcove, you finally saw the man you had been waiting to see all morning, whose face had given you strength as you performed the strenuous task of gathering the seeds earlier that morning. 

“Leyna,” Lo’ak greeted, smiling handsomely at you before spotting the wrap in her hand. “Oh, what have you brought with you?”

“Oh nothing, just some pxorna seeds.”

“Pxorna seeds?” For the second time that morning, you felt yourself being pushed back with the force of another’s body as Lo’ak embraced you gleefully. “Oh, Leyna, this is why I love you!”

Great Mother, he really ought not to say such things to people in delicate states. Fighting to steady your racing heart, you patted his back gently, laughing softly at his reaction. “You and your food,” you muttered, unable to stop the fondness from creeping into your voice.

Lo’ak pulled back then to accept the carefully prepared wrap from your hands and looked down at you. You paused, waiting with bated breath as his gaze stilled. Was this the moment you had been waiting for?

“Wiya, I’m going to be late for patrol and Dad’s going to have my head.” Lo’ak turned away sharply from you, breaking the spell. “Sorry, Leyna, we’ll catch up later, okay?”

Nodding mutely, you watched as he checked for the dagger at his side before rushing out of the main alcove without a second glance. Feeling a little like the wind had been knocked out of you, you turned to leave the same way you had come before a voice stopped you. 

“I like pxorna seeds too, you know?” You turned to find Neteyam watching you, his expression inscrutable as always. “Not that you ever asked.”

“There’s enough here for everyone,” you managed, after a long pause. You had played together briefly as children, but it had been a long time since you had spoken at length. Neteyam had always seemed aloof, and the closeness of your families had nothing to ease the distance. 

“You know,” he began. “I love my brother—I would fight a palulukan for him—but he’s a bit of a fool, isn’t he?”

Huh. You stared at him, unable to make sense of his words.

“Morning patrol? That’s what he was thinking of?” He continued. “It’s okay to be upset, Leyna,” he added rather unhelpfully. 

You finally found your words. “What would I be upset about?” 

He gave you a pointed look, waiting for you to say it first.

You bristled at the implication. “By Eywa, I don’t know what it is you speak of but I should be going anyway—” 

“Don’t go.” You felt a cool hand clutch at your arm as you turned away. “Stay.”

“What are you—”

“You have feelings for my brother, yes?” He raised an eyebrow at you, adjusting your face gently to look at him properly.

“That’s not any of your concern!” You shot back in a terse whisper, glancing around anxiously, as if expecting a large crowd of onlookers. 

“My brother, he doesn’t see it.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he added, face morphing into one of, dare you say it, concern? “But I know him like the back of my hand.”

“I should go.”

Turning away from Neteyam abruptly, you found yourself mulling over what had been your longest exchange with him since you were children, as your feet traced the familiar path to your family alcove. Patting your cheeks self-consciously before stepping into your family alcove, you let out a small noise of frustration, knowing well that the heat on your cheeks had not waned in the slightest. 

***~~***

“Morning patrol? That’s what he was thinking of? The skxawng!”

“Ka’ni!” You gasped, outrage colouring your voice at your friend’s language.

“What?” 

“Lo’ak is not that,” you muttered. 

“How many moons have you spent together? How many times have you brought him his favourite food, now?” Ka’ni shook her head. “By Eywa, he’s a blind man if he cannot see it.”

“Would you hush?” You glanced furtively around at the others sitting by the river, noting that none had heard your friend’s outburst. 

Pausing for a moment, you added, “I haven’t even told you the rest.”

“There’s more?”

“Neteyam knows,” you began, lowering your voice, “He knows about Lo’ak.”

“Oh, Neteyam.” A lazy smile stretched across Ka’ni’s face. “We were on duty together the other day. By Eywa, the man is so handsome—even hanging upside down—that I almost forgot to catch the tumpasuk berries—” She broke off into an uncontrollable fit of giggles. 

“Ka’ni, focus!” 

“Sorry, sorry. So, he knows?” 

“Mhmm.” Catching the tail with one hand, you ran the blade of your dagger carefully under the skin, removing the scales in a swift stroke of the hand, willing yourself to not drown in the mortification that threatened to engulf you in that very moment. 

“What did he say?”

“Oh Ka’ni, I was so embarrassed. Don’t make me say it. He hardly ever speaks to me but this he chooses to say.”

Your friend nudged you again, eyes beseeching. 

“He said that Lo’ak ‘didn’t see it’” You finally admitted, the flush returning to your cheeks. As if your heart did not already hurt with that knowledge. 

“Kurkung!”

“Ka’ni!” You admonished. 

“Well, he is one,” she defended. 

“Weren’t you just telling me how handsome he was?” You shot back, waggling your eyebrows at her, finding some mirth in the situation. 

“What? Fine, a handsome one then!”

Before they could finish, a voice interrupted them. “Who’s the handsome one? Are you done with the fish?” One of the older women, Nikira, nodded at the mess that lay in front of you.

Flushing with embarrassment, you muttered a quick apology and resumed removing the scales with renewed vigour, not quite meeting her eyes. 

***~~***

You left kelutral, hand in hand with Txep, who bounced along happily. You glanced fondly at the boy as he swung your hands between you. His excitement was palpable, as it was the longest he had ever been silent. 

Txep had wanted to tame an ikran of his own from the time that he could start speaking, begging endlessly for someone to take him flying. Sa’nok and sempul had been especially protective of little Txep, long after the tawtute had been banished. Finally, he would get to ride with you on Pänu. 

Pushing past the leaves in front of you, you pulled Txep forward into the clearing. Letting go of his hand, you stepped forward and emitted a familiar call, the noise gurgling in your throat. You stood in the stillness of the clearing, waiting for the telltale sound of wind whipping as your ikran swooped down from the sky, landing with a soft thud on the shorn grass beneath your feet. 

Smiling fondly at the creature, you reached out to run a gentle hand across his face, “Tam tam, Pänu.” He let out a squawk, nuzzling into the palm of your hand.  

“Tewti!” Came a startled exclamation from Txep. “He’s so big!”

“He is, isn’t he, Txep?” You smiled. Reaching into the pouch strapped at your side, you pulled out a chunk of yerik meat, feeding it to Pänu.

Txep eagerly accepted the yerik meat, reaching up on his toes to feed Pänu, giggling sweetly when the creature licked his palm as it fed from his hand. 

“Going out flying?” 

Arranging your face carefully, you turned at the sound of the familiar voice, watching Txep carefully out of the corner of your eye as he continued feeding Pänu. “Yes, we are. What’s it to you?” 

Neteyam smiled faintly at your words, unfazed by the hostility in your tone. “Mind if I join?”

Before you could reply, Txep turned from Pänu, catching sight of Neteyam, a smile breaking out on his face before he ran eagerly towards the man. Shaking your head, you watched as Neteyam bent down to catch Txep in his arms. “Neteyam!” He cried gleefully. 

“So, can I join?” Neteyam asked, over Txep’s shoulder. “Txep, can I come flying with you and Leyna?” Txep eagerly nodded. 

Sighing at the memory of your last conversation and faced with Txep’s pleading face, you nodded tiredly. 

Fetching a cloth from the pouch at your side, you beckoned Txep forward. “I’m going to wrap you tightly, okay, Txep? You’ll hold on to me the whole time.” 

As you lifted Txep onto Pänu’s back, you heard the familiar sound of an ikran landing, glancing briefly at the patches of green and brown spanning its large body. Tìxtur, you remembered.

“Leyna,” Neteyam called suddenly, his voice lowered. 

Sensing that he wished to speak more privately with you, you backed away from Pänu, turning to face him, a questioning expression on your face. 

He twisted his hands together as he spoke. “I’m sorry, for the other day. I shouldn’t have said it.”

Your face softened slightly. “It’s okay,” you began slowly. “You didn’t say anything I didn’t already know. It’s stupid, really.”

“No, it’s not stupid. He is.” 

You giggled softly despite yourself. Of all the people to soothe your broken heart, Neteyam was the last one you expected. “I didn’t know you cared. I didn’t even realise you noticed my presence. This is the longest we’ve ever spoken, you know?” 

Amusement coloured his face. “I pay you plenty of attention. Maybe you are the one who doesn’t notice.”

Narrowing your eyes at the cryptic remark, you opened your mouth to respond only for him to swiftly pull down his ionar, launching Tìxtur into the sky. “Neteyam, you—”

Growling in frustration, you approached Pänu with quick strides, wrapping an impatient, squirming Txep with careful hands before making tsahyelu and urging Pänu to follow Neteyam circling the clearing above you. 

“Where are you taking us?” You shouted over the winds, as Neteyam flew away from kelutral in an unfamiliar direction. The man only smiled coyly at you before seemingly urging Tìxtur to fly faster. 

Txep let out a joyful squeal as you urged Pänu faster, trailing Tìxtur. Wrapping your free arm around Txep as an extra measure, you puzzled over where Neteyam was taking you, trying to catch a glimpse of a familiar sight in the blurring landscape beneath you. 

When Tìxtur eventually slowed, you followed in suit, bringing Pänu to land gently. Unwrapping the cloth that bound Txep to you and placing him on the ground, you took a moment to take in your surroundings for the first time, gasping at the sight. 

“By Eywa,” you breathed, eyes travelling over the vast expanse of the land around you, perfectly ensconced between towering mountain ranges on either side. Running along the centre of the land, was a river. You stepped forward, mesmerised by the sight of the water, a vivid lilac, swirling and eddying as it pushed against the rocks that littered the length of the river. You smiled, catching sight of little darts of movement in the water. Txep came forward, similarly affected, pointing excitedly at the flashes of light moving in the water. 

“It’s beautiful here, Neteyam,” you praised, turning to find him beaming at you. The unfamiliar sight caused your heart to race and that traitorous blush to return. Turning away self-consciously, you patted your cheeks insistently, willing your cheeks to cool. 

Txep tugged on your hand, pulling you closer along the river bank. When his eyes turned up towards you, you saw his question even before he asked. “No swimming, Txep. Look at the water. It’s going too fast.”

Txep pouted. “But, Leyna—” 

“Only your feet!” 

“Fine!”

You laughed softly as Txep rushed forward, before plopping himself down on the edge clumsily and sticking his feet in the water. 

You suddenly felt the heat of another’s body at your back, an involuntary shiver coming over you as Neteyam breath tickled the tips of your ears. “He’s the sweetest little one I’ve ever seen.”

“You should see him when sa’nok prepares teylu, pounces like a palulukan, that one.”

Neteyam laughed amiably. “I don’t doubt it. Tuk was much the same when she was younger.”

The two of you eventually found a comfortable place by the river, content to watch Txep wiggle his toes in the water in the distance and squeal excitedly as the fish swam past him. 

“How did you find this place?” You asked, after a long while of silence. 

“I like to fly by myself when I can find a spare moment. I usually circle kelutral for a bit and return but one day, I just didn’t stop,” he began. “And then I found this place.” 

“So, this is where you disappear off to in the evenings, then?” 

He looked surprised. 

“I pay attention,” you offered, feigning nonchalance. 

“So you do.” He smiled. 

Txep called out for them then, beckoning them over to the water. 

***~~***

“Don’t you have duties to attend to?” You teased, as Neteyam’s familiar face emerged from the surrounding vegetation. For moons now, he had sought you out, sometimes while you were tutoring Txep in archery or going out for a flight. Other evenings were spent in tranquil conversation in the woods surrounding kelutral, with the two of you even making trips to the valley every so often. 

“I’m a quick worker.” He looked around. “Where’s Txep, shouldn’t he be here for his lesson?”

You laughed ruefully. “Oh, Txep. He has finally tired of me and gone to play with his friends.”

“Were you going somewhere?” He nodded at your ionar, which sat ready on your forehead.

“Vitrautral,” you replied. “I was overcome this morning with the urge to seek the Great Mother’s guidance. She has called for me.” 

“I’ll come with you,” he said, adding quickly, “Unless you would rather be alone?”

You shook your head, placing some distance between the two of you before emitting the call for your ikran, watching as Neteyam did the same, quickly donning his own ionar. He was a handsome sight, you could not help but think in that moment, eyes lingering on his muscled forearms as he reached to caress Tìxtur’s face gently. Oh, if only Ka’ni could see you now. 

Shaking your head as if to rid yourself of the sudden, sensual realisation, you turned to face Pänu, cooing at him as you fed him. It was absurd. Neteyam did not think of you that way. Foolish, foolish girl. Hadn’t you learned your lesson already?

Had you turned around then, you would have caught the way his eyes slowly trailed the soft curves of your chest down to the dip of your waist and lean legs. But you were engrossed in the task of adjusting the saddle on Pänu and his telling gaze went unnoticed. 

Climbing on Pänu’s back, you urged him to take flight, Neteyam following closely behind. Slowly, you climbed higher into the sky, leaving kelutral behind you, weaving in and out through ayram alusìng. Turning mid flight to glance at Neteyam, who smiled when he felt your gaze on him before— you gasped, as Tìxtur sped right in Pänu’s direction, stopping only seconds before collison.

“You skxawng, what was that!” You cried out, heart racing, your own fear melding with Pänu’s. 

You heard his jovial laughter over the sound of wind buzzing in your ears. Shaking your head, you returned the gesture, urging Pänu to bank gently before making an abrupt turn, pushing Tìxtur right into a cool stream of water, pouring down the edge of a cliff. 

You giggled, watching as Neteyam emerged, drenched completely.  Spluttering, he called out, “I deserved that!”

There it was, that feeling, again. Fondness. 

***~~***

Landing at vitrautral, you felt an immediate sense of contentment fall over you, keenly aware of the Great Mother’s presence around you. Patting Pänu gently as you dismounted, you glanced over at Neteyam, as he did the same.

With his back turned, you could not help but gaze at the strong set of his body, eyes lingering on the muscles flexing in his back as he tugged at the saddle, breath catching in your throat as he turned slowly, eyes slipping lower down his frame—you were doing it again, foolish girl. 

You smiled softly at Neteyam as he approached you, placing your smaller hand in his firm grasp; it was just something you did now. You couldn’t pinpoint when it had started but he always reached for your hand first, sometimes just in passing, absentmindedly caressing the palm of your hand. You felt a familiar frisson of excitement at the contact, heart racing as he wound his fingers through yours. No, not again.

Neteyam led you across the base of the tree, nimbly skipping over the dense network of roots that covered the forest floor. A comfortable silence settled between the two of you as you let your palm slip from his grasp, approaching a cluster of bioluminescent tendrils which swayed gently in the cool evening breeze. 

Closing your eyes, you reached behind you for your neural queue, fingers brushing gently down the length of your braid until your fingertips felt the curling tendrils at the end. You brought it forward, eyes briefly opening to watch as the tendrils of your queue melded with that of the tree, both glowing brighter for a moment before settling. Tsaheylu. You took in slow, easy breaths as the familiar sensation settled over you. 

You opened your eyes then, eyes adjusting to the changed surroundings, which took on a dreamlike quality, shimmering gently in the fading light of the evening, almost as if you were watching the scene unfolding before you from afar as if it were a—what was it that the olo’eyktan called it? A ‘movie’, that was it. 

“Kaltxì, ma’evi. I was beginning to think you had forgotten me.”

You turned sharply, to find yourself faced with an older woman, eyes crinkling as a bright smile graced her face. 

“Grandmother,” you cried softly, running into her waiting arms, slotting yourself in the comfort of her embrace. How was it possible that she still smelled the way she always had in life? You breathed in her scent, a comforting blend of spices and apxangrr flour flooding your nostrils. Memories of afternoons spent at her side as child, ‘helping’ her prepare an assortment of cakes for the family rushed to the surface. “I could never forget you. Ngaytxoa, I should have come sooner.”

“Mawey, I am not upset, child,” she said softly. “You are young and you have your own life to live. Let me look at you.” You felt her gently untangle your arms and step back, eyes raking over you not unkindly. 

“You look well, child,” she said finally. “You have grown into a beautiful young woman.”

“Irayo,” you managed, squirming slightly under her scrutiny. “I have missed you, Grandmother.”

Reaching for your hands, she invited you to kneel on the ground, coming to sit by your side, brushing back your braids gently with a smile. “I have missed you too, my child.” 

Clearing your throat, you began, “I felt the Great Mother’s call. In truth, I have felt her call for many moons now.”

“The Great Mother senses your reluctance, child,” said your grandmother. “There is nothing to fear, she has a path for you, as does she for all her children.”

Feeling slightly chided, you nodded. “I am not a warrior, Grandmother. I have always known that.”

“No, that you are not, child. But your training with the tsahìk has been going well, has it not?”

Eyebrows furrowing in confusion, you nodded slowly. “It has, so I am to be a healer, then?”

A wry smile came across your grandmother. “All things will be revealed in their own time, child. You must be patient and trust in the Great Mother.”

A comfortable silence settled over the pair of you, as you mulled over the implications of her words. You longed for clarity that you knew you would not receive, not yet. But, you trusted in the Great Mother, and had faith that she would not lead you astray. But another thought niggled at you, emerging from the deep recesses of your mind, taunting you once more. 

Breathing slowly, you spoke, voice soft, almost inaudible, “And love? Will I have that?”

You could not meet her eyes as you asked the question, eyes trained firmly on your hands instead which twisted nervously in your lap. 

Your grandmother’s tinkling laugh reached your ears then. “Am I to be alone then? U-unmated?” You joked, the stutter in your voice undercutting your attempt at nonchalance. 

You felt a cool hand caressing your chin, tilting your head to the side. Eyes trained on you, your grandmother spoke again, “I can only tell you what Great Mother wishes for you to know. But your heart need not be so heavy, child. Know that you will not be alone.”

A hopeful glimmer shone in your eyes. “I will find love, then?”

She laughed softly in response, brushing her hand fondly across the curve of your cheek. “Oh child, there is so much yet that you do not understand.”

She stood then, hand slipping from your face as she moved to stand. A sudden panic enveloped you as you noticed the edges of her form flickering, the radiance of her image dullening. You jumped to your feet, reaching for her again, catching her fading hand in yours. “Grandmother—”

“I must go now, child.” She squeezed your hand gently. “But, to answer your question…you already have it.”

“Have what—” You never got to finish the question as her form slipped from your grasp, vanishing into thin air, your palm tingling where her warm hand had rested only seconds ago. You felt a sudden pull then, almost as if someone were dragging your body underwater, the ambient sounds of the forest growing muffled and your vision blurring, sending another surge of panic through you as you fought against the force.

Gasping for breath, you came to on the forest floor, chest heaving as you took in your surroundings. You were no longer knelt on the ground and as the rest of your senses returned, you felt a strong chest at your back and muscled arms holding you in a firm embrace. “Oh, Leyna,” you heard Neteyam say, his relief palpable.  “You scared me.” 

You froze as a warm pair of lips pressed against your forehead. “I’m okay,” you croaked, hands coming around to brush against his own where they gripped your waist. “What happened?”

Neteyam let out a shuddering breath, his disquiet evident. “I was praying, then I looked over at you. I knew something was wrong from the way you were shivering. And then, you starting shaking. You—” He broke off with a harsh intake of breath. “You should have seen yourself. Your eyes were open, but you were not seeing anything. I was so scared, I pulled you away.” He nodded at the cluster of bioluminescent tendrils where you had been connected to before, and the end of your braid which lay limply on the forest floor. 

Heart clenching at the pain in his voice, you turned in his arms, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” you murmured. “I’m here.” You pressed yourself as close as possible to the warmth of his body, feeling his breaths tickle the tips of your ears as he melted into your embrace. Breathing in his familiar scent, you felt a calm wash over you, hoping he gleaned the same comfort in turn from the closeness of your bodies. 

You already have it, a hallowed voice whispered. 

***~~***

You stood at the gates leading to kelutral, body thrumming with anticipation, accompanied by the other apprentices and a throng of eager spectators awaiting the arrival of the hunting party. 

*FLASHBACK* 

A shawl wrapped firmly around your shoulders, you quickly descended the central staircase of kelutral. The sky was still dark, the path to the pa’li pen only dimly lit by flickering flames at regular posts. You were normally not an early riser, but today was different. Dawn marked the start of the Great Hunt, and the hunting party would ride out to the river beds encircling kelutral soon.

As second-in-command, Neteyam was due to lead the hunting party in preparation for his eventual assumption of the duties of the leader of the clan. Neteyam was an accomplished hunter with impeccable precision in his aim; you had no doubt that he would succeed in procuring a handsome volume of talioang meat for the clan. It was more so the general chaos that ensued during these hunts that filled your heart with fear. It was not uncommon for hunters to be knocked off their pa’li, or even trampled brutally to the death. 

And so, you found yourself sneaking out in the darkness to meet him once more before dawn. Your plans for a clandestine meeting had almost been foiled by Txep; the boy had always been a light-sleeper. Your heart had caught in your throat as he shifted. By the Great Mother’s grace, he had stilled, the sound of his soft snores resuming. 

You neared the pa’li pen now, the growing din of voices signalling their presence. Your eyes searched furtively for Neteyam, confusion growing as you failed to locate him. 

A hand touched the small of your back then, and you did not need to turn to know who it was. “Neteyam,” you breathed, a smile breaking out on your face. The sight of his handsome face almost instantly assuaging the anxiety that had plagued you in the hours before, turning restlessly in your hammock. 

“Leyna,” he greeted, reaching for your hand to lead you away from the rest of the group. 

Secluded from prying eyes, you reached for him, arms winding around his broad chest, feeling irrationally annoyed at the firm material of his cummerbund which deprived you of fully feeling his skin against yours. You did not realise it, but your hands were quivering slightly where they gripped the skin of his back. 

“Paskalin,” he crooned. “You are shaking.”

“I’m just worried,” you mumbled into the skin of his chest. “It’s dangerous.”

“I know, I know,” he murmured, tightening his hold on you. “But I always come back.”

You said nothing in response, too distracted by the glorious feeling of being in his arms. The affectionate names, embraces, kisses on foreheads and cheeks. Surely, you were not the only one who felt something shifting between the two of you? Your relationship had spent many weeks, many moons really, now teetering on the edge of friendship and something more. 

His voice interrupted your stream of thoughts. “Paskalin,” he called again, urging you to look at him. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course.”

“Then, trust that I will come back—” Sensing your immediate objection, he added, “—in good health.”

*END OF FLASHBACK* 

The hunting party was late. Dusk was falling rapidly and the air was bereft of the jubilant cries of the returning party, as they transported the day’s kills back to kelutral in preparation for the feast. With every minute that passed in silence, the sense of foreboding that had plagued you since the night before grew more heightened.

“Be calm, sister,” said Olin, one the other apprentices. “They will return soon.”

You, along with Mo’at’s other apprentices, had spent the better part of the last few weeks preparing healing salves, brews and other implements in preparation for this day. But still, it did not feel enough. Something terrible had happened. 

Finally, the ground beneath your feet thrummed with vibrations from the pa’li and  you heard the distant calls of the hunting party. A sigh of relief was shared by the group waiting at the gates. 

But, when the returning party became visible, your eyes narrowed. Lo’ak was in the front, leading the party, a grim expression on his face. No, no, no, no.

You strode up to the group as they closed in on the gates. “Where is Neteyam?” You demanded, eyes flitting back and forth, scanning for his familiar face. The group parted in the middle slowly, revealing a lone pa’li with—you gasped—Neteyam’s prone body flung across its back. The rider shared Lo’ak’s pained expression as he slowly pulled Neteyam’s body down from the pa’li. You walked slowly towards him, an almost other-worldly experience, as the rest of the world blurred and grew muted in the wake of your horror. 

“Neteyam,” you cried softly, kneeling down on the ground next to his form, caressing his face, willing him to wake at the sound of your voice. You felt a wetness drip onto your leg, looking down to see the red liquid drip from his side down to where your knees were pressed against him. A sudden rage flared low in your belly as you perceived the cause of his condition: an arrow lodged in his side. 

Standing quickly, you rounded on the group, fury blazing your golden orbs as you addressed them. “Who did this?”

Slowly, with trepidation, one of the men stepped forward, Iren, his stricken expression as good as a confession. “You!” You cried, approaching him in quick strides, only to be obstructed by a solid chest as Lo’ak stopped you, his hands gentle but firm. “Leyna,” he warned. “It was a mistake. He did not mean—”

Snarling, you turned, gesturing for two of the hunters to come closer. “Carry him to the healer’s alcove. He is losing blood while we waste time.” 

Iren stepped forward, a silent offer to help on his lips. 

Shielding Neteyam’s body with your own, you shook your head furiously. “Kehe,” you hissed. “You have done enough.”

Not waiting to hear his response, you turned to follow the men carrying Neteyam, Olin and the other apprentices close on your heels. Anger was good. Better than the horror that threatened to swallow you whole. 

***~~***

With trembling hands, you brushed the fletching of the arrow, knowing what had to be done but grimacing at the thought nonetheless. You wished more than ever that Mo’at was here to guide you but she lay prone on the other side of the wall, having been afflicted herself with a searing fever a few nights before the hunt, and still only in the early stages of recovery. You have trained for this. You can do this. 

“Olin,” you guided. “Hold his chest steady as I remove the arrow. He will wake when I start to pull it out and he will shift as it comes out. Any movement could dislodge the arrow and cause more damage.”

Olin nodded slowly, settling her hands on either side of his neck and pressing down with enough force to keep him still. Taking in a deep breath, you began tugging the arrow out of where it had buried itself in Neteyam’s flesh. 

He woke soon with a pained moan, hand coming to grip your side painfully as Olin held him down. 

With a final pull, you removed the arrow in its entirety, flinging it to the side and reaching for the clean cloths you had laid out by his side. Within seconds, the cloth was soaked with this blood and your heart raced as you reached for more cloths. You sent a silent prayer to Eywa as you knelt by his side. Please save him, I can’t do this without him. I love him. 

After what felt like an eternity, you felt the bleeding slow at the site of the wound, noting with relief that he was breathing more steadily than he had been before. Applying a cleansing salve to the site, you fetched your stitching implements. Fortunately, Neteyam had drifted off as the blood clotted at the wound site. 

