‘Why is she looking at my man?’ 

‘I need to get blackout drunk.’

‘Damn, that girl is f**king hot.’

‘I’ll steal it when he isn’t looking.’

Jungkook’s head rings with an innumerable amount of others’ thoughts, and he can’t seem to silence the blaring volume of them at all.

He’s roaming in complete confusion, clutching his palms over his ears because shit, is everything just so loud. His feet hurt too, when have his feet ever hurt? Why can’t he fucking fly? Why does he suddenly feel so cold?

Jungkook’s bleary vision catches sight of neon signs and lights that invite head-splitting migraines. His usual leather outfit suddenly feels like it’s sticking to his skin too much, and what is this constant pang he feels in his stomach?

He doesn’t know, all he knows is that this isn’t hell, and he definitely should not be here. 

In all his thinking, his shoulder smacks into a passing stranger and he scolds them with stern eyes, only to ram into someone else yet again. 

F**k, that hurt. Why did that hurt? When has he ever felt pain at all? Jungkook grunts in frustration as he weaves through passing bodies in the streets and eventually tumbles before a closed store. The second he looks through the window, his eyes widen in sheer horror. 

He’s.. he’s human? 

No, impossible. He can’t be human, where did his red eyes go? Why can’t he see his wings? He snaps quick glances at his shoulder blades and finds them empty, even reaching behind his back to only feel a seamless leather jacket. He looks at his hands and sees them just like his usual form, but when did he lose that natural, searing heat to his skin? 

Jungkook can’t think, he can’t understand what’s going on but can only comprehend one very obvious, almost laughable thing. 

He’s been cast out of hell. 

He laughs, then laughs some more because shit, is that goddamn funny, comedic, absolutely hysterical. Lucifer, the king of hell himself, has been cast out of his own kingdom? Sent to Earth as some measly blubbering, putrid human? 

The second Jungkook whips his head around to a horn honking, his equilibrium unbalanced itself, that incessant ringing in his ear returning. He feels too f**king dizzy, the axis of his entire world spinning. Groaning in dull pain, he begins stalking down the street with his clammy palm to his head. 

He bumps into more people and staggers, but he doesn’t care when he can still feel that same agonizing headache plaguing him. His eyesight begins to lose precision, and before he advances, he feels his knees buckle into the nearest alleyway. He drops to the ground hard, and his surroundings disappear before he feels his cheek meet the cold pavement. 

CHERRY'S POV :

note: your name is Cherry here

Monday’s are so goddamn boring. 

Absolutely nothing is special about the dreadful day. All you ever desire is to crawl into a hole and slowly perish. And the only remedy to such an issue? At least to you, it would be a nice, steaming cup of coffee. 

But what absolutely trashes even the taste of coffee on a Monday?

The fact that it’s a Monday.

You drag your feet down the street, listless and exhausted after a tiresome day at work. You loosely clutch your bag over your shoulder as you trudge along, paying attention only squarely in front of you when suddenly, your feet ram into something. You almost trip over, furrowing your brows in confusion as you zero-in on the culprit. 

Once your vision becomes clear, you immediately squeal out in shock. You look carefully to find a man lying unconscious nearby a dumpster, appalled by the disgusting trash that litters the area next to him. 

You step slowly towards the stranger, finding that he’s actually quite… handsome. No, scratch that, he is drop-dead gorgeous, his looks almost too devilishly attractive. He appears fairly young to you as well, maybe the same age as you. You scan his outfit next and find him in a quite showy leather outfit; black boots, sheer-patterned shirt that exposed his body, hair flawlessly framing his face. 

You could’ve believed he was a fallen angel, his almost ethereal aura screaming of an existence far from here. His face structure is almost perfectly crafted from the finest marble, his nose looks boopable and his adorable lips naturally fall into this charming pout. 

Though his cuteness was not to be taken head-on, because you could only imagine what such a beautiful man’s eyes look like, and what allure remained hidden within them. 

You shake your head out of the compromising thoughts, swallowing as you contemplate what to do next. The most logical thing would be to call 911, that would help him out the most, wouldn’t it?

You whip out your phone and tap your screen, only to gain no response. You quirk your brows, clicking your power button and finding your device completely drained of battery. You groan with a roll of your eyes, too shy to inquire another stranger on the street for their phone.

Weighing on the decision that the stranger most likely has a phone, you bite your lip before squatting down by him. You precariously reach into his jacket and gently search for any pockets inside, only met with empty ones. You target his leather pants next and surprisingly come up dry of a phone or wallet, no keys or even a damn stick of gum. 