Olin resumed her spot at his side, prepared to restrain him if he woke while you began carefully stitching the wound closed. But, he did not stir, finally succumbing to the exhaustion of the day and his injury. After cleaning and applying a dressing, you slumped back against the alcove wall, feeling drained of almost everything you had. 

Just as you closed your eyes, you were startled by the sound of clattering feet as a group of the younger girls burst into the alcove space where you had been treating Neteyam. 

“By Eywa, he’s alive!”

“He’s still so handsome, even when he’s hurt!”

“—what a stupid thing to say, how could you—”

Having heard enough of their insipid bickering, you cleared your throat. When they did not hear, you raised your voice, anger flaring once more, “Have your sa’sem not raised you to know better? He is a person, not a piece of meat. Ogling at the man while he lays in his sickbed. Get out, GET OUT!”

Throat hoarse from shouting, you fell back against the alcove wall, body slipping down its surface until you reached the floor. The girls left the alcove, duly chastened, and you let out a sigh of relief. Neteyam appeared undisturbed, slumbering peacefully in the corner. 

Crawling over to his form, you knelt by his side again, gently brushing back his braids, tears welling in your eyes as you took in the sight of his face, complexion pallid from blood loss. 

Unable to stop yourself, you whispered the words that had rattled in your chest for moons, desperate for release. “Nga yawne lu oer.”

***~~***

You diligently gathered the cloths soiled from his blood which lay strewn haphazardly across the alcove floor. You gathered each one before placing it in the wash basket to be taken to the river the next morning. 

The family had been to visit Neteyam in the hours since his injury. After catching the stricken expressions on their faces when Neteyam slept through the entire visit, you sent them away, promising that you would call for them when he woke. You had sent Olin away too, seeing no reason for the two of you to go hungry when there was an abundance of taliolang meat being prepared for the feast. In truth, you could not stomach anything if you tried.

To pass the time, you had begun chopping up roots to be added to your stores of healing salves. The roots were strangely-shaped, sharp thorns littering their sides, making it a task that required strict concentration which suited you just fine. Anything to distract yourself from the unconscious man in the corner of the alcove.

So engrossed in your work, that you did not catch the beginnings of the man stirring as he woke. Only when his pained moans reached your ears did you become aware of his state of wakefulness. 

Abandoning the heap of roots on the chopping board, you sprung forward. 

“Neteyam,” you cried, reaching his side. “No, don’t pull yourself up just yet. You’ll tear the stitches at your side!”

Backing down, he relaxed against the alcove floor. “What happened?” He croaked, voice gravelly from disuse. 

Biting your lip, you hesitated. “You were shot.”

Confusion coloured his face, “I was shot?”

Willing yourself not to give into the blinding rage that had consumed you before, you continued, “You were shot by one of the other hunters.”

“By mistake,” you added, grimacing internally when it came out as a hiss. 

“Can I guess?” He asked. “Was it Iren?”

You gasped, “How did you know?”

Sighing, he continued, “Iren is, well, not the best shot. I have worked with him for many moons now—” He coughed. “—but he is a slow learner.”

“Then why did you allow him to join the hunt?”

He shot you a pointed look. “He needs to learn, paskalin.”

“He almost killed you,” you hissed. “He deserves to have his bow snapped in half!”

Neteyam, paying no mind to your instructions, lifted himself up into a sitting position. 

“What are you doing—”

“Leyna,” he sighed. “You’re being cruel. He’s a boy, still. He will make mistakes and he will learn.”

You felt a fresh surge of anger at his words. “I’m being cruel?  He can go make his mistakes on someone else, then! Because, I can’t lose you—” You broke off with a hitching sob. “—there was so much blood. I thought you were gone and I can’t—” You felt strong arms pull you forward.

“Neteyam,” you protested, trying to shift away. “Your wound—”

“It can wait,” he said hotly. “Stay.”

You acquiesced, nuzzling into the crook of his neck, crying with abandon now. 

“It’s okay, yawntu,” he murmured, rubbing your back in slow circles. “I’m here, I’m okay.”

Relishing the feel of his embrace, you breathed in his familiar scent. Thank you, Great Mother. You felt your eyelids grow heavy, at ease for the first time in many hours. 

Moments before you slipped into a slumber, his voice stopped you. “I love you too.”

“What?” Your eyes blinked open, startled. 

Pulling back to look at you, “I love you too, paskalin” he repeated, a smile growing on his face.

Comprehension dawned on you. “You heard me.”

“I did. Did you not mean for me to know? Or was it for someone else?” He teased.

“You—you’re unbelievable,” you laughed softly. “So, is that—I mean, are we—”

“Are we courting?” He waggled his eyebrows, wincing slightly from the pain as he shifted his body. 

“Careful,” you chided. “And yes, that,” you added, squirming under the heat of his gaze, which was positively lascivious now. 

He did not respond, choosing instead to press his lips against yours. You laughed softly against his lips, sighing as they moved to trail across your skin, moving slowly down the slender curve of your neck. 

“Neteyam,” you sighed, flushed from the heat of his kisses. 

“You really shouldn’t say my name like that,” he murmured against your skin. “It’ll give me ideas.”

Pulling his head back up, you fused your lips with his again in a searing kiss, feeling a pulsing want between your legs. A pleasurable heat coursed through your body, and you were consumed by the need to press yourself completely against his body, to remove the fabrics that lay between you, to be nake—Neteyam let out a pained gasp.

You pulled back sharply, hands running down his body, checking for further injury. “I’m so sorry,” you said softly. “I shouldn’t have—I got carried away.”

“You don’t ever apologise for that,” he laughed softly. “I’m okay, see?”

You were not convinced, backing away from his body, not trusting yourself to keep from hurting him. 

“Don’t do that,” he pouted. “Come back.”

“No,” you said firmly. “Actually, no more kissing until you’ve recovered.”

That earned another round of complaints from him. You laughed, turning your back to him as you resumed restocking the medicinal stores. Neteyam loved you. You smiled quietly to yourself as you cleared the space, and arranged the medicinal packs carefully along the space in the wall. 

“You know,” he said, after a brief silence. “I wouldn’t take offence if you felt the need to do some ogling.”

“What?”

“I’m just saying,” he continued, trying and failing to contain a smile. “Since kissing’s off the table and all that—”

“Y-you heard that?” You narrowed your eyes at him. “Just how long were you asleep for, then?”

“Can’t say.”

“Neteyam.”

“I could be your piece of meat,” he added in a lilting voice. 

“Au, you’re ridiculous.” 

---

TELL ME IT’S NOT TRUE ⸻ reupload

pairing: neteyam sully x fem!na’vi!reader

synopsis: reader and neteyam are deeply in love, but they fear they are running out of time. with discussions of mating buzzing around the two young na’vi, neteyam needs to learn to fight for the girl he loves, even if it ends in shambles.

genre: ANGST!! fluff, heartbreak

note: neteyam will be aged up to 18 for plot purposes! enjoy :)

time.

it’s something we all crave more of. we never have enough time, right?

and yet, we can be so greedy with our time, telling ourselves we will always have more – that theres long before we run out of time. we treat time as a passing thought, never acknowledging how quickly it can truly be lost, or how quickly things can change.

what many fail to realize, is that there is never as much time as we hoped for. it will always feel like we didn’t have enough time. enough experiences. enough memories with the people we hold closest to us. enough cries. enough laughs. enough confessions.

time was so precious, until it wasn’t. time can heal, and time can break. time fuels loss, and time fuels love. we would be nothing without time.

they were fairly young when they had met, not even spending a decade on this planet before they had crossed paths. before they had become important figures in each others lives. before they fell in love.

although she was just a few months younger than neteyam, they were neck and neck for youngest warrior to successfully complete their dreamhunt. they had met in the forest one day, accidentally tracking one another until they were met face to face, arrows drawn as their hearts beat quickly.

their friendship was fast-paced, as they mastered more and more skills together; learning more about one another due to the sheer amount of time they spent in the forest, practicing their skills. and as they grew, their giggles had turned to blushes, and their shoves had turned to gentle brushes of skin.

she had always possessed a more competitive, stubborn nature - feeling the need to prove herself in everything that she did. the young girl was quick to defend herself, hating the way her abilities were always questioned. she was one of the only girls her age training to become a skilled warrior at the time - so she was used to being teased by the boys around her.

luckily, neyetam was always there to balance her out, his calm, level-headed personality always managing to bring her back down to earth, to remind her that she was enough, just as she was. he defended her to the others, reminding them that she was much better at virtually any skill, than any of them. being the olo’eyktan’s son, nobody could really tell him otherwise.

they had watched each other grow from young children to adults. neteyam had grown much taller than the girl, making sure to tease her for her small stature whenever she got the chance. you may be small, but you are mighty syulang - he would remind her, eyes never failing to soften at the smile that splayed across her face from his simple nickname.

so much had changed since they were young, and they both wished they could go back to the days before they were considered adults of the clan… before they were pressured into making important decisions they did not yet feel ready for. like choosing a mate. or fighting their wars.

so much has changed and yet, their feelings for one another had never faltered. the love they felt for one another was something hard to come by, something raw, and rare. everything was so simple for the two… many would even argue they were perfect for one another.

but mo’at would strongly disagree. you are a warrior, you cannot mate with another warrior. she does not have the skills to become tsahik. it does not make sense. she would remind neteyam, watching the way his eyes lit up at the simple mention of her name.

his father would argue that true love was always worth fighting for. that the role of tsahik could be fulfilled by another - or that y/n could learn. he had no doubt in her abilities to lead this clan alongside his son once they were gone. however, the decision was not up to him. ultimately, mo’at’s approval of neteyam’s mate was required, and if he refused to pick anyone other than y/n, she would choose for him.

time was ticking, and neteyam knew that. he needed to work fast, and he needed to work smart. he was soon to be nineteen, and the tsahik was beginning to suggest girls for him to court - although everyone in his life knew the only woman he would ever have his heart was her.

“you look beautiful!” tuk giggled, placing a yellow flower behind the ear of the older girl, who currently sat crossed legged on the floor of the sully’s hut. she had promised tuk could give her a “makeover” before she went hunting today - which had now been fulfilled.

her braids were now undone, a single braid pulling the front pieces of hair to the back of her head. she had allowed tuk to take them out, knowing they would need to be re-braided in the next few days anyways.

she sighed softly, her heart full of love for the young girl before her. she motioned for the youngest sully to come closer, allowing her to cup her small face in her hands, watching as her eyes observed her expectantly, her breathing slow.

“you are beautiful tuk! just like your mother” y/n said softly, watching the smile erupt on the little girl’s face as she heard neytiri giggle from the corner of the room, thanking her for her kind words.

she knew she must leave soon, seeing as the sun had risen to its peak for the day, although her heart craved to stay with tuk, and keep her company for the rest of the day. she knew she would ask to come along while the older girl hunted, which she would have to politely reject, knowing she would not be able to stay out for long before asking to be taken home.

she pushed her way up to a standing position, adjusting her top as she smiled down at tuk, feeling her arms wrap around her hip, her head barely reaching the girls waist. she ruffled tuk’s hair, knowing she did not want the girl to leave her.

“i was having so much fun! do you really need to leave?” she asked with pleading eyes, pouting her lip softly for effect. lo’ak definitely taught her how to beg.

“you know i would love to stay, but i must go now. i will come back later to check on you, okay?” she asked, watching tuk nod her head eagerly. she smiled once more, tapping the smaller girls nose before grabbing her bow, which was currently rested on a wooden post in the sully home.

“tell ‘teyam i say hi if you see him!” she exclaimed as her and neytiri waved off the na’vi girl, nodding her head to let tuk know she still heard her.

she walked towards the forest, heart full from her morning with the young sully girl who had quickly become one of her favourite people. in fact, the whole family had been so welcoming to her, treating her as their own. they truly did consider her part of the family at this point - she ate more dinners at the sully’s than with her own family. she even stayed the night from time to time, typically after a long, or hard day, seeking neteyam’s comfort, which he gladly provided.

her feet wandered further into the forest, appreciating the large canopy’s that shaded her from the beaming sunlight, feeling exceptionally warm against her dark blue skin today. her ears perked at the sounds of the forest, the coo’s and buzzes of their local species, the sound of home.

eventually, she made her way towards a small stream of water, feeling the way her body soothed at the sound. neteyam would love this. she thought, unable to stop the blush that adorned her face as she pictured the boy in her mind. she wondered what he was up to at this very moment - she had not seen him since yesterday afternoon. she craved his presence, missing the way he brought her soul peace with his soft touches and timid kisses.

slowly, she walked along the stream, dipping her toes into the cool water every so often, bow in hand as she hummed to herself. she could not rid neteyam from her mind - she never could, he was always there, comfortably sat at the forefront of her brain.

her eyes trailed the water, expectantly waiting for a fish to appear. and soon enough, she saw movement in the water, drawing her bow back as she took a deep breath. her eyes focused in on the fish, letting go of her arrow, watching it pierce right through the sliver scaled animal. she smiled to herself, stepping into the water to collect the animal, whispering her thank you’s to eywa, before placing it on a nearby rock.

she pushed a fallen piece of hair behind her shoulder, taking another deep breath as she drew her bow back a second time, feeling a breeze rustle through the trees, cooling her body from the warm summer heat.

“your form is bad” she heard someone call from behind her, causing her to whip her head around, taking a step back in defence, pulling her bow closer to her body.

she quickly took in the grin on neteyams face, feeling her body relax at the sight of the boy in front of her. he took a step towards her, watching as she huffed out a sigh of relief. “you scared me you skxawng!”

“and you look beautiful, syulang” he spoke softly, watching the way her cheeks flushed as she turned her head away from him, clearing her throat in attempts to excuse her behaviour for the need to cough. he loved making her flustered. it was just so easy.

he took another step forward, now practically towering over the smaller girl. his hand came to her jaw, cupping is softly, his ring finger resting under her chin, gently guiding her head back to look into his eyes. her face was still flushed as she stared at him, doe eyes holding years of love and affection in them.

“tuk wanted me to tell you she says hello” she whispered softly, feeling a smile rise to her cheeks. the taller boy chuckled, hand still holding her jaw as he leaned down to connect their foreheads. he slowly breathed in her scent, feeling the way his body calmed in her presence. she was like a drug he could never get enough of.

she took in the moment, feeling the way his breath fanned across her face, relaxing her heartbeat. she had missed him. although it had been less than a day since the last time they were together, that time apart had felt like a century to her. she leaned into his touch, his warm hand radiating heat throughout her body.

“wait.” she grumbled, eyebrows furrowed as she placed her hands on his strong chest, pushing herself away from him. she watched as a frown took over the boys face at the loss of contact, missing her touch already. he took another step forward, reaching out towards the girl, but just as he did she took another step back.

“i can’t believe you said my form was bad!” she huffed, her shoulders dropping forwards slightly. his eyebrows raised in surprise, how did she still look so cute when she was angry? the boy shrugged, watching her own eyebrows raise at his lack of denial. there is no way he was being serious right now!

“i said what i said”

her mouth hung open in shock as a smug grin sat on his face. she groaned, wondering if her posture was really that horrible today. she turned around, grabbing her bow that she had rested on the rock behind her, planting her feet on the ground and taking in a deep breath before pulling her bow back.

“what is wrong with this ‘teyam?” she asked softly, turning her head towards the boy behind her, unknowingly batting her eyelashes at him. his heart raced, stopping for a moment to take in how beautiful she looked right now – her hair unbraided, sun kissing her skin so perfectly as her golden eyes stared back at him. how could one love another this much?

he walked towards her body, turning her head back towards the direction her arrow was currently pointed. this stance was second nature to her, how could it be so bad? she had always used her bow and arrow with great skill, and was commonly praised by others for it.

“you need to be…” he began, stepping behind her, his chest nearly flush against her back side. she felt the tips of her fingers and ears begin to heat up at the close contact, feeling his body heat radiating off of him. she couldn’t see his face, but she knew the grin that swept across his features, knowing he had her wrapped around his finger.

“like..” her breath hitched as his fingers grazed her waist. he was so gentle her body erupted in goosebumps, shivering from his touch. her heart beat quickened at the simple gesture, feeling the way his large hands wrapped around her torso, pulling her body flat against his now. “this.” he spoke lowly as she let out a soft gasp, feeling every inch of his body against hers. fixing someone’s form should not be this intimate.

his head dipped down towards the left side of her head, pressing his lips softly behind her ear. her knees felt weak, butterflies erupting in her stomach, feeling the way he slowly moved down her neck and to her shoulder. he took his time kissing her body, loving the way she shuddered beneath him as he touched her.

gently, he pushed her hair over her right shoulder, giving him more access to her neck. he spared no time, quickly attaching his lips to her soft skin again, feeling the way her pulse sped up at the action he had performed hundreds of times before. her head fell back into his chest, mouth agape as she let out a soft sigh, craning her neck to give him more access. god he loved the noises she made.

“if i knew any better…” she gulped, taking a deep breath to stop herself from letting out a moan of pleasure. she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to rid her mind of feeling of his soft lips running along the mark he had just made. she sighed again, wrapping her arms around his own, which were still glued to her waist.

“if i knew any better, i would think you insulted me just to find a reason to kiss me.” she rushed out, feeling the way her legs squeezed together. the things he could do to her while barely touching her.

“i could stop….” he teased, removing his lips from her neck, feeling the way his stomach knotted as she whimpered at the loss of contact. he released his grip from her waist, watching as she quickly turned around to face him. “no!” she groaned, face flushed from their previous actions.

she took a step forward, bringing her body flush to neteyams once again, feeling his heart beat pounding as her hands rested on his chest. “i didn’t want you to stop” she whispered, pushing her body onto her tip toes to bring herself closer to his lips. his arms found their home around her waist once again, resting his hands on her lower back.

through half-lidded eyes he smiled softly at the girl, feeling the way his lungs squeezed when she looked at him the way she was right now. she pursed her lips, slowly bringing her arms around his neck, fingers finding their way into his hair, watching the way his eyes closed in pleasure as she pulled on them softly.

she let out a soft giggle, enjoying the way he reacted to her touch. he genuinely could never get enough, and she felt the same. if she could be permanently attached to neteyam for the rest of her life, she would.

“you are so perfect, ma syulang” he whispered, now staring down at the girl who was pressed against his front. watching the way she bit her lip to suppress his smile. oh eywa, this girl drives me crazy.

his hands slowly wrapped under her thighs, ears perking up at the squeal she let out as he lifted her off of the ground, wrapping her legs around his waist. he wasted no time capturing her lips in a kiss as her hands found their way back around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer to her body as he squeezed the undersides of her thighs in response.

her breath quickened, feeling the kiss turn more and more needy as the seconds went by. slowly, neteyam lowered the two to the ground so she was now straddling his lap, tilting his head further to the side to deepen their kiss. he groaned softly, feeling her press her hips further into his, arousal coursing through his body.

as the two finally ran out of breath, they broke the kiss. foreheads rested against one another as their heart beats slowed, inhaling deeply until their breathing was back to normal.

the smaller na’vi sighed, cupping neteyams face softly, watching the way he leaned into her touch. his hands wandered, resting on her thighs as his thumbs rubbed up and down her smooth skin. the sound of birds chirping and the stream flowing behind them relaxed their bodies, moulding further into each other. they both wished they could stay like this forever.

“i see you, ma neteyam” she whispered softly, lips grazing his softly as she spoke. a soft smile made its way to his face, his golden eyes staring into hers with nothing but love and affection.

“i love you, y/n.” he whispered back, pecking her cheek as a giggle erupted in her chest, tossing her head back lightly. the word was something neteyam had learned from his father, a term of endearment that held many more feelings than words could describe.

“i love you too” the phrase sounded more foreign on her tongue, still getting used to the pronunciation – one of the newer words the sully boy had introduced into her vocabulary.

the two sat a while longer, enjoying each other’s presence, feeling the way their hearts would beat in time with one another. every once and a while, neyeyam would place a soft kiss on her cheeks or forehead, watching the way her face would flush at the simple gesture.

she wished she could stay here, in the forest. alone – away from all the pressure and disapproval. her heart faltered, thinking back to neytiris earlier invitation to join them for dinner with the tsahik – the one who held the disapproving stares, the unfair critiques of character.

“your mother invited me to eat with your family tonight.” she spoke, eyes focused on one of neteyams braids she had pulled into her hand, twisting unconsciously as her mind wandered.

she felt him let out a soft breath beneath her, “you eat with us every day. does she really think she needs to ask you every time?” he tucked her hair behind her ear, letting his hand rest on her neck gently, thumb grazing over the mark he had made just below her ear.

“no, with mo’at.” her eyes found his as his expression hardened - she could see the walls he was building up in his mind at the sheer mention of his grandmothers name – a grimace beginning to form on his face. she felt him take a deep breath, trying his best to keep himself composed - calm and collected, as he always was.

“i would like for you to be there.” he spoke lowly, his eyes remaining on hers, waiting for her reaction. she sighed, her hands unwrapping from his neck and falling between the two, her eyes cast down as well. she felt the embarrassment begin to settle in, her ears flattening against her head.

“she hates me.” she whispered, her throat hitching as she did so. she felt her heart ache softly as neteyams grip tightened around her body, his protective nature taking over, pulling her body into his chest. she sighed softly, resting her head on his shoulder, hands finding their way back into his hair, as his rubbed soothingly up and down her back.

“she does not hate you, syulang.” he whispered, feeling her nuzzle further into his neck, his stomach twisting at the feeling. “but she does not see you.” he whispered as her eyes began to well with tears – thankful he was unable to see her in this vulnerable state.

“you are strong, and mighty. you have proved your worth in this clan, and have stolen my heart in the process. i cannot do this without you. i would refuse to take on the duty of clan leader if you were not by my side, ma y/n.” he cooed, heart aching as her sniffles filled his ears.

“she will come around.” he kissed the side of his head, hoping to soothe her with his words – unsure if they held any truth at this moment in time.

the young na’vi’s heart pounded in her ears, knots forming in her stomach as her anxiety began to take over her body. she let out a shaky breath, taking a step closer to the tsahik’s tent. you are brave - she reminded herself, recalling the way neteyam had held her face as he wished her good luck.

she had finally had enough, knowing the tsahik would never see her as neteyams mate as long as she remained a warrior. after a long winded speech from neteyam on what to say and what not to say to the older woman, she had finally built up the courage to come speaks with her, alone.

nervousness would be an understatement for the feelings wracking through the girls body as she stood outside of mo’at’s hut, mustering up the courage to push through the flaps to greet her. her hands shook, feeling light headed at the idea of confronting the woman who would ultimately decide the fate of her, and neteyams lives.

she took in a deep breath, attempting to ease her strong heart beat, and the butterflies that had begun to erupt in her stomach. with a cautious hand, she pushed through the flaps of the hut, quickly stepping inside.

her head spun as she watched the tsahik’s eyes trail up her body, a surprised look in her eyes, clearly not expecting to see the girl, especially alone. her eyes trailed to the remedy that the older woman was currently diluting, hoping to release herself from her stare.

“oel ngati kameie, mo’at.” she spoke quietly, hoping to conceal the way her voice faltered. she clasped her hands behind her back, hiding the way they shook as she stood - straightening her posture to appear more confident. she felt like she was going to be sick. not even neteyam could make her this nervous.

“y/n” mo’at acknowledged lowly, her eyes leaving the girls face, looking back down towards her work, laid out across the floor. the younger girl remained near the entrance of the hut, unsure what to do now.

“what brings you here?”

her feet moved before she could think, taking a step closer to the tsahik, their eyes finding one another again. she was so scared. there were so many ways this conversation could go.

“i want to learn your ways.” she nearly whispered, feeling as if her statement was an admittance of defeat. she never wished it would come to this. she had always hoped that mo’at would see her for who she truly was, and accept her with open arms, just as the rest of the sully family had. but she had made it very clear that was not the case.

her eyes lowered in embarrassment, unable to look at the older woman, who sat shocked before her. the silence was overwhelming. it was terrifying. she bit the inside of her cheek, preparing herself for the worst.

“i fear it is too late.” mo’at spoke, causing the girls heart to squeeze in her chest. she knew she would do this - refuse to take her under her wing and help the young girl learn to heal. she knew it wasn’t what she truly wanted.

“but i want to learn! i will study day and night and prove to you that i can learn to heal just as you once did.” the girl spoke breathlessly, feeling the blood drain from her face as the doom set in. she really didn’t want her to be neteyams mate. her fingertips ran cold, as her heart pounded against her rib cage.

“it would take far too long. this is a decision made from a young age - one you clearly did not think of before falling in love with neteyam.” her heart ached, feeling a lump begin to form in her throat. do not cry. you cannot show defeat.

“kiri is willing to help me. i am a quick learner, i am sure i can pick this up.” she pleaded, moving closer to the tsahik who remained on the floor, legs crossed, a disapproving stare etched into her face. she shook her head as the knots tightened in the younger girls stomach.

“i am sorry y/n, but i cannot help you.”

the girl felt her body running out of air. this was so unfair. she wanted to scream at the elder. how could she deny this request? she let her own daughter mate with a dreamwalker - one who had to learn their ways, one who was now the olo’eyktan. how could she not allow a na’vi born warrior to mate with her eldest grandson. they had proved their love to one another just as jake and neytiri had, how could she so easily say no?

she wanted to fight, but she knew there was no point. the tsahik’s mind had been set since the day she met the younger na’vi girl. this was not the woman would become neteyams mate. who would lead this clan alongside him.

“please-” she began to beg, her heart aching so deeply she felt she may faint. her words were halted as mo’at raised her hand, stopping the desperate pleads that fell from the girls mouth.

“you have run out of time, y/n. the decision has already been made.” she spoke - so nonchalant, as if the girl in front of her wasn’t’t trying to keep herself from falling apart. she was sure her heart had actually stopped beating. she was seeing stars.

“wha-” she tried to get out, squeezing her eyes shut in hopes to compose herself. she felt so sick. had she heard her right? “what do you mean?” she asked, feeling as if she had just been punched in the gut. her breath was heaving as she stood before the tsahik, her sadness quickly transforming to anger.