That leaves you with a real head-scratcher. The stranger seems to have absolutely nothing on him, now suddenly curious of whether or not he's even dead or alive. Heart quickening at the prospect of this being a dead body, you nervously gulp as you carefully take his wrist, and place two fingers against his pulse point. 

You thankfully feel a faint heartbeat and release a breath of relief, thinking quickly on your feet. You couldn’t just leave the stranger to fend for himself, it was already cold tonight and God knows what would happen to him without any of his necessary belongings. 

On a whim and out of sheer concern for the man’s well-being, you decide to haul a cab and take him home with you, hoping to also treat that nasty wound on his cheek. 

Jungkook's pov:

Jungkook feels his consciousness resurfacing, head heavy, legs weighing a ton. His eyes flutter open to a white ceiling, darting around to find himself not on the street, not in hell, but inside a quaint apartment.

He furrows his brows, rubbing lazily at an eye once he does a quick once over of the place. He sincerely doesn’t understand where he is or what he’s doing here, but right now his head is still pounding too hard to even contemplate his next move. 

Sitting up, he swallows to find his throat desert-dry, stomach producing this weird gurgling sound he can’t piece together an answer for, and his eyes feel this hefty weight behind his lids. 

With a sigh, he rises to his feet, steadying himself. He sighs at just how annoyingly human he is, feeling the sensation of his legs aching, his neck adopting a crook from being awkwardly perched on the couch’s armrest, even his cheek stinging with something. 

He touches the afflicted area and instead finds some sort of cloth taped over him, wondering what in the hell it is. He touches it some more, and applies pressure only to hiss at his wound, rolling his eyes at the sensation of pain. 

With a deep exhale to release the frustration from his body, Jungkook notices he can still feel the fiery pits of hell coursing through his veins. That hot flame is still alive inside him, something heated still within his blood and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t do something about it. With a focused mind and a composed breath, Jungkook attempts to revisit the very first, innate thing about his older form, imagining conjuring up his red, glowing eyes. 

He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, and envisions them glowing crimson before he opens them again, feeling a smoldering heat spark in his irises. He spots a mirror by the front door of the apartment and peers at himself, finding his eyes a vibrant, almost fiery red. 

He smirks, proud and satisfied. He’s still got it in him and he’ll be fucked six ways from Sunday if anyone can tell him otherwise. Feeling confident and alive, Jungkook attempts to conjure up some flames in his palms. Lo and behold, after a tense second of undivided focus, a fire gushes open in his bare hands. It feels just like when he’s perched on his throne in hell, Jungkook cracking another smug grin at the power he still holds. 

In that moment however, he hears the distinct clatter of something tumbling to the ground, and whips around to the noise. He shockingly finds a human woman staring at him in utter terror, hand clutched to her heart with her phone on the ground, and cowering into the wall as she shakes profusely. 

CHERRY'S POV :

You’re stunned, flabbergasted, downright terrified out of your wits seeing the same man you found unconscious in the street now with fire flushing out of his hands. You see him begin to approach you and you’re overridden with fear, screaming at the unnatural sight before you. 

You scream, you scream and scream and look around for objects of any sort. You spot a small bottle of body spray on your hallway counter and immediately fling it towards the man for defence. 

“Get away from me, get away!” 

“Woah, hey, hey! Calm down!” 

But you don’t, and you instead throw other obscure and heavy objects towards him only for him to either burn or dodge them, eliciting even more of your panic. He’s getting closer as he attempts to pacify you, darting by him and running directly towards your kitchen.

Your frazzled brain isn’t thinking and you immediately fling open a cabinet, reaching for the very first thing you see and rapidly grasp a pan. You hold it up ready for punishing the man before he scrambles and hushes your ear-splitting shrills, holding up his hands in surrender. 

“Wait, wait, stop! Shh!” 

“How can I not scream when your eyes are literally red?!” 

Jungkook struggles for a sentence. “Look, just, shh. You’re gonna alarm the people in your building!” 

“That’s the f**king point?! You’re a maniac!” You yell and grab open your drawer of utensils, beginning to chuck forks and spoons at the frantic man. 

“Hey, stop! Would you-stop throwing sh*t!” Jungkook yells frustratedly as you send him a scowl, only catapulting things harder in response. But suddenly, Jungkook burns a butter knife you haul his way, and fearfully watching it melt right before your eyes. They widen in absolute horror.