“i have already chosen a mate for neyetam, and it is not you.”

red.

all she could see was red.

her feet had moved before her mind, pushing her body towards the sully family hut. her hands balled in fists as she took deep breaths, hoping to calm the anger that bubbled high in her chest. her cheeks were hot, and her heart hurt.

her mind was racing a thousand miles a minute. how long had he known? why did he not tell me? did he even care about how i would feel? was this a game to him? her eyes burned, hoping to blink back her tears and compose herself.

before she knew it, she was face to face with lo’ak - who’s hands instinctively moved up in surrender once taking in her flustered state, her fists still balled as her chest heaved harshly.

“i didn’t do anything!” he rushed out, eyes full of worry as he stared at the older, but smaller girl before him. her eyes were frantic, bouncing around the hut for any sign of neteyam, but to her avail, only lo’ak was here.

her head pounded, feeling the way her body began to numb. how could she deal with the weight of the tsahiks confession? had all of these years been a lie? did he ever even fight for this like he said he would?

lo’ak watched as her now dark eyes travelled back to him, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. he had never seen this look on her face - so much anger, so much pain.

“where is he?” she seethed through gritted teeth, eyes staring deeply into lo’ak’s, sending a pit of nervousness into his stomach. whatever neyetam did, he was in deep shit for.

his face softened, shrugging to the girl who now only stood steps away, breath heavy as her nostrils flared. it took everything in her to hold back the tears begging to be cried. her heart squeezed hard in her chest, struggling to regulate its pace.

“he’s in the forest! i’m not really sure where though.” he spoke defensively as the smaller girl turned her body, storming out of the hut hurriedly. she would find him, and she would hurt him. just as he had hurt her.

lo’ak watched in fear, hoping he would hear the end of this from his brother once he returned, muttering a “damn” as he turned back around, shaking his head before returning to his chores.

y/n moved swiftly, waving off anyone who tried to stop her in her path. she bit her lip harshly, holding back the scream that so desperately wanted to leave her body, weaving her way in and out or vines and plants, scattering the forest floor.

it was nearing evening, and she new eclipse would encapsulate the sky in darkness soon – but that wouldn’t stop her from finding neteyam before he made his way home. she was unsure of where she was moving to, but was confident she would find him if she thought about it hard enough.

her heart ached horribly as the young na’vi came into view. his back towards her as he calmly collected fruits into the weaved basket his mother had given him earlier in the day - fruits he would usually bring home to her.

her knees felt weak as her throat tightened, unsure of how to approach the boy who still held her heart in the palm of her hands. the pain of seeing him was unbearable, questions of doubt swarming her mind as her body instinctively moved closer to him.

his ears perked at the sound of her movements, hand on the knife that sat safely on his hip as he slowly turned his body towards her, eyes flooding with relief when they landed on the girl who now stood a few feet away, a frown etched into her face.

his relief quickly turned to worry moving towards the girl in attempts to comfort her. to stop her mind from spinning in circles. “what is wrong, ma yaw-”

“you knew.” she spoke lowly through her teeth, her voice chillingly calm as she pressed her fingertip to the boys chest. she could feel his heartbeat begin to quicken, as her own felt weak, barely pumping enough blood to her extremities to keep her standing. is this what a broken heart was supposed to feel like?

“wha-” he reached his large hand out to rest on her forearm, watching the way she flinched away from his touch, eyes wincing closed as if he had inflicted pain. his own heart ached, not used to the fear that the smaller girl held in her eyes as they stared into his.

“you knew. you knew mo’at would never approve of me. you knew she would refuse to teach me her ways. you knew she had other plans in mind. you knew who she wanted you to mate with. you knew everything, neyetam.” she spoke softly, feeling the way her bottom lip began to tremble, the reality of the situation finally settling into her mind.

he took hesitant step closer to her, his hands out in surrender, feeling the way his stomach dropped looking at the girl before him. she looked so small. so scared. so heartbroken. his stoic face faltered as he watched her chest heave.

her eyes began to well with tears, her heart clenching in her chest at the way her body craved his touch, using all her willpower to keep herself from crumbling into his arms. she allowed him to take a few steps closer before pushing her hand out, whispering a “stop,” watching him comply.

she couldn’t bare to look at his face. a face filled with so much sadness, so much disappointment. i am so sorry i let you down. he spoke through his facial expressions.

her throat squeezed as tears began to run down her face, the sight making neteyams knees go weak. so many thoughts were running through the boys head as he stared down at the girl he loved. he wished he could wrap her in his arms and soothe her, protect her from all the hurt of the world.

but he could not. he could not save her from the hurt, because he was the one hurting her. he was the one who hadn’t fought hard enough. he was the one who didn’t follow his heart. he was the one who provided her with the whirlwind of hurt and anger that coursed through her veins.

“tell me it’s not true.” she cried out, her arms wrapping around her body tightly, as she stared up at the boy who had stolen her heart, eyes wide with desperation. he felt so sick looking at her, watching the way her cheeks had now reddened, holding back sobs that begged to wrack through her body.

“ma y/n, you know i can’t-”

“tell me it is not true!” she screamed, watching the way his ears folded downwards, shocked at the way she had raised her voice. she had never yelled at neteyam like that.

he couldn’t give her what she wanted, and she felt the blood slowly begin to drain from her heart as she realized that, watching the way he sighed in defeat, shoulders slumping forward, his gaze cast downward on the ground, too afraid to look her in the eye. no no no no no no no. this wasn’t how it was supposed to end. he was supposed to fight!

her head was spinning, sobs shaking her body as her vision blurred. she felt as if someone had taken a knife and stabbed it right through her heart. she had never hurt the way she was hurting right now, and neteyam couldn’t bring himself to watch her, his own heart breaking in two as he listened to her cries. her desperate pleas. begging to wake up from this horrible nightmare.

her sadness, however, quickly transformed into anger at the boys in front of her. he couldn’t even look at her? he couldn’t apologize, or even explain his reasoning? no, he could do none of those things, as he silently fought back his own tears, feeling the way his whole body tensed as the doom set in.

“you coward!” she screamed painfully, lunging towards the boy as she pushed against his chest. the force caught him off guard, but he quickly recovered, wrapping the frail girl in his arms as she began to sob louder. pounding punches against his strong chest as her body grew weak, feeling the way his chest vibrated as he cood sweet nothings into her ear.

she knew she shouldn’t give in. that she should push his body off of hers. that she should walk away. but she couldn’t - knowing this could very well be the last time he ever touched her like this. she was convinced this is what it felt like to die. to have bear heart ripped out of her body and stepped on, right in front of her.

“i am so sorry. ma, syulang. i fought for you as hard as i could.” he whispered, his grip holding her tight against his body as she fell apart, voice faltering as he uttered out the nickname he had called her since they were young. before everything got so complicated. before they ran out of time.

“no, neyetam. you stopped fighting. and i will never forgive you for that.” she sobbed, pushing her body away from his and wiping the tears that had fallen from her face. her swollen, red eyes stared back into his own, sharing so many unspoken thoughts. so many apologies yet to be uttered.

her heart hurt so much, she couldn’t understand how it was still beating. she was sure it had died the moment she found neteyam in the forest earlier this evening.

she stood as his eyes filled with fear, slowly dropping to his knees as his body weakened. he had let her down. he sobbed against her waist, attempting to pull her body closer to him, his mind now focused on nothing but her. on how he couldn’t lose her. on how he needed to continue to fight for her.

he pleaded through his sobs, begging for her to forgive him, to let him fight harder, to let him prove himself in both her eyes and his grandmothers, but she was no longer listening. he had already agreed to commit himself to another woman, and that was enough for her to walk away.

her heart clenched, removing his shaking body from her own, taking a step back, looking down at the boy who was sat on his knees, eyes filled with tears as he begged her to stay.

“our time is up, ma neteyam. we really don’t get our happy ending after all.”

note: reupload because if you didn’t see by now, i made a really stupid move and accidentally deleted my account! hope u liked.

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𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐒 — (𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐘𝐀𝐌 𝐒𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐘)

— forbidden love, suggestive (?) themes, jealousy, established secret situationship, short fluff drabble (lowkey angsty)

the omatikaya clan's prince had fallen in love. however, falling in love as prince is strictly forbidden. especially when the person he's fallen for is you, his royal guard.

the moment the sully boy returned from speaking to his father, you were quick to notice his demeanor. neteyam was bothered.

it was unusual to see the mighty warrior's stoic face visbily falter, so you figured that whatever was clouding his mind was important.

"something the matter, your highness?" you hummed, carving out a wooden dowel for your newest weapon. though you only grew more concerned as he continued to silently loom over your figure.

neteyam wasn't the type to stay silent. no, whenever anything bothered him, he'd be quick to voice his concern. yet this time, he remained quiet. ignoring your words only added to the notion that he'd been sulking over something beyond his control.

"what is wrong, neteyam?" you sigh as you turn to face him.

he hesitates for a brief moment before giving in and seating himself next to you, lowly muttering.

"the hunt festival."

ah. you figured the pressures of the upcoming celebration would place quite the strain on him.

in omatikayan culture, the hunt festival acts as a rite of passage that formally introduces the upcoming generation as adults. presented by their parents and escorted by a partner of their choosing, young warriors make their "debut" to society.

you and neteyam were no exception, having to participate in this traditional event was customary.

"the dance? attending this would be far easier than participating in the dream hunt, don't you think?" you hummed.

"it's certainly not something fitting for the prince of the omatikaya clan to be concerned about." you mused, but his troubled countenance was resolute.

"don't start, love. i get that enough from my father and his aides." he sighed. what a tease, you note. neteyam was always quick to cross the line between colleagues and something more.

"please just address me by my name, my liege." you exhale.

"why? catching feelings?" he whispers coyly. his smile is barely there, but smug. that bastard.

"only that of irritation. you seem to forget your role." you retort.

"deflection, means i'm right." he hums.

you only stare at him with narrowed eyes as he replies once more, yet you can tell he's holding back his words. it's clear he's still bothered over something, and the irritation doesn't leave his eyes.

you know him all too well, you've been by his side far too long to be able to discern the wordless truths despite what he says.

"surely you're not troubled by just the hunt festival alone, hm?" his feline-like ears perk up at your words, hesitant to answer. yet as time passes in silence, he eventually succumbs.

it's not hard for you to get neteyam to confess, he tends to wear his heart on his sleeve, ever since the two of you were kids. it's both his greatest strength and weakness.

"there has been discussions of the dance. about a possible partner for you." he whispers.

"oh? who's the lucky man?" you tease.

"my brother." he frowns, his own words tasting nothing less than bitter as they rolled off his tongue.

neteyam was quick to turn his head towards whatever was infront of him, just so he wouldn't have to look at you. imagine the people's reactions if they found out just how petty their prince truly was.

you hadn't considered it before, though you weren't shocked either. lo'ak held no royal title in contrast to his brother, and given the fact you worked closely with his family, it would be the most suitable pairing.

the way neteyam's tail sways despite his calm expression only further shows he's pretending to not care. cute, but you wouldn't take it.

"the idea isn't awful, being partnered with someone from such a respectable family would be ideal." you hummed, your words making him turn back to you. only then did you see his displeased expression.

"he's not a good match." he scoffs.

"why not?" you raise a brow.

"can't handle you."

"that's for me to find out." you shrug.

"you interested?" he glared.

"you jealous?" you retorted.

"so what if i am?" his gaze cuts into yours, the air slowly seeping out of your lungs as he continued to close the distance.

you shouldn't entertain the idea, you couldn't. the two of you lived in completely different social rankings. it's inappropriate, what the two of you had. forbidden, even.

"i would suggest you stop looking at me like that, your highness." you sigh, your voice was lethally soft.

"you don't have to pretend to dislike me so much." he whispers.

"your mistake is believing i'm pretending." you refute.

"your actions say otherwise when it's your breath on my neck late at night." he hums, snaking his hand around your waist and entwining his fingers with yours.

of course, this wouldn't be the first time you endulged in your desires with neteyam, but you had already sworn it to be your last.

just how close do you need to be pressed against eachother before you admit how you feel? how many times must your lips touch before you both realize you've gone too far?

"neteyam, you'll soon be promised to any future noblewoman you want. don't let me tarnish your reputation any longer." your breath hitches, staring at his lips.

"what if i want you?" he whispers.

"you don't." you sigh, your words contradicting your thoughts.

"you don't give yourself enough credit." he smiles.

the moment your eyes drifted back to his, it was over. his lips captured yours, pulling you into a feverish kiss. desperate to touch more, to feel more — the two of you kissed until kissing just wasn't enough.

it's pathetic, really. the way you're so quick to melt under his touch, how the mere sound of his accent is enough to get you on your knees. yet you found yourself embracing the chaos as his touch painted your body with kisses and praises.

the unpredictable waves of your duty had swept you into the arms of neteyam, who had always been more than willing to give up his own reputation to be with you.

because for some godforesaken reason, neteyam had fallen for you, despite all the reasons he shouldn't. and you figured indulging in his warmth just a bit longer wouldn't kill you.

© novarity 2023 — do not translate, repost, or copy my work to other sites.

---

cherry — jjk

Jungkook has a crush on you and he does everything to conquer your heart (like eating your pussy whenever and wherever he feels like it).

⚡︎ pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

⚡︎ genre: friends with benefits to lovers, college au, smut

⚡︎ word count: 2.9k

⚡︎ warnings: pussy drunk jk because there's no way he wouldn't be, jk's a simp, they're kinda corny but whatever i like that about them, public sex, unprotected sex, oral (f & m), cunnilingus, handjob, overstimulation, cum eating.

a.n.: jk in a tank + hooded jacket has me acting up bruh, quick put me in jail ‼️ literally wrote this in one night send help. as always, don't thank me 💋 please, tell me if you liked it or not 🫶

"Stop..." You whine, gripping his hair in your fists. "Jungkookie!" You insist even more as you try to push his head away from the area between your legs, but Jungkook doesn't budge an inch. You squirm around and cry pathetically, but it doesn't alert him at all.

He keeps licking and slurping until no arousal is left, but more always comes out of your hole, so he continues and continues... Oh, you wonder how this man can be so hungry even after eating the whole plate he ordered. You told him to not follow you into the bathroom, but Jungkook never listens, does he?

You pull on his black locks and the only answer you receive is a disapproval grunt from him. You sob, so overwhelmed and tired, but you can't deny how good his tongue feels on your naked core.

He already got two orgasms out of you, one with his fingers patting gently your sweet spot and the other by sucking avidly on your clit. You don't remember which one came first and maybe they both happened at the same time. You don't really know.

You're so overstimulated, but his lips wrapped around your sensitive bud have you over the edge again. It hurts badly good. Does it even make sense? Whatever, it makes sense to you.

You two hooking up in a bathroom while your friends are waiting outside is bad, while having Jungkook's head between your thighs, eating you out like a starved man is good. A little too good.

You place a hand behind you on the counter, the other holding tightly his hair in your fist, not caring if you pull too harshly. If his scalp stings, it's in no comparison to the heavy pulsations in your clit.

"Jungkook, fuck," you curse, throwing your back against the wall, just beside the mirror. "God, this is too much!" You yelp and close your legs, pushing his head away from your drenched pussy.

He doesn't fight back and he peeks out from between your thighs, looking up at you. Your heart skips a beat when you see his face and how messy he looks because of you.

His lips and chin are glistening in your juices, tongue darting out to lick them clean. Some of his curls are broken, hair tousled around, and you really can tell you were pulling on them seconds ago. Just the thought that his face was buried between your legs, insanely making out with your cunt, makes your stomach clench.

How can he be so passionate about something that isn't even his? He's really trying hard to make you fall in love with him and you have to admit he's doing good so far. If dating Jungkook means receiving head everyday you might stop rejecting him and consider letting him have a chance.

But you don't feel like it right now, even though he's treating you like a real princess. Being chased is really fun, you're about to become addicted to that treatment.

"Just a little bit more, okay, baby? Just another one, let me do that, please," he begs, but in the end he always does whatever he wants to you. You rarely say no to him and his filthy mouth, and even if you would say no, you doubt he would listen.

"My clit will fall out," you sigh, so weak against his pleas. Nonetheless, you slowly pull your legs apart, revealing your core to him again, totally at the mercy of his insatiable hunger.

He looks at your crotch, pouting slightly, showing a bit of compassion. But him having pity for you doesn't mean he'll stop, oh no, not at all.

"Don't say that," he scolds, staring at your swollen clit. "It'll feel really good, I promise, baby," he coos and you can only believe him. He softly blows on your sensitive bud, making you flinch, and a smug smirk appears on his face.

"Okay..." You capitulate, gasping when his mouth finds its spot on your pussy a second time.

On the other hand, there are your nipples, hard and puffy, wanting Jungkook's attention badly. You wish he would focus on something else than your cunt, but he's stubborn and when he wants something, he has it.

You play with your nipples through the material of your dress since you decided to not wear a bra today. You pinch and pull on them, moaning sweetly as the knot at the pit of your stomach tightens with Jungkook's ministrations.

His strong and veiny hands hold up your thighs while he enters and exits your pussy with his sturdy tongue, his big nose brushing against your clit so deliciously.

You can't believe he uses his nose voluntarily, actually knowing it's doing something, unlike most men who literally have no idea what they are doing with their hands and mouth. Jungkook is so passionate about cunnilingus, you're lucky to have him, honestly.

"Close," you warn him hurriedly, scrunching your eyes shut as you feel your high approaching really soon. It's going to be intense, you sense it. It burns in your belly, it twists and it tightens, making you go crazy over Jungkook's mouth. "Fuck, Kookie, please!"

You rub your pussy in his face and he groans deeply, appreciating your enthusiasm for his incredible skills. He hears you and fastens the pace of his tongue, moving his head from side to side, his nose pressing against your clit.

Your orgasm shoots through you and you moan out your pleasure, cumming hard on Jungkook's tongue. He hums contently as your thighs shake beside his head, his hand palming your soft flesh, leaving beautiful marks behind.

You come down from your high, letting out a long sigh, totally pleased with what just happened. He licks you clean, collecting your arousal on his tongue and drinking it as if it was pure water.

He stands up when he's finished, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. You look absolutely dead, which is understandable after Jungkook just forced three orgasms out of your poor body.

He looks satisfied, and you wonder if he's still hungry. He probably is, which would be insane, but what's not crazy with this man.

He doesn't waste time before he's kissing you sensually, tasting yourself on his tongue, fighting for dominance as you let him have it. After all, you're too tired to fight for anything.

Though you're exhausted, the bulge in his pants catches your attention. He presses it against you and you feel it really clearly, erected and hard just for you.

You break the kiss, trying to catch your breath as you slide off the countertop. "What do we do about that?" You purr, sneaking a hand between your two bodies and reaching his hard cock trapped in his jeans.

He hisses, grabbing your wrist as if to remove your hand, but he keeps it there, even though he's really sensitive. "We leave it as it is," he says seriously and you frown, a pout forming on your lips.

"Oh, don't be a gentleman, Kook," you reply quickly, determined to return the favour. "Let me suck your dick, please. I'll be such a good girl," you insist and he can't refuse you.

"I'm all yours, then," he grins, letting go of your wrist.

You push him against the nearest wall and you drop on your knees instantly. Your bones hitting the floor tile isn't gentle, but you'll suffer through any pain if it means sucking this pretty man's dick. Right, maybe you're a little whipped for Jungkook, but that doesn't mean anything. Or does it...?

You stroke him over his pants, feeling his length and his girth under all those pieces of clothes. You extend your arm to reach the zipper of his hooded jacket, tugging it down open. You look up at him while doing so, noticing his tongue toying with his lip piercing. He's focused on your movements, watching your hands on him as if it's a movie, wanting to remember each second of it.

You go under his white tank top, running your delicate fingers over his abs, loving the feeling of his muscles under your palm. They tense a little bit at your contact and you can't help but smile, enjoying how much Jungkook isn't indifferent to your touch at all.

"Stop playing," he breathes out, wanting you to get your hands on what's really aching right now.

"I'm sorry," you apologize in a low tone, even though you don't really feel bad for him. He gave you three orgasms one after the other without listening to your complaints, didn't he?

You finally free his cock out, this one springing out excitedly, standing tall against his stomach. Jungkook releases a breath of relief, burying his tattooed fingers in your hair by reflex. You don't mind the pulling, you love it, in fact. It tells you he's enjoying himself and it reminds you he still has control over your actions.

"You know what happens to bad girls, sweetheart," he says and it sounds like a warning. A quite exciting warning, you won't lie. "Make me proud and act good," Jungkook orders from above, your eyes up on him as you nod your head in response.

Your gaze shifts down to his hard cock, slightly curved with a vein along it. You lick your lips, now understanding the hunger Jungkook felt when he had your pussy in his face. The eagerness to please him is real.

You wrap your fingers around him, liking how stiff he feels under your palm, and put his leaking tip into the warmth of your mouth. "Ah, fuck," he curses under his breath, his head rolling back and hitting the wall behind. He closes his eyes, feeling every inch of his length that enters your mouth. "So fucking good."

As he praises you like you're nothing less than a goddess, you swallow his dick, exactly the way he likes it, the way he showed you. You breathe through your nose, Jungkook being specially big for your mouth, but you surely won't give up so soon.

You said you'll pay him back and you stick to your words. Especially after those fantastic orgasms he gave you tonight.

You palm gently his balls — which he's really sensitive to — while you start bobbing your head over him. Your eyes are quick to water and you blink to pry the tears away, unbothered if your makeup gets smudged. You hear deep moans and groans from Jungkook, telling how good you're being.

You keep your tongue flat underneath him and hollow your cheeks to maximize his pleasure. His grip on your hair tightens, guiding your head over his cock as he watches it disappear and reappear between your lips.

He's entirely coated in your spit, length glistening under the bathroom's lights as you bounce your head over him. The situation feels really filthy and the fact that you're in a restaurant, your friends probably wondering what's taking you both so long, is making everything more arousing.

Jungkook didn't even hesitate when he discreetly followed you to the toilet, locking the door before sneaking his large hands under the skirt of your dress. You've let him touch you, let him sit you down on the sink counter, let him slide your panties off. And you don't regret it.

You're even grateful he followed you because now you have to listen to his beautiful moans like it's a melody and suck his dick like it's a cherry lollipop — your favourite.

"Let me... Let me," he rasps out, swallowing to ease his dried throat. You glance up at him when you hear him begin to talk, wondering what he has to say. "Ask you out on a date," he finishes and the lopsided smile on his face has your stomach fluttering.

You pull him out with a 'pop', stroking his wet cock as you collect your thoughts. Is he really asking you out right now? As you're sucking the soul out of him?

"Aren't we already on a date?" You wonder, knowing it's not the answer he wants. You're just not totally ready to give a response to that, not even think about it. You prefer to avoid, prefer to tease.

He frowns cutely, passing his fingers through your tangled hair. He wets his pink lips and looks at you as he reflects, shaking his head. "This isn't a date," he replies. "I want to be with you, only you, baby."

He's referring to your night out with your friends, explaining a real date will be you as his only company. He sounds sure of himself, completely convinced that what he wants and needs is a date with you.

Somewhere you'd choose because he believes the place doesn't matter as long as you're happy with it. Somewhere he can learn more about you, more about your personality and the people you love. He wants to get to know you, know how much sugar you put in your coffee and know if you take your shower in the morning or at night.

He wants to know the simple and the difficult things.

Everything. He wants you to tell him everything about you because he's absolutely in love. Stupidly, drunkly in love with you.

"I want to know you," he confesses and you swear your heart just did a jump in your chest.

"You know me more than anybody else, Jungkook," you flirt, smiling as you stroke him gently, elongating the pleasure. "In every way and angle possible."

It makes him chuckle, his eyes blown out in lust. He shows his cute bunny teeth, a smile you realize you don't want to lose — yes, even when giving him a handjob.

"Let me have my chance, you won't regret it," Jungkook promises, his thumb passing over your cheek, leaving your poor heart incredulous, but still wanting to believe every single word that escapes his mouth.

You don't respond right away, a bit lost in your own thoughts. You've only said good things about Jungkook since you started hooking up and all of your girlfriends are team Jungkook since the beginning. You've even lost the count of his green flags.

Maybe you should let yourself be more vulnerable and be open with him about your feelings. You realize that all this time the one you weren't trusting with your emotions was you, not him.

"I'll fuck you right every day, you'll just have to ask," he adds on and you roll your eyes playfully, smiling at his silly words. "Even on the week-ends. Especially Sunday," he smirks, saying everything to convince you, even what seems stupid because at this point, he knows you've already fell for him.

You swallow him in a swift motion, lubricating his cock more as there was a bit less saliva left on him. You pull out and start pumping him again.

"Why Sundays?" At your question he grins even more, as if he knows his answer will please you.

"Because it's the day of the week you hate the most," he explains, biting down on his bottom lip as the knot in his stomach begins to tighten. "Gonna make it the one you love the most."

You can't help but grin back, connecting your gaze with him. You break eye-contact to tilt your head down and take him back into your mouth. He takes a hold of your hair again and his grip is rough, making your scalp burn.

You whine around him, sucking him like there's no tomorrow. He quickly comes close to his high, saying a bunch of profanity under his breath. He directs the movements of your head, making you take all of him at once, then sliding back up to just have the tip in your mouth.

"Shit, baby," he slurs out, wet curly bangs covering his forehead. His big brown eyes don't leave you, watching you like you're a living piece of art. "Gonna cum, don't stop," he announces and you doubt you'll stop with his hand behind your head, controlling each one of your moves.

You hum around him and place your hands on his strong thighs, sensing his muscles tensing up as he comes undone in you. He steadies your head over him, nose pressed down on his shaved pelvis.

He softly moans, pink lips parting to let the sounds out. He fills your mouth up with his cum, cock twitching as he spills everything he can in you.

He carefully slips out of your mouth and you don't wait to swallow everything before sticking your tongue out to prove him. He smiles, patting your head gently. "What a good girl," he compliments, satisfied with your instant obedience.

You stand up on sore legs as Jungkook stuff himself back in his pants, pulling the zipper of his jeans up. He replaces his tank top over his stomach, covering the band of his Calvin Klein boxers that peaks out.

He brings you closer to him by the waist and you giggle, playing with his silver chain he wears around his neck. "What do you say?"

You sigh, pretending like he annoys you, but your smile totally betrays you. "One date," you accept and he's about to kiss you, but you stop him before he can. "But I chose where we go... and you can't follow me to the bathroom anymore!"

Jungkook chuckles, cupping your jaw and giving you a kiss on the lips. "Deal." As you're about to go back to your table, he hands you something and your eyes widen when you see your panties. "Don't forget that, I'm the only one allowed to see what's under that pretty dress."

You take back your underwear, stepping into the holes then sliding them up your legs. "Shut up," you quickly say before exiting the bathroom, Jungkook behind you.

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Do not ask for a part 2.

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say it — jjk

Jeon Jungkook isn't a guy you're really familiar with. You have a lot of mutual friends, but somehow you've never shared a conversation with him before... until it changes and you end up exchanging more than a couple of words.

♱ pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

♱ genre: friends to lovers, university au, smut

♱ word count: 2.3k

♱ warnings: drugs consumption, shy!oc (extroverts are not real), himbo!jk 🫶🏻, they're super cute i love them, jk loves her tits, dry humping, unprotected sex (i thought about doing it protected for the first time ever but fuck off lmfao), tits play, squirting.

a.n.: yes 3d came out so here i am with my porn <3 enjoy 😸 tell me if you like it!!

ᵕ̈♡˳೫˚∗

"Mind if I take that off?" He points at your top; a grey hoodie that has a tight fit on you.

You look down and shake your head from side to side before glancing up at Jungkook. "I don't," you sheepishly smile. You're sitting on his bed as he's standing up in front of you, towering over you with all his height.

He brought you to his dorm after the diner you had with all your friends. Jungkook turned down the offer to join them at the party that is currently taking place downtown, inviting you to his room instead. You obviously accepted — way too excitedly — because how could you refuse a man as pretty as him? And anyway, that party didn't seem much fun to you compared to a night with Jungkook.

You shift yourself closer to the edge of the bed shyly, presenting your chest to him. He catches the zipper of your hoodie between his thumb and his index, tugging it down slowly.

You trap your bottom lip between your teeth as he gets you rid of your clothing, leaving you in your white tank top with thin straps. "And that too," he purrs, gripping the end of your top and passing it over your head. His eyes settle on your breasts supported by your lace bra, your skin looking so soft to him. "Would you lay down for me, pretty?"

You bob your head and push yourself to the middle of the bed, letting your upper body fall on the mattress. Jungkook faintly smirks, appreciating the cute view you're giving him with your boobs out and your hair sprawled around your head.

He crawls over to you, his knees dipping in the bed on each side of your legs. You hold in your breath as he hovers over you, hands sneaking behind your back to unhook your bra.

When he does, the garment discarded somewhere on the floor, you hide your tits with your arms, face heating up in embarrassment. Jungkook pouts at that, his cute pink lips pursing out.

"Baby, don't be shy. Show me how beautiful those tits are," he demands, hooking a finger over your wrist and pulling it down to reveal your naked chest.

You let him see your breasts, squirming a bit uncomfortably, fighting the urge to hide yourself again. He cups them in his big palms, warm and soft, your nipples hardening under his hands. He leans down to kiss you slow and passionately, biting down on your lip and making you whine quietly.

He breaks your exchange and lowers his head to your chest, your breath accelerating when you understand what he has in mind. He sends you a cheeky smile before diving in and taking one of your nipples in his mouth. You sigh shakily at how great it feels, the warmth and wetness of his mouth making your eyes roll back.

You pass your fingers through his black locks, gripping on it when he bites a nipple gently, glancing up at you with a playful glint in his eyes. He continues to suck, licking it and twirling his tongue around it, playing with the other with his hand.

He lets out your bud with a 'pop', wrapping his lips around the other one. He repeats the process, rolling your wet nipple under his calloused palm, having you arch your back and push your chest into his face. He hums, appreciating that he's procuring you a lot of pleasure to the point of eliciting moans out of you and making you squirm under him.

"Jungkook..." you call his name and he groans in response, loving how the syllables roll on your tongue, coming out so sweet and shy.

"Say it again," he breathes out, hooded eyes set on you. You blink at him, too distracted by him pulling on your little buds and pinching the soft skin of your breasts. "What's my name? Say it, baby," he orders, though his voice is low and husky, making goosebumps appear on your skin.

When you don't answer quickly enough to his taste, he bites you again, a loud gasp escaping your mouth. "Jungkook!" you exclaim, taken aback, but still really turned on, feeling your core heating up and wetness pool in your panties.

"That's right, pretty girl," he approves proudly, his face now above you, his hot breath fanning across your burning face. "Scream my name, tell me how good I make you feel," he sings in your ear, his hips swiftly grinding against yours.

He leaves lots of kisses down your neck and tits, appreciating your stretch marks and how tender your flesh is. You lock your legs around his waist, bringing him closer to you — if it's even possible at this point.

"So good... Really good," you answer breathlessly, sensing the bulge in Jungkook's pants rubbing against your clothed pussy. Your arms are now around his shoulders, his face hidden in the crook of your neck, still smooching and biting it lovingly.

"Yeah?" He chuckles, genuinely happy to know you're liking the gentle treatments he gives to your body. "Ah, fuck," he keeps grinding his cock against you, fully erect and ready to be buried into you.

He then removes his t-shirt, throwing it away before coming at you and crashing his mouth on yours. You slide your palms up his chest, feeling how strong and defined his abs are, slightly flexing under your adventurous fingers.

Your shyness is still there, but the longer he dry-humps you, the crazier you become and you desperately need more from him.

So you pull down on your pants, bringing your panties with them, and undress yourself completely, except for your little white socks that you don't bother getting rid of. Jungkook has to stop his kisses and grinding, looking down at your uncovered pussy, wet and aching for him — solely for him.

You pull on his jeans, colliding both of your pubis together, arching your back again at the feeling of his hard and big cock against your sex. "Please, Jungkook," you beg quietly, sad puppy eyes looking up at him. "Put it in. Want to feel you."

Jungkook can't say no. "Of course, baby. Whatever you want," he agrees rapidly after, unzipping his pants, removing both his jeans and boxers.

You shiver at the sight of his big cock, standing tall against his toned stomach, his tip swollen and leaking so much pre-cum. It twitches in front of your eyes, as if telling you itself that it wants to be in your cunt so bad.

He grips his member with his tattooed hand, giving himself a couple of strokes, growing fully erect. He guides the tip of his cock to your pussy and you open your legs wider to welcome him. He swipes his cock head through your slicks, watching how it glistens so much, coating himself in your juices.

He circles your entrance with his tip and you moan softly, loving how he slightly enters and exits your hole, wanting you to get used to his prominent size. He eventually penetrates you after a few seconds of adjustment, leaning down and placing his hands on each side of your body.

You grip his biceps, sinking your nails into his skin adorned in colourful drawings, leaving small crescent forms behind. Your mouth hangs open, letting out quiet and soft moans. Jungkook groans, exhaling heavily when he bottoms out in you.

"You're so big," you gasp, but the stretch of your pussy is so good.

He starts to move, cock sliding in your cunt so smoothly without any barriers at how wet you are. His cheeks are flushed, tainted in a soft shade of red, his pretty brown eyes looking at where your two bodies connect.

"Sorry," he breathes out, seeing how your face is contorted in an expression of pain, or maybe pleasure, he's not sure. "I'll go slower..."

"It's okay, Jungkook," you reassure because even though it burns a little, it's not uncomfortable enough to make you want him to stop. "You can go faster, please," you say a bit shakily.

"Yeah? I can do that, you sure?" He asks, just to be sure and to tease you, of course. You nod your head immediately, letting out a little moan when Jungkook decides to unhook your legs from around his waist and bends your thighs over your belly. "Do you feel me, baby?"

You bob your head again, croaking out a low 'yes'. He picks up his pace, thrusting in you faster and harder, your tits bouncing up and down on your chest. In this position, you almost can feel him in your guts, going in so deep he repeatedly brushes over your sweet spot inside you.

You take a hold of your knees, keeping them bent for Jungkook, allowing him to have a better view and access to your soaking wet pussy. His hips roll swiftly over yours, precise and lithe, making you moan his name each time his skin comes in contact with yours in a harsh thrust.

He leans a hand on the wall behind you as he keeps pounding into you, boobs jiggling at how hard he goes on you. You don't mind it, on the contrary, it makes you feel so many new sensations. It's like everything is bubbling in your tummy, ready to explode and make you see stars.

He keeps hitting your sensitive spot, the knot in your stomach tightening as you clench and unclench around him, literally sucking him in.

"So tight, baby, shit," he curses, his dark eyebrows frowning as he looks at his cock entering and exiting your quivering hole. "Pussy's so good, fucking dripping wet," he comments, biting down on his pink bottom lip, silver piercings shining under the light of his dorm room.

"Jungkook, it's- I-" you stammer, your words not aligning correctly in your mind before saying them. The pleasure is so strong, something you've never felt before. Why do you feel like this?

Jungkook glances up at you, waiting for what you were about to say, but your eyes are shut, chest heaving rapidly. You frown, still trying to figure out this intense feeling unraveling at the pit of your stomach. There's one thing you know; he needs to continue fucking you because you don't want to lose this feeling.

"Keep going, keep going!" You say hastily, your back lifting up from the mattress. He listens to you, even going faster, literally sending you into heaven because the next thing you feel is certainly not real.

You let the pleasure of your orgasm take over you, knot snapping in your stomach. Your toes curl and you have to pass your arms around his shoulders, hugging Jungkook tightly as your high hits you like a brick.

Your thighs shake in his large palms and white spots appear in front of your eyes. You don't know what's happening for a fraction of seconds, his cock thrusting in you as a clear liquid floods out of your pussy.

Jungkook looks down in awe, seeing it coming out first as little droplets, then in bigger amounts, wetting his thighs and pubis. You haven't predicted this and neither has he.

"Fuck, that's the hottest thing I've ever seen..." He says, still surprised, but so turned on. It doesn't take much until he feels his own high coming close, your walls hugging him tightly enough to send him over the edge.

He steadies his hips over yours as you regain consciousness, feeling his cock twitch in you. He cums in your pussy, filling you up to the brim, both of your releases mixing together.

"Jungkook, I'm so... Oh, no," you grumble, feeling extremely embarrassed. You've squirted, if the wet puddle under your ass is any proof of it.

You hide your face with your hands, but he stops you from it, wanting you to look at him. "It's fine, baby, really," he coos softly, still nestled in you. "I don't mind. It was super hot, not gonna lie," he smiles, showing you his bunny teeth. "Didn't know I could do that... with my dick."

You roll your eyes, but still let out a genuine laugh. You didn't know either.

Outside of the dorm building, Jungkook calls you a taxi at the telephone booth. He kindly offered to pay for it, and you said yes.

You've got something different on; a white t-shirt with 'hurt lover' written on the front that you've stolen from Jungkook. It fits you loosely, but you don't really mind. It's warm and smells like him.

He comes back to you when he's done with the call, keeping you company until the taxi arrives. "Mind if I do?" He shows you a pack of cigarettes and you shake your head no.

He lights himself a cig, covering the flame of his lighter with a hand so the wind doesn't put it out. You watch him take the cigarette away from his mouth when the end has burnt, blowing the smoke out.

It's a bit chilly, the cold autumn breeze making you shiver. Jungkook leans his back against the brick wall and he opens his arms in your direction, inviting you to snuggle with him. "Come here," he smirks.

You place yourself in front of him and then lay your back against his chest. He passes his arm over your shoulder and you cling on it as he uses the other to bring the cig to his pink, soft lips. He tilts his head upward to spit the smoke out of his mouth so you don't accidentally inhale it.

You wait like this for a couple of minutes, enjoying each other's presence until your taxi is finally there and you have to leave him. You turn around to face him and he's already smiling at you. "Bye," he says, a bit of smoke coming out from his nostrils and mouth.

He gropes one of your ass cheeks as you lean in to kiss him on the lips. You squirm away and giggle, waving him goodbye.

ᵕ̈♡˳೫˚∗

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Jungkook: Love Letters 🔞

Royalty AU × Prince!Jungkook × Maid!Reader × Childhood friends to lovers × angst

In which Jungkook can only ever live a fever dream behind closed doors, while the world at day becomes more and more cruel.

Tags/warnings: angst, royalty, forbidden romance, so much angst, smut, jungkook wraps it up and so should you, longing, mutual pining, open ending

Length: no wordcount, short

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"Why do you always do that?" You ask Jungkook, who looks at you funnily for a moment, before he goes back to coloring.

"Do what?" He wonders, carefully running the tip of the red crayon over the paper.

"That thing, with your hand." You ask. Everytime he has to go, his mother would take his hand and lead him away. Whenever that happened, he'd always turn around, kiss his hand, and wave it towards you- a gesture you'd come to replicate by now.

"My mom said it means 'I'll see you again soon.' That's why." He explains proudly. "Woah, that butterfly looks so cool!" He exclaims, spotting what you've drawn on the same paper. You're a bit younger than him- and Jin, another servant's son and butler in training, had told you that his father had suggested you'd all enjoy the time you can play so freely for as long as you all can.

Because one day that'll all be over.

And while as kids you didn't believe it too much, you very much know now how true it had been, as you stand quietly in the corner with Jin, watching the royal family attend dinner.

Jin and you both are careful to have your eye out for anything the attending guests and family might need- your shoes quietly tapping on the floor as you walk towards the queen, refilling her glass of wine for her with well-taught movements.

You try hard not to glance towards Jungkook, who you know looks at you.

You refill his cup of water as well, not looking at him- it's forbidden, bad manners, especially with guests around, and he hates it. He wants you and Jin to even sit at the table with him, laugh and eat and just exist in the same world for a moment again, just like when you'd been kids. But that's impossible now, and he knows it.

The only way he can have you is in his chambers, late at night, when he's able to kiss you silly and steal your breath with his lips and actions.

You're so beautiful underneath him, bare body bathed in the moonlight shining through his opened curtains. He wishes you could even sleep here, rest next to him, but he knows that's too much to ask. He already has your love, owns your heart- and that's already dangerous enough in itself.

Because he's given you his own as well, and he knows it'll end up breaking.

But for now, as he brushes his lips over your collarbone, he doesn't want to think about it. He thinks about your hands on his arms, running over them and leaving goosebumps behind, as you wrap your arms around his neck. He likes being held by you. Even though you both have grown apart in physical appearance and hierarchy, you give him a sense of comfort he's never truly experienced before, not even from his own mother.

Because you love him, not his name.

And he loves you too, your entire being, as he enters you like so many nights before, condom wrapped around his length for safety- but he wishes he could one day have a family with you, marry you, but that's all wishful thinking.

You softly gasp at the feeling of his hips moving, legs wrapping around his waist underneath the sheets as you seem to need him closer. The kisses are clumsy, messy, but its okay like that.

Because that's how you love.

That's how he holds you close, speeding up his pace as he craves to see you come undone underneath him. You always cum so soft and sweet, so beautifully he can't ever get the image out of his head. You're his queen, even if reality tells him otherwise.

You'll always stay his queen.

He pushes himself in deeply, as if that would do anything for him; his seed spilling into the condom inside you whine your thighs spasm, core clenching around him as you finish as well.

You remember your first kiss in the royal kitchens, his lips on you for only a short time until Seokjin had caught you- luckily, because if it would've been anyone else, you surely would've faced dire consequences for your actions of bewitching the prince.

But he'd assured you time and time again, that it wasn't your fault.

It was no one's, he'd come to learn. Sometimes, love was fleeting, and other times, it was violent and merciless. And sometimes, love meant nothing in the eye of someone.

You leave him alone soon after he'd indulged in those intimate actions with you, breaking his heart every time, but he knows it's mutual. The true danger of your constant visits isn't set in your bones yet, it never has been, because the longing is simply too strong, overpowering any other taste of impending doom.

You've left your underwear in his room tonight.

There's nothing you'd not take as a consequence in return of his gentle touch.

But with routine comes comfort, and in comfort lies the danger of negligence. Of making mistakes, leaving traces, offering proof of your wrongdoings for others to find.

He doesn't know the problems it will cause soon. He's not yet aware of what this simple accident will bring over you both as soon as the maids come to clean up his chambers while he's out to practice and train as always. It'll devastate you both for sure, with one however at least being freed from the heavy burden sooner than the other, force of harsh reality one half of his heart as a punishment for his reckless love.

He doesn't know it yet.

But he soon will.

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✨🧡🌙SEND THIS TO OTHER BLOGGERS YOU THINK ARE WONDERFUL. KEEP THE GAME GOING ✨🧡 For all your support, likes, comments & reblogs, babe. I see you there! xx

My heart is so full I admire your talent sm !!!

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Thanks for the tag @qcswrites !!! <<33 :)

tysm for the tags my angels!!! @planet-marz1 @beardedjoel @futuraa-free i love you all so much!!!!!!

rules: remove one trope from each row

this was so fucking difficult because i love literally all of the tropes so much

np tags: @huffle-punk @chloeangelic @gasolinerainbowpuddles @lumoverheaven @ktheunready @punkette1026 @covetyou @chronically-ghosted

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cherry bomb | jungkook (m)

pairing: jungkook x fem reader

summary: “get fucked or die” becomes the motto to live by when a serial killer begins targeting virgins on your campus.

genre: smut, horror/slasher, college!au

word count: 7.1k

warnings: multiple minor character deaths, blood, gore, violence (including gun and knife use), mentions of alcohol consumption. virgin-shaming and slut-shaming, oral (fem receiving), riding, virgin!reader, first-time sex, protected sex, hair-pulling, biting, fingering, dirty talk, virgin kink/corruption kink, fuckboy JK. is JK a sub or a masochist here? answer: i don’t fucking know!

a/n: inspired by the movie cherry falls (2000). heed the warnings. remember that this is fiction, not meant to be entirely realistic, and characters' views/actions don't represent my own. if this kind of content is not up your alley just block me or make use of the wonderful filtering option in your account settings

sources for the fic dividers: one | two

link to part 2

CHERRY BOMB

don't wanna die? come out and hook up with a sexy girl or guy.

virgins get in free!

THIS FRIDAY

NOV 3, 20XX

[address here]

"very corny." you shake your head, looking at the party flyer in your hands. you'd just torn it down from the bulletin board in your dorm lobby; unauthorized advertisements aren’t allowed, and your job as RA involves these menial-ass tasks. "this is literally life or death...why are they turning it into a joke?"

"it is a joke," your friend camille says, snatching the flyer out of your hands to look it over. "think about it. 10 students get killed since we came back in august, and the semester isn't even over yet. the school administration and local police haven't done nearly enough to address it or stop any more deaths. and the common denominator is that all these people were suspected or confirmed virgins?” you haven’t seen the evidence yourself, but the daughter of one of the local policemen claimed every victim also had virgin carved into some part of their dead body. “yeah, i'd say it's a joke to pretty much everyone at this point. this is what happens when you let the students come up with a solution."

camille hands the flyer back to you, and you hold it limply. "but...it's not like you can look at someone and tell if they're a virgin. the killer must've known them all personally. it just doesn't make sense."

"some of those people had no mutual friends. nothing connecting them whatsoever. not even shared extracurriculars. it's gotta be a perverted stalker with a fetish, maybe. a scorned hacker who somehow got into their private conversations 'n' shit? or maybe he consulted the cards to know who’d fucked before and who hadn’t.”

“oh please.” you scoff. “now you’re being completely ridiculous. tarot cards aren’t gonna tell you if someone’s a virgin or not.”

“then you come up with a better explanation. either way, these folks—" camille points to the flyer "—aren't taking their chances."

"hm..." you keep staring at the flyer, looking at the shiny-red cherries, condoms, sex toys, and other sex-related objects decorating the paper. whoever designed this really wasn't playing.

"so, are you gonna go?" camille asks with a sidelong glance. "free admittance, after all."

your neck burns under the collar of your shirt. "are you?" neither of you have had sex yet, for differing reasons. camille's reason was almost complete indifference to the whole act.

she gives you a look that says i could give a shit. "...you know the answer to that one, dear. so you're not even thinking about it? as much as you have cried to me and lorelai about not being able to find a man you like enough to give it up for, our killer here probably already knows. you practically have a ‘come kill me’ bullseye on your back.”

"i don't know," you say, because you genuinely are thinking about it. “and stop trying to fucking scare me.” despite your logical brain trying to reason with you, you still feel a sense of underlying terror about being the next victim. "the virgin killer," as they'd nicknamed the freak, clearly prefers a specific type of victim, and all kills have been random and unpredictable other than that—and the fact that every victim attended your university. he also seems partial to using a knife on his victims, but even that isn’t guaranteed—3 of the 10 had been killed in ways other than stabbing. "i don’t know why you’re so nonchalant about this, though."

camille shrugs. "if he comes for me, i'll just spray him with my illegal mace and kick his nuts into his throat. then tie him up and wait for my dad to come blow his head off. there are some advantages to having a gun nut for a dad."

you chuckle at the absurdity of it. "you've got it all planned out, then."

--

FRIDAY, NOV 3

taking a rideshare to the party was a smart idea on lorelai's part, because the two little shots you took to pre-game already have you feeling woozy. or maybe it's just your nerves.

the cherry bomb is located at a mansion that isn’t really a mansion, but a large once-abandoned house one of the fraternities fixed up years ago for throwing off-campus parties.

the party is stacked wall to wall with people when you enter, though from what you can see, no one has actually started fucking yet—maybe they're saving that for the supposed orgy later in the night. you just hope you can get someone in one of the backrooms before that happens, because you're not really keen on having everyone in your class knowing what your tits look like.

you have one simple mission here tonight—lose your long-held virginity and get off the virgin killer's radar. once that's done, you'll make your exit.

"actually, i'm surprised anyone else showed up. other than you, who wants to willingly admit that they're still a virgin in college?" lorelai shudders. you roll your eyes and try not to feel offended, sucking your teeth.

"you were more than welcome to stay back at the dorm."

"no! i'm here for moral support, plus i don't want to be alone tonight. i don't care who this killer targets, it's getting too crazy out here to just be letting your guard down anymore."

well, you won't argue that.

you and lorelai dance to the song booming over the multiple speakers, scanning the room for potential hookups all the while. you become more alert when you recognize a familiar length of black hair coming through the front door, plus the tattoos and piercings to match.

you're not surprised jungkook came. he has his pick of untouched and easily corruptible virgins here, which has always been his thing; you've heard him brag about it to his seatmates more than once in your shared elective. not to mention the stories you've heard from the women who actually fucked him. as far as you could figure, it was the usual male ego posturing bullshit about being able to say he was someone’s first—and likely best. for that reason, alarm rises when he makes eye contact and starts making a beeline for where you and lorelai are.

"oh, here comes the campus bicycle," lorelai says, voice deadpan.

you continue watching him from the corner of your eye, trying to see if he's just approaching someone in your general vicinity, but no. once he shoves his way through the crowd of dancers, some unashamedly groping at his body as he does, he stops right in front of you two.

"so, are you here for the same reason i am?" he asks you, grinning like the devil himself. "or are you looking to get that sweet little cherry popped?"

the backs of your knees sweat. "um—latter, i guess." you hadn't meant to answer that honestly, but to say you are caught off-guard is understating it. you can count on one hand the number of times you and jungkook have talked to each other in class, and never about anything of this nature.

"you're not gonna ask me?" lorelai says.

jungkook gives a hearty laugh; you didn't think it was that funny. "everyone knows you're not a virgin, why waste my time?"

"wow, okay. fuck you. you're no saint yourself." she huffs.

"anyway…" jungkook returns his attention to you. "have you really never done anything before? not even sucked a dick? there's no way someone hasn't tried to hit that. not even some 'backdoor action only' like those weird religious girls?"

"is that any of your business? i didn't know we had to give a rundown of our lack of sexual experience before getting laid around here." you snap.

jungkook's eyelids lower a fraction. "i'm tryna decide how easy i should go on you, babe. i mean, if you wanna take this in one of the rooms. otherwise, i'll let someone else have a go if you're not interested."

unfortunately, you are interested, despite his overly blunt manner and objectifying language. even though you know you’ll just become another entry on his long list of flings—someone he’ll tell his boys about later—maybe the fear of death is making you impulsive.

but maybe his looks are playing a part in it, too.

he's imposing with his physique and his all-black attire, his shirt so tight that you can clearly see his pectoral muscles and his nipples, his unbuttoned leather jacket doing nothing to hide those details. you can easily imagine yourself running your hands across those pecs, squeezing them, rubbing your fingers against his nipples and making him moan underneath you, feeling and seeing his abs contract through this stupid-ass shirt that must've been painted on. this brief fantasy immediately dampens your panties.

"…i'm interested," you affirm, dragging your gaze back up to his eyes, and he smirks from knowing you were obviously checking him out.

knowing the direction this is going in, lorelai taps you on the back and whispers in your ear. “have fun but don’t do anything stupid, yeah? i’m not playing auntie to any offspring you and this dude pop out, sis. use protection.” then she makes her exit to go find herself a partner for the night.

“so, come on.” jungkook nods his head in the direction of the stairs, and you follow him through the crowd as he leads you up the winding staircase. you squeeze past two girls kissing on the staircase railing, their motions a bit unsure as if they’ve never done it before but clearly still enjoying themselves.

jungkook pushes a few doors in until he finds an empty room, and you try not to ogle at the random couples you see along the way. not even an hour in and the two shots must be wearing off, because your body is beginning to buzz with nervousness again.

jungkook closes the door behind him when you both step into the room, which is lit by one lamp on a nightstand and the open window beside the bed. he reaches for you, and you shiver when his hand grasps the side of your face, the other snaking around your waist.