You’re seriously, and very horribly f**ked.

Panic invades your chest and you spot your phone lying on the ground near your bedroom door, quickly bolting towards it in hopes of calling 911, or at least somebody for help. You dive towards the floor and snatch up your device, racing mind unable to sift through contacts efficiently enough before you feel strong arms quickly caging around you. The stranger traps your wriggling body as he attempts to grab at your phone, yelling angrily. 

“Are you insane?! Why are you calling someone?!” 

“Because you’re a f**king maniac!” 

You struggle against the man’s burly hold and flail around hopelessly, utterly panicking realizing how strong he is.  

Screams escape you as you useslessly fight each other on the floor, incessantly attempting to weaken his grasp. The man with much larger hands than yours however nabs your phone and tosses it into your room somewhere, attempting to hush you as you squeal and kick at him profusely. 

“Stop it, stop! I can explain myself!” 

“I don’t want to hear your f**king evil plan before you kill me!” 

The man’s arms are still, curled around you and hugging your back to his chest, but it’s not a warm welcome at all as he keeps you from escaping, all while you holler incoherently at him to release you. You grow tired of the shenanigans and stuff the meat of his hand in between your teeth, sinking them in with enough force to harm him. The man exclaims in pain as his arms detangle from you. 

“Ow! What the f**k?!” 

You rapidly rise to your feet in search of your phone. It’s laying near your bed and you scamper off towards it, bending down with a grabby hand to reach it, but suddenly feel the man’s heavy figure hurtle you onto the bed. You both tumble onto your mattress, the handsome stranger on top as he locks down your thrashing hands, eyes urgent as he regards you below. 

“Woman, please, please stop screaming.” He warns crucially. “I’m not someone people can know about, we’ll both get in sh*t!” 

“By who? You’re the only freak here!” You wiggle your smaller wrist out of his grip and reach over for a stray cushion on your bed. You feel the fleecy material in your hand and harshly begin smacking the man with the pillow. 

“Oh c’mon-what the f**k?!” You disarm him completely as he falters at your hits, the stranger toppling onto the ground as you recklessly beat the living hell out of him. 

He crosses his arms over his face in an effort to protect himself, knowing even if you run now, the man seemed strong and smart enough to capture you again; two deadly combinations that could mean your demise. So you decide to keep senselessly whacking the cushion at him until he eventually tires, and you’ll make a break for it, or Mr. and Mrs. Tran next door will most likely come to your rescue. 

You stand above him and yell profanities as you practically abuse the stranger with your pillow. However, the man latches a hand onto the pillow to halt you and causes the cheap material to completely tear open. Feather’s instantly fly out of the cushion and fill your room with white fluffiness, groaning in complaint at the mess. 

You disregard the $4 ripped-up thing, and return to smacking at the man with the pillow cover. 

“Why. The. F**k. Did you. Rip. My. PILLOW?!” You howl between each of your attacks and the man struggles on the ground as he exclaims in pain, blinded and barely able to shout in return. 

“Are you f**king kidding me?! Why are you beating me up?!” 

“Says the one who ripped my pillow and tried to murder me!” 

“I’m not even-what!” The stranger shrieks in disbelief. “I never tried to murder you! I didn’t do anything wrong!” 

That response actually halts your actions, freezing once you truly contemplate the stranger didn’t try to exactly kill you or anything, and you’re then in fact assaulting him for no concrete reason. As your easily distracted mind wanders, the man suddenly pulls at your legs with grabby hands. You squeal as you suddenly land on top of his rather muscular body, crashing onto him hard. 

“Shh, shh.” The man pushes his index fingers to your lips and his own, shushing you both. There’s a long moment of silence, both you and the albeit, gorgeous man staring into each other’s round eyes as your chests press into each other’s tightly, feathers slowly cascading down around your entangled bodies. 

You swallow as you watch the man underneath you in fear, wondering why he hushed you. You open your mouth to question him but he only shakes his head, warning you with a hush again. 

“Shh, I hear footsteps.” 

Suddenly, your front door is racked with a few hard raps. 

Suddenly, your front door is racked with a few hard raps. 

“Who’s-” The man begins a question but you immediately smack your hands over his mouth, silencing him. 

“Shh, don’t say anything!” 

He removes your dainty hands from his lips and surprisingly holds them quite gently. “But is it the police-” 

You clasp them over his mouth tighter, your face and his suddenly mere inches from each other as you tut him. “Shh! They can’t hear another voice!” 