“scared?” he asks, his voice low. you shake your head, and he grins. “relax.” he leans in as if to kiss you and you part your lips, but he doesn’t do that just yet. he traces your top lip and then your bottom lip with his tongue, dipping it into your mouth as he switches. the teasing nature of his actions makes your body heat up as you watch a string of saliva spread and then break between the both of you.

he presses back in for a real kiss this time, his nose bumping yours. despite all your fears about tonight, you’re able to unwind somewhat and just focus on the full sensory experience that is this kiss—the warmth of his hands and his mouth, the sappy sound your lips make when they separate and come back together, the scent of his cologne, the taste of his spearmint-flavored tongue.

you find yourselves inching toward the bed, him walking you backwards while keeping you steady. just as the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed, there's the sound of a woman's bloodcurdling scream from behind you, and you nearly shove jungkook to the ground in your haste to run to the door. your fingers are scrabbling at the doorknob when you hear a burst of laughter. a guy you don't recognize crawls out from under the bed holding his phone up, displaying a youtube video of the shower scene in the movie psycho, which is where the noise is coming from.

"that was funny as fuck." the guy laughs obnoxiously loud, holding his stomach. “don’t get too carefree or you just might die, girlie.”

jungkook grabs the guy by his jacket collar like he's a kid and throws him out the door; the guy doesn't object because he knows this is preferable to getting his ass beaten by the bigger man. "fuck outta here, you jackass." jungkook snaps.

jungkook stomps over to the closet to yank it open. "any more idiots in here wanna show themselves?" he checks a couple more areas before deciding the room is clear and closing the door again, locking it for good measure.

“okay.” he sighs, stripping off his jacket and shoes. he takes your hand and pulls you toward him as he sits on the bed. “relax, baby. forget about that fucking clown. come ‘ere. why don’t you sit on my lap?”

with a heavy exhale, you try to steady your still-shaking hands as you shuck your boots off and pull your dress up slightly to comfortably sit in his lap, your legs loosely wrapped around his waist.

he squeezes your waist. “so, where were we? i don’t really remember…”

you huff out a half-amused laugh. “really? i’m pretty sure it was this…” you lean forward with your hands on his shoulders and press your lips back onto his. jungkook follows in kind, his hands running up from your thighs to your waist and back again. the rhythm of his hands is hypnotic, distracting you as you try to keep most of your focus on the kiss, and you fear you may be getting overstimulated before anything has truly began.

as you continue kissing, jungkook’s hands creep your dress further up your thighs until your panties are revealed. still feeling up your legs, his hands press further toward your inner thighs, and you gasp into the kiss when his thumb pushes against the seat of your underwear. they have been damp for a while now and you know he knows this, so you aren’t surprised when he breaks the kiss to smirk, though it makes you roll your eyes.

jungkook whispers against your lips, “let’s try something. will you sit on my face?” you stare at him without a word, not expecting this to be the first thing he proposes. at your response, or lack of, he adds, “i want to make you feel good. do you want me to taste you?” his voice is so soft, so unassuming and cloying, that it makes you feel like a lamb clutched gently in the mouth of a wolf.

your brain is already surrendering to it. “yes.”

you get another kiss and a smile. jungkook moves you out of his lap, shuffles further up the bed, and lies down so that he’s flat on his back, his head surrounded by the pillows. he gestures for you to follow.

taking your time, you slide your panties off and crawl up the bed until you’re near his face and he’s lying below you looking like he’s struck gold. he grabs your hips to bring you closer until you’re right over his mouth. you’re embarrassed to have someone looking at you from this angle for the first time, and you’re about to get too into your head about it when he french kisses your inner thigh, blanking out your mind.

the only thing you know from then on is that his mouth is burning hot. his tongue is everywhere. he licks at you delicately to test the waters, and then more firmly when your thighs tremble around his head, in an effort to elicit the same response.

the way he fits his mouth over your entire pussy and sucks it with just the right amount of pressure so that it won’t hurt makes you feel faint. the way he slides the flat of his tongue over your clit only to suck it gently at the end of the stroke makes you cry out louder than you intended. you’re glad he moved further up the bed for this, because you’re holding onto the headboard for dear life.

the only things you’re aware of are your own out-of-control moans and the wet sounds of jungkook’s mouth working you over. all of it has you so overwrought that you’re already reaching your peak, your grip on the headboard weakening.

jungkook seems to know this without you telling him anything. he pauses and looks up at you with a fucked-out smirk and a wet mouth. you don’t know whether to thank him or curse him for giving you a break. “before you come, fuck my face.”

“wh-what?”

“rub that wet fucking cunt on my face.” heat flares through your body at his frank words. “grab my hair and just ride my face.” he reaches up to take your hands off the headboard and places them in his hair. “you can do it, baby. fucking use me.”

it takes you a minute to get over the fresh wave of embarrassment and find a pace that works, because the connection between your brain and body feels like it’s frying and your coordination is off. jungkook helps guide your hips, especially with how you’re trembling from pleasure and close to falling apart. soon enough, you’re letting go of yourself and moving your hips enthusiastically, if a little clumsily, and chasing your climax. you savor the feel of your clit sliding across his wet tongue and his soft hair in between your fingers, and you push his head as close as it can get.

you come while screaming, dizzyingly immersed in the pleasure. you forget that you’re holding his hair as you yank roughly on it. the only thing that matters to you is that jungkook’s mouth is still sucking your clit through the best physical sensation you’ve ever experienced.

when he finally lets go and gives you reprieve, you collapse beside him on the pillows.

“i’m sorry,” you mumble, disoriented. “about your hair, i mean?”

jungkook laughs. it’s funny how shiny-wet his face is—and that you caused it, which is kind of hard to believe in the aftermath of it. “the pain is what gets my dick hard. don’t worry.”

you chuckle breathlessly at that, and for a few seconds you both have that funny little moment to yourselves in all the ridiculousness of the overarching situation.

then jungkook’s hand is reaching for you again. “i’m not done with that pussy yet, though.” he brushes a finger over your hole, and your body twitches from the sensitivity. he slides that finger through the wetness and then uses the lubrication to push only the tip of his finger in. he dips it in and out, teasing the nerves at your entrance, until you’re shifting your hips closer to him to implore him for more. he grants your request by sliding his finger all the way inside.

having a finger inside you feels okay at first, though not as good as his actions a few seconds ago. jungkook decides to amplify your pleasure by placing his lips on your neck, leaving gentle and wet kisses behind, and you become all too aware of the feeling of your hardened nipples against the material of your dress. the pleasure begins to heighten when his finger finds a place inside of you that makes you throb, your walls clenching around him.

“ah…” you gasp and shift eagerly against his body as he keeps stimulating that spot, not thrusting his finger into you but simply stroking it across that area in a come here motion.

jungkook pulls away from your neck to smile at his handiwork. “that’s better, right?” he whispers, watching your reactions. your lips form around the word yes, though it’s difficult to try to speak, and you worry how unsteady your voice might sound. he waits until you’re clutching at his arm, leaving red lines on his skin from your fingernails, to carefully push another finger in beside the first. you try to breathe evenly, though his refusal to let up on that spot has your lungs stuttering for air all over again. his nose nudges your ear as he leans even closer and whispers, “there are so many different spots to find, so many different ways to make you come; i wanna go looking for them all.”

jungkook angles his hand so that his palm is also stimulating your clit, his fingers thrusting slowly now. you turn your head away from him as your body becomes ablaze, unsure what to do with yourself as your climax nears quickly.

“would you let me do that? learn your body like no one else has done?” he kisses the shell of your ear, and even that small action is enough to tip you closer to the edge with how your body is already so fired up. “who else could make you feel as good?”

this orgasm makes your eyes fill with involuntary tears, and little clear droplets bleed down the sides of your face and towards your ears as your body convulses. jungkook kisses the wet trails they make on your face, still fingering you steadily and forcing another urgent cry out of you. you feel untethered from yourself, like you’re not in control of your reactions, and you don’t know whether to be afraid of that or not.

jungkook pulls his fingers out when you have mostly calmed down, watching strands of your wetness drip between them before sliding them into his mouth.

after you come the second time, you begin to tire. the deeds have been done, and if you want, you can confidently go back out to the party now and say you’re no longer a virgin; you’re off the unofficial kill list and can live the rest of your days without having to look over your shoulder with every breath.

…but jungkook is hard against your hip, and in all honesty, you don’t want to leave without knowing what his dick looks and feels like.

“you tired?” he asks, and the casual air of it makes your stomach flip, for some reason. he says it as if this is something you two do all the time and he’s used to asking you this after wearing you out during a good session.

but now’s not the time to get delusional.

“no. i want more.”

jungkook smiles broadly, teasing his lip ring with his teeth. he sits up to peel that skin-tight shirt off, and you don’t bother to stop yourself from staring at all that skin in front of you. your eyes drop further down when he removes his belt and undoes his jeans, pushing his pants and underwear down enough for you to see his v-line but not taking them off. is that an invitation for you to do it? "you hold the reins here," he says, lying back on the bed again. "do whatever you want to me."

“whatever i want?” you repeat, already sitting up. he nods, hands behind his head, and you take the initiative to straddle him again, knowing you’re getting his jeans wet.

you reach for his pecs first, just like you’d imagined downstairs. the firm muscle of them is mesmerizing; but when you slowly circle your thumb against his nipple and his eyes flutter, a small and breathy moan escaping his lips, you’re sure you enjoy this much more.

you play with his nipples and even work up the boldness to purse your lips around one, sucking it softly, and every noise that arises from him makes your clit tingle.

you eventually move your hands to his abs, enjoying how they flex at your touch. you didn't think his navel would be pierced, not hearing that detail in any of the sex tales you've eavesdropped on about jungkook, and you wonder what else you might find out about him tonight.

“you should do your nipples to match.” you suggest it without much thought as you’re teasing his navel piercing, though you don’t regret saying it.

“would you be into that?” jungkook sounds like he’s actually considering it, watching you from below his lashes.

you grin. you don’t know if you’ll actually end up having sex with him again to see them, but you answer, “i’d love it…it’d be sexy on you.”

sliding your hands further down still, you come to the waistband of his underwear, which is peeking over the top of his lowered jeans. for a second the nervousness returns; jungkook notices how your hands twitch with hesitation. “it’s fine, i’m not gonna bite you…unless you ask me to, though. here.”

he slips a hand into his underwear and grips his dick, though he doesn’t take it out right away; he strokes the shaft a few times, observing your reaction with expectant and hazy eyes. the scene before you makes your mouth dry. jungkook quickens his pace, twisting his hand at the tip and using his own precum as lube, until you are overcome with the desire to see it and you pull his underwear out of the way.

his cock is thick and flushed and glossy with precum. you don’t have much to compare it to, but it’s a good size, and all the previous women have said that he clearly knows what to do with it. he releases it and it slaps against his abs, leaving a streak of precum behind. when you look at him in anticipation of what he’ll do next, he grasps it again and starts stroking himself quickly, like he’s trying to get off. the wet slap of his motions and his quiet groans make your walls clench.

“i could keep fucking myself and you could watch, since you seem to prefer it…” he murmurs.

“no, i—let’s go all the way.”

jungkook smirks and answers your decision by pulling a condom out of his jean pocket. you watch as he unwraps it and slips it down his cock. though you’re already straddling him, he grasps your wrist and encourages you to draw nearer to him. “come here, pretty thing.”

when you’re hovering directly over him, jungkook grips the base and teases his tip against your entrance. “ready?” he asks.

“yeah,” you say breathlessly.

it’s a little slow-going, but you eventually end up with him seated inside you. it’s uncomfortable to be taking something bigger than a couple fingers, but it isn’t terribly painful.

“now, try moving your hips like this…” with his hands on your hips, jungkook helps you grind against him so that your clit slides across his pubic bone with every move. the discomfort begins to ebb out of your mind after a little while of doing this, and you laugh quietly.

“i thought…i thought this doesn’t feel good for men,” you sigh, your eyes closing from the bliss of his firm abdomen stimulating your clit. “this grinding thing, you know. or so a friend told me…”

jungkook laughs too, but he doesn’t confirm it like you expect him to. his only answer is, “a sexy woman on my dick will always feel good.”

he seems to be more about showing than telling, anyway. his hands reach for your breasts, groping them over the fabric of your dress before sliding underneath for better access. sporadic moans escape you as he plays with your nipples, making your clit throb harder and sending more warmth pooling in your abdomen.

your breath wheezes out of you when jungkook starts pushing up into you, his hands still squeezing your breasts. “you’re okay, baby…” he tries a few different angles until he pulls a visceral reaction out of you, your walls fluttering around him and your body shivering intensely. “mmm, there it is.”

your motions start tapering off as jungkook continues thrusting up against that same spot that had you in tears earlier. noticing this, he slips one hand back down to your hip and encourages you to maintain your pace, keeping your clit stimulated while meeting his thrusts. “you’re doing good…” he murmurs. “go ahead, keep fucking me just like that.”

you’re glad lorelai makes you go to the campus gym with her every week, because otherwise you’d be about to collapse riding him for this long. it takes more of your strength and stamina than you’d expected. no wonder jungkook stays in the gym.

“oh, fuck…” the way all his muscles flex as he repeatedly pushes up into you makes you wetter; you no longer have the wherewithal to be embarrassed about the gushy noises your pussy is creating. your whole world has whittled down to this one room, and all you can think about is your next orgasm.

“pull my hair again,” he requests, his eyes dark and lost in lust when he looks up at you.

"jungkook..." you grip his sweaty hair in your hand and pull it to bare his throat, and he gives a desperate moan, his member jerking inside you. you've never felt so in control of a situation before in your life. it gives you a straight adrenaline-slash-dopamine rush.

his neck is just there and exposed, flushed from exertion, and his physical responses make you feel so primal, like you could do absolutely anything to him right now and he’d enjoy it. because of this, you decide to bite his neck, if only to give your mouth something to do. his dick twitches again when you do, another pretty moan leaving his mouth.

his voice is strained when he says, “bite me harder.” when you let go, your mouth travels the expanse of his neck to leave marks in a few other places, digging in harder just as he asked of you.

“fuck, y/n—” the pain of your teeth is pushing him close to the edge too soon, so he slips his other hand out from under your dress and brings it lower to circle his fingers over your clit. jungkook adding his experienced fingers to his constant stimulation of your g-spot is enough to cause your release. your body slumps onto his as you squeeze around him, your head falling into the juncture of his neck and shoulder and your eyes shutting so tightly that you see wobbling shapes in the darkness.

jungkook gives you a few more thrusts rougher than the rest, causing you to cry out. your climax and the aftershocks have your mind so dizzy that you only just realize that he’s reaching his own peak, his muscles tensing and relaxing as he fills the condom with his cum. you hear him groan next to your ear, the sound of it filthy and uninhibited.

jungkook lifts your head from his shoulder, his thumbs on your cheeks, and his lips meet yours in a final slow kiss, his teeth leaving their mark on your bottom lip as a parting reminder.

you're still trying to get your bearings and slide him out of you when jungkook suddenly says, "what is that noise?"

"huh?" you remain immobile for a moment so you can listen more clearly, and you recognize the sounds of screaming and feet pounding on the floors in a bid to run away—both upstairs and downstairs. these don't sound like the same screams of pleasure from earlier. "what the hell?"

you and jungkook scramble to collect your clothes and get dressed, thankful that neither of you stripped down completely, and he throws the used condom into a random corner of the room. you're still making last minute adjustments when jungkook stands up and unlocks the door.

"the fuck is—?" his voice cuts off as if he can't finish his thought.

"what? what is it?" you stand up to get a better view around his body in the doorway, and you scream when you see a lone blonde girl lying a few feet away from the door, slumped against the opposite wall with a slashed throat. her pink party dress bleeds red, and her face that catches the illumination of the string lights glints with tear tracks. you look away from her unseeing eyes before you can cry out again.

jungkook seems confused, peering down the other end of the hallway like there'll be someone there to explain. "it...didn't work?" he asks to no one in particular, as you have no answer. you walk farther back into the room as if putting more distance between you and the body will provide some protection. bumping against the window sill, you turn around to look out the window and see several cars peeling out of the makeshift grass parking lot, nearly running over other people or hitting other cars on the way. you release a stifled scream from behind your hands when someone is too disoriented to get out of the way of the speeding cars and is sent flying through the air before landing painfully, their body now unmoving. the offending car never stops to check on them.

the screaming downstairs worsens, countless voices rising to a fever pitch of shouting and wailing, and you imagine this must be what the pits of hell sound like. jungkook whips around to look at you. “we gotta get the fuck out of here.”

you two inch out of the room with him in the lead, peering into jarred-open doorways to see if anybody could be waiting in the shadows. there are a couple of other bodies in two other rooms, and you wonder—even with the loud music constantly reverberating through the house, did you really not hear the struggles that led to these deaths in your throes of passion? the thought unnerves you. the idea that maybe you were only saved by jungkook deciding to lock the door…

the stair railing you’d walked by an hour ago is now broken in the middle, splinters of wood lying scattered on the stairs, along with more bodies lying on the steps just as haphazardly. the scene looks like the remnants of a stampede; you hope most of these people are just unconscious and not dead.

the dancefloor is a swarm of people in various states of undress pushing and pulling each other as they rush for the exit. there’s not as many people heading for the back door, everyone attempting to squeeze through the main entrance in their unthinking panic, so jungkook grabs your arm and the two of you pick your way through the bodies to get down the stairs as best you can. when you enter the mass of people, you’re exceptionally glad for his strength because it’s easier to get through the opposing crowd.

to reach the back door, you must first get through the kitchen. beside the kitchen entrance in a dark corner, you see someone doubled over and grasping the person in front of them for stability.

you realize belatedly that they have a knife in their stomach; the other person standing over them is the virgin killer himself, calmly watching them suffer.

the killer’s face is hidden by the mask he always wears, which you are seeing for the first time now, up-close—a hairy werewolf head with lemon-yellow eyes and a candy-red tongue. it’s so unexpected that you would’ve found it comedic if not for the context.

a guy in a blue sweater grasps the killer from behind in an attempted surprise attack, causing him to jerk the knife out of the other person’s stomach. the sudden movement causes a spray of blood to come flying off the knife, and you have to hold back vomit when drops of the warm, stinking crimson hit your face. though it feels like time has slowed to a mere creep, all of this happens within seconds.

you don’t see much more before jungkook is forcing you to move again.

you, jungkook, and multiple others barrel out of the back patio door, nearly ripping the flimsy screen door off its hinges in your haste, while the classmate in the blue sweater fruitlessly struggles with the killer in the kitchen. your leg muscles flex harder when you hear the person's agonized shout and the mushy rip of flesh being torn seconds later. almost everyone else has taken the same idea to run for their lives rather than stay and try to fight or disarm the killer; the streets are dotted in every direction with students running for any possible safety, many not having arrived to the party in cars to escape in.

thankfully, jungkook is not one of them.

he grasps your wrist painfully hard in his panic and yanks you in the direction of his car, which is so pitch black that you almost didn't see it sitting in the shadows.

when you get inside, you've never been so grateful to be within the safe metal enclosure of a car in your whole life. hands shaking, jungkook jams the key into the ignition and presses the gas pedal so hard your head jerks against the headrest. however, in your temporary relief, you think of lorelai. your vision doubles as you scramble to open your phone and call her, your head spinning with a new spike of fear. it rings for a while with no answer, and you try two more times only to get the same result.

"maybe she got to safety somewhere else?” jungkook tries to reason with you, his eyes bouncing between your face and the road ahead so he doesn't hit any other cars or any random students still running across the streets. "i didn't see her anywhere in the house before we ran out."

"that just means she could be hiding somewhere in there!" you shriek, unable to control your terror at your friend possibly being trapped in the house with the killer.

"well—maybe just let her stick it out, he won't find her if she just—"

"oh god, but i called her like three fucking times; what if he heard the phone ringing? i'm gonna kill myself."

“y/n, you’re overreacting like shit, there’s no way he’d hear a phone ringing in all that noise—"

unlistening, you drop your phone and bang your fists on your head in frustration and anguish.

sighing deeply, jungkook forgoes any attempt to do a 3-point turn, which requires more coordination than he has at the moment, and drives straight up into someone's yard to make a U-turn back toward the house.

you hadn’t gotten too far from the party house, so in another minute or two and with a couple messy turns that cause the wheels to ride up onto the curb, you’re back on the street leading up to the house. before you can reach it, though, jungkook slams on the breaks, and you have to throw your hands out onto the dashboard to avoid flying into it due to not fastening your seatbelt. you’re not very successful; the move hurts your wrists, and you’re pretty sure some of your ribs just got bruised anyway.

“what the fuck?” jungkook shouts.

the virgin killer with his lycanthrope mask is standing in the middle of the street; he turns to face the car. he has a chokehold grip on a guy you recognize as a popular frat member, who is almost bare except for his blue-plaid boxers. you remember seeing the frat guy dancing with his girlfriend when you and lorelai initially entered the party; he was in the group of guys who put this whole party together as a way to “save” the campus’s virgins.

the virgin killer is holding a gun to the guy’s head, and you have no clue where he might’ve gotten it from. the guy’s demeanor is weak, and he’s barely able to stand, which is obviously from the profuse blood loss he’s suffering; the killer has carved sharp letters into his stomach to form two words—“FAIR GAME.”

“fair game?” you mumble, a sickly realization forming in your mind.

“fuck no—" jungkook is already throwing the car into reverse when you hear and see the first bullet go off, exploding the frat member’s head into an unrecognizable mess and making you scream at the top of your lungs. you hear more shots after you close your eyes and tuck your body down, along with the sounds of bullets splitting metal and hitting glass, and you think you might be actively dying—or maybe you’re already dead. even that would be preferable to experiencing this nightmare.

you can’t think as you feel the whole world spinning, your body tossed violently around. in reality, the only thing moving is jungkook’s car as he whips the vehicle around and speeds down the same street you just traveled up.

for a few long minutes, you only hear your own heartbeat, his murmured and frantic curses, and the strained breaths coming from both of you. you keep your body curled up with your knees tucked to your chest and arms over your face. the car’s engine roars as it races down the highway.

you’re afraid to open your eyes and find out, but you have to at some point. plus, the uncomfortable position is making your body hurt. carefully, you unfurl yourself and turn to look at him. “did you get hurt?”

“uhh—no? i don’t think…?” he takes one hand off the wheel to feel up his body as if he’s just realizing that might be a possibility. “but i’m wired off pure adrenaline right now, so give me a few more minutes to be sure…” he looks to you. “are you?”

“no.” your blood still runs cold at the thought of lorelai being stuck in the house or navigating the dark neighborhood streets at this time of night. maybe she doesn’t even have her phone; maybe it was lost in the commotion. the number of possible scenarios makes you ill.

there’s silence for a while; you assume he must not be hurt after all. you start seeing familiar roads that lead back to the campus, and the gears in your mind begin turning, powered by fear.

“do you think it’s safe to go back to the college?” you ask, your voice small.

after a pause jungkook asks, “why not?” though his face begins to look like he’s second-guessing things.

“the killer could go back to the campus…i don’t know. there was so much violence tonight. it’s like he really has a grudge against the students from our school or something. what if he wants more victims? the campus police are already incompetent, but with most of them off the grounds and on their way to the party house…” you don’t finish your thought. you’ll need to warn camille of the potential danger.

“right, yeah…” jungkook’s hands flex around the steering wheel a few times. “we should…probably go somewhere else, then.”

nowhere feels safe. still, you ask, “where?”

changing his route, jungkook glances over at you. “to a friend’s house.”

---

SOBBED

seven storms (jjk) (m)

summary: As a young woman of considerable wealth, it has always been your father's expectation that you would marry one of the local aristocrats once you came of age. Your family's stable hand? Certainly not an option.

pairing: Jungkook x Reader

rating: 18+ (MINORS DNI)

genres: forbidden love, angst, a bit of fluff, also a bit of smut

word count: 9.0k

warnings: ambiguous time periods, oc’s mom passed away when she was a child, parental strain and turbulent relationships, it’s not explicitly stated but bang sihyuk is oc’s dad, find the ‘seven’ reference, BRIEF SMUT (in the form of missionary, cowgirl, and implied unprotected, which you should not do)

a/n: this one is for the obs discord server, who came up with this plot and then flattered me until i agreed to write it lol

MASTERLIST // Read on ao3

It begins with a clap of thunder.

The dark clouds had rolled in quickly during your morning ride, the rain holding off on its looming descent even as the wind picks up and throws strands of hair across your face. You try to cling to every minute you have left before the downpour, savoring your alone time and the peaceful quiet of the morning. It may even be worth getting a little wet, you think as you watch the new stable hand effortlessly sling a bay of hale over his shoulder, for the chance to savor every moment of your daily ritual before the weather inevitably forces you back inside.

You love the simple pleasures of fresh air and the soft rustle of the grass.

Jungkook glances at you from afar as he continues his work, and even at this range, you can see his muscles shifting under the fabric of his shirt. It’s been roughly a month since your father hired him to tend the stable on your family’s estate, and while he hasn’t been unpleasant, giving you a friendly but silent nod each day as you prepare for your ride, he’s mostly kept his distance.

Today, however, is a different story entirely as a boom sounds out above your head. Your horse, a young stallion named Bam who is still being broken, startles at the noise and begins to nervously pace, tamping down the dirt under his hooves. The reins wrap tighter around your fingers as you attempt to take firmer control, but when a second crack emanates through the sky, the horse begins to buck in an attempt to throw you off.

The laws of physics cease to exist, time simultaneously speeding up and slowing down as you work to maintain your balance, clenching your muscles around the horse's back. A particularly violent whip of his head rips the reins free, and all you can do is try to flatten yourself to his back and hold on for dear life.

A pair of unfamiliar hands shoots into your peripheral vision, stroking firmly at the stallion's head and neck until he's easing back down, his erratic motions steadying until you can safely sit back up and face your rescuer.

"Are you alright?" His eyes scan your body for injury, moving from your face all the way down to your toes and back up.

You use the time to perform your own appraisal. The first thing you notice is that while he had immediately struck you as handsome when you first saw him around the property, he’s even more attractive up close: all soft eyes, perfect lips, and a tiny scar on his cheek that only adds to his allure. Add to that strong arms, broad shoulders, and a section of clearly-chiseled chest peeking out of his shirt, and you have to admit to yourself that you’re already halfway gone.

“Y/N?” His eyebrows dip as he frowns, clearly suspecting some kind of head injury as a result of your silence.

“You know my name.”

His expression turns quizzical at your bizarre answer. “I work for you. Of course I know your name.”

“You work for my father.”

“And you by extension.”

Your spine stiffens with rebellion. “I have no interest in bossing men around.”

“Why not?” He taps his knuckles on the saddle. “I see you come out to ride every morning. I could certainly tack up a horse for you in advance.”

“Because I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself.”

His perfect lips curl at the edges. “I don’t doubt that.”

Your heart stutters a rhythm behind your ribcage, voice muted by the appearance of a dimple that dips into his left cheek. It’s not often you find yourself speechless, and the sheer unfamiliarity of it has you on the brink of a flight response; you begin to gently guide your horse back towards the stable, Jungkook walking at your side. To your surprise, he doesn’t stay quiet.

“So how long have you been riding?”

You peek down at him, but he’s not looking at you as he scratches the stallion under his muzzle. “Since I was five,” you say. “My father arranged for private instruction after my mother died. Thought I could use the distraction.”

You figured he already knew about your mother’s passing due to her absence from the estate, and his unfazed expression seems to confirm as much. Still, in a gentle voice he says, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You didn’t make her sick.” Another low rumble echoes through the sky, but Jungkook is prepared, already smoothing his hand over the Bam’s neck again. “What about you? How long have you worked with horses?”

He chuckles, and your belly warms. “Since before I could walk. I grew up on a ranch. Have probably spent more time around horses than people—not that I’m complaining.” A shrug pulls his shirt tight across his bulging shoulders. “Animals are better company, in my opinion.”

“You say while striking up conversation with a stranger.”

Pink blooms on his cheeks, but, to his credit, he recovers quickly. “Beautiful women are the exception.”

Heat rises to your own face, and you choose to ignore his comment as much as it has butterflies taking off behind your bellybutton. “I understand what you mean though. That’s why I’m out here every day.”

“You like the outdoors?”

“Very much,” you say. “The smell of the wind, the feeling of the sunshine on my skin and the earth under my shoes. I like to ride down to the sunflower fields and watch how they turn themselves towards the light. There’s a strange sense of kinship there.” You’re not sure what drives you to share all this with a man you’ve just met, but the way he nods along as if he agrees sets your heart at ease. “And the horses are, in fact, good company.”

He laughs again, tipping his head back to look at you. His dark hair brushes his forehead, jaw cutting so sharp a line that the temptation immediately hits to trace it with either your fingers or lips—you’re not sure which. You don’t even care if you’ll bleed.

It strikes you at that moment that you’re in a world of trouble.

The skies open up, the rain instantly pouring down in fat drops as you briskly rush your horse the rest of the way into the stable, Jungkook hot on your heels. You dismount once you’re inside and begin to untack the stallion, moving the reins up and over so you can remove the bridle first. Jungkook quickly steps in to help unhitch the saddle, and while you’d normally be inclined to make a fuss about how you can handle your own gear, you find that you much enjoy his quiet companionship. You like watching the way his gentle hands artfully work to simultaneously manage the equipment and relax the horse, giving the sense that he’s offering assistance only because he loves his work and not to patronize you as a woman (you’ve seen one too many men try to step in because they believe you to be incompetent).

Once Bam has been settled into his stall, you turn back to your companion and are met with big brown eyes already gazing at you, hands stuffed into his pockets.

“Thank you for your help today,” you say. “I may be an experienced rider, but that also means I know enough to understand that you likely saved me from an injury earlier. So thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure.” He looks suddenly subdued, nervous now without the horse as a buffer. “And if I may be forward, I hope I made a good first impression. I wouldn’t want a beautiful woman like yourself to think I overstepped.”

“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned beautiful women now. You speak with them a lot?”

“Not recently,” he says, dimple making another appearance. “Only one.” His voice drops a decibel, flirtation giving way to sincerity. “But truly, I do just like to help. I am sure you are perfectly capable, but just because we can do something doesn’t mean we always need to do it alone. If I can help ease a burden, then I would like to do so.”

Warmth floods through you like the rain currently running off the roof, and before you can even think about it any further, you find yourself nodding. “Very well.”

The smile he gives you brightens your day more than a hundred miles of sunflower fields ever could.

“I won’t keep you then.” He begins walking backwards towards the troughs where most of the horses have currently congregated. “But I do very much look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

You do, too. And when you show up to the stable the next morning (and the next, and the next), you already have a horse saddled up for you, a single sunflower resting on the seat.

Raindrops clatter in endless sheets off the metal roof of the stable, the ringing sound blending with the blasts of thunder and lightning overhead to mask your groans as Jungkook steadily thrusts into you.

It’s been three months since your flirtation culminated in you asking him to join you for a ride one morning.

Three months since he accompanied you down to the sunflower fields, pulled you into their depths, and kissed you like his life depended on it.

Three months since the rain became your closest friend, providing you the cover you need for your more intimate moments—such as this evening when you’d arrived at the stables to find him laying down a fresh layer of straw, the flex of his arm insisting that you needed him now.

The patter of the rain ensures his moans are for your ears and your ears alone.

“Do you think the horses mind?” he mumbles into the sensitive skin of your neck as he presses even deeper into you and steals your breath, his hands cupping your ass as he grinds his hips.

“I doubt it,” you gasp, digging your nails into his back. “They’ve kept secrets for me before.”

He laughs, and you relish in the feel of the vibration of his chest pressed to yours, as if the sound is being passed directly from his lungs to your heart. “Am I your secret then?”

“My favorite secret.”

He pulls back to look at you then with wide eyes. You don’t know when it happened, when he became the absolute center of your universe, but you also know that you’ve never been this happy in your life, never felt as whole as you do with him. So you stare at him right back, absorb every angle of his face as he brushes the hair away from your eyes and kisses you with an unusual delicacy in comparison to the rough pace of his hips.

“I love you.”

It’s not the first time he’s said it, but your blood heats as if the words are brand new.

He rises up above you then, leans back so he can bend your knees to your chest and pound into you in earnest, and you’d swear the roof has disappeared and you can see every star in the sky. Galaxies swirl, planets align, and it’s not long before you’re falling over the edge and he’s following you with a deep groan—a harmony to the thunder that surrounds you.

The two of you collapse into a heap, and he pulls you into his side, your cheek pressed to his still-heaving chest. It’s serene, the consonance of his breathing alongside the tapping of the rain and the occasional snuffle from the horses.

“So, the horses are keeping secrets for you, huh?” It’s a quiet question, vulnerable as he gazes at you with tender devotion. The same stars you saw minutes ago twirl in his eyes. “Can I be told one?”

“Are you a horse?”

A breath of a laugh: “Well you’ve certainly ridden me before.”

He has a point there.

You hum to yourself as you think before asking, “What is your dream?”

“What does that have to do with—“

“Answer mine, and I’ll answer yours.”

Calloused fingers trace patterns on your hip, a faraway look taking over his expression as he envisions some distant future. “To own my own farm,” he says. “I want to be my own boss. No more having to serve others.” A smile dances at the corners of his mouth. “And I’d be able to provide for my family—have a few kids and teach them the ropes, just like my dad did with me.”

Your brow dips in confusion. “You won’t inherit your father’s farm?”

“No, it’ll go to my older brother.” He squeezes your hip on a sigh. “If I want my own farm, it’s up to me to earn it.”

“You’ll do it,” you say, and you believe it with every fiber of your heart. “I know you will. You’re the hardest working man I’ve ever met.”

It’s not a lie by any stretch. You’ve spent plenty an afternoon telling your father that you’re going to read out on the veranda as it gives you an inconspicuous way to watch Jungkook work. He’s diligent, tireless, and you’ve often used the need to bring him water as an excuse to go down and spend time with him, seeing the sweat drip off his forehead as he single-handedly trains and cares for the horses.

His eyes become glassy, a gruff clearing of his throat as he pushes the tears back and grazes his lips over yours in a gentle kiss instead. “Thank you.” But before you can deepen the kiss and distract him, he shifts ever so slightly away, a glint in his eye. “Now you.”

You puff a sigh into his chest—bold of you to think you’d be able to sneak one past such an observant stare. Still, your secrets don’t usually come forth easily, buried deep within the cavity of your ribcage so even you don’t have to dwell on them too long.

Something about those doe eyes, though, render you ever vulnerable.

“Mine is similar to yours. I want to be my own boss.”

His brows pull together. “No one would expect a lady like you to work.”

“Not for a job, for my life,” you say, irritation forcing the words from your lips now. “I don’t want my father to dictate the path my life takes. I want to choose it, whatever it is, for myself. To be in charge of my own fate.”

Jungkook is quiet for a long moment, teeth dipping into his lower lip as he considers your words. It’s something else you’ve grown to love about him, the way he stops and thinks before he reacts. So unlike your father who has always been nothing but big emotions and snap judgments.

“What would you choose?” is the question he eventually comes out with, and the pads of his fingers trace the jut of your hipbone like he’s memorizing it.

Well that’s another matter entirely. “I don’t know. Just not what my father wants for me.”

“And what would that be?”

“To marry one of the rich dandies in town,” you blurt, and his hands still. “That’s always been the expectation that’s been set since I was a girl—that my family would arrange a suitable match for me.” You’re practically spitting now, anger simmering through you. “Suitable, of course, meaning wealthy.”

“Is that so bad?” He asks it quietly, insecurity poorly masked in the way his voice trembles ever so slightly. “Some people would do almost anything to be in your position.”

You scoff. “There’s more to life than money.”

“Like what?”

“Fresh air, sunshine, the smell of the morning dew.” You tap his chest with everything you list off, as if they’re all housed within the framework of his torso. “The sound of the rain bouncing off windows, the bright yellow of sunflowers after their first bloom, watching a foal get its legs under it for the first time. Love.” You press your hand to his heart with that one, feeling the strong beat of it under your palm. “That’s the greatest thing.”

He snags your fingers, bringing them to his lips and kissing each one in succession before his hand slips into your hair so he can join his mouth with yours. The kiss is slow, thorough, his tongue trailing along your lower lip with determination as he drags you across his body until you’re straddling him.

“You’re right about that,” he murmurs before gripping your waist tightly so he can push back into you, the rain pouring on and on.

“No!”

Your father stands up so suddenly that his chair topples over with a crash, Jungkook sitting across from him wearing a look of even-keeled surprise; his eyes widen a fraction, but his overall posture remains resolved and confident.

“You dare have the audacity to even ask—“ He chokes on his words, spit flying from the edges of his lips, before pointing a finger towards where you stand stunned in the corner. “And you! You’ve been fraternizing with this riffraff? After everything I’ve taught you? Everything I did to raise you? You go and choose to associate with this—this—“ You’re worried his eyes might fall out of his head with the way they bulge as he grasps for a word, vein in his neck visibly thumping as he finds it. “Lowlife!”

“You’re wrong!” you scream as Jungkook continues to sit quietly at the dinner table. You’ll be damned if you’d just stand by and allow him to be spoken about in that way. “He’s an incredible man. He works hard, he’s respectful, and he loves me, Father. Not because of my money, but because I’m me.” Your steps echo off of the tall, looming arches of the ceiling as you move closer to Jungkook. “And I love him.”

“No, no, absolutely not. You’re only twenty years old. You don’t even know what love is,” your father barks before turning his beady eyes on Jungkook again. “You’ll never marry my daughter. You do not have my permission nor my blessing. That’s final.”

“Father—“

“You’re also fired,” he spits. “You can say goodbye and that’s the end of it. I want you off my property.” Then he’s storming out of the dining room, leaving you and Jungkook in heavy silence.

It’s only a handful of seconds before Jungkook is rising to his feet and striding from the room and out the front door, you hot on his heels. The steady drizzle soaks your clothes in a matter of moments, but you don’t even feel the way they cling to your skin, focused solely on the man in front of you.

“Jungkook!” you call, but he doesn’t respond, doesn’t turn to face you until you manage to grab ahold of his hand and tug.

You thought he’d be distressed, angry, perhaps even crying. Instead, you’re met with intensity, a fierce determination simmering under the warm brown of his irises as his gaze bores into yours and almost has you faltering.

“Jungkook, I…” You wring your hands in front of you, watch the rain run in rivulets off the ends of his hair. “We can make it through this. I can convince him—“

“You can’t.”

You huff in frustration. “Then we’ll run away together! I’ll come with you and we’ll—“

“No, Y/N.” He stills the frantic movements of your hands with his own, drawing you towards the warmth of his body until you’re nearly chest-to-chest. “I have no savings right now, no way to support the two of us. We’d be out on the street in a matter of days.” He shakes his head, brushes a kiss to your knuckles. “No. You need to stay here for now. But this isn’t the end of us, I swear to you. I am going to work myself to the bone—until I have nothing left to give. Until I can buy my own farm, my own house, and give you everything you need.” Your foreheads press together, drops of water clinging to his lips and drawing your eye as he speaks. “I will provide for you someday, love you to the best of my ability. Just give me time.”

The heavens open above you, the relentless downpour backed by the cacophony of the skies as you finally move to kiss him. He tastes of rainwater and sweat, the fragrant aroma of sunflowers and nights spent tangled together in the stables. You savor the feel of his lips against yours, commit to memory the way his tongue begs for entrance, the way you grant it with a groan that feels like both a prayer and a curse.

With a final, resounding crack, he’s pulling away as you cling to the rough skin of his fingertips until the very last fraction of a second, arms stretched to their absolute limit. And when he turns his back on you, shirt plastered to his skin, you’d swear you can hear the horses raging in the stable, the rumble of hooves and agitated whinnies ringing in your ears long after he’s disappeared from view.

The first letter comes on a Wednesday roughly six week later, written on carefully folded parchment paper in small, neat handwriting. It surprises you, coming from a man who spends all day tending horses and tossing around hay bales. You receive the letter from the carrier quietly, rushing it up to your room and waiting to read until the concealment of night has fallen and you’re confident your father has gone to bed.

My Love,

I must admit that I am not quite sure how long it has been since I last saw you. Perhaps only a handful of weeks, surely, but every hour, minute, and second has felt like an eternity. I miss you, sweetheart. I miss the sound of your laugh. I miss the way you’d look each morning, strolling down from the house with a bounce in your step and the early sunshine bouncing off of your hair. Or perhaps you are just that radiant. I would believe it, you know, that light emits from your very smile, and I know I feel warmer whenever I am around you.

Look at me; look at the man you've turned me into. I've always considered myself a simple being, glad to indulge in the dirt and physical labors of the outdoors, and yet you have me waxing poetic like one of the men in those romance novels you would always pretend to read on the veranda. (Yes, my dear, I noticed. Your stares are not so subtle.) I am lovesick, homesick, and it’s all because of you. Because my life truly began the day I looked up and saw Bam struggling with you on his back and just knew I had to help you (tell that dear beast that I miss him by the way).

Now, I must live my life forlorn, but not without purpose. Please know that I am doing everything in my power to get back to you, and I will not rest until I am holding you in my arms again. I have secured a job at a ranch several towns over; it’s good work with decent pay, and every cent that does not go towards the barest necessities is being saved for us. One day, my love. One day we will have a house and a farm, and I will be able to love you openly, with no need for secrets or the cover of rain.

In the meantime, just know how terribly I miss you, and though we are separated by distance, I hold you in my heart each day. On my way each morning from my lodgings to the ranch, I pass by a field of sunflowers. I know it cannot possibly be true, but it feels like every golden face turns towards me as I go, and darling, I’d swear I see you in every one.

One day, my love.

Until then, always yours,

J.K.

It becomes something of a ritual: while you used to spend your days out on the veranda pretending to read so that you could watch Jungkook from afar, you now settle on the front porch with a book each afternoon in the hopes of catching the local mail carrier. Jungkook’s letters come slowly but consistently every couple of weeks, and each time a letter does arrive, you spend the night drafting your own by candlelight to send back to him.

He tells you about his new job, how he’s working on a larger farm now with several other laborers. The veterans are kind to him and teaching him a lot, he says, and it eases the ache in your heart a fraction to know that he seems happy where he is and well taken care of. You write back about your favorite books that you’ve been reading and how the horses have been (you insist that you can tell Bam misses Jungkook too). But both of your letters are saturated with sentiments of love and how dearly you miss each other, reminding yourselves that every day that passes is one day closer to you two being reunited, whenever that may be.

Your father, meanwhile, proceeds as if Jungkook never existed, hiring a new stable hand who begins his work mere days after Jungkook has left. This man is middle aged, gray already streaking through his hair, and you can’t help but feel it’s a deliberate choice on your father’s part lest you fall for another lowly laborer. And though you know it is not his fault, you barely speak with the man outside of a few curt pleasantries when you go for your ride each morning.

You persist in your morning rides out of habit, but you find that they don’t bring you the same kind of joy that they used to. The grass isn’t quite as green, the air is often stifling, and the sunflowers droop where they used to stand tall against the blue skies. On one day, roughly six months after Jungkook’s firing, you’re once again forced back inside early due to rain, the storm dampening your already dreary mood. It takes a turn for the worst when you hear your father call your name the moment you step in the door and plummets entirely off a cliff when you trudge into the dining room to see a man sitting at the table.

Seokjin is not entirely unfamiliar to you—your families run in the same circles after all—but he is ultimately little more than a stranger, the two of you having only exchanged a handful of polite words at dinner parties and the like. All that you truly know of him is that he is the heir to the wealthiest trading company on this side of the country and that his father is expected to transition the entire operation to him over the next few years.

Even so, Seokjin greets you with a sense of intimate familiarity, standing at your approach and brushing his lips against the back of your hand before you can stop him.

“A pleasure to see you, Y/N, as always.”

You know that social etiquette requires you to return the sentiment, but instead, you find yourself looking between Seokjin and your father, trying to figure out his purpose here.

“What is going on?”

Your father grimaces at your rudeness but opts to ignore it. “Seokjin has come here with a rather exciting opportunity, Y/N, if you would take a seat and listen to him.”

However, you remain standing, spine stiff and wary eyes shifting to the man in front of you with his finely tailored clothes and perfectly combed hair. He, for what it’s worth, doesn’t cower under your stony gaze, maintaining an air of utmost confidence as he states, “Y/N, I would like for you to marry me.”

“No.”

Your answer is immediate and blunt, coming so quickly that Seokjin barely reacts—only the tiniest dip of his mouth as if he doesn’t believe he heard you correctly. But your father leaps to his feet, face red with shock and frustration.

“Y/N, you sit down and listen to the man.”

“I don’t need to listen,” you snap. “My answer is no.”

Seokjin registers your words then, face morphing into a deep frown of disbelief as your father hurries to intervene, grabbing you around the arm to pull you out of the dining room and turning on you the moment you are out of earshot.

“Insolent girl! That man will soon be one of the most powerful in the country—nay, the world! Do you understand the opportunity he is offering you? The life he is offering? How dare you refuse him!”

“Whatever life he is offering is one I want no part of,” you argue, pulling your arm from his grasp to wrap them across your chest. “I have no interest in being married to a man like that. I want to be with someone who loves me.”

He goes deathly still for a moment, drawing connections in his head until you see the moment the realization hits him. “This is about that lousy stable boy, isn’t it?”

You say nothing, only hug yourself tighter and try to swallow down the sudden lump in your throat.

“That’s it, yes? You’re still holding onto some hope that he will come back for you and what? The two of you will go off and live in some hovel? What could he possibly offer you?” he snarls. “No, Y/N. That vermin is gone. You have a chance—a real chance—at a future here, and I’ll be damned if I let you throw it away for the idea of some lower class scum.”

As his words sink in, a chill passes through your body that’s quickly replaced with a white-hot anger, your hands dropping to your sides as you straighten your back in defiance.

“Whether Jungkook returns or not,” you assert, “please be assured that I will never, ever, marry one of your suitors. I will die before I become a mere pawn for your business deals.”

Your father stares at you incredulously, eyes practically bursting from his head. “Business deals? I am looking out for you. So that you can live the luxurious life a child of mine deserves.”

“The life I deserve is the one which I want,” you exclaim. “And these rich dullards are not it.”

Final word given, you spin on your heel in emphasis and march off to your room, leaving your father to clumsily patch things up in the dining hall with a humbled and deeply befuddled Seokjin.

The letters stop two years in.

A month passes, then two, then three before you begin to really worry. Another four gone in a blink before you start to consider that you may never actually hear from him again.

For a while, you continue to write to him, thinking that at the very least, if he’s moved to a new job, someone from his old ranch may forward them along if they know where he’s gone to. But after a year of silence transpires, the mail carrier shaking his head at you each day as you rush to meet him outside your house, true dread sets in.

Your address hasn’t changed, which means that he’s stopped writing to you for some reason. Is it possible that he’s moved on? Met another woman perhaps and chosen to settle down? Or…could it be something worse? Your mind hesitates to even go down this path, the terror seeping into your bones, but the thought creeps in late at night when you’re at your most vulnerable that something may have happened to him. Work accidents, illness—any number of dangerous things could have taken him from you without you even knowing. Then again, he sounded healthy in his final letter to you, no word at all of him being ill, and you’d like to think he would’ve arranged for someone to contact you if some tragedy had befallen him.

You conclude, then, that he must have given up. And really, after years of hoping for a shift, for some change in fortune for your futures, you cannot entirely blame him. If anything, you just wish you had seen the signs sooner, sensed some kind of shift in tone that would have prepared you for his sudden silence. His last letter, though, had been much of the same—more updates on his ranching job mixed in with poetic phrases about his love for you. You read it endlessly, poring over the words for some indication that his feelings for you had waned, sitting huddled in a hidden corner of the stables as rain pounds down against the tin roof. Instead, it just makes your heart ache to remind you of love found and lost, his final words haunting you as time continues to drag on to your dismay.

As the months tick by, you keep your promise to your father, steadfastly refusing each suitor that comes to call for you: Jung Hoseok, Kim Namjoon, and even Min Yoongi, who shows up in your dining room every evening for a fortnight before finally accepting your refusal. Meanwhile, you move through your days as if by design, going through the motions without feeling like you’re actually alive. Food is tasteless, your books void of thought, and the skies have certainly lost their color. You find that you actually prefer rainy days now, often taking walks through the drizzle and allowing the droplets of water to slide over your skin and caress you as he once did. Sometimes, it almost makes you feel as if he’s there beside you—memories of thunder and slick kisses enveloping your thoughts and soaking you from the inside out.

No fewer than seven years pass this way, with you haunting the premises of your home while your father begins to complain about you becoming a leech and a burden. You begin to question it yourself, wondering if it may be too much to waste away like this, when, three days after your twenty-seventh birthday, a discovery has you running from your father’s house and never looking back.

It’s another dreary, rainy day, and you, wanting to soak in the full effect of the emblematic weather as it pertains to your mood, have once again parked yourself on the front porch with a book. Your father passed you on his way out earlier, casting a scathing look that you didn’t even bother to grant any attention—you’ve long grown accustomed to his contempt and futile glares.

A little past midday, you glance up at the sound of a person approaching, their footsteps ricocheting off the front steps. Park Jimin comes to a halt under the porch’s cover, gazing at you curiously as if wondering why you are outside in this weather at all. However, if he finds your behavior strange, he doesn’t say anything, a choice which comes of no surprise to you. One of your father’s youngest business partners, you’ve always liked Jimin during the times that you’ve interacted with him. He’s quiet, polite, and has never made an attempt at courting you, always respecting the boundaries that many other young men have tried to cross over the years.

That being said, you’re inclined to at least offer him a greeting, acknowledging his presence with a mannered, “Hello, Mr. Park.”

“Good day,” he responds with a small bow in your direction. “Is your father at home?”

“No, he had to attend a business meeting with Mr. Kim this morning.” You frown as his face falls, a touch of panic widening his eyes. “Is something wrong?”

A delicate finger rises to rub at his temple. “Ah, I’m supposed to be finalizing a contract with Hybe Trading Company later this afternoon,” he says. “Your father told me to come pick up the documents beforehand.”

“He may be back soon,” you guess. Your father didn’t give an indication of exactly when he would return, but you do know his meeting with Kim Taehyung wasn’t supposed to last all day.

“I may not be able to take that risk.” He chews at his lip, thinking. “Is it possible that he left the contracts for me somewhere? Might you be able to check?”

Your jaw drops a fraction at his request—you could count on one hand the number of times that you’ve been in your father’s office. “I don’t think—“

“Please, Y/N,” Jimin begs. “We can’t afford to lose this partnership.”

The desperation in his expression has you acquiescing, and so you lead him inside and tell him to wait in the entryway as you head to your father’s office on the second floor.

The room is arguably the grandest in the house, with magnificent windows that give a full view of the estate’s grounds and tall bookshelves packed with your father’s collection of texts. The finest rugs protect the hardwood under your feet, and at the center of the room sits a monstrous yet beautiful mahogany desk with a plush chair at its back.

You move to the desk first, skimming the documents scattered on top for something that has the trading company’s name on it. But all you see are invoices, shipping records, and maps of different trading routes marked with your father’s notes, and lightly shuffling through the papers comes up fruitless as well.

The first desk drawer you open contains a series of highly-organized ledgers, so you quickly move on to the second, which has the same. The third drawer reveals a reserve of desk and writing supplies, while the fourth, finally, contains a mess of paper.

You rummage through the clutter, still not finding anything that seems to be the contract Jimin is looking for, and are about to give up when a stack of letters buried at the back of the compartment has you freezing, the small, neat handwriting chilling you to the bone.