“Honey! Are you in there?” 

You both pause, wide-eyed and frozen in time as you hear the voices of the nice couple that live next door to you. Your fight or flight mode kicks in, stress hormones on high alert as you register the idea of them seeing a random man in your apartment. 

Let alone you on top of him like this.

They’ll assume the worst and get too worried for their own good, sighing with immense anxiety. You rapidly scramble off the leather-wearing stranger and snatch up his wrist, quickly tugging him upwards and onto his feet. He balances himself and you quickly shove him onto your tousled sheets and disorderly feathers. 

“Look, just-stay here.” You hiss in a whisper, gesturing to him to stay put like a pet dog as you rapidly kick some stray feathers that escaped into the hallway inside your bedroom. You fix your outfit with a few strokes and begin shutting the door to hide the man, until he suddenly calls you back with a whisper-yell. 

“Wait, woman!” 

You poke your head back in with an incredulous ‘what the f**k?’, and the man rises as he steps speedily towards you. His hands jut out for what you believe to be in effort to harm you, but instead find your hair and smooth down some of your wild locks, even picking out a fuzzy piece of feather that stuck to your bangs. 

“Oh..” You quietly exclaim, running your hands through your hair for a quick fix.

“Dear, where are you? We’re getting very worried!” You hear Mr. Tran yell more urgently this time, and your hands smack against the strangers to unhand you, pushing him back within the four walls of your bedroom and shutting the door on his handsome face. 

You compose yourself once you’ve done so and reach your foyer, swinging open your front door. 

“Oh dear, Cherry we were so worried, honey. Are you alright?” Mrs. Tran holds her hand to her chest as she takes a deep breath, Mr. Tran soon joining. 

“Is anything going on, sweetheart? We heard so much yelling.” 

“I’m okay, Mr. and Mrs. Tran. You don’t need to worry about me at all.” 

“Are you sure you’re okay, dear? There was an awful lot of screaming.” Mrs. Tran’s eyes flit around your apartment discreetly. 

“I was just on video call with my friends and they decided to play a scary prank on me.” You bellow out a fake laugh and watch them lighten up, buying the lie. 

“Oh gosh, we thought we heard another man’s voice and got so scared! We’re so glad you’re alright, dear.” Mr. Tran laughs with you, and you kindly reply. 

“Oh not at all! Thank you for checking on me, Mr. and Mrs. Tran.” You smile big and wide to appear okay, momentarily snapping your vision towards your bedroom with a gulp. They end up bidding their farewells and you watch them entirely enter their apartment, sighing with relief once their door closes. 

You shut yours, and practically stomp over to your bedroom as you hurl the door back open. The man on the other side practically leaps when you do, staring wide-eyed with raised eyebrows at your angry expression. 

“You have a lot of explaining to do.” The man watches steam figuratively blown out of your ears, and a little noise escapes the back of his throat that almost sounds like a laugh. 

“Did you just laugh at me?” 

“N-no.” He brushes off sauvely. 

You roll your eyes and snatch his wrist again, dragging him over to your living room and abruptly halting just before your couches. You shove him towards them and he snaps a testy look at you, taking his seat. 

You decide to stand and look down at him as he crosses a leg and lays his arm against the backrest, sitting as if he owned the place. You fold your arms and tap your foot in anticipation, eyes pissed and steely. “Well?” 

“Well, what?” 

“Do you not owe me an explanation?” You quirk an audacious brow, attempting to fathom what just transpired in the last 5 minutes.

“Explanation.. of what exactly?” He tilts his head and watches you with fascination, and it was now you realized his eyes weren’t glowing red anymore, they’re the colour of chocolate brown. But that doesn’t mean what you saw was a hallucination or a mind-trick either, you remember exactly what you witnessed with your ***** eyes. 

The man seems to feel a crook in his neck. Your once occupied attention now snaps to the way he stretches it out, listening to the cracks of his bones that sound practically inhuman. 

“Why the hell did I see fire coming out of your hands? And your red eyes? Who the f**k are you?!” 

The stranger has an ah-hah moment, and understands you with a small nod. He goes from a non-committing look of disinterest to a mirthy smirk on his face, one that almost seemed devilish. He lets out a proud sigh as he hoists himself up, standing tall before you as he suavely tugs at the lapels of his leather jacket. 

“Well, I’ll cut to the chase,” The man quirks his eyebrows and plays with his lips in this undeniably sexy way you can’t help but find hot, blinking away the thought before it consumes you.