Pulling the stack out with shaking hands, you quickly realize that there are a few dozen, all postmarked no more than two months apart between each one. Collapsing backwards into the desk chair, you read frantically, quickly realizing just how wrong you were about Jungkook giving up on you:

My Dearest, it’s been a while since I’ve heard from you, but I pray your letters were simply lost in transit…

I’m incredibly pleased to let you know that I’ve received a promotion. The owner of the farm, Mr. Lee, has taken a liking to me and has shifted me to a more considerable role with additional pay. I’m saving every bit I can…

My Love, I miss you deeply. And while your silence pains me to no end, I hope it is a mere misunderstanding. If you do not wish to hear from me ever again, only say the word and I will stop writing to you and remove myself from your life entirely, albeit with a heavy heart…

I still have some ways to go, but my savings are increasing exponentially, and I am learning more than ever. Mr. Lee has been teaching me about the business side of things and helping me make connections. What a wonder to have a boss who fully supports your aspirations! He insists he will be able to help me in my endeavors, and call me naive, but I believe it to be true. Rest assured, love, that I am steadfastly working hard for you, for us, and for our future…

My Darling Y/N, my heart aches to not read your words and hear your thoughts. But since you have not yet rejected me outright, I can only assume that your silence is involuntary or that it comes with deep hesitation. Whatever the reason, please know that I love you, I miss you, and I am not giving up on us unless you tell me so…

And finally, the shortest letter dated almost year back:

Y/N,

I don’t have the words to describe my feelings so I will keep it brief: I did it. If this letter finds its way to you and you wish to find me, I eagerly await you at our home…

The location is scribbled in a tangle of text, his usually neat writing askew as if he was shaking when he wrote it, and the words land with the force of a thousand bricks in your chest—the weight of seven years apart, the agony of your separation, finally culminating in this revelation.

The door to the office bangs open, and you look up, heart already racing with the discovery of the letters, to see your father looming in the doorway, face painted with rage.

“What in the hell are you doing in my private office?!”

You’re on your feet in an instant, storming across the room and shaking the final letter in his face. “What is this?!”

He pales a fraction as he registers what you’re holding before stepping further into the room and slamming the door shut. “I should have burned them,” he sneers. “I did what I did to protect you.”

“From what?” You wave your arms wildly, anger and adrenaline winding their way through your limbs. “From happiness? From a man who has spent years working hard to be able to provide for me?”

“I have worked hard to provide for you! And I will not see my legacy be thrown aside for some silly crush!”

Steeling yourself, you pull in a steadying breath for courage. “Then you won’t.”

“And what does that mean?” your father scoffs, trying to look dismissive and intimidating, yet seeming smaller than you’ve ever seen him.

“You won’t see any of it. I’m leaving.”

“What?”

Time stops for a moment, your declaration holding the air in the room hostage as your father fully absorbs your words.

“You ungrateful idiot girl!” your father suddenly exclaims. “After everything I’ve done for you? Fine then! Go live with the dogs, with the filth and slime you apparently love so dearly. I have had it with your thanklessness and impertinence and will be relieved to have you from my sight.” He steps into your personal space, pointing a finger directly at your face so close that you can feel the heat of his ire radiating off of his hand. “But know this: the second you step out of these doors, you will never be welcomed back. Never.”

You waste only two seconds longer, locked in a stubborn stare-down with your father before you rip your gaze away and tear from the room with Jungkook’s letters still in hand. Rushing to your room, you gather his other letters from your desk and stuff them into a bag along with the modest sum of money you had accumulated in case you ever needed to run.

And then you’re a bird in flight, sweeping down the stairs and out the door with nothing but a simple, “Good day, Mr. Park,” as you pass an absolutely bewildered Jimin in the front hall.

The rain is cold and heavy as it soaks through your clothes and hair almost immediately, but you barely feel it—the freedom in your heart and the scribbled location in your bag more than enough to keep you warm as you charge towards home.

The house is beautiful.

Modest, compared to the mansion you grew up in, sure. But arguably more beautiful—with a compact two stories, white wood, and neatly painted green shutters. There’s a wrap-around porch overlooking the acres upon acres of farmland, and even through the rain falling in sheets and blurring your vision, you spy two rocking chairs sitting side-by-side under the awning.

It’s been a long two weeks of journeying to get to this spot, relying on the kindness of strangers to help you navigate to the location Jungkook had written down. Now, standing at the end of the dirt path leading up to what is presumably your new home, you think that you would do it all again in a heartbeat. The past two weeks, the past seven years, all worth it to experience the hope currently blooming in your chest like the sunflowers you spent so much time admiring in the past.

You’re trudging up the path, the dirt and mud smearing along your shoes, when a darkened figure steps out from the fields to your right, hand raised in greeting.

“Good afternoon, miss. Are you lost? I—” He grinds to a halt like he’s walked straight into a brick wall, eyes wide and lips parted as he absorbs the sight of you soaked and disheveled on his property.

“Y/N?” he says it like a prayer, like he believes you’re some kind of hallucination—a phantom come to haunt him through the haze of rainy memories.

You stare at each other through the downpour, and you find yourself studying him, observing the changes that have taken place in the time you’ve been apart. He’s taller and broader than you remember, shoulders stretching wide and drawing your gaze down towards biceps that protrude below his drenched shirt. The lines of his face have sharpened with age—losing some of the youthful roundness that had endeared him to you so quickly—but he’s still starry-eyed as ever, the charming young man from your memories undoubtedly gazing back at you.

“Jungkook,” you murmur, and the spell is suddenly broken. You surge towards each other, meeting in the middle with a flash of lightning. Your arms go around his shoulders, and Jungkook pulls you into him so desperately and with so much force that he lifts you right off your feet, your mouths coming together with a heated urgency.

He’s everything you’ve dreamed of, every desperate memory you’ve been clinging to come back to life. And with every touch, every pass of his hands over your body, you feel yourself rapidly coming back to life too—joy making its way into your lungs and through your bloodstream for the first time since you were twenty years old and kissing this man in your family’s stables.

“I’ve missed you,” he breathes against your lips when you finally part. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you, too.”

“You have no idea–”

“I do. Jungkook, I do.”

“You stopped writing—”

“My father,” you rush to say. “He intercepted the letters. I thought you stopped writing. Thought you gave up—”

“Oh, my love, never.” His hands rise to cradle your face. “I never stopped thinking of you. Never stopped dreaming of this.” He kisses you again, slowly this time, savoring every movement of his lips against yours.

You shudder against his chest, the thrill of your reunion rattling your nerves just as a cool wind blows through, and Jungkook pulls back with worry.

“You must be freezing,” he murmurs sweetly. “Come. Let’s get you warmed up inside.”

With an arm wrapped around your waist, as though he’s scared you’ll disappear if he doesn’t keep a hand on you, he guides you the rest of the way to the house, up the front porch steps, and through the front door.

“Welcome home,” Jungkook says.

You’re met first with the smell of pine and cinnamon and an impossibly comforting warmth. The first floor is comprised of a wide-open space, with a small kitchen and dining room to your left and a sitting room to your right that has tall windows and a fireplace that is currently roaring. You move around the room slowly, taking it all in, and when you notice the vase of bright sunflowers sitting in the middle of the kitchen table, you just about melt to the floor.

“I know it’s smaller than you’re used to,” he sheepishly mumbles from the doorway. “But we can expand in the future—”

“It’s perfect, Jungkook.” And it really is, every panel and floorboard evidence of how hard he’s worked, how fiercely your love has endured. “It’s absolutely perfect. I love every bit of it.”

He brightens at that, smile stretching wide. “I’m glad.”

“How did you find it?”

“Well, I bought the property after finally saving enough money. Mr. Lee helped me with the buying process.” He shrugs. “And then I built this.”

You freeze, absolutely stunned. “You what?”

“I built it,” he says simply. “I had some help, of course. But the design is all mine.”

“I…you…” It makes your thoughts spin—the idea that he did all of this. He built a house for you.

“Here, look.” He takes your hand and pulls you into the living room, gesturing at a set of empty shelves against the back wall. “For your books.”

You laugh incredulously, fully overwhelmed at this point. “I didn’t bring any with me.”

“Then we’ll start you a new collection,” he says softly, drawing you towards him.

You reach up to trace his jaw, his brow, his cheekbones—memorizing every line of this beautiful man who dared to make your dreams a reality. “I can’t believe this. Can’t believe you. The things you’ve done.”

“All for you, my love.”

Your heart thumps a steady rhythm in your throat, love and the relief of finally—finally—having him in front of you overpowering your senses until all that exists is you and him; the strain of your former life feels worlds away.

Hands find his chest in a slow migration downwards as the chill of the rain gives way to the heat of the fireplace, and it’s not long before his large hands are wrapping around your hips, a darkness in his irises that wasn’t there a second ago.

“There’s an upstairs, too, I’m assuming?” you whisper, fingers teasing a button on his shirt.

“There is.” He swallows, and you watch the bob of his Adam’s apple like a lure. “Would you like to see it?”

You lean in, skimming your mouth below his without fully joining your lips. “Please.”

Tangling your fingers in his, he practically runs upstairs with you trailing in his wake.

Finally, you think, as he pulls your clothes from your body, climbs over you on the bed, and presses into you with such tender deliberation that you think you’ll combust.

Finally, as you spend the rest of the night wrapped up together, endlessly whispering I love yous back and forth.

Finally, as you wake up in his arms the next day, his face the first thing you see.

Finally, as he pulls out a small box at breakfast, the dainty diamond ring easily the most precious piece of jewelry you’ve ever possessed.

Finally, as he takes you out on the farm and shows you the small field of sunflowers he planted just for you.

Finally, you think, as you sit in one of the rocking chairs on the porch and watch him work from afar. I’m home.

Years Later…

“Mama! Mama look!”

You glance up from your book to where Jungkook and Haneul are currently journeying in the yard. It’s a bright sunny day—the wide expanse of blue sky above unmarred by even a single cloud. Sunshine beams down onto your son’s smiling face where he sits on the back of one of the horses, a too-big cowboy hat on his head and his father at his side for support.

“You’re doing great, sweetheart!” you call. “Just be sure to listen to Papa!”

Jungkook flashes you a grin, the excitement radiating off of him in waves. He’s been talking about teaching Haneul to ride since the day he was born, so you know this means a great deal to him, especially seeing your son’s own energy and enthusiasm. Haneul has always liked the “horsies,” toddling happily around the stables ever since he could walk.

Then again, given who his parents are, that wasn’t much of a surprise.

Jungkook and Haneul finish their loop around the yard, and you hear your husband shower the boy with praise as he lifts him off of the horse’s back.

“Again, again!” Haneul cheers, bouncing in place and causing Jungkook to laugh.

“We will! Just let me check on your mother first.”

He moves comfortably, leisurely as he climbs the porch steps and comes to a rest in front of where you sit. Looming over you, he leans in until he can press a gentle kiss to your lips, reverent in his motions.

“How are you feeling?” he asks. His fingers brush lightly over your belly and its new curve.

“I’m alright,” you say, guiding his hand until his palm is resting flat. “This one is kicking up a storm though.”

As if on cue, you feel a tiny jolt—Jungkook giving a breathless chuckle as he feels the jab himself.

“Go easy on your mother,” he says in the direction of your stomach, rubbing a soft circle into your flesh. “No storms. Clear skies and sunshine.” Then his eyes are back on your face. “Speaking of, I have something for you.”

He reaches behind his back and produces a single sunflower, tucking it behind your ear before giving you one more kiss.

“I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you, too.” More than the day you met him. More than the day he left. And more than the day you finally made your way here.

“Now I should get back to Haneul before he starts yelling for me.”

You laugh out the brightest sound that’s ever come from your lungs. “Go.”

A warm breeze ripples through the trees, the sound of your son’s giggles and Jungkook’s cheerful exclamations finding their way back to where you sit.

What a beautiful day, you think, setting down your book and getting up to join your family in the golden sunshine.

a/n: thanks for reading! pls don't forget to like, reblog, and/or comment if you enjoyed!

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This was absolutely exceptional !!! :,) from the way author writes to the incredibly visceral experience of it all … I’m absolutely ?? the desperation the development and all the feels … completely obsessed ! I was absolutely consumed !!! Another fic that makes me so so grateful to have access to the internet and the incredible writers that I’m forever indebted to :) Epilogue on Wattpad !!!

NIGHT CRAWLERS - JJK

title credit: night crawlers - kids in glass houses

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

synopsis:

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

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

wordcount: 26K

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

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

minors dni // cross posted to wattpad

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

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

That, and 'rather be dead than cool.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At least they barely crossed. Past tense. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Again, the rogue look isn't a front.

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

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

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

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

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

"Mhmm?"

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

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

Partners?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A control freak, you note. Nice.

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

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

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

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

"I'm very much capable of editing-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When they were still talking to you, that was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn't reply.

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

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

Well, no. 

That's not quite right. 

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

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

Given your rejection, he was pleased with his choice.

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

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

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

"Like?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he's also determined. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

That's the big dream at least.

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

It's his fault, and he knows it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The lack of a camera proves otherwise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hold on."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jesus, you think. Who pissed in his cornflakes?

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

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

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

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

"You could have fucking killed me!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Never said I wasn't."

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

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

"Where are we?"

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

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

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

That's a lie.

He doesn't think they're stupid.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Look I-"

"So-"

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

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

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

"At two in the morning?"

You nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Tomorrow?"

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

"Oh right. Yeah. See you tomorrow."

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

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

"Thanks, again."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perhaps that should be your project piece.

Secrets of Seoul: The Seedy Underbelly of The City.

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

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

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

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

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

Who the fuck are you?

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

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

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

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

"Once in a blue moon. Gotcha."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook wants what he wants.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook wants what he wants.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Curious.

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

"No can do, sugar."

"Oh my god, stop calling me that."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he's right. It is worth it.

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

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

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

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

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

"It's good," he promises.

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

"Are you broken?"

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

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

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

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

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

And neither of you really care.

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

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

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

He knows you read them.

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

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

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

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

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

You have been thinking about him.

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

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

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

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

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

You don't ask him to expand.

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

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

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

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

And so you return, every week.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Per hour?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You've gotten good at playing pretend. 

Jungkook only jokes about you being a sugar baby.

He doesn't fathom that you actually are one.

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

The way you hold onto his waist is different tonight.

Physically, it's the same.

But it feels different.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod appreciatively. "You sure?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Kook?"

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

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

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

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

"Like what?"

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

"I don't."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As if he fears the consequences of his claim.

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

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

But you don't.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

x

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

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

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

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

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

Unlike Jimin, apparently.

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

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

"You're being dramatic."

"You're being boring."

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

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

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

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

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

A few months ago, he was a fucking idiot.

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

And you ignore it.

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

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

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

It's all a bit nauseating.

Maybe a party would actually be a good distraction.

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

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

And you were nowhere to be seen on Tuesday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No good ever comes from being nice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you are annoyed.

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

You barely know him. Not really.

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

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

It seems like you found your answer.

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

And he's right.

He's not the city.

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

He's not the goddamn city.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Really, Kook?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey."

"Uh, hey."

"You good?"

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

Ah. You cringe.

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

"Hmm?"

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

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

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

"Good night?"

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

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

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

You don't know what to say either.

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

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

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

"Oh?"

"Yeah..."

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

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

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

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

Oh.

Not a coward. Just cautious.

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

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

"Can you come over?"

THE WAY YOU keep Jungkook hanging on tenterhooks is deliberate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except you do. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Can I see?"

"Not yet."

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

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

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

You both feel it.

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

"Some girls like it," he flirts back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You look warm," he husks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do I?"

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

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

Yes.

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

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

Yes.

"Ddaeng."

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

Maybe you do. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hobi, can I-" 

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

"Hobi will you let me fucking talk!"

Attaboy.

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

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

You try to decipher the conversation, but fail. 

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

You blush. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don't hang around for much longer.

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

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

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

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

Just a little peek. He'll never know.

Oh, how you loathe your brain.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook thinks he knows who, now.

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

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

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

That had been the plan, at least.

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

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

A punch to the face means very little to Jungkook.

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

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

The dial tone bleeds out, just like his nose.

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

"Wassup, kid?"

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

"I got jumped Yoongs."

Fuck.

"You alright? Sound pretty bad? Where?"

"Daerim-"

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

"Hobi wanted me to drop off my stash."

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

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

"Gone."

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

"No."

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

"Yoong-"

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

"Ple-"

"Kook. Seriously. Trust me with this."

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

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

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

The girl who's now returning his call.

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

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

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

"Can I come over?"

Fuck. Anything except that.

"Please."

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

But he does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This place is just temporary.

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

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

He takes your previous position, inviting himself to sit on the end of your bed, anticipating your return. There's light coming in from the thin windows by your ceiling, hitting directly onto your back. He thinks it's apt. Thinks you're the kind of girl who deserves a spotlight. Thinks that Mother Nature agrees.

Jungkook shrugs, in that lazy, boyish way he so often does, as you walk towards him. He spreads his legs, encouraging you between them, letting his hands graze your thighs. You pretend not to notice as you press the damp cloth to his cheek. Tiny crows legs appear at the edges of his eyes, face wincing from the contact. It's painful.

But being alone would be more painful. He chose to be here. To be with you.

And so he tells you what happened, with as much honesty he can muster. There are some things better left unsaid, his occupation being one of them. You listen attentively, dabbing at his wounds, a frown etched into the lines of your face.

"Stay away from the girl, huh?" you muse, avoiding his eyes as you study his face. His nose is still bleeding, but every time you tell him to tilt his head towards the ceiling, it ends up back in its original position. He can't see you as well with his head tilted back. Doesn't like it. Doesn't wanna do it. "Could be any girl."

Jungkook's dimple forms in his cheek. "No. No, it couldn't."

His fingers that have been grazing at your thighs squeeze tenderly, letting you know he means it. More than he thinks you know. More than he knows he should.

There's a chance that any words spoken between the pair of you could be misconstrued. He doesn't know what his feelings for you are, and you don't really understand yours for him - but you understand your body, and the electric current running beneath your lips, dying for a connection. A little spark.

So you do the only thing that makes sense: you kiss him.

And he kisses you back. Slowly, tenderly, deliberately. His lips melt into yours, hand pulling your legs closer. He encourages you onto his lap, as if he needs to be insufferably close to you. Once you're positioned how he wants, just like you were earlier, he grips your waist, keeping you stationed there.

Jungkook knows he should stop.

He knows he should have paid attention to the pair of fists that warned him off you as his skull hit the pavement earlier that morning, knows he shouldn't let himself get so wrapped up in such a red flag - but he just can't help himself. It's like you're laced in the narcotics he deals, and slowly but surely, you've gotten him addicted.

He's craving. Dying for a hit. Just a little taste of your tongue on his, the scent of your shampoo in his nose.

Red flags, red stop signs, pretty red lips all plump from the kisses he's smothering them in. Red blood, too. His nose is still a little damaged, and the way he's painting your cheek in crimson should repulse you.

Should repulse you.

Like fuck it does, though. You can smell the copper twinge through his plasma, and suddenly it's as if the Cullen's had the right idea all along.

When he pulls back, only for a moment, hands clutching at the side of your face to assess the look in your eyes, he notices it too. Hard not to. You blush all the fucking time, so much so that he knew the shade by heart, and the rouge on your cheek is far too vibrant, too scarlet. It's his fucking blood on you.

It should scare him, he knows. But the way you're looking at him, eyes all wide and glassy, lips swollen and waiting for more, has him unable to think straight. It has him obsessed, the way you don't care. The way he's covered you in blood and you still seem to want more.

But there's a softness to the way in which you're looking at him, mild confusion, as if you've got the same strange warmth running through your veins as he does. It's not a feeling he recognises, pulsing through his bloodstream with every beat of his heart.

Perhaps it's nothing. Jungkook tells himself that it is. Just adrenaline, probably.

You look at his lips, all crimson and blushed, and realise you much prefer the shade of his blood to the plum lipstick that had tainted them the night before. You're delicate as you wipe your thumb along his pouted bottom lip, just like you did in the bar. Except this time, the jealousy that had blossomed in your diaphragm is nowhere to be found. There's still a pinch beneath your ribs, but this time it's in your heart, and it's far more aching. This time, you feel his hurt.

Jungkook reaches down to where you left the damp cloth on your bed. It's wet and heavy in his hand, a little warm, too. He brings it to your face and dabs silently, cleaning you of the mess he's made. Fixing you. Restoring you to your former glory.

Its futile, 'cause his nose is still fucking bleeding, and you don't plan on leaving it more than a moment before you kiss him again. You simply don't care. Want him for all that he is, blood, sweat and tears.

But still, he insists on ridding you of his stain. Doesn't want to tarnish you. He's soft with the way he presses the cloth against you, mirroring how tenderly you were with him earlier. He's learning from you, adapting to you. Wants to be like you. Wants to be 'better'.

You watch as his eyes scan your face, brows twisted like they always do when he's about to say something but stops himself. The vertical groove just above his cupid's bow is red, blood tacky as it dries. If he kisses you now, he'll leave a stamp; a mark that says 'you're mine.'

It's too much. Far too much. You aren't his, and he knows this. He never wanted you to be his, in fact, for the longest time, he had wanted to be anything but yours.

But now he sits beneath you, crestfallen, heart in his throat, blocking him from speaking.

This was never part of the plan. He was never supposed to end up here. He was supposed to escape from the trenches, to get on the path of straight and narrow. Thrive. Succeed.

And it's not your fault, he knows this, but there's a little part of him that wonders what could have happened if he hadn't seen you that night in Daerim, hadn't seen the way your eyes look beneath night market lights, hadn't heard your laugh as he looked at his favourite view of the city.

You whisper his name, your palm resting flat on his chest, and his brows soften.

It doesn't matter what could have happened, anymore.

All that matters is what is happening.

The shortness of his breath, the flutter of his lashes against your cheek, the swelling between his legs. You can feel it, feel him, and he knows it. The way he's pulsing his hips upwards is testament to that.

It's a comfortable position, you sat on his lap on the end of your bed, not one that either of you wishes to break from. Not even as he begins to breathe against your lips, unable to properly control his reactions thanks to the friction beneath his briefs.

"Want you," he mumbles, pressing his lips into yours, the air in his lungs giving itself up to you. "Want you so bad."

You shake your head, brows pinched just a little. "I'm bad news for you."

And maybe that's it. Maybe he just wants you because he knows he shouldn't - but fuck it, if he can't let himself indulge in simple pleasures, then why bother getting himself beaten to a pulp over you?

"I'm bad news for myself, sugar," he husks against your lips, tickling them as he slips his tongue into your mouth. Deeper, deeper. Closer, closer. He wants it.

Wants it all.

Wants you naked.

Wants to know what it feels like to have you gasp in his ear as his hands roam beneath your panties.

Wants to know if you'd still look at him like you're stargazing even when he's railing you.

Wants it. Wants you. Just wants.

And what Jungkook wants, Jungkook gets.

He slips his hand up your shirt and pushes it upwards, before letting it crumple to the floor. You know that you should be more bashful, a little bit ashamed, but it's impossible when he's looking at you like this.

He has a visual now that he didn't have earlier. The glow of your skin beneath his bruised knuckles looks almost sinful, like he's plucking forbidden fruit from its tree. He'll pay the price for this, and he knows it, but he just can't resist.

Jungkook has always been a boob guy, always loved the way he could get girls moaning with just a little pinch, but never had he had a pair quite like yours. So full, so round, he's not sure his hands are big enough, and that doubt makes him throb. Soft and pillowy, he groans as he watches his fingers sink into them, utterly enthralled. His hips adjust, pushing upwards, pressing himself into you. He wants this. Wants it so bad.

You can feel the metal of his rings against your skin, and then you can feel his lips, his tongue, his teeth as they graze against the plush skin of your chest. He licks around your nipple, letting the air cool the wet trail, hardening you for him.

He's utterly obsessed.

His mouth pulls at the sensitive skin, suckles, sucks. His lashes are splayed on the tops of his cheeks, lips pouting around your nipple as he does so, small groans of pleasure vibrating against you. It will be a miracle if he can't already feel you seeping through your panties.

You whimper as his teeth graze your hardened nub, and his eyes flutter open. He doesn't detach himself, but instead, he keeps your gaze as he sucks. The pressure varies, and then it's hard. Really fucking hard. So hard you'll think he'll somehow give your nipple a hickey - but fuck, if you don't love the sensation.

"Christ," you gasp, before biting down into your bottom lip.

"Too hard?" He mumbles against you, peppering you in kisses and soft licks as if to apologise.

"No," you pant. "Was good. Was great. Just - fuck."

You laugh, soft and airy, and Jungkook smiles from the sound.

He likes this. Likes how you react to him.

And while he’s patient and gentle with you in a way that he isn't with other people, Jungkook has only ever known how to have sex in one way. It's ingrained into him, as if he was made to fuck like it; like he doesn't give a shit about the person he's screwing.

Jungkook doesn't do love, and you know this. He trades. Works in transactions. Settles debts. You don't really know this part, but you aren't stupid. You know he's never in Daerim for any good fucking reason.

You don't question it as his hands move south, slipping past your underwear. In fact, you're smug as he curses when he feels how wet you are, fingers slippery in your panties.

He pushes a finger into you, and closely follows it with a second. They curl ever so slightly, and it's at this point that you realise Jungkook is absolutely going to ruin you. Just a few pumps. Just to ease you up.

He's bored of waiting. Wants you now.

The pair of you move fluidly, minimal discussion needed, just occasional checks of 'you good?', or 'this okay?'. The answer is, always, without a doubt, 'yes'.

He gets you on your back, panties pulled off, legs not quite hanging off the edge of your bed, but nearly. He strips himself of his shirt first, and grins as he notices the way you whine.

"What?" he toys.

"Nothing," you flirt. "Just wish you'd hurry up. I'm a busy woman."

"Oh yeah?" The sound of his buckle coming undone is enough to make you fucking leak. "Busy doing what?"

You neglect to tell him. Not because you don't have a witty remark lined up, but because he's fucking naked now.

What a sight to behold he is. Body lean, honey skin flawless, muscles defined. You pretend like you're looking at his body, but your eyes are drawn to his cock. You'd expected length, but not the girth - and he has both in abundance. The tip of his cock is blushed and wet, with Jungkook just as aroused as you are.

Noticing your gaze, he rolls his eyes, and toys with your pussy again, lightly running his fingers up and down your slick entrance. When he pulls back, his fingers are still connected by thick clear fluid. His cock throbs.

"You're gonna get me so dirty," he hums, as he crawls onto the bed above you, before holding his fingers to your mouth. "Clean them."

Part of you wants to say no, but the other part of you can see his darkened gaze and the way his cock is twitching. You can't refuse.

His fingers are on the tip of your tongue, the tip of his cock nudging so close to your entrance that he may as well just do it. You raise your hips, encouraging, but he retracts a little just to tease.

The fingers that were in your mouth come to grip at the soft flesh of your cheeks, his thumb on the other side. "Don't you fucking dare."

There's tepid aggression to his movements, and it makes you feel vulnerable - but you like it. You like the way he's gripping your face, the ways he's looking at you with narrow eyes, just like he used to do across the lecture hall. You like being reminded of when you were nothing to one another, because it makes the satisfaction of feeling his stiff cock jump a little against your pussy as you moan so much more worth it.

He used to hate you, now he can't wait to bury his fat cock in you. Victory is yours, even if he's trying to act like he's the one holding all the cards.

You don't correct him, though. You let him think he has the upper hand. You'll play pillow princess just this once if it means you get to see him a little bit mean again.

"Dare what?" you pout, cheeks still squished between his fingers. He grips a little tighter, your chest rising as you gasp. He pulls your face towards his, sinking down into your lips, until he decided he's done with you.

He stands by the edge of your bed, and yanks your ankles towards him, pulling you close enough to the edge for him to fuck you like this.

The loss of his grip is unwelcome by you, a frown forming. He isn't looking at your face now, eyes down on his cock, which he's rubbing between your soaked pussy lips, but he can almost hear you brace yourself to whine. He smirks, one side of his mouth lifting, head knocking to the side slightly.

"Don't you dare try and set the pace," he finally husks, still not glancing up towards you. He's taking his time, making sure the head of his cock kisses every inch of your exposed mess. "Nearly got my nose fucking broken for this pussy-" he spits, hard and fast, right onto your clit, spreading it with his cock. "- so I'm gonna make sure I get what I'm owed."

He spreads your thighs back, his fingers gripping harshly just how you like it. Perhaps you should pretend to be embarrassed by the fact your cunt is leaking for him, begging for him, but the way he hisses at the sight, chest heaving, prevents it.

Jungkook's thought about this before, about how pretty and pristine you'd be, about the mess he'd hoped you'd make. Thought about it so many times. Fingers wrapped around his shaft in the middle of the night when no one can hear him chant your name as he spills over. Yeah, he's thought about it a lot.

His imagination has never done you justice. One look and he's obsessed. Wants to spend hours touching, caressing, licking you.

"Take it," you whisper. "What you're owed, Jungkook. Take it."

He looks up now, brows threaded together. You don't recognise the contemplation his face is laced in, but he doesn't give you the chance to question it, for you begin to feel that burn. The one your fingers can never give you. It's alien, and yet familiar, inherently natural but intrusive nonetheless.

"Shit," is all you can manage to say, eyes locked on his.

He wants to watch himself sink into you, watch as his fat cock forces your slick wetness out of your pussy, but he can't. Not when you're looking at him like that. Not when your chest is heaving and your eyes are watering beneath tense brows. Not when your mouth is hanging open and just begging to be fucked like your tight little pussy.

And then he starts feeling something a little strange. A little unfamiliar. A little bit like his heart has stalled to beat in time with the contractions of your chest. And though he's not in pain anymore, too busy feeling you, he's aware that it hurts. Aware that he can't fuck you like he wanted to, 'cause his chest needs to be against yours. Needs to feel the beating drum beneath your ribs.

He doesn't even realise that he's paused until you whine a meagre, "please."

"That's more like it," he hums, as he pushes into you, the base of his thick cock plugging the weeping mess that he's made. You know that as soon as he pulls out, you'll be whimpering, begging for the tip of his cock to kiss your walls once more. "See how nice things can be when you just behave yourself, huh?"

His hips push just a little deeper, and he knows that it hurts. Knows that the little gasp isn't entirely from pleasure. He's seen his cock. Doesn't take a genius to work out that it can do damage.

"You can take it," he tells you, and like a pathetic, whimpering mess, you fucking nod. He's still inside of you, still deeper than you thought possible, and then his hand is on your stomach. He grabs your hand and places it beneath his. "You feel that?" He retracts just a little, pushing back in just as deep. Beneath your hands, there's a bulge. External or internal, it doesn’t matter. It's him. He does it again. "You feel me taking what's mine?"

Whatever the fuck you moan is incoherent, but he doesn't give a shit, 'cause he's ploughing now. Bucking his hips into you like pneumatic fucking drill. Shit. He's done this before. Got it mastered to a fine art. Momenta worthy of a museum exhibition.

Your tits are pillowed on your chest, nice and round, wobbling as he takes command of your body. He slaps one of them, just to watch it ripple, before that firm grip of his is on it. "Perfect tits," he growls the compliment, not really meaning for it to come out. "Gonna put my cock between them later," he tells you. "Gonna cum all over them."

He doesn't tell you that he'll also clean them with his hungry tongue, before delivering his cum into your mouth. Figures he'll just let you find out. His brain is working at a mile a minute, trying to reign back thoughts of sharing his cum with you in such a filthy manner. God, he wants to do heinous things to you. With you. For you.

But for now, he needs to focus on his cock. It's rubbing inside of you, nuzzling. He knows he's weeping, and that his precum is getting mixed with your slick juices. Knows he won't last long if you keep whining like that. Mewling. Purring.

He stalls his hips, letting go of your tits as they jiggle back into position. Your cheeks are flushed, imprints of his fingers reddening your skin. Lips pouted and resting ajar, Jungkook thinks they've never looked more fuckable. More kissable. More whisper-sweet-nothings-against-able.

"You ever shut the fuck up?" he teases, but is quick to notice confusion flash in your eyes. He didn't mean it as an insult, but it's easy to read the hurt in your perplexed features, and the way you begin to try and push your legs together. It's futile. His cock is keeping you open.

But you feel embarrassed, as if your natural reactions to him are a turn-off. It's silly, because he's quite literally inside of you, fat and solid, using you to milk himself. Of course, he's not turned off, but you're hyper-aware of how vulnerable you're feeling right now. It had been fun to pretend like you were in control, but as soon as he slipped inside of you, all sense of power had evaporated.

He doesn't realise this though. Doesn't realise that his cock is nudging so deep into you that it's practically knocking against your heart. Knock, knock, knock. Who's there? Your mind taunts, but you daren't answer.

"Hey," he coos, one of his large palms stroking on the inside of your thighs. That uncomfortable, obscure feeling is back again. The one that tells him he needs to be closer to you. This time, he doesn't ignore it. His hips pulse, just the once. A reminder he's still very much into this. Into you.

His hands grip your waist, softly this time, as he manoeuvres himself onto the bed with you, keeping himself snug. Your head is by the pillows, Jungkook's knees on either side of your ass, his chest flat against yours as one of his hands cradles your jaw. He presses a chaste, airy kiss against your lips, and whispers, "I love the way you sound." He kisses you again, hips rocking. You're trying not to, but you whine. "Fuck, sugar. You're my favourite fucking sound."

Your legs hook over his back, and he groans now. The angle change lets him delve deeper, your walls massaging him so well. Jungkook thinks he might have died and gone to heaven. He's slipping in and out of you with minimal force, skin slapping together. He makes sure to let his moans roll off his tongue and into your mouth. You eat them up and give them back. The pair of you aren't kissing anymore, just gasping and humming into one another's mouths. He's stuttering.

There's a pause as he adjusts his grip, digging his fingers into the soft flesh of your thighs. He likes it, the way you seem to melt around him in all capacities. His lips nudge against yours as his steady hips begin to rock into yours again.

You groan as he pushes down on your legs, pushing you as far apart as your bones allow. It's typical of him, seeing how far he can take things. Push them to the limit. Always gets him in trouble. There's a click, as air escapes from the socket where your leg meets your pelvis.

"You good?" He checks and you respond with a kiss. Hands tangled in his hair, you hope it conveys the fact you've never felt better. He laughs a little, soft and serene, into your mouth, the weight of his body keeping you trapped beneath him.

You're morbid in your thoughts, and consider how nice it would be for Jungkook to suffocate you like this; steal you of the air you breathe with his tiny giggles of satisfaction. So, so nice, you think.

And so you tell him. You tell him that you want his hand on your throat. He takes a second to respond - not because he doesn't want to, but more so because he can't believe you actually asked.

He doesn't normally fuck the girls he cares about like this. Then again, he never really cares about the girls he fucks.

"God," you moan as he pushes one of your legs over his shoulder. His body is clammy against yours, skin hot and damp, chest lean but built. He's working hard; not just for his release. For yours too. Rams into you, stuffing your cunt with his cock, dipping his head to lather your clasped throat in wet kisses.

"That's it, sugar," he growls as his teeth graze your neck. "Need to hear how good you feel. Need to hear what my cock does to you. You owe me."

You want to laugh. You're about to laugh. But then his head dips down to your chest, and he latches onto one of your pebbled nipples, sucking so hard that all you can do is tremble. He knows you like this. Knows it makes your pussy all creamy and slippery for him - and like clockwork, he's proven right. The sounds are lewd. He loves it.

"On your back," you husk, punctuating your instruction with a whimper as he suckles even harder. He shakes his head, eyes closed, mouth vibrating and full of your tit. Not a chance, he tries to say, but it just sounds likes he's forgotten how to speak. Too busy. Too close to spilling himself into you. Doesn't wanna get distracted.

So focused, he doesn't realise you're pushing him over until you're on top. He frowns as he detaches from your nipple with a pop, but his hands are running all over your body regardless. Obviously doesn't care that much. Course he doesn't. That ache in his chest has settled.

Until he starts thinking about it, and oh god, it's back and it's fucking unbearable.

"C'mere," he pulls you flush against him, as your hips begin to work against him. His hands cradle your face so he can kiss you as deeply as he likes, tongue slipping into your mouth, as his cock slips up and down your pussy. This, he thinks, is it. This is what fucking should feel like.

"Shit," he whispers. "Shit."

The friction of his surprisingly neat hair that rests at the base of his cock is nice. Real fuckin' nice. You're not even fucking him anymore, just grinding against it. Using it, using him, to get yourself off.

You think you're being slick, like he won't notice - but he does. Of course, he does. He's obsessed with your body.

"God, yeah, baby," his back arches, pressing his chest against yours, eyes closed. "Use me like that. Use me," he bites into your shoulder gently. "Fucking use me."

He means it. Doesn't give a shit about himself anymore. Just wants to feel you tremble as he holds you close. Wants to press kisses against your lips as your moans become undignified. He needs to be the reason you cum; needs to be responsible for your oxytocin rush.

You sit up a little, and Jungkook holds back a pout from the separation - but how can he complain when you're sat like that, his cock buried inside of you, hair a mess and with eyes like his favourite constellation? He's hypnotised as your boobs begin to bounce, pussy working up his shaft like the true Daerim woman of the night you are. He's forgotten about all of that, now. Can't think about anything except for how to not fucking cum.

He can't and he won't. Not until you do. But you're bouncing, and it's wet, and he can hear it, and it feels so fuckin' good. His toes are curling, torso tensing, eyes half-shut, pretty little pout hanging open. He's fucking whining. "Yeah like that," he encourages. "Gonna milk me so well, baby. Gonna... ah. Fuck. Gonna-"

Jungkook can't fucking speak. He wants to. Wants to tell you how fucking beautiful you look, how he wants this endlessly, how he never wants to let you go. Needs to tell you how right this feels, how good you make him feel, how he doesn't understand his feelings but fuck, just that he is feeling. Feeling so much.

You're not sure at which point he started calling you baby, but you're actually convinced that the name alone could tip you over the edge.

The pace of your hips is slowly, savouring. He doesn't quite get it. You were so close. Why stop?

The stillness of your movements makes way for something new. He feels a throb around his fat cock, which is begging for release. Notices the way your chest is shaking like you've got hiccups, tiny whines of pleasure making themselves known. Your pussy was always warm, but it's hot now, contracting around him.

And then he gets it.

"Oh, shit," he mewls, his hips slowly pumping upwards. "Yeah, that's it, baby. Let yourself cum. All over my dick," he encourages, hedonistic and self-serving. "That's it. Cream for me."

His slow movements as he fucks up into you amplify the sensation, the tip of his cock nudging languidly against your tight walls. Your entire body shudders, the feeling rippling from your chest right down to your toes. You rasp out moans, the sensation all too powerful, a creamy mess pooling at the base of his shaft. There's a jerk as your muscles spasm, your orgasm well and truly delivered. He pulls you down and into his chest, his strong arms wrapped around your back.

Your body rests on his, spent and sensitive, and he can tell you can't hold out for much longer. He pushes back the hair that's sticking to your clammy face, and presses kisses into your temple.

"So big," you hum, voice hazy, eyes shut.

"Just a little more, baby," he promises. " You're doing so well. Just a little..."

You've considered how Jungkook would orgasm on more than one occasion - and you're pleasantly surprised to find that your imagination was wrong. There's no grand declaration, nor large grunt. He's not aggressive, either, like you'd half-hoped he would be.

Instead, Jungkook kisses you as his hips begin to stall. His brows are creased, moans muffled against your lips. His torso shudders, abdomen as tight as his balls. "Baby," he drowsily mewls, and then it's happening. His cock pumps into you, unloading thick creamy spurts with every stroke of your pussy. The first one is so desperate that you're almost positive you can feel it paint your insides. You moan along with him, utterly obsessed with this, him, whatever the fuck just happened.

He doesn't withdraw immediately. Just lays there and kisses your skin, absolutely spent.

You don't move a muscle. You don't want it to be over. Don't wanna lose this. Lose him.

When you tilt your head to look at him, he's smiling. Eyes closed, cheeks appled. Serene. In a state of fucked-out bliss.

You tell him that he's pretty, and he lets out an airy laugh, covering his face with one of his hands. You move his hand and watch him fondly, enthralled with the grin that he's struggling to fight.

He turns to look at you, and the smile he's been boasting amplifies. "God, you're gorgeous."

It's not a new observation; just one he's never voiced before. One that he was able to resist saying. But you're naked now, chest pillowed against his, eyes glowing and nose blushed.

You hum, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. "I'm glad you chose to come here."

Just like that, there's a knot in Jungkook's stomach that seems to anchor that feeling he keeps having.

"Yeah," he nods. "Me too."

IT'S THREE IN the afternoon by the time you wake from your post-fuck snooze. Jungkook's never had one of those before. Hated being sticky after sex with anyone else. Always had to shower - but with you, he wants to stick to you like glue.

"Should have filmed that," he hums, the tips of his fingers stroking up your arms. You aren't sure if he's joking or not. "Would have given us a unique take on the project. Probably wouldn't have gotten us very high grades, mind you, but art is subjective."

"Some would argue that the critique of art is objective," you muse back, still blissfully cum-drunk from the events prior to your nap. Jungkook's nose has stopped bleeding, and the pair of you have almost forgotten the reason he showed up in the first place. "Documentary maker by night, porn star by day," you flirt. "Although it's cute that you think you fuck like a porn star."

"I felt you shaking," he says, knowing there's no possible way that you didn't enjoy it. His nose feels a little cold after all the trauma of the morning, so he buries it into your hair. "Can't fake that."

"That's what I'm saying," you simper, pressing a kiss against his bare torso, just below the meeting of his collarbones. And then another, simply for good measure. "Porn stars never actually look like they're making the woman feel any good." You trail down his chest, tongue licking gently at the darker skin around his nipple. "You... yeah you don't fuck like a porn star." And then you suck a little. He hisses, in the best possible way. 

"Don't," he says. "Not ready to go again."

You laugh. 

Jungkook thinks he's reached Nirvana. Almost certain, in fact. Never had a girl do that to him before. He loves to give it, but hasn't ever thought to receive it. Wonders what other things you'll do to him that he's never had done before. He can feel his cock fucking twitching again, achy and sore, definitely not recovered yet from how hard he went earlier - but god, he wants it. Wants to bury himself inside you again. Belong to you.

His hands paw at you, one gripping on your chest, the other on your ass, pulling you closer. Your leg hooks over him, and he can feel how wet you still are on the side of his thigh. His balls fucking tighten. He can feel it happening, blood rushing to his crotch. 

Yet despite it all, he just kisses you. Softly. Tenderly. Merely his lips languid between yours. Withdraws slowly. Keeps his eyes closed. Bliss.

"The fuck have you done to me, sugar?" he whispers, dark eyes opening to look into yours. His speech is husky, like he trying to steal the answers of a pop-quiz from you. You can't help him. You don't have a clue what the answer is. You're just as stuck as he is. "Got me feeling all fuzzy 'n' shit."

"Just a sugar rush," you smile. "It'll pass."

You're both acutely aware that it won't, but that will be a problem for another day.

"Tell you what," Jungkook muses, though his thoughts are shallow. He's not digging deep. Just talking for the sake of it. "I might not fuck like a porn star, but you don't fuck like a hooker." 

He pulls your arm up so that he can study the crease of your elbow. You let him move your body like you're a barbie doll. You'll be his toy, you think, if he wants. No bother. 

His fingers press at the thin skin that covers your veins, inspecting. 

"Not a scratch," he assesses. "So you're not an addict either."

You laugh, slightly amused. "No? Maybe I just don't inject."

Jungkook gives you a stern look. Hopes you're joking. Tells you that you better fucking be joking. The sweetness of your laughter tells him that you are.

"So?" you press. "I'm not a prostitute and I'm not an addict. It's your lucky day. What of it?"

Jungkook tilts his head down so that his nose is nestled into the crown of your head again. Comforting, he thinks. Smells like laundry. You must have washed your sheets recently. 

His next statement takes you off guard. 

"Only ever see three kinds of women down in Daerim." 

And you know.

You know he knows. 

You can feel it in the way he protectively presses his lips into your skull, as if he's Prince Charming trying to rid his Sleeping Beauty of the nightmare she's been living. Wake up.

But Prince Charming rides a white horse, not a petrol-spitting, air-cooled, steel-framed shadow that rips through the city at night. 

There are no nightmares, either. You're already wide awake. There's no saving you. 

He sighs against your head. Pauses. Resists, and then confronts. 

"I know what you do in the dark, sugar."

You don't say anything for a moment, and then you're pulling away from him, reaching for your shirt. He doesn't like this. Misses your warmth, but doesn't stop you. Instead, he follows, sitting on the edge of your bed, the corner of your comforter lazily protecting his modesty. His muscles are relaxed now, a little crease in his stomach from the way that he's slouching, hands in his lap. Those Bambi eyes of his are peaking through his hair, cheeks red and grazed from the morning encounter he'd had in Daerim.

He watches as you pull your shirt over your head, hair just as messy as his, and a graze on your cheek to match. He was pretty certain before that it had been carpet burn, but now that he's seen it up close, softly rubbed his thumb against it during pretty kisses, he's sure of it.

You avert his gaze. Feel shameful. Hate that he knows. You never cared before. It was just a fun little secret, the fact that he didn't know you were no angel. 

But you want him to think that you're one, now. 

For a moment, you were sure that he had. 

Instead, now, it feels like you're falling from grace.

He reaches for your hand, but you pull it back. "Please don't."

And so he doesn't. Just sits for a little while instead. "Do you want me to get dressed?"

You really don't. 

But your tongue is lodged in your mouth and it won't budge. You turn away, internally furious with yourself. It's been a while since you've gotten like this; so dreadfully panicked that you can't talk. It's a once in a blue moon kind of thing, the early onset of a panic attack, but you're hoping it won't reach the stage of no return. Praying.

"Babe?"

He sounds worried now, and it's making it worse. Feels like you've just reached the top of Bukhan Mountain without taking a second to catch your breath. 

Has your chest always been this tight? Or has someone just been wrapping rubber bands around your torso without you noticing? 

It isn't possible, and you know this, but it feels like it and - oh God - you can hear him shuffling, the buckle of his belt clanging. He's leaving, he's leaving, he's leaving, your ribs cackle as they close down on your lungs. 

There's a light hum behind you, like a wasp is coming to send you into a state of anaphylactic shock and then it stops. His jeans are tossed to the floor once more.

"Yoongi?" Jungkook speaks quietly behind you into the receiver of his phone. "Wassu- Yeah, yeah, I'm safe. I'm good."

I'm safe. 

I'm good.

"Where are- Yoongi stop. Stop it. I'm being deadly fucking serious-"

You don't realise it, but your chest begins to mellow as you listen in to his conversation. 

"It's my mess!" He shouts now. "I'll fucking fix it. I don't give a fuck what Hobi says. Where you at? The Zoo? I'll be there- Yes, I will. Don't do anything fucking stupid."

And then he hangs up, chucking his phone into your bed with more aggression than he'd ever wanted to show in your presence. You don't see it, back still turned, but you hear it, the way his phone rebounds against the springs of your mattress.

"Shit," he hisses, and when you turn to face him, you find that his head is in his hands, elbows on his knees.

Crouching by him, your chest expands. You don't give a shit about yourself anymore. Your palms rest just behind his elbows, eyes anchored below his, looking up. 

"He's got his fucking final in an hour," is all Jungkook says. "He's gonna miss his fucking final."

He lifts his head, tender lips pouted, eyes bloodshot from the pressure he's been placing on his palms. Looks right at you. Decides he'll never trust another pair of eyes more.

"I know what you do in the dark, sugar," he relays. "But I do worse. So much fucking worse. And I've just gone and fucked it all up."

And while he blames it all on himself, you know it's your fault. 

He didn't stay away from the girl. He tempted fate, tugged on the red string, and accidentally snapped it.

Forlorn, he slumps, tongue wetting his bottom lip as he bites down on it. It's only to stop it from trembling. Clouds lurk in his eyes, trying to block his vulnerabilities from you, but it doesn't take a genius to work out that he's scared. 

"Take it," you say, lips in a flat line, eyes stern. You nod towards the pile of cash on your desk, and his eyes follow. "Take it. Pay your debts. I can earn it again. I don't have a deadline. You do."

He shakes his head.

"I'm not taking the money you've earned."

"Yes, you are."

"I'm not," he protests and you've got it in your right mind to slap his pretty face silly. "Gonna be totally honest," he adds, "Don't really want your sugar baby money. Kinda resent it a little. Resent the fucker who gave it to you."

Jungkook hates him. 

Doesn't know him.

Loathes him.

"So then give him the middle finger and take it," you plead. "He got you fucked up into this mess, he got you jumped, he got your stash stolen. Take his money and get yourself and Yoongi out of it. You don't have time to be fucking arguing with me."

He wants to fight back. You stop him.

"We can argue later," you promise.

And that ever-present effervescent feeling is back in his chest. 

"Sugar," he speaks quietly. "Don't do this."

"Kook," you respond, voice much firmer than his. "You gotta do this. Yoongi shouldn't be fixing your mistakes and you know it. We can work it out on an I.O.U. basis. It's okay."

"I.O.U. suggests I'm gonna keep seeing you for a while," Jungkook mumbles. He isn't feeling as confident in himself as he had done earlier. 

You stand, offering your hand to him so that you can pull him up with you. Neither of you acknowledge the fact that he's stark bollock naked. It's really not the time. Nothing you haven't seen before, after all.

"Well, yeah," you shrug with a straight face, but there's a glint in your eye. "I'd hope so. Pretty sure you said you were fuck my tits later? Gotta hold up your end of the bargain, sugar."

And despite it all, he laughs, toying with your hands before slipping his finger between yours. "Don't call me that."

"Why not?" You squeeze his hands. "You're technically my sugar baby now."

"That's not how it works."

God, he knows he shouldn't be fucking about, wasting time flirting, but he just can't help himself.

"No?" You question, equally distracted.

"No," he says. "If you're paying me, and I'm fucking you, then that makes me a hooker."

He's not wrong. 

"Oh, that's kinda hot," you smile, pulling gently on his hands to encourage him to lean down. He does as he's told, and kisses you like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"You're so fucked up," he whispers against you, knowing that it's exactly why he enjoys you so much.

You don't let the moment linger, though, tossing him his clothes and going to grab the money while he dresses himself. You stack it together, all nice and neat, using the desk to straighten the edges. The wedge is thick in your hands. Yellow 50's are laughing at you. Stupid girl thought we'd fix her problems, they chatter silently to one another.

"Three and half million won," you hold it out to Jungkook. He hesitates, so you force his grip around it and let go. It's his problem, now. Not yours. You smile so warmly that Jungkook can't help but let that feeling in his chest simmer. Your hair is still messy, mascara still smudged. He wants to kiss your cheeks. 

Jungkook hasn't disclosed what exactly was in his bag.

But in the same way he knows there are only three types of women in Daerim, you know there are equally only three types of men.

There's only one demographic that he belongs to. Yoongi, too. 

You don't say it explicitly, not like he does. 

"Holangi are nasty fuckers," you acknowledge. "I know they raise the stakes just for the fun of it. Whatever got stolen, the street value doesn't matter. Take it all. You'll need it."

Take what I owe you.

When he kisses you goodbye, it's just like the first time; all breathy and needy, lips parted and pouting. Again and again, he presses down into your lips. His brows furrow, hands on your cheeks, chest pressed against yours.

The crimson paint that had stained you from his very first kiss returns. You're painted in red for the second time that morning, but this time only you can see it. Only you can feel it.

That's her. That's the girl who let Jeon Jungkook kiss her like he actually meant it. 

But it's funny now, because you know that he does mean it.

When he finally leaves, his nose is blushed, his cupids bow too. Eyes glassy. Smile forlorn.  

Disappointingly, as you close the door of your apartment when he's no longer in your line of sight, you remember exactly how Jungkook had kissed you for the first time:

Like it was going to be the last.

And it consumes you, because the kiss you just shared felt exactly the same.

Your chest is uncomfortable again, but it's not rubber bands this time. 

It's that stupid red string that Jungkook had tugged too tightly on.

The one that he'd snapped right in half. 

WATTPAD // AO3 // KO-FI // CARRD

